Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 137 Frost Heavy, Drum Cold
Professor McGonagall's lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something, but Dumbledore had already strode toward the door.

Before closing the door, he glanced back at her and nodded.

“Albus…” Professor McGonagall’s voice choked in her throat, turning into a sigh, “This isn’t just your responsibility…”

At that moment, she suddenly realized that the man she had admired for half her life was now a weary old man. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as if some unseen weight was pressing down on them.

The footsteps faded at the end of the corridor, leaving Professor McGonagall alone in the quiet principal's office. The portraits of the old principals were unusually silent. Only the ticking of the silverware spoke of the passage of time.

The storm raged even more fiercely when Dumbledore stepped out of the gates of Hogwarts.

The cold rain lashed against his face, trickling down the folds of his travel cloak.

The castle lights gradually blurred behind us, turning into swaying yellow dots.

“Fox,” he called softly, his voice almost swallowed by the wind and rain.

A phoenix landed on his shoulder, its warm feathers gently brushing against his cheek, evaporating the surrounding rainwater and forming a hazy halo, creating a rainless space for Dumbledore.

A flash of light, and they vanished from the spot, leaving only a few golden afterglows slowly fading in the rain.

The London night was soaked by rain. On the streets of Westminster, the dim streetlights looked like ink spots blurred by water. Dumbledore stood under an eave, watching the rainwater form tiny eddies at the drains in the asphalt, swallowing up fallen leaves and dust.

“It’s time to rest, Fox,” he said softly, carefully placing the phoenix into the inner pocket. Fox obediently shrank in size, becoming a bird the size of a common cardinal, and gently rubbed his fingers against the inside of the pocket.

Dumbledore adjusted his cloak and stepped into the drizzle. He seemed to blend into the rain, becoming a part of the city's night.

He walked forward at a leisurely pace, his boots making a soft sound as they stepped into puddles, yet miraculously not splashing a single drop of water.

Muggles holding umbrellas hurried past him, circling him strangely, as if subconsciously sensing the presence that shouldn't be disturbed.

A woman carrying shopping bags suddenly changed her route and nearly bumped into a lamppost; two boys on their way home spontaneously separated and walked around him on either side, unaware of why they were doing so.

Dumbledore kept his wand hidden in his sleeve, ready to deal with any unexpected situation. But on the surface, he seemed to be just an old man walking in the rain, perhaps an eccentric scholar, or a hermit who was not interested in worldly affairs.

He searched the streets for traces of magic, his eyes scanning every corner, sensing any unusual fluctuations in the air.

Soon, Dumbledore moved into the residential area.

As I turned the corner, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out from the bakery.

Through the misty shop window, Dumbledore saw the shopkeeper's family sitting around a small table in the back room. The father was telling a funny story, the two children were laughing so hard they were doubled over, and the mother was ladling steaming stew into bowls decorated with sunflowers.

These ordinary scenes seemed so distant to him, as if they belonged to another world.

His fingers unconsciously traced the long-healed scar on the twisted bridge of his nose. How many years had it been? He had always been protecting other people's families, yet he could never mend his own broken one.

He walked alone through the streets, passing one intersection after another. There was nothing here that belonged to him; to be precise, in this world, apart from the Hogwarts dinner party, he had no other opportunity to share food with his family.

Aberforth, his brother, had joined the Order of the Phoenix. But Dumbledore knew that he had never forgiven himself.

“We are fighting the same enemy,” Aberforth had once told him, his blue eyes, which resembled Dumbledore’s, devoid of any warmth in the dim light of the Hog’s Head. “I sincerely hope you understand that.”

Dumbledore understood, of course, that Aberforth's fight against Voldemort wasn't because he was Voldemort's brother, but simply because Aberforth was a man with a strong sense of justice. He couldn't bear to see the tragedies of parents and children being separated by Voldemort, just as he didn't want to recall his own separation from his children.

He shook his head, trying to dispel these inappropriate memories.

