A middle-aged woman "flew" into the toilet, dressed in a black robe and wearing a pointed hat on her head.
Seeing the trio lying on the ground, she immediately rushed to them to check their condition. After quickly examining them, the witch sighed in relief. Directing a gaze full of anger at Alan, she was about to yell at the young man. But as soon as the woman saw his terribly pale face, she froze, and the words simply stuck in her throat.
"Professor McGonagall, thank God you came! Those three burst in here and attacked Snape!" Seeing the displeased face of the Gryffindor dean, Myrtle quickly tried to explain everything.
"She's lying! I saw how the damn Sni— I mean, Mr. Snape attacked James and the others, who just wanted to apologize for yesterday," exclaimed a rather ungainly-looking young man who had peeked into the toilet. "So I immediately ran to get you to stop this psycho!"
"He's lying!"
"I'll decide for myself who is lying and who is telling the truth!" The woman enunciated each word strictly, raising her wand and touching it to each of her students.
"What is going on here? What caused this flood?" Smiling, none other than Horace Slughorn peeked into the toilet. He happened to be passing by on his way to the headmaster to deliver the OWL results report. But as soon as he saw Alan lying on the ground "on his last breath," papers scattered from his hands. He immediately ran up to him, drew his wand, and pointed it at his student's forehead. "Professor McGonagall! What is the meaning of this?!" Horace exclaimed angrily, glaring at the shuddering woman. "I understand your dislike for my house, of course, but have you really decided to watch a student suffer instead of helping him first and then figuring out what the hell happened?! How am I supposed to understand this?! It seems I recommended you for the dean position in vain if you're still following these stupid prejudices! I will immediately report this to Dumbledore and demand that you be removed from your post!" With those final words, carrying the "unconscious" body of Alan in his arms, the Slytherin dean left the toilet and headed toward the hospital wing.
At the same time, Minerva herself felt "uncomfortable." After all, in all these long years, no one had ever yelled at her like that. And the fact that it was a person she deeply respected made it even worse.
"Miss Myrtle, tell me what happened here." Taking a deep breath, the dean asked tiredly, looking at the pale trio of Marauders, whose faces were no less "white" than Alan's.
"Yes... When Snape and I were talking..."
A slightly frowning middle-aged woman with a bonnet on her head and a white apron over a red dress emerged from the room.
"Poppy, how is he?" Slughorn asked her with concern.
"Don't worry; nothing serious. The boy overexerted himself using a higher-level spell and lost control of it."
"That's good. May I visit him?"
"Better not. Let him sleep a bit; he can be discharged by evening."
"Thank you. Then I won't disturb him."
Smiling and thanking the school healer, he left the office, heading back to the girls' toilet for the papers he had dropped earlier.
Poppy Pomfrey herself watched the Slytherin dean go with a slightly thoughtful gaze.
"Overexertion... there was something strange about him..." She frowned slightly but decided not to dwell on it. After all, the main thing for her was that Snape recovered; she was first and foremost a healer who loved her profession and was glad to help people. So the woman chose not to think about it anymore. Returning to her office, she took out a book with a green cover and immersed herself in reading.
At the same time, Alan lying on the bed opened his eyes.
"It's a shame we were interrupted..." The young man thought with annoyance, twisting his lips discontentedly. "But it's still quite interesting how they found me. I was sure no one was following... maybe some artifact...? Quite possible." He nodded slightly to his thoughts. "I doubt those kids will leave me alone so easily. And perhaps that's for the best. Next time, I'll have to choose a 'quieter' spot. After all, I don't want to pretend to be sick again. And that toilet... if Myrtle's words are true—and I have no doubt they are—then most likely, that's the entrance to the Basilisk's lair. And that round pillar is a perfect entrance for a snake. Of course, if I'm not mistaken in my conclusions. But if it is the entrance, that's rather sad... it's a bit small. But... perhaps that's for the best; it will be much easier to deal with it without attracting attention..." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes; his lips curved upward slightly. "After the end-of-fifth-year banquet, I'll start preparing this body. After all, it's too weak, and the processed magical power in the core was only enough for such weak attacks..." For a moment, the mage's face grimaced again, and a slight chill ran down his spine. "It seems I'll never forget old man Amon, that damn psycho obsessed with physical strength... But still, I wouldn't mind meeting him again..."
