Avoiding Snape’s gaze, I reached for another biscuit and calmly finished my tea in silence, idly staring at the crumbs on my plate. Truth be told, I was more than a little rattled, but I was doing my best not to let it show. I doubted I was fooling him—Snape wasn’t some gullible first-year—but keeping my dignity intact was worth the effort.

  I was well aware that I wasn’t on the same level as Snape or Dumbledore. I had no real leverage over them, no real power, so my only option was to carve out at least a shred of respect—to make sure they didn’t just brush me off or try to intimidate me into submission. If I wanted to be taken seriously, I had to act like I deserved it.

  And right now, by forcing myself to stay calm and hold my ground, I was giving Snape time to settle back into our usual dynamic. I refused to let him pressure me, and that meant he’d have to consider my words properly instead of just dismissing them outright.

  "You’re remarkably audacious, Weasley, to think you can demand an Unbreakable Vow from me," Snape finally broke the silence, his eyes still fixed on me. I could feel his stare like a physical weight pressing down on me, unrelenting.

  "Oh, come on, sir," I forced a grin, putting on my best innocent expression. "The Unbreakable Vow only frightens those who are afraid of dying. I don’t think that’d be a wise choice in your case—not with your past. I've come across some rather interesting articles about you, sir." I gave him a knowing smile.

  His tension faded just slightly, but his gaze sharpened into something truly piercing. Funny thing, that. When Dumbledore looked at me the same way, I always had the urge to leg it. Turns out, darkness and light could be equally unsettling in their own ways.

  "Impressive," he drawled, curling his lip in something that was more of a sneer than a smile. Funny how he and Black had that same habit. "I appreciate the effort, Weasley—showing your teeth and claws, even though you know full well I could crush you like an insect with my past... So, what kind of vow are you proposing instead?"

  "Oh, just a simple one. Completely harmless. ‘The Vow of Memory.’ Ever heard of it?" I asked, keeping my voice light. "If broken, the most cherished memories start fading away, one by one. Forever. See, most vows can be twisted or worked around, but this one… this one’s universal. Everyone’s got something they’d rather not lose."

  For a long moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. There was something calculating in his gaze, as though he was examining a particularly fascinating insect under a glass. His instincts were razor-sharp—I had to give him that.

  "And what exactly are you asking of me in return?" he finally asked, his voice quiet but steady.

  "That you keep everything I tell you a secret. That you don’t use any of it against me in any way, and that you don’t share it with anyone without my explicit permission."

  "Bit much, don’t you think, Weasley?" Snape scoffed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Have you forgotten who I am? And who you are? You think you can dictate terms to me?"

  "Not at all, sir," I said smoothly, refusing to be rattled. "I’m perfectly happy to work with you—just like back in first year. But I never signed up to be your informant, and I’m not about to start now. There’s a lot happening in this school that even you don’t know about, and I wouldn’t mind keeping you in the loop… as long as it doesn’t interfere with my own plans. And as long as none of it gets back to the Headmaster."

  Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Why are you so set against Dumbledore, Weasley?" His voice was more curious than accusatory. "What has he ever done to you?"

  "Nothing," I bit out, my expression darkening. "And that’s exactly the problem. I suppose I might as well tell you why I don’t trust him—no vow necessary. It’s not exactly a secret, and I’m entitled to my own thoughts, even if they do end up reaching someone else’s ears."

  "By all means, Weasley," Snape said dryly, leaning back slightly. "I’m all ears."

  "During the holidays, we overheard a conversation at the Three Broomsticks. Fudge, McGonagall, Hagrid… actually, why don’t I just show you? You can take the memory if you like. I give you permission."

  Snape gave a derisive snort, but I could tell he was intrigued. Without another word, we walked over to the Pensieve.

  I focused, gathering the memory in my mind, and Snape drew a long silvery strand from my temple with the tip of his wand before carefully adding it to the swirling contents of the Pensieve.

  "Can I come with you?" I asked, though I wasn’t expecting much.

  "You’ll manage," he said curtly before plunging into the memory. "Drink your tea, Weasley, and don’t be a nuisance."

  I shrugged and went back to my chair, pouring myself another cup. The memory itself wasn’t long—five minutes, maybe—but Snape took his time. When he finally resurfaced, his expression was carefully neutral.