As the rain subsided, Dumbledore left Westminster and went to another village in England where Muggles had recently gone missing.

Before the distortion from Apparition had completely subsided, he could smell the damp earth and grass.

The night in Badley Barberton was peaceful; apart from the missing person posters plastered on the telephone poles and scattered on the ground, soaked by the rain, nothing seemed to have happened.

The edges of the paper were soaked and curled, and the faces in the photo were blurred by the rain, making it difficult to make out their features.

Dumbledore stopped and reached out to smooth down a piece of paper that had been blown by the wind. The missing person poster showed a smiling couple and their three children.

The eldest daughter looked to be about to enter middle school and was already as tall as her mother; the little girl was about eight years old with two braids; the boy looked even younger, missing a front tooth, and grinned foolishly at the camera. The entire family had disappeared three days prior.

“The Carters,” Dumbledore murmured, “last appeared in their own garden…” His voice trailed off. The rain blurred the colors of the children’s smiling faces in the photograph, like memories washed away.

Before he knew it, Dumbledore had arrived at the outside of a simple brick house. From the mailbox by the door, he knew this was the Carter family's house.

In the small garden in front of the brick house, a small plastic windmill turned listlessly in the rain, occasionally creaking. The windows were dark, with a layer of frost on the glass; outside the house, police tape stretched out, the yellow and black stripes fluttering in the wind, making a soft pattering sound.

"The true form appears... traces of humanity emerge... the truth is revealed..." A series of incantations flowed from his mouth.

A faint blue light flickered at the tip of the wand, but it vanished in an instant. There was no trace of dark magic, no sign of struggle; the house seemed to be under a spell of oblivion, as if even the air itself did not remember that life had ever lived there.

Dumbledore wandered through city after city, through street after street, and into window after window.

On Crescent Street in Yexi, he saw a police car parked on the side of the road.

Fog clung to the car windows, making two blurry figures vaguely visible. Dumbledore slowed his pace, listening to their conversation.

"...Let me tell you, this was absolutely an organized kidnapping." The young policeman said indignantly, taking a big bite of his hamburger, ketchup smearing onto his uniform. "Eight people, overnight!"

“I’ve never seen a case like this before.” The older policeman looked worried, squinting at the scenery outside the car window. He rubbed his temples wearily. “There were no signs of forced entry, no fingerprints, and the CCTV cameras on the street only captured them going home normally… and then they just vanished like that.”

"Those bastards," the young policeman clenched his fist, "Don't let me run into them!"

“Perhaps we should pray we don’t run into them.” The older policeman gave a bitter laugh, a laugh that contained a fear that too many young people couldn’t comprehend. “We don’t even know if they’re human or ghosts.” He lowered his voice. “The chief received a call from above this morning, ordering the investigation to be halted…you know what I mean?” Dumbledore paused for a moment by the police car, finally sensing a magical fluctuation in the darkness.

Not far away, he saw two people dressed similarly to him, wearing black cloaks. They stood in the shadows of the street corner, their silver masks reflecting a cold light.

The two men casually surveyed the surrounding houses, and upon seeing the police car's markings, they even approached it and provocatively circled it a few times, commenting on the incompetence of the Muggle law enforcement officers.

Their laughter was as harsh as metal scraping against metal.

“Look at these Muggle protectors,” the male Death Eater scoffed, tapping on the police car window with his wand. The policeman inside looked out in confusion. “What kind of name is ‘King Chapman’? He can’t even see us right in front of him.”

“Stop playing around,” another female voice warned, this one even hoarser, as if her vocal cords had been burned. “The master wants fresh material, not your entertainment time.”

Dumbledore hid under the Illusion Charm and quietly followed them.

Finally, they stopped in front of a small house with lights on not far away – “25 Crescent Street, Wild Creek, the Wells family home.”

Through the curtains, Dumbledore saw a young woman busy in the kitchen, her husband sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper, and two little boys building blocks on the carpet.

The heartwarming scene of an ordinary family brought out the predatory smiles of the Death Eaters.

