touchnovel Chapter 313 Stand on my side
Chapter 313 Stand on my side
Chapter 313 Stand on My Side (5.2K) (1/2) (Seeking Monthly Tickets at the End of the Month)
Lynch's words echoed in the cramped underground office, each one like a poisoned dagger, repeatedly piercing Snape's reason.
"No—this is impossible—" Snape shook his head instinctively, trying to take a step back, but his leg hit the chair, and he fell backward, his back hitting the chair back heavily with a thud.
He tried to find logical flaws in Lynch's words, his voice distorted with resistance: "You're lying—Dumbledore—he wouldn't—" But inappropriately, the image of Dumbledore's blue eyes, sometimes too sharp, as if they could measure any sacrifice, flashed through his mind.
"Where's the evidence?!" He suddenly raised his head, his eyes burning with the last flame of hope, staring intently at Lin Qi, as if as long as the other party couldn't produce any evidence, all of this was just a nightmare.
Lynch's eyes remained unwavering: "Remember when Voldemort tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone two years ago? You only learned what happened afterward, but you were actually an indispensable part of it—in Dumbledore's original plan—remember that fire-resistant potion you set up in the dungeon?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. Of course he remembered that potion. It was a potion that Dumbledore had specifically instructed him to give before the start of the school year. It was not only fireproof, but more importantly, it could stabilize one's mind.
Lynch continued, "It was that potion that temporarily severed the soul connection between Harry and Voldemort, allowing Harry to face Voldemort's gaze directly."
"And then there's his ability to talk to snakes. Neither the Potter nor the Evans family, going back a thousand years, had anyone who spoke Parseltongue, yet Voldemort is the most famous Parseltongue since Slytherin—are these all just coincidences, Severus?"
Lynch's words were like the most intricate alchemy, forging a series of "coincidences" that Snape had deliberately ignored into a cold chain that he could not break free from.
Fireproof Demon — Snake Language — Soul Connection —
He got it.
He finally understood why Lynch wanted him to "experience" Harry's death.
That wasn't meant to humiliate him, but to make him see clearly that in Dumbledore's, and perhaps Lynch's, grand scheme aimed at eliminating Voldemort, Harry Potter was never a "person" who needed to be protected to the end, but a "weapon" destined to be consumed, a "container" that ultimately needed to be destroyed.
Snape froze in his chair, as if countless sharp spikes had suddenly sprung from the cold leather and wood, pinning him to the spot.
He no longer tried to refute, nor did he demand evidence.
The evidence Lynch provided wasn't particularly compelling; he was simply piecing together those dusty, unwillingly confronted fragments from the depths of his memory and presenting them to himself.
This is enough.
Because it was proof that he subconsciously discovered but which was once rejected by his own reason.
"No—" This time, the sound that came out of his throat was no longer a fierce denial, but a suffocating groan filled with despair.
The flame of hope in his eyes was extinguished, as if it had been plunged into the coldest ice water, hissing as it turned into a wisp of twisted, painful smoke.
His life-saving belief, which he had relied on for years to protect Lily's son as a form of atonement, crumbled at this moment, shattering into cold, lifeless fragments.
His so-called sacrifice, forbearance, and walking on the edge of a knife ultimately served a plan that might push the child to his death.
He was overwhelmed by a tremendous sense of absurdity and emptiness.
He felt like a fool, a pathetic clown being played by fate and higher-level players.
Snape abruptly raised his hand and pressed hard against his temple, his knuckles turning white from the excessive force.
In his mind, Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes were no longer merely measuring sacrifice; they had become a vast,
The gears turn slowly, and Harry Potter—the boy with Lily's eyes—is just one of the crucial, pre-placed parts.
What about himself?
He, Severus Snape, the man who called himself a redeemer and a double agent, was nothing more than another cog—a cog placed by Dumbledore himself to ensure that the "weapon" would run on its predetermined path.
He recalled every time he expressed his concern for Harry's situation to Dumbledore, the old man would always reassure him in that knowing, calm tone, telling him about "necessary risks" and that "everything is under control."
Control?
So-called control was actually pushing that child into a direct confrontation with the Dark Lord, using his life and soul as a gamble on a vague prophecy!
A strong, physiological feeling of nausea surged up from my stomach.
He pledged allegiance to Dumbledore so that Lily's bloodline could survive, but what Dumbledore was doing was meticulously planning one "tempering" after another against this bloodline.
If Harry really does have a piece of the Dark Lord's soul inside him—then wouldn't Dumbledore sending him to face Voldemort be "what does he take him for?" Snape's voice was terribly hoarse, almost out of tune, as if it had been rubbed on sandpaper.
"Using that boy—as a one-time weapon to destroy the Dark Lord?" He looked up, his gaze not focused on Lynch for the first time, but pierced through him, looking towards the dirty, cobweb-covered corner of the office, as if he could see Dumbledore's terrifying ghost with his half-moon spectacles there.
His reason was being devoured by something larger and colder—not simple anger, but a chilling realization, deep in his bones, after his faith had completely collapsed, that he had been a pawn from beginning to end.