  "I fail to see anything particularly shocking in your recollection," he said, settling back into his chair. "And I still don’t understand why you’re so set against the Headmaster."

  "Harry’s parents didn’t trust him, sir. So why should I?" I countered flatly. "And the whole business with the Potters—none of it adds up."

  "And where, exactly, did you get that idea?" Snape asked, his tone carefully indifferent, though I could tell the topic interested him.

  "It’s obvious if you actually think about it," I said. "If we take the Minister’s word for it, Dumbledore was the one who suggested the Fidelius Charm in the first place. The Potters agreed—but for some reason, they rejected him as their Secret-Keeper. Why? Dumbledore was supposed to be the most powerful wizard in Britain. As Headmaster, he was untouchable at Hogwarts most of the year. And even outside the castle, his reputation alone kept him safe. But instead of choosing him, they went with Pettigrew—because ‘no one would suspect him.’ And this was after they’d been warned that there was a traitor among them. They knew someone had betrayed them, and yet, they still didn’t pick the man Voldemort himself was said to fear? Where’s the logic in that? And they never even told Dumbledore who the Secret-Keeper was. That means they didn’t trust him. Maybe they even suspected him."

  "Your reasoning, Weasley, is largely speculative," Snape said slowly. He wasn’t convinced—but he wasn’t dismissing it outright either. I could tell I’d gotten under his skin.

  Shame I couldn’t tell him everything just yet. About the Horcrux in Harry. About the planned sacrifice. About the Shaman’s words—that Lily was protecting both her son and Snape from beyond the grave. That would’ve been a direct hit.

  "Maybe, sir," I allowed, watching him closely. "But there’s no logic in Dumbledore’s actions, either. I know people like him. He’s the type who has to be in control—like Hermione. You know, ‘if you want something done right, do it yourself.’ And yet, he willingly handed control over to the Potters, even knowing there was a traitor among them. He just… stepped back. And that’s not like him. Not in the middle of a war."

  "What exactly are you implying, Weasley?" Snape demanded, dropping the pretense.

  "Nothing, sir," I shrugged. "But something here doesn’t add up. I’ve seen this kind of thing before—back in first year. Remember when Quirrell was after Harry? They quickly redirected him to the Philosopher’s Stone and the obstacle course guarding it, and suddenly he was too preoccupied with the bigger prize to bother going after Harry anymore. I don’t know why the Dark Lord needed the Potters specifically, but I reckon there was some kind of trap waiting for him in their house. I can’t see any other reason for what happened. There’s no way the Potters and the Headmaster were that careless. The only question is, who set it up? It’s not impossible that the Potters did it themselves, without telling Dumbledore—they were Gryffindors, after all. My dad always said the Dark Lord was on the verge of winning that year, and then, out of nowhere, he dropped everything and went after the Potters instead… only to be destroyed. Seems like more than a coincidence to me."

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  "That does make some sense," Snape admitted after a pause. "But there's no way to prove it, Weasley."

  "I'm not claiming my theory is the absolute truth, sir," I smirked, pressing on. "You wanted to know why I don’t trust the Headmaster? I gave you my reasons. But of course, it's just my opinion—no guarantee it's correct. Though there is one more thing that’s been bothering me..."

  "You’re a fountain of fantastical theories, Weasley," Snape snorted, but his eyes were sharp, serious. "Go on, then."

  "Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, sir."

  "Potter has a cloak?" Snape sneered. "How interesting."

  "You won’t be able to take it from him, sir," I waved him off. "Dumbledore gave it to him personally—with a message, no less. And besides, you’ve got the Marauder’s Map now—I doubt Harry’s getting that back."

  "Perhaps," Snape conceded. "But don’t get distracted, Weasley. I don’t have heart-to-hearts over tea, not even with the Headmaster. Get to the point."

  "Right. I don’t know how the cloak ended up in Dumbledore’s hands. Fudge said the Potters had been under the Fidelius Charm for two weeks before the attack. But then Dumbledore told Harry he took the cloak from his father shortly before he died. So here’s my question—were the Potters already under the Fidelius when Dumbledore supposedly got the cloak? Because if they were, that means only the Secret-Keeper could have let him into their house. Or he’d have needed written permission from them. So how could the Headmaster not know who the Secret-Keeper was?"

