Blinded by magical light, Every piece of flying debris—hung frozen in mid‑air; the swaying, groaning walls fell utterly silent.
For a split second, the whole world felt eerily still, like time had stopped.
Then—
BOOM!
A deafening blast tore through everything: the space convulsed like an uncorked soda bottle, the Extension Charm shattered, and its vast hidden space burst out, hurling everything outward.
"Up!"
Anton could not cast a proper flying spell, yet he knew magic's core truth: will is power. If it burns fierce enough—beyond ordinary limits—words and wand gestures matter less; magic bends to sheer will.
His broom sliced through swirling debris and churning winds, darting swiftly ahead, and lifted both him and Anna high into the sky.
At that moment, Snape unleashed a torrent of curses. A beam of dark light tore through the air, struck Pedro square in the chest, and blasted everything aside.
A gush of blood sprayed outward; his puppet and shield vanished. He crumpled like a rag doll and plummeted toward the sea.
The broom dipped sharply, its tail flicking out to snag Pedro by the coat and hold him suspended in mid‑air.
Anton wanted nothing to do with such a burden—not when a terrified little girl was already pressed tight against him. Anna still clung the heavy suitcase fiercely, and the extra weight dragged them downward, making it impossible to climb.
Just then, a werewolf burst from the rubble, its massive claws swiping viciously straight for Snape's face.
Whoosh!
Snape twisted away, spinning a full three‑sixty degrees as he whirled past Anton and plunge downward.
Splash.
Massive waves surged upward, soaking all three of them to the bone.
Roaring, the beast dropped to all fours and glared furiously up at Anton and the others hovering above the waves. It scrabbled for debris amidst the ruins and hurled it straight at them.
"Oh shit!" Anton cursed under his breath, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs.
He jerked the broom sharply, swinging Pedro—still dangling from the tip—toward a large wooden plank floating below, then surged upward and shot into the sky
WHOOSHHHHHH!
Stones, beams, and cauldrons rained down like cannonballs. Anton swerved and wove through the barrage—all those chases with Fiennes had made him a skilled rider.
Just then, a dark figure erupted from the waves and shot skyward, slicing cleanly through the air.
"Snape!" Anton gasped, stunned yet flooded with relief.
He glided effortlessly through the air, carried only by the wind—no broom, no charmed object, nothing.
A genuine Flight Charm!
Anton had only ever seen glimpses of this magic before. Throughout the series, only two beings were said to fly unaided: Snape… and Voldemort.
Rumor says that the Dark Lord himself had devised this advanced sorcery.
"Wow…" Anton's eyes shone as he watched, utterly captivated.
Snape hovered with effortless poise—aloof, cold, and radiating pure menace. He swept his gaze across the chaos, then fixed it directly on Anton.
Swish!
Anton shrank back under that piercing stare, watching as Snape raised his wand‑arm.
"Professor Snape!" His voice cracked, brimming with emotion. "I was totally sure we were goners! This is insane—you're alive! You're actually here! Hahaha… you really are amazing… my absolute hero!"
Giddy with exhilaration, he swayed wildly on his broom, nearly tumbling off before he clamped his hands tight around the handle, heart hammering at the close call.
Snape's lip twitched ever so slightly—barely noticeable. Without a word, he turned his gaze toward the werewolf prowling across the island.
"Lupin!"
Moonlight bathed the island. Trapped by the sea, the werewolf scrambled wildly back and forth, roaring in frustration and snarling up at them.
Snape watched in cold silence, then slowly raised his wand once more.
"Snape!"
A voice called out from a distance.
Anton shot him an anxious look. "You're not actually gonna kill him, right? Don't let that scary act fool you—deep down he's just a poor guy who got bitten and cursed. He never chose any of this."
Snape turned and met the boy's wide, earnest gaze.
Swoosh!
A curse tore through the air, whistling so close it ruffled Anton's hair. Blistering heat radiated from it's trail, raising instant goosebumps along his neck.
Even so, Anton held his ground, his gaze locked on Snape, unyielding and resolute.
"Professor Snape… killing's just wrong!" Anton called out, plain and simple but dead serious—straight from that honest, good heart of his.
"You're my hero, y'know? How could you ever hurt anyone like that? Back when you fought alongside Dumbledore and helped beat the Dark Lord, everyone spoke of your deeds with awe. You've no clue how big a deal you were—how much hope you gave everyone in the wizarding world."
Then his tone cracked, thick with feigned tears and disbelief, yet fierce with resolve. "But… how can you go and become someone who kills? That's not you—not the hero I look up to!"
Swish!
A brilliant curse sliced past his eyes—even closer this time, so near it nearly grazed his skin.
Fine. I've said my piece.
With a sharp snap, Anton wrenched his broom upward and sped away.
Silence finally settled over the scene.
Snape turned his gaze back toward the werewolf below.
"Lupin!"
His voice shook with barely contained emotion. "If you hadn't attached yourself to that pack of degenerates—and dragged Lily into it—she'd still be alive today!"
"You have no sense, no judgment," He spat, his tone sharp with disgust. "Anyone who shows you the slightest kindness, and you roll over like a grateful cur, desperate for a pat on the head."
He stepped closer, eyes blazing with bitter fury. "But you're a fool. Potter never trusted you—not truly. He only ever trusted that prat, Black. And you were the one who let the secret slip about the Marauder's Map!"
A cold, cruel laugh escaped him. "Hahaha. In the end, nobody believes you. Nobody ever will." His voice dripped with poisonous contempt. "All because you are nothing but a filthy werewolf."
Suddenly, his composure shattered. Tears streamed freely down his face, his voice breaking under the weight of years of grief. "They always reduce us to labels, don't they? You're a monster, so you can never be trusted. I'm drawn to the Dark Arts, so Lily decided I was already beyond saving and I spent years trying to prove her wrong… and for what?"
"None of it ever mattered! It's all worthless—all of it!" he cried out, consumed by frustration and despair. Then his expression hardened, twisting into pure, venomous hatred.
"Die, Lupin. If you're dead, you won't have to endure their cruelty anymore… and I won't have to look at the ghost of what was lost."
He aimed his wand with trembling hands, eyes burning with anguish and resolve.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Whoosh!
"Protego!"
A shimmering blue barrier blazed to life before the werewolf, catching the curse and shattering the spell mid‑air.
Anton circled back alone on his broom, swung it neatly around, and drifted to a halt right in front of Snape.
Snape fixed him with an icy stare. "I could have sworn I gave you two chances to flee."
Anton grinned broadly, his white teeth glinting in the moonlight. "True. Sometimes I wonder… I really am nothing but a fool, aren't I?"