Werewolves!
Terrifying werewolves!
In the Bialowieza Forest, at the Crabbe family's Puffskein breeding farm, moonlight poured down like water.
Ron, standing alone in this moment, didn't feel the least bit lonely.
Even though the professor and his friends stood frozen like statues, he was absolutely certain they were right there with him!
This sense of connection came from his Patronus Charm. As he cast it toward the sky, he could faintly feel his friends fighting alongside him.
It was a strange, wondrous adventure. He couldn't see what his friends were facing, but he felt their presence nearby.
He didn't know how long he'd been casting spells at that red cloak in the sky when a sudden, panicked squeaking broke his focus.
Looking down, he saw Scabbers, his pet rat.
The poor thing looked frantic, scrambling up his robes and squeaking loudly at him.
What was wrong?
Ron frowned, confused, but the answer came quickly.
From the woods, a group of adults in black wizard robes emerged, their faces twisted with malice and cruelty.
They first noticed the statue-like figures of his friends, then spotted Ron, still able to move, and finally saw the massive red cloak blotting out the sky.
Then they started trembling violently, writhing in agony. Their bodies stretched and swelled, sprouting black fur and sprouting fearsome wolf jaws.
Werewolves!
Ron recognized the leader of the group. He'd seen him as a kid in an issue of The Quibbler, in an article by Luna's dad titled "The 10 Dark Wizards Parents and Young Witches Should Fear Most." There was a photo of this very dark wizard.
Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf!
A dark wizard who looked half-beast!
Blast it!
Ron knew it—Draco's dad and his cronies were no good. Professor Lockhart never should've trusted Crabbe's father. That man was a vile Death Eater, loyal to You-Know-Who! Claiming he'd guard the secret Floo Network fireplace was just a ruse to trap them, waiting for his allies to swoop in and deal with them!
What now?
What now?!
Ron knew he needed courage—tons of it—but he also knew he didn't have the skill to take on these powerful enemies.
In a panic, he stuffed Scabbers into his robe pocket and, while the werewolves were still howling and transforming, bolted toward his friends and the professor.
He had to wake them up!
Thankfully, Lockhart's creatures were guarding them, giving him a sense of safety.
But he quickly realized he was wrong—these enemies came prepared!
Two figures in gray robes, who didn't transform into werewolves, sprang into action. One tossed the corpse of a house-elf toward the creatures, luring the Snallygaster to attack it before knocking it out with a Stunning Spell.
The other brought a jar painted with eerie symbols, transfiguring it into a large basin filled with purplish-black potion, swirling with floating eyeballs. It drew in the Runespoor, and the potion froze solid, trapping the creature inside.
They were targeting the creatures' weaknesses!
As Lockhart had taught, Boggarts were only terrifying if you didn't know what they were! Ron realized, in despair, that the professor was right—powerful but obscure magical creatures were vulnerable when their traits were known. Lockhart's creatures, having spent so much time with the Duelling Club, had their secrets exposed—likely by Draco and his rotten friends!
Just then, Ron reached the group and saw one of the gray-robed wizards pull a massive harp from a sack, clearly meant to subdue the Wailing Wraith. He waved his wand desperately.
"*Levicorpus!*"
It worked! He'd actually done something!
Tears stung his eyes as he watched the sinister-looking wizard get yanked into the air, dangling upside-down in a panic. For a moment, Ron felt it: I'm a warrior, not a failure!
His spell changed the tide. The Wailing Wraith floated upward, arms outstretched, a burning stake materializing behind it. Its body split into a dozen fanged mouths, humming ominously.
Blood seeped into the ground. One of the werewolves, as if compelled, suddenly attacked a gray-robed wizard, its massive jaws ripping through the man's head and shoulders in one bite.
The other werewolves froze, stunned, but Fenrir Greyback reacted swiftly, howling and rallying his pack to attack the rogue werewolf.
They turned on each other in a chaotic brawl.
Thud!
The gray-robed wizard under Ron's spell crashed to the ground, his leg snapping with a sickening crack. As he screamed, a werewolf, drawn by the scent of blood, pounced and tore into his leg.
"Professor Lockhart! Professor!" Ron threw himself beside the frozen group, shouting desperately at the edge of their world. "Wake up, everyone!"
Please wake up!