  Snape was silent for a long time, eyes closed as he thought. I took the chance to finish off my tea.

  "I won’t give you a vow, Weasley," he finally said, opening his eyes. "We’ll draft a magical contract instead. You’re too unpredictable, too inclined to act on your own. I’ll admit, you do think through your actions, but that’s not enough for me. You’ll provide me with information, and I’ll keep it confidential. And, if possible, I won’t act on it without consulting you."

  "Wait, sir," I frowned. "Are you planning to double-cross me?"

  "You’re not an idiot, Weasley, I’ll give you that," he said calmly. "So you should understand that I’m bound by far greater obligations than this little agreement of ours. And I do value my life, despite what you seem to think. I’ll promise not to act independently without discussing matters with you first—but if your plans clash with those of certain… other individuals, I may have no choice."

  "Fine," I nodded. "But I want it in writing that you won’t try to interfere with what I’m doing. And I swear I’ll keep you informed, sir. This will be a mutually beneficial arrangement, you’ll see." I smiled genuinely.

  Snape rifled through his papers and found a standard potion-supply contract. A flick of his wand wiped the wording clean, leaving behind a blank parchment. We wrote out the terms we’d agreed upon and signed it. The contract flared in the air for a moment before vanishing.

  I made sure to specify that the agreement took effect from today and would last for the next four years—until I left Hogwarts. By then, hopefully, the Horcruxes would be dealt with, and I wouldn’t have any further use for Snape.

  "So, about Black, Weasley?" my new… partner in crime asked. He looked focused now, while I leaned back in my chair, relieved to have sealed the deal. But I wasn’t about to spill everything just yet—I had to see if he was worth trusting. So I lied without hesitation.

  "After we overheard the Minister’s conversation, Harry got the Marauder’s Map. I saw Pettigrew’s name on it and realized Black hadn’t betrayed the Potters."

  "And what, exactly, made you think that?" Snape’s tone was sharp with skepticism.

  "Well, Black sat quietly in Azkaban for years—then suddenly broke out after seeing that newspaper Fudge left behind. You heard him—'He's at Hogwarts.' I checked every issue of the Prophet from that time, and there was nothing about Harry, nothing about Hogwarts. But there was one article featuring my family—our trip to Egypt. And then, suddenly, Pettigrew’s name showed up on the Map, clear as day. That’s when it all clicked. Later, Harry told me Trelawney ran into him and gave a prophecy—said that the Dark Lord’s servant would return to him. I knew—don’t ask me how—that if I handed Pettigrew over to Dumbledore, nothing would come of it. The prophecy would play out, and Voldemort would rise again. So I made a deal with Black instead—easier, and much more certain."

  "You’re an absolute fool, Weasley," Snape snapped, shooting to his feet in fury. "Black had a penchant for bloodshed even as a student! He could’ve killed you the moment he got what he wanted!"

  I suddenly recalled how, in the book, Black had been so obsessed with catching the rat that he hadn’t even hesitated to drag Harry along with him. It was Ron—book Ron—who had pushed Harry out of the way, taking the hit instead. Black had broken his leg and dragged him off.

  "I took precautions, sir," I answered calmly as Snape stalked back and forth near the fireplace, throwing me contemptuous glares. "My instincts have never steered me wrong. Here, why don’t I just show you? I’m tired of explaining it all."

  "Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Weasley," he grumbled but moved to the Pensieve. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

  I stepped up beside him and focused on my meeting with Black, and everything that followed. Snape extracted the memory and dropped it into the swirling silver mist. While he was immersed in it, I finally got some peace and quiet—enough that I nearly dozed off in the dim light of the office.

  "Weasley," a low, irritated growl sounded near my ear, jolting me awake.

  I blinked up at Snape, whose expression was torn between exasperation and something that looked dangerously close to reluctant admiration.

  "You’re even worse than Potter with his reckless stunts," he muttered darkly. "We’ve been watching the wrong person. What in Merlin’s name possessed you to strike a deal with a wanted criminal?"

  "What’s the big deal, sir?" I stifled a yawn and added with a pointed look, "I had something he needed, and he could do something for me that I couldn’t manage on my own—it was a fair trade. Though I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting such a memorable spectacle. Hope they manage to patch him up..."

