[HP: I became Snape]-Chapter 182: Encounter

The voice stopped abruptly.

Outside the door stood a man with neatly combed short brown hair, his features faintly reminiscent of a younger Dumbledore, though the lines were colder, harder, and his gaze entirely different.

He and the white-haired Dumbledore, clad in star-and-moon pajamas beneath a forget-me-not blue robe, stood across the captain’s cabin, their eyes locked on each other.

This was the moment Severus Snape had dreaded most: two old men, entangled for half a lifetime, meeting unexpectedly without warning.

After what felt like an eternity, Gellert Grindelwald let out a faint breath, as if drawing air.

His gaze slid past Dumbledore, taking in the bloodstains on Remus Lupin’s clothes, before he strolled into the captain’s cabin with the ease of a man wandering a garden.

Dumbledore’s eyes slowly shifted from Grindelwald to Professor McGonagall, who was attempting to slip away with James Potter and the others, silently questioning her.

A flicker of panic crossed McGonagall’s face. She ducked her head, pretending to adjust her robes, and, in a rare moment, avoided the headmaster’s gaze.

She gave Sirius Black, who was still dazed, a sharp push in the back, her voice low and urgent. “What are you standing there for? Move!” Head bowed, she practically shoved James, Sirius, and Remus along the cabin wall, skirting past Grindelwald toward the open door.

Seeing this, Snape immediately moved to follow, hoping to discreetly join McGonagall and the others in escaping this volatile situation.

But just as he neared the door, about to step out, a silent spell struck his back.

Snape’s legs and arms stiffened instantly, snapping together with a sharp crack. His entire body, from neck to toes, turned rigid as wood. Only his eyes could still move; otherwise, he had lost all control.

As he began to topple backward, the last thing he saw was McGonagall’s glance over her shoulder—a mix of sympathy and “you’re on your own.” Then, without hesitation, she pulled the captain’s cabin door shut, leaving him alone inside.

“It’s over,” Snape thought, the words flashing through his mind.

Just as he braced for a hard crash onto the floor, a gentle magical force seized his robes, yanking him upward and spinning him midair to face Dumbledore instead of the cabin’s center.

The Full-Body Bind lifted as quietly as it had struck.

Snape regained control, stumbling slightly before steadying himself.

He looked up to find Dumbledore standing calmly by the fireplace, as if the wand that had cast the spell hadn’t moved at all. Grindelwald, meanwhile, had sauntered to the sitting area in the corner, settling into an armchair with relaxed poise. He’d even conjured a steaming cup of tea, delicately skimming foam from the surface with the saucer.

Snape composed himself, smoothing his rumpled robes, and adopted a casual tone as he addressed Dumbledore. “Professor, if there’s nothing else, I have two second-year Potions classes tomorrow morning and need to prepare my lesson plans. Perhaps… I should retire for the night?”

Dumbledore merely watched him with those piercing blue eyes, saying nothing. Snape’s stomach twisted, but he pressed on, his voice strained. “You did say you’d understand…”

A smile, almost disarmingly kind, spread across Dumbledore’s face. He gestured toward the sitting area, his tone gentle. “Severus, don’t be in such a hurry. Come, sit, have some tea. I think we all need a moment to talk things over.”

Snape’s eye twitched, his heart sinking. He glanced at Grindelwald, who sipped his tea with an impassive expression, then back at Dumbledore, whose smile grew ever more benevolent. Reluctantly, he shuffled toward the sitting area.

Dumbledore followed, tapping the coffee table with his wand.

The teapot floated up, pouring a deep crimson tea into an empty cup for Snape, then one for Dumbledore.

Snape lifted his cup, staring at the rippling surface, waiting for Dumbledore to speak while his mind raced through possible explanations.

The cabin was quiet save for three people, the crackle of the fire, and the soft clink of teacups.

Thankfully, Dumbledore didn’t keep him waiting long.

He set down his cup, the base chiming softly against the saucer. Then, the headmaster looked up, his voice steady. “Severus, is this what you meant by ‘unconventional measures’ taken for the safety of all?”

Before Snape could formulate a response, Grindelwald stirred.

Clink. He set his teacup down on the table, the sound light but deliberate.

Dumbledore and Snape both turned to him.

Grindelwald leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes meeting Dumbledore’s. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said slowly, his tone laced with mockery. “Wasn’t it him,” he nodded toward Snape, “acting on your will, seeking my help?”

“Cough, cough—” Snape choked on his tea, seizing the chance to jump in. “Er… indeed. When Professor Dumbledore was unconscious, the situation was dire. One night, as I sat by his bedside, worrying about what to do next, I… I clearly felt his lingering will, his guidance…”

“It’s hard to put into words,” he continued, his face earnest as he met Grindelwald’s gaze, “but it was Professor Dumbledore’s powerful subconscious call that drove me to risk everything, to travel to the continent and seek your aid. It must have been the instinct of a great wizard, even in a coma, guiding us for the greater good!”

No sooner had Snape finished than Dumbledore, sounding puzzled, countered, “Is that so? I don’t recall any such thing.”

