"Anything else?" Snape asked.
"What else do you want?" Pandora looked at him, puzzled, then slowly walked over to the long table, gently removed her bracelet, picked up her wand, and carefully began carving patterns into the bracelet.
Just then, Moaning Myrtle finally floated down from the lamp, darting over to Snape's side with a cheerful, "There's more!"
But she hadn't quite controlled her speed. Before Snape could react, she passed straight through him.
A sudden chill enveloped Snape, making him shiver slightly. He quickly headed for the door. "Good... good-bye. You two carry on."
Over the next week, they had another Apparition lesson. Yet, after several classes, Apparating remained incredibly difficult, though a few more students did manage to Splinch themselves.
Snape was no better off. His greatest progress came in the third lesson when he watched a clump of his own hair Disapparate into the wooden hoop.
This gave him a profound understanding of the dangers of Apparition. Who knew if a few more attempts might leave him with a rather... unique hairstyle?
Meanwhile, a growing sense of unease spread among the students. Reports of disappearances in the Daily Prophet seemed to be on the rise. Among the missing was a relative of a Hogwarts student named Maulk Foley.
On Friday morning, Maulk Foley was called out of Defense Against the Dark Arts class and informed that his father hadn't been to work at the Ministry for over a week. Since then, no one had seen Maulk Foley again.
According to the whispered tales among students, Maulk hailed from Foley Village in Hampshire, and his father worked in the Ministry of Magic's Muggle Relations Office. Unlike most pure-blood families, the Foley family had a long-standing and pronounced pro-Muggle tendency, which earned them more than a few scornful looks from other wizarding families—with the notable exception of the Weasleys and a few others.
On Sunday evening, Snape appeared promptly outside the Headmaster's office.
He had barely exchanged a few words with the Sweet Treat Guardian at the door before the opening appeared from within.
Dumbledore emerged from the gap, a long, black traveling cloak draped over his arm.
"Come along, Severus. We're off to Lancashire to see old Mr. Bob Ogden."
"Professor," Snape hurried to keep pace with Dumbledore. "Aren't we going to Apparate there?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore's tall figure descended the stairs one step at a time. "While Apparition can take us directly to our destination, it also robs us of much of the scenery along the way.
"Mr. Ogden is retired now, and we're in no rush this time. Let the Thestrals carry us across England."
"I trust you can see the Thestrals, can't you?" Dumbledore paused and turned back to Snape, asking gently.
"Of course," Snape snapped, walking past Dumbledore. "Aren't you asking the obvious?"
In the twilight filtering through the corridor windows, the two descended the stairs, entered the Great Hall, exited the main doors, and left the castle. The boisterous chatter and the clinking of cutlery on plates from the Great Hall gradually faded behind them.
"Alas, while the other students enjoy their meals," Snape shook his head, feigning exasperation, "I am burdened with great responsibility, rushing about to save the world."
"One hundred points to Slytherin," Dumbledore's calm voice echoed in the night.
"Hmm?" Snape snorted. "You know that's not important to me."
"But weren't you hoping to become Head Boy?" Dumbledore continued walking. "I must give you some pretext. If you're not satisfied, perhaps I could offer you my wand?"
"No, I don't want it," Snape refused repeatedly. "Someone else's wand is never as good as one's own."
What kind of joke was that? No sensible person would want that cursed Elder Wand.
The lingering sun slowly dipped below the Forbidden Forest's treetops, casting its last light upon the grass. They crossed the grounds, passed Hagrid's hut, and arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
They walked directly into the thicket, venturing deeper and deeper into the forest. The path gradually became overgrown, the trees grew denser, and the light became as dim as midnight.
The Forbidden Forest was pitch black. Aside from the faint gurgling of a stream, silence reigned supreme.
Suddenly, a rustle in the bushes and the crackling of leaves caught Snape's attention. He instinctively raised his wand to his chest, staring warily ahead.
Dumbledore, however, reached out and gently pushed his wand down, shaking his head to indicate that he needn't worry.
The very ground of the Forbidden Forest trembled, and the thudding of hooves echoed through the air. Several Centaurs, humanoid from the waist up but with the bodies of horses below, carrying bows and arrows, galloped out of the woods.
"Greetings, Dumbledore," a Centaur with a long red tail said mournfully.
"Hello, Ronan," Dumbledore stepped forward, shook the Centaur's hand, and asked, "Are we disturbing you? Has something happened?"
"No," Ronan said, looking up at the sky, his voice deep and sorrowful. "Mars is unusually dim tonight. The variables of the future are unpredictable. We follow the celestial signs."
"Enough babbling," another black-bodied, black-bearded Centaur raised a foreleg impatiently, but after a glance at Dumbledore, slowly lowered his hoof. "We must never defy the heavens. Dumbledore, why have you come tonight?"
Oh, so it's a riddle, is it? As if I can't play that game too, Snape thought, unable to resist stepping forward. "The wind passes through the treetops, no need to ask why it blows; the rain falls into the deep forest, no need to ask why it descends."
At these words, the Centaurs irritably scraped the ground with their hooves, their faces showing exasperation.
"Alright," Dumbledore nodded with satisfaction, smiling. "If there's nothing else, I apologize, but we cannot tarry."
The black Centaur wanted to say something more, but Ronan gestured towards Dumbledore, stopping him. "Bane, what we seek is not here, I presume."
The Centaurs whinnied and galloped away swiftly once more, their figures quickly vanishing into the depths of the forest.
"I absolutely detest riddlers," Snape grumbled, his face full of distaste.
"That is the nature of Centaurs, Severus," Dumbledore's pleasant voice resonated through the Forbidden Forest. He raised his wand, and with a soft pop, a piece of raw meat, still oozing blood, dropped onto the muddy ground. "From them, we never get a straightforward answer."
Soon, a few Thestrals, drawn by the scent of blood, slowly emerged from the bushes. Their broad, leathery, bat-like wings were folded tightly against their sides, and their white eyes gleamed in the darkness.
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