Chapter 37
The heavy silence that had settled over the shack was shattered by the violent creak of the door. The air felt suddenly colder, sharper—like the very atmosphere had bristled with the arrival of someone not welcomed.
Before any of them could react, Severus Snape swept into the room. His dark, menacing presence filled the space instantly, as if he had always been there, lurking in the shadows. His eyes locked onto the scene in front of him, taking in the sight of the bleeding rat, the disarray, and the tension thick enough to choke on.
"Well, well," Snape drawled, his voice a low, dangerous hiss. "What do we have here?"
His gaze flicked from the wounded rat to Harry, then to Sirius, and finally, to Lupin. The look in Snape’s eyes was venomous—disappointment, disdain, and something colder, sharper, flickering just beneath the surface.
"You’ve managed to make a mess, I see," Snape continued, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous, like a snake coiling tighter with each word.
Sirius’s eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, Snape?"
Snape’s lip curled into something akin to a sneer. "That should be obvious, Black. I’ve come to see how much further you’ve managed to drag this situation into chaos."
He glanced at the rat. "And how much further you’ve lowered yourselves. A broken leg? Really, Weasley?"
Harry didn’t flinch. He remained as cold and detached as ever, his eyes never leaving Snape's. "What do you want, Snape?" Harry asked, his voice steady, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Snape’s eyes flickered, his sneer turning into something more calculating, almost intrigued. He stepped further into the room, not bothering to spare a glance for the others as he kept his attention fixed on Harry.
"It’s not what I want," Snape said, his voice now quieter, as if speaking only to Harry. "It’s what you need to understand." He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "You’re not some martyr. You don’t get to play the victim and pretend your choices are justifiable because of what you’ve been through."
Harry didn’t respond, but the weight of Snape’s words sunk into him, as harsh and biting as the cold air.
Sirius, now visibly on edge, stepped forward. "This isn’t the time, Snape," he spat. "Get to the point."
Snape’s gaze didn’t leave Harry. "The point is that I know what you’ve done, Potter. I know your heart isn’t in it, and yet you’ve made a choice. A very... disturbing one. You’ve chosen to maim rather than kill, and that speaks volumes about what kind of person you truly are."
The room was tense, each word like a slow, deliberate strike. Ron, standing stiff beside Hermione, exchanged uneasy glances. They hadn’t expected Snape to arrive. And now, with his sharp tongue slicing through the fragile atmosphere, none of them knew what to say.
Snape’s eyes gleamed as he turned toward the others, speaking as if he had all the answers. "You’ve created a monster out of this boy," he said to Sirius and Lupin, his voice dripping with contempt. "And now, he gets to face the consequences of his choices."
Harry’s expression remained unreadable as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at Snape. "You really think you know me, don’t you?" Harry’s voice was low but firm, his tone cutting through Snape’s words like a whip. "You don’t know a damn thing."
For a moment, Snape seemed taken aback, but his mask of disdain quickly returned. "No," he said coldly. "But I know what you’re becoming." His voice lowered into something dark and dangerous. "I know what you're capable of."
The tension in the room reached its peak. Everyone stood frozen in place, their breaths coming sharp and uneven. The weight of Snape’s words hung heavily over them, and the truth behind them seemed almost unbearable.
"Well, I’m done here," Snape said, his tone final. "I’m not going to waste any more time in this shack of yours. I suggest you all return to your little games. And Potter—" Snape’s gaze fixed once more on Harry, his eyes filled with a cold, harsh understanding. "You better hope that you can live with your choices."