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The Deputy Headmistress's office lay steeped in a heavy, breath-catching hush.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood shoulder to shoulder, their nerves pulled tight as violin strings. Professor McGonagall had summoned them with a tone so grave that even Ron had kept silent on the entire walk up the spiral staircase.
Inside, the air felt close and heavy, almost as though the walls themselves were listening. Beside McGonagall stood Professor Snape, his expression dark and unreadable, like soot clinging to the bottom of a cauldron. Behind him lingered Pansy Parkinson, her eyes bloodshot and ringed with an unnatural red. She looked worn to the bone, yet a bitter defiance clung to her presence like a shadow. The sight of her made the trio's hearts sink.
"Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger."
Professor McGonagall's voice carried her usual severity, but if one listened closely, there was a faint thread of concern woven beneath it. "Miss Parkinson has brought a serious charge to her Head of House, Professor Snape. She claims that for the past three nights she has suffered the effects of some kind of a… malicious curse. She has been unable to sleep, tormented without a moment of relief. She believes it began after an encounter with the three of you in the corridor three days ago."
Her keen gaze moved from Harry to Ron and came to rest on Hermione, sharp as a hawk's. "She accuses you, Miss Granger, of casting an illegal spell upon her."
Snape's mouth tightened in a downward line. His two black eyes, dark and depthless as a midnight lake, locked on Hermione. "Miss Parkinson has described her ordeal in precise detail — continuous, irresistible wakefulness, the mind fraying toward collapse. Such symptoms are… distinctive. Have you an explanation, Miss Granger? Or perhaps you, Potter, Weasley… were you aware of this?"
Pansy stood rigid at Snape's back, trying to straighten her spine, yet the deep dark circles under her eyes and the faint tremor in her limbs betrayed her exhaustion.
Her glare at Hermione burned with wordless spite. Her lips moved soundlessly, as if she longed to hurl a curse of her own.
Hermione drew a deep, steadying breath, ready to speak, but before she could, the heavy oak door opened with a quiet push.
Professor Sargeras stepped inside.
As always, he carried himself with calm composure. His long robes of deep grey fell in perfect lines, every fold precise, as though untouched by movement. He might have seemed a chance passerby, yet his eyes swept the room with deliberate care. They lingered on Snape and Pansy for a heartbeat, and a barely visible crease touched his brow.
"Good morning, everyone." His voice was low and even, breaking the tense silence in the room. "It seems I've walked in on a… hearing of sorts?"
He leaned with casual ease against the doorframe, his gaze gliding over each young witch and wizard, pausing a fraction longer when it came to rest on Pansy, whose gaunt face and reddened eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
Snape's eyes flashed with irritation. "This is a matter between Slytherin and Gryffindor students, Professor Greengrass. It does not concern you."
"Oh?"
Sargeras let the single syllable linger, smooth and quiet, before his attention shifted to the trembling girl. "Yet Miss Parkinson's condition appears troubling indeed."
His tone, however, carried not the faintest trace of pity.
"Tell me then, Professor McGonagall," he continued, turning to the deputy headmistress, "what exactly are the charges being made? You say Miss Granger cast a malicious curse on her. When and where did this supposedly occur, and what evidence supports it?"
Snape gave a disdainful breath. "Miss Parkinson's testimony is proof enough."
"Forgive me, Professor Snape, but I cannot share that view," Sargeras retorted with the same steady calm. "A single account cannot stand as evidence on its own. I learned that lesson the hard way back in my own school days."
Pansy's face drained of what little colour remained. She darted a glance at Snape, as though pleading for rescue.
Snape's expression grew darker still, as if a storm were about to break. "Are you questioning my judgment, Sargeras?"
"I am merely seeking fairness and a complete chain of proof, Professor Snape" Sargeras said, his voice quiet but firm. His eyes moved thoughtfully over the students gathered in the room. "Without conclusive evidence, punishing one party on nothing more than another's accusation is not only unjust, it also allows baseless charges to flourish."
Professor McGonagall's tightly drawn expression eased, and she cleared her throat. "Sargeras is correct, Severus. A charge must be supported by evidence."
Snape's face turned nearly black with displeasure. From the folds of his robes he drew a small brown glass vial and held it aloft. "You want proof? Then let Miss Granger be tested."