Snape’s heart raced, caught between two tigers. What? he thought. Won’t take the olive branch? These two old men better not start a fight…

“Professor,” Snape pressed, unable to hold back, “the Invisibility Cloak was found and destroyed under his guidance! And because of him, we’ve managed to secure and develop a mole within the Death Eaters.”

“That mole believed that even without you, we had a wizard powerful enough to hold the line, to prevent total collapse!”

To bolster his case, Snape dug into his robes’ inner pocket and pulled out the dull, magicless fragments of a locket, slamming them onto the table. “Professor, look at this! Look at what we’ve gained! This is what our mole delivered!”

“And this,” he continued, not waiting for Dumbledore’s reaction, as he yanked out a diary with a gaping hole burned through its center, placing it beside the locket, “is another Horcrux—Riddle’s diary from his school days.” He pointed at Grindelwald. “Destroyed by his hand!”

“Professor,” Snape said, catching his breath, “to find and destroy these things, to face unprecedented threats, we risked our lives… And now, would you still fault these so-called ‘unconventional measures’? Without them, would we be sitting here, sipping tea, making this kind of progress against evil?”

Dumbledore didn’t respond to Snape’s fervent outburst. His gaze was fixed on the Horcrux fragments, his face betraying unmasked astonishment.

He reached out cautiously, picking up the locket and diary, examining the residual magical traces with trembling fingers.

Seeing Dumbledore’s focus shift, Snape exhaled quietly in relief. He steadied his breathing and glanced at Grindelwald, who had remained silent, as if enjoying a private performance. Snape decided to press his advantage.

“Sir,” he said, softening his tone, “though it was my decision to seek you out, would I have dared approach you if you weren’t the only person in the world both willing and able to help Albus Dumbledore in his hour of need?”

“The world knows you two as former rivals, enemies. If Professor Dumbledore hadn’t, intentionally or not, let slip certain details about you—like his regret upon hearing you were confined alone in a cell—how could I have had the confidence to approach an utterly unknown, powerful figure?”

Snape paused, watching Grindelwald’s reaction. A flicker of emotion passed through the man’s gray eyes before he looked at Dumbledore.

“Professor,” Snape continued, “if, after all these years in that tower, his thoughts, desires, and wishes hadn’t changed at all, if there wasn’t even a hint of… something different in his heart, why would he be here now, expending effort to protect a ship full of people he has no connection to? Why bother teaching them in his spare time?”

At Snape’s half-truths, Dumbledore’s fingers, holding the diary, trembled slightly. He didn’t call out the lies but remained silent, studying the Horcrux.

Snape wiped mental sweat, the weight in his chest lifting halfway. The headmaster hadn’t contradicted him, which meant Dumbledore at least partially accepted Grindelwald’s role and actions. He’d cleared this hurdle—for now.

After confirming both Horcruxes were destroyed, Dumbledore set the diary down gently, exhaling as if unburdened.

Without looking at Grindelwald, he spoke softly, as if to the air. “Are you going to keep that face?”

Grindelwald paused for a few seconds, then gave a derisive chuckle.

Without any visible motion, his face began to shift—muscles and bones reshaping, brown hair fading to silver-white, his features settling into the weathered lines of age.

The room fell into an odd silence.

Two white-haired old men sat across a small coffee table, barely half a meter apart.

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly and said, “You’ve aged.”

Grindelwald’s voice was hoarse but carried its usual mockery. “And you, who can’t even take care of yourself, nearly sleeping forever, have the gall to say that to me?”

Dumbledore didn’t argue, only nodded silently, his gaze dropping to his knees, fingers tracing his plain wand.

The two old men said no more.

For Snape, caught between them, the tension was unbearable—like needles pricking his skin, ants crawling over him.

Just as he prepared to excuse himself again, Dumbledore looked up, forcibly shifting his focus to the matter at hand, his tone calm once more.

“Severus,” he said, tapping the table’s debris, “this makes four Horcruxes destroyed. That leaves, I believe, two more: Marvolo Gaunt’s ring and Hufflepuff’s cup. As for our next steps…”

“The ring?” Snape’s heart skipped. The Resurrection Stone, pried from that very ring, was still in his pocket. But now was not the time to draw Dumbledore’s attention to impossible dreams or painful memories.

He cut in before Dumbledore could elaborate. “Professor, I’ve already uncovered some leads on the remaining Horcruxes and am pursuing them urgently. However,” he gestured to the magical clock on the wall, its hands pointing to the early hours, “it’s quite late.”

“As for the next steps,” Snape stood quickly, “we can discuss them another time. I won’t disturb you further tonight. Good night.”

This time, Dumbledore looked at him and, without objection, nodded slowly.

Relief flooded Snape. He turned, strode to the door, twisted the handle, and slipped out.

In the dimly lit corridor, he gently closed the captain’s cabin door.

In the final moment before the door shut, he caught one last glimpse inside: under the warm yellow glow of the fireplace, two white-haired old men, one sitting, one standing.