Old man Amon, or more precisely Amon Ihiros, was an Archmage. But most called him a fool because instead of strengthening his magic, he developed his body to an incredible level, so much that even the greatest warriors feared crossing swords with him. But though he was considered strange, even Great Archmages didn't dare quarrel with him; after all, he was their nemesis.
For Alan himself, Amon had been a teacher who raised him, restored his limbs, and taught him everything he knew. Though he himself didn't understand why the old man had taken him as a student, Alan was grateful to him and deeply regretted not seeing him one last time before his death. It was only toward the end of his life that he realized that grumpy old man had become something more to him than just a "teacher."
"Perhaps he has already become a Great Archmage... It's a shame we can't meet again someday..." But remembering the hellish training he had once endured, the man in the young body shuddered. "Or maybe it's for the best..."
The office of the headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, one of the strongest wizards of his time.
At the same time, in the round-shaped office with numerous windows and portraits of unknown individuals—whom Alan would have easily recognized as past headmasters of the school of witchcraft and wizardry if he were in the room—surrounded by tables with various silver and gold instruments, as well as numerous books lining the walls, stood three people.
One of them was an elderly man with long silver hair and beard. Light fatigue was easily visible on his face, but his blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles sparkled with "life" and reflected the wisdom of his years. His clothing was quite simple: a long frock coat, a purple robe, and the most ordinary buckled boots.
Opposite him stood two deans: one was Slughorn, the other was Minerva McGonagall, who still hadn't dared to raise her gaze and look at the elderly wizard.
"I cannot remove Minerva from the position of Gryffindor dean. Yes, she made a mistake, but none of us is perfect. And I'm sure she won't make such mistakes again in the future. Am I right?"
"Headmaster, I..." Pressing her lips together, she nodded resolutely. "...agree with my colleague's decision. I truly acted with prejudice toward Mr. Snape, who was innocent and merely a victim. I was blind and couldn't understand the situation, blindly trusting my students. I recognize my error. First and foremost, as a dean, I must be an example for all our teachers and students, treating everyone equally. In this situation, I showed myself as incompetent..."
"Enough. I still cannot do that." Albus shook his head with a tired smile. He was glad that his colleague had admitted her mistake; it would make resolving this issue much easier. Looking at the Slytherin dean, he continued. "The dean's post is a great responsibility, and it's simply impossible to choose a new one right away. I understand your anger, but I cannot do that. How about giving Minerva a second chance? I'm sure she won't make such mistakes again."
"I see." Slughorn had expected something like this. After all, who knew better than him how much Dumbledore loved his lions? He himself had studied in Gryffindor house and always treated it with warmth. "Then I demand strict punishment for those four, and I won't accept excuses like 'they're just children.' You know yourself that this isn't their first 'prank,' and it's hard to call their antics mere 'pranks.' Or should I remind you how they slipped Miss Jordi an unknown potion, causing her to lie in the hospital wing for almost a month with a high fever? 'Children'... 'pranks.' Enough of that. If you don't take measures, I'll resign tomorrow." With those words, the man headed for the exit.
"Slughorn, wait. Let's..."
"I've said everything. If their punishment doesn't satisfy me, I'll resign tomorrow, and you'll have to find a new dean and Potions teacher!"
As soon as the door slammed shut, Dumbledore sighed deeply again and sank sadly into his chair.
"Headmaster..."
"It's nothing... Perhaps he is right."
"You're just too kind..." Minerva tried to comfort him. After all, how could she not know how hard it was for him during this time? Not to mention the emergence of a huge number of dark wizards and attacks on Muggle-borns*, for which Albus felt guilty. And the school's problems didn't give the old man a moment's rest.
The headmaster merely shook his head for a few seconds, closing his eyes.
"I deduct fifty points from Gryffindor. I also suspend James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin from classes for three months starting the new school year. And after serving that punishment, for the next three months, they will have detention with Filch every evening. I'll speak with Walburga (Head of the Black family) and Fleamont (Head of the Potter family) later."
"Yes..."