After a long while, Snape took a deep breath, the damp, musty air of the basement filling his lungs with a rusty bitterness.
He slowly lowered his hand from his temples, and his dark eyes, which always flashed with mockery and malice, were now filled with a deathly darkness that had been completely emptied out.
He looked at Lynch, his voice low and steady, yet more chilling than any of his previous outbursts: "You went through all this trouble just to tell me this truth? You're so kind... Lynch... tell me, what do you really want?"
Snape stared intently at Lynch, his black eyes like two bottomless pools of cold water, trying to discern lies and schemes from every subtle expression on Lynch's face.
Lynch met his gaze without flinching, his tone clear and calm: "I want you on my side, Severus."
A short, cold laugh escaped Snape's throat.
"On your side?" he repeated, as if he'd heard a terrible joke. "Your determination to destroy the Dark Lord seems no more than Dumbledore's. So tell me, why should I jump from one player's chessboard to another ambitious man's chariot? Why should I trust you?"
"Our resolve may be similar, but our paths and goals are different." Lynch's voice deepened, tinged with sincerity. "I began hunting dark wizards for a simple reason—I didn't want the tragedy that happened to me to happen to any innocent person. Dumbledore chose the most economical path, sacrificing one to save the many. But I," he paused, his gaze sharpening, "wanted to find that different path myself, and to bear all the consequences that might come with it."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming more serious: "Besides, do you really think that after knowing all this, I would willingly sacrifice Lily-Evans's child merely as a bomb destined to explode?"
"Lily's child—" Snape murmured, the name like an old scar, still fresh with pain even after being torn open. He closed his eyes, then opened them again after a moment, his eyes filled with an overwhelming sense of confusion and struggle. "I don't know—"
Lynch. I've—I don't know what I can still believe in anymore.
The foundation of his beliefs over the past decade has crumbled, and everything before him seems shrouded in mist.
Lynch looked at him: "Then believe this: the idea and possibility of me sacrificing Harry Potter to eliminate Voldemort is much smaller than that of Albus Dumbledore. This is the most genuine assurance I can give you at the moment."
A long silence fell over the basement, with only the fire in the fireplace still burning, casting shifting light on the two men's faces.
Snape sat frozen in place, his mind reeling with turmoil.
He scrutinized Lynch, this familiar yet strange, dangerous man who might offer another "possibility."
Dumbledore's plan was cold and efficient, like a precise array of runes, and Harry's sacrifice seemed to be a preordained end.
Lynch's future is uncertain, full of variables, and may even lead to destruction, but—at least he mentioned "different paths," and when he mentioned Lily's name, it carried a concrete weight that was different from Dumbledore's macro-level "great love."
This weight was precisely the only thing Snape could understand and was willing to risk everything for.
Finally, the taut spine, which seemed ready to snap at any moment, loosened slightly.
Snape's voice was dry and almost inaudible, yet it echoed clearly in the confined space: "So—what do you need me to do?"
A smile crept onto Lin Qi's lips; his long-term psychological maneuvering had finally paid off at this moment: "I need you..."
""
Hogsmeade Village, early morning.
The winter sun was pale and weak, barely illuminating the remaining mess on the streets of Hogsmeade Village—a few walls that had been temporarily repaired by magic were particularly conspicuous, and there was still a faint smell of gunpowder and the burnt smell of strange magic in the air.
Although most shops were open, the "Open" signs hanging at the entrances looked rather listless. There were only a few pedestrians on the street, and most of them were in a hurry and rarely stopped to talk.
However, beneath the seemingly calm surface, a suppressed yet excited undercurrent surged behind closed doors and windows, in the shadows of alley corners, and in hushed whispers.
Inside the Three Brooms Bar.
Ms. Rosmerta scrubbed a glass that was already sparkling clean, her brow furrowed.
The bar was less crowded than usual, with the few remaining tables crammed together in a corner, heads huddled together, speaking in hushed tones.
"—It's absolutely true," a witch wrapped in a thick scarf whispered to her companion, her eyes scanning the surroundings warily. "My cousin's brother-in-law works for the Department of Magical Creature Control, and he was urgently summoned last night to deal with—that—traces." She vaguely mentioned the word "werewolf," but the listener immediately understood, a look of fear and curiosity appearing on their face.
"The key point is Peter!" another wizard interjected, his voice hoarse. "Peter Pettigrew! The one with the Order of Merlin, First Class! He's not dead! Last night, someone saw Peter turn into a rat and run away in that clearing at the village entrance! If he really is a hero, why would he run away!"
"Merlin's beard—" his companion gasped, "That traitor to Potter—it really is him!?"
"That's it! That's Peter!" The wizard nodded vigorously, his expression contorted. "I heard he confessed that he betrayed the Potters, and he knelt on the ground begging—begging that person—" When he said "that person," his voice was almost a whisper, and he subconsciously touched his left forearm.
Those around who overheard the snippets of conversation wore expressions of shock and fear.