“This is the place,” said the female Death Eater in the lead, her voice filled with cruel excitement. “Two adults and two children will save us a lot of trouble.”

A flash of red light streaked across the sky, sending splinters flying. But the explosion's light and shadow were swallowed by magic, and the street remained silent. The police car around the corner remained motionless.

The Death Eaters stepped over the threshold and entered the house.

Standing at the front door, Dumbledore could see his masters screaming, but no sound reached his ears.

He bypassed several Death Eaters before he could hear their voices.

"Who are you—" Mrs. Wells' voice was distorted with fear, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Mr. Wells stood up and stood in front of the child, grabbing a vase as a weapon, even though his legs were trembling slightly.

A snicker came from beneath the male Death Eater mask, and the vase in Mr. Wells's hand transformed into a squeaking, wriggling mouse.

"Ah—!" he screamed, flinging the rat from his hand. But he didn't move, remaining in front of the children, his voice trembling, "What do you want? Please, at least spare the children—"

“A Muggle’s child is always a Muggle.” The male Death Eater grinned maliciously, pointing his wand at Mr. Wells. “You should feel honored, you filthy pig.”

The Death Eaters skillfully knocked the family unconscious and then bound them up like livestock.

“Another batch,” the male Death Eater let out another piercing laugh, his voice hoarse. “The master will be satisfied. Do you think we’ll have a chance to learn a few tricks this time?”

"Stop talking nonsense and get them away." The witch waved her wand impatiently. "The Muggle enforcers here are useless, but they'll still cause trouble if they're discovered."

Dumbledore's fingers gently stroked the Elder Wand, but he remained still. Fawkes stirred slightly in his pocket, as if sensing the turmoil within him.

He stood in the shadows, calmly observing the two Death Eaters' every move. He didn't want to do this, but this time, he had no choice.

Now is not the time. He could easily deal with the two Death Eaters and save the family. But that would make it difficult to know where the other missing people were taken, and what Voldemort was actually doing.

Sometimes, for the sake of a greater good, we may have to endure the evil before us.

As the Death Eater magic took effect, everything that had been destroyed at the Wells house was restored to its original state, and all traces of the damage were silently erased.

“I really don’t understand why our master wants us to erase the traces,” the male Death Eater complained, kicking a block aside. “These are such beautiful medals.”

“Shut up,” the female Death Eater leader said, pulling out a small black bottle. “Take the key. Activate in half a minute.” She commanded, “You go ahead, I’ll see if I can find a few more Muggles.”

Dumbledore made a quick decision. He approached silently and, before the Portkey could be activated, slipped a phoenix feather into Mr. Wells' coat pocket.

The male Death Eater and the Wells family he abducted have disappeared.

In the empty house, only Dumbledore and the female Death Eater stood in the center of the living room.

The boy's building blocks were still on the floor, and the half-finished tower collapsed with a crash when touched lightly by the tip of the witch's wand.

“A few hundred more people will be enough to satisfy the master’s needs.” She removed her mask, took a deep breath, and revealed a young but cold face.

Dumbledore then recognized her as the Slytherin daughter of House Selwyn—the Slytherin who turned the vixen into a music box during the OWLs exams.

Back then, though arrogant, she still possessed a pure love for magic in her eyes. Now, a strange piety lingered on her face as she murmured to herself in the empty room, "Before long, we won't have to hide anymore..."

After erasing all traces and leaving Wells' house, Selwyn carefully selected a new prey.

The Muggle family was powerless against her wand, and Dumbledore once again left a phoenix feather on his victim.

He knew he couldn't wait any longer. There must be many Death Eaters operating across the country. Perhaps it wouldn't be long before they captured enough Muggles.

After Selwyn left with her prey, Dumbledore sensed the location of Fawkes' feathers.

He closed his eyes, letting the phoenix's magic guide him.

　Thanks to the following for their monthly tickets: The Book Thief, A Thousand Years of Wind and Rain, Pigs Can Fly, and Earl Hall.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)