  Snape was silent for a moment before delivering his verdict. "From now on, Weasley, you do nothing without my approval. Understood?"

  "Alright, fair enough," I agreed easily with a nod. "Not like I ever wanted to do things alone, sir. I just didn’t have anyone to trust. But now, I’ll happily pass the problem-solving over to you. Sir, can I go now?"

  "Go, Weasley," he conceded with a wave of his hand. "But report to me immediately if anything comes up."

  "And my memories?" I asked as I got up, stretching my stiff back.

  "You’ll get them back in a few days," he snapped. "Now get out—you’re exhausting."

  "Look who’s talking," I muttered under my breath as I made for the door.

  "Weasley," his cold, measured voice caught me just as I reached it, making me tense. I turned back slowly.

  "You have told me everything, haven’t you?"

  "Everything you were interested in, sir," I replied with my best innocent face, though I knew he wasn’t buying it.

  "Get out," he waved me off, turning back to the Pensieve. I wasted no time leaving, then spent the next hour up on the Astronomy Tower, clearing my head after such a long, intense conversation. Still, I was pleased with the outcome. The groundwork was laid.

  After that, things settled down.

  Hermione got detention in the library—dusting the books, which, of course, she was over the moon about.

  Three days later, we were called to Dumbledore’s office and had our memories returned. Snape, though, handed mine back a day earlier in his own office.

  Harry, seizing the opportunity, asked Dumbledore if he could have the Marauder’s Map back, but the Headmaster refused. Instead, he tried to console him with permission to visit Hogsmeade.

  "This is undoubtedly your father’s work, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly in response to his hesitant request to reclaim what was rightfully his. "But two of its creators and rightful owners are still alive. And I do not believe it is appropriate for a young boy to spy on others. Trust me, I am doing this for your own good. Besides, what use is the map to you now, when the danger has passed? Or do you suspect, Harry, that someone will be watching you?" He fixed him with a piercing gaze, while Snape, standing behind him, sneered nastily and held Harry’s gaze for an uncomfortably long time, only riling him up further.

  "You’re not planning on breaking any more rules, are you, Harry?"

  Left with no other choice, Harry assured him he wouldn’t be causing any trouble. And with that, we were dismissed. They asked me a few token questions about my rat, but I just repeated that I’d gotten it from Percy, who’d had it from Charlie, and that I’d never paid it much attention—just kept it alive. If they wanted more answers, they could ask them instead. And that was that.

  Sunday rolled around, and we celebrated my birthday. It was a big crowd at the Three Broomsticks—bigger than I’d ever had for a birthday before. Usually, we just exchanged gifts, but after the whole Boggart incident and the Patronus training sessions we’d been holding with the others, more people had wanted to join in.

  Everyone pitched in equally for the food and drinks, and Madam Rosmerta even gave me a discount for being the birthday boy—though I had a feeling it had more to do with Harry’s hero status than anything else. Not that I minded. The important thing was that we had a good time. Shame Ginny and Luna couldn’t make it, but I brought them back a box of pastries and a bag of sweets each.

  After that, school took over—studying, preparing for exams, and the usual grind.

  Footnote from the author:

  (TN: excerpt from Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter 17)

  But before they could cover themselves again, before they could even catch their breath, they heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws.... Something was bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow -- an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

  Harry reached for his wand, but too late -- the dog had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest; he keeled over backward in a whirl of hair; he felt its hot breath, saw inch- long teeth -

  But the force of its leap had carried it too far; it rolled off him. Dazed, feeling as though his ribs were broken, Harry tried to stand up; he could hear it growling as it skidded around for a new attack.

  Ron was on his feet. As the dog sprang back toward them he pushed Harry aside; the dog's jaws fastened instead around Ron's outstretched arm. Harry lunged forward, he seized a handful of the brute's hair, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as though he were a rag doll --

  Then, out of nowhere, something hit Harry so hard across the face he was knocked off his feet again. He heard Hermione shriek with pain and fall too.

  Footnote from the Translator:

  While going through the comment section of the original work, I noticed several readers asking about the 'Big Bad Dumbledore' trope. So, just as a reminder—in this chapter, Ron has every reason to portray Dumbledore in the worst light possible.