…
Snape, meanwhile, was a bundle of nerves—tense, uneasy, and gripped by an indescribable panic.
The moment that massive red cloak appeared in the sky, he'd unleashed his Patronus Charm at it. Lockhart was right—the Patronus was the key to fighting this dark creature.
He could feel the world trembling, cracks forming, and he sensed another force within it—Lockhart's heart, his will.
What was that man up to?
Why was he helping this creature?
Snape didn't know, but he knew one thing: this was his chance!
A chance to find Lily!
He shot into the air, spotting beams of Patronus light piercing the night. With relentless Apparition and a Flying Charm, he searched frantically, finally finding Harry Potter.
There he was, standing in front of a small house, shouting excitedly to someone behind him, watching his Patronus—a stag, just like his father's—charge into the sky.
Found him!
Snape, who'd been racing like a madman, hesitated to approach. He knew Lily was inside that house!
It was the safehouse in Godric's Hollow, where that fool Potter's Fidelius Charm had failed, letting You-Know-Who waltz right in.
Snape could still feel the despair of that night, chasing after Voldemort but blocked by the Fidelius Charm, unable to enter. He'd heard Potter yelling for Lily to take the child and flee, heard her die, and collapsed outside, sobbing like a child.
Now, here he was again, standing before that house, still unable to see inside.
He watched Harry call out to his mother, but Lily's form never appeared.
Maybe Lily—or Harry, or even Potter—sensed his arrival. Harry, oblivious, shouted excitedly, "Look, Professor Snape! I did it! A full Patronus!"
Snape didn't know how he managed to walk up to Harry, offer dry words of praise, or listen to the boy's eager talk of "dealing with the creature" and "seizing the opportunity." His mind was blank as he waved his wand at the sky.
Then he saw it—his Patronus, a doe, identical to Lily's in every detail, racing into the heavens.
His face paled.
Shame washed over him, ugly and raw, for revealing such a secret in front of Lily's husband and son. Yet there was a strange relief, as if he hoped Lily might finally understand his heart.
He was terrified.
He was elated.
He was a mess.
He didn't know how long it would take to defeat this blasted cloak, especially with Lockhart's growing power reinforcing it, dragging the fight into a stalemate.
End this already!
His heart screamed. Yes, he was a coward, too afraid to face it all.
He admitted it—he was scared, wanted to run, but couldn't bear to leave.
For over a decade, he'd longed for Lily, and now he was closer to her than ever, feeling her presence so clearly.
What should he do?
He didn't know. He just stood there, pale, waving his wand at the sky, eyes full of sorrow.
Wasn't the Patronus Charm supposed to be a force of joy?
Why did it always feel like his heart was being torn apart, like his soul was ripping itself to pieces?
Then, an answer seemed to come.
He could almost see Lockhart standing beside him, whispering like a devil, "Let Lily go. Let yourself go…"
No!
Never!
I'll never let go, not even in death!
His heart roared with anger, confusion, and grief. His emotions were so dark, yet his Patronus shone brighter than ever.
What… what do I do?
"Professor Lockhart!" Harry's sudden, joyful shout snapped Snape out of it. He turned, cold as ice.
But it wasn't Lockhart.
It was a figure in tattered robes, its hooded face a void of darkness—Lockhart's Boggart.
The Boggart looked relieved to see them. "Professor Snape, quick! A group of dark wizards showed up at the Puffskein farm. I need your help!"
As it spoke, a rift tore open behind it.
Emerald light spread, painting a scene unlike the rest of the world.
In it, the Wailing Wraith and Ron were battling werewolves, including a painfully familiar figure—Fenrir Greyback!
"I told you Crabbe couldn't be trusted," Snape snapped, glaring at the Boggart. "Why isn't Lockhart handling this?"
The Boggart shrugged helplessly. "I'm in a bit of a bind myself. Can't get away. I need you."
Snape's fists clenched. He knew it. Relying on Lockhart was useless—it always came down to him to protect these students.
But now? At this moment?
Lockhart, you bastard, you did this on purpose!
Lily… the students…
The past… the present…
His heart… his duty…
Why? Why did he have to face this choice?
The Boggart, ignoring his turmoil, shoved him toward the rift. "Hurry up already!"
Snape, ever the stubborn fool, let himself be pushed by Lockhart's schemes, unable to decide for himself.
Maybe…
He'd already made his choice.
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