His lips twisted into a grim smile. "Just three drops of Veritaserum will give us every answer we need."
"I will not allow it," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "I will never consent to the use of truth serum on a student, Severus."
Sargeras studied Hermione for a long moment before letting his gaze drift back to Pansy. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, and then a faint, cool smile touched his mouth. "Since each side clings to its version of events, and memory itself holds the key to uncovering the truth, I have a suggestion that could resolve this dilemma at once."
He turned his attention to Pansy, eyes sharp and piercing. "Miss Parkinson, to show that your accusation is not without basis, and to either restore Miss Granger's innocence or confirm her guilt, are you willing to undergo Memory Recollection? I can extract fragments of your recollection of the incident for all to see. Then the truth will naturally become clear on its own."
"No!"
Pansy almost screamed, stumbling backward as though struck by an invisible hand, terror etched deep across her exhausted face. "No! Absolutely not!"
Her reaction was so extreme that even Snape's brow furrowed, his cold gaze narrowing in calculating scrutiny.
McGonagall's eyes, too, sharpened with sudden intensity.
Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance, struggling to stifle their laughter. They knew perfectly well what Pansy feared most: that the moment she had spat out the word "Mudblood" would be revealed for everyone to see.
Sargeras inclined his head slightly, a motion of quiet acknowledgment, as though he had anticipated her refusal all along. "It seems Miss Parkinson is holding back some of the truth, or perhaps she wishes certain details of her own conduct during the incident to remain hidden."
His tone was unruffled, almost dispassionate, yet beneath it ran the faintest thread of mockery.
Snape's cheek muscles twitched. His black eyes burned with unmasked fury and contempt as they bore into Sargeras. "You are condoning this!"
"Am I?" Sargeras replied, his face a mask of impassivity. "And what of you?"
The room fell into a heavy, oppressive silence.
Sargeras knowledge ran deeper than anyone present realized. The threads of Legilimency had long ago traced the contours of Pansy Parkinson's mind, revealing her actions and intentions in full.
Professor McGonagall's voice, firm and commanding, restored the room's balance. "Sargeras is right. Without conclusive evidence, we cannot punish a student based on speculation alone."
"And what of Miss Parkinson's insomnia?" Snape demanded, his glare cutting sharply toward Pansy. By now he likely had an inkling of the truth behind her affliction.
"That is a matter for Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall replied, her lips pressed in a firm line, her tone absolute.
"Or perhaps you could brew her a Draught of Living Death?" Sargeras interjected lightly, though his voice carried an unmistakable bite, "Of course, a knock-out curse would also serve."
Pansy's face went ashen almost instantly.
Sargeras had no sympathy for those who relied on numbers and intimidation yet lacked the courage to act directly. The thought brought to mind the many former students he had once treated freely, those whose suffering he had witnessed firsthand.
Snape's face darkened to a near black, and his glare lashed toward Sargeras. "I will not forget this!"
Pansy stared at Snape in disbelief before flicking her gaze to McGonagall. At last her resentful eyes swept over Harry, Ron, and Hermione, only to come to rest on Sargeras' unreadable face.
Desperation, anger, and exhaustion pressed so heavily upon her that she looked on the verge of collapse, yet in the end she had no choice but to follow Snape out of the office.
"Very well. This matter ends here," Professor McGonagall declared, her voice final, like a hammer striking down judgment. "Potter, Weasley, Granger, you may leave. Remember to remain vigilant, and avoid any further conflicts."
Her final words carried both warning and instruction.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exhaled as if released from a heavy burden. They bowed quickly, relief flooding through them, yet before they could step out, the office door opened once more.
This time it was Neville, accompanied by his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom.
She was an imposing witch, formidable in presence. Her green robes hung in measured folds, and atop her pointed hat rested the stuffed specimen of a vulture. Her stature was tall and commanding, her broad frame giving her an almost intimidating aura.
"Mrs. Longbottom, Neville," Professor McGonagall greeted, nodding promptly as they entered. "Please, come in."
The sight of Neville immediately brought a smile to the trio's faces. Relief and happiness lit their features. "Neville, we've all read the newspaper. How are your uncle and aunt now?"
"Are these your friends, Neville?" his grandmother asked kindly.
Neville, however, lowered his gaze shyly, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he struggled to find a response.
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[Chapter End's]
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