Even though more than a decade has passed, talking about "that person" still sends chills down one's spine.
Outside the secondhand store.
Two old wizards pretended to browse the secondhand telescopes in the shop window, but their conversation had nothing to do with the products.
"—It wasn't just Peter," one of the voices said hoarsely. "Have you heard? Last night, it wasn't just one of his henchmen—there was also that werewolf—" He gestured with his eyes toward Hogwarts.
"Professor Lupin, who often comes over on weekends?" another shook his head incredulously. "He seems quite gentle—but last night, I heard that howl through the window. It's definitely not an ordinary werewolf; it must be affected by—that person's curse!" He quickly linked the werewolf's appearance to a darker force, as if that could explain everything that was amiss.
"What about Blake? Is he really innocent?"
"Who knows—but Peter is still alive, and that means—the Ministry of Magic is in big trouble this time."
"Trouble?" The first wizard sneered, his voice even lower. "What I'm worried about is that 'that person's' servant has returned and caused such a commotion—you tell me, isn't 'that person' himself also—"
The two shivered simultaneously, said nothing more, exchanged a worried glance, and hurriedly left the shop window.
Pig Head Bar.
The atmosphere here is even darker and more suspicious.
The grimy windowpanes blocked out most of the light and also prevented outsiders from peeping in. Aberforth-Dumbledore, the bar owner, silently wiped the glasses as always, seemingly oblivious to the upheavals happening outside.
In the shadows of a corner, several wizards with their faces covered by hoods were exchanging information.
"—The source is reliable; Peter was indeed helped to escape successfully."
"Someone is there to meet him, could it be that Master is really going to—"
"Shut up! Don't make wild guesses! Do you want to die?" another voice snapped, "Remember, we know nothing, we haven't heard anything. The Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore's people are probably scouting everywhere like the Nifflers right now."
They exchanged a knowing glance, downed their fiery whiskeys in one gulp, left a few silver siccoes, and quickly and silently disappeared through the back door of the bar.
In the living room with the curtains drawn, and in the cluttered backyard, rumors spread in a more distorted form.
"I heard that Peter's ability to turn into a mouse is due to dark magic given to him by 'that person'!"
"Black was tortured in Azkaban for twelve years; he might have gone mad to associate with werewolves—"
"I heard that the werewolf and Peter are in cahoots?"
"That Potter boy—he was there! I heard he was attacked by Dementors, almost—oh, if James and Lily knew—"
"Can the Ministry of Magic still be trusted? They gave a traitor's medal! And they imprisoned a real hero for twelve years!"
"How much did Dumbledore know? Why did he hire a werewolf?"
"The scariest thing is, if Peter comes back, will that person also..."
Fear, like invisible mold, proliferated in every corner of the village.
People dared not speak out loud, dared not name names, but fragments of words such as "Peter Pettigrew," "betrayal," "that person," and "the servant is back" were repeatedly pieced together and fermented in private whispers.
Hogsmeade Village, a wizarding village that was once filled with laughter and joy, was enveloped in a long-lost chill on a crisp early winter morning, a chill stemming from memories of the Voldemort era.
As the rising sun casts its light on more places, the shadows of fluttering wings are also cast.
Thousands of owls, as if following some ancient ritual, clutched the latest issue of the Daily Prophet printed in urgent print, flying through windows and landing on dining tables, porches, and eagerly outstretched arms.
The bold, impactful headline on the front page instantly grabbed everyone's attention:
[Hogsmeade Night: Horror, Betrayal, and Chaos! Black and the werewolf professor orchestrate a great escape, while the real culprit, Peter, remains at large!]
The article, written by Rita Skeeter, a senior reporter for The Daily Prophet, vividly portrays an atmosphere of panic and uncertainty:
The book opens with a detailed description of how the "notorious fugitive Sirius Black" appears in Hogsmeade, how he "attempts to kidnap" the savior Harry Potter, and how Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Remus Lupin is actually an "unregistered werewolf" who "transforms out of control" on the night of the full moon, posing a "deadly threat" to students and Aurors.
Regarding Peter Pettigrew, the article acknowledges his "miraculous" survival and reappearance, but remains vague. It describes the situation as "extremely complex," suggesting he may have been "threatened or controlled by Black for a long time," and even proposes a theory that Peter may have "endured humiliation" and "tried to stop Black" at a crucial moment, but failed. His confession of betrayal is only briefly mentioned as "some unverified statements made in the midst of confusion," with the emphasis that "the truth awaits further investigation and verification by the Ministry of Magic."
The article devotes considerable space to praising Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge's "decisive command" and Rufus Scrimgeour, the Auror's Chief of Staff, and his Aurors' "heroic actions," stating that they protected the public in "extremely dangerous and complex circumstances" and are "doing everything they can to capture the escaped Peter."
At the end of the article, the author raises questions, such as "Why would Headmaster Albus Dumbledore hire a werewolf professor?" and "Was the safety of Hogwarts students adequately guaranteed?", cleverly shifting some of the blame onto Hogwarts.