From afar, Robert saw dazzling fireworks erupting over the castle. Thanks to his platinum-level night vision, he could clearly make out the silhouettes of students sprinting joyfully through the corridors.
They were out on another one of their nightly adventures.
But something felt different tonight.
Normally, the professors would immediately shut down these nighttime escapades. Yet tonight, they turned a blind eye. After all, it was Christmas Eve. Many students were heading home for the holiday tomorrow.
Let them have their fun, just this once.
Even Filch, the ever-grumpy caretaker, seemed to be under some kind of order—he wasn't on duty, nor was he doing anything to dampen the festive spirit.
From a distance, Robert smiled at the carefree figures of his schoolmates. He had just bid farewell to Hagrid and was on his way back to the castle. If this had been in his previous life, he might have joined the celebrations too.
But things were different now.
He still enjoyed the atmosphere and felt his spirits lift, but the desire to take part in such frivolous fun had faded.
Heading straight to the Potions classroom, Robert reminded himself that he still had one final batch of ingredients to process for Professor Snape before the holidays began.
As he stepped inside, he saw something unexpected.
Snape was seated by the window, gazing out at the exploding fireworks. Their brilliance filled the night sky, but his eyes were hollow—devoid of life, like a soulless shell.
It wasn't until Robert lightly knocked on the door that Snape stirred.
He let out a heavy snort, speaking in his usual cutting tone.
"I thought Mr. Sprout had climbed so high that he no longer had time for something as petty as assisting with Potions."
Robert opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Snape narrowed his eyes and said sharply:
"Did you kill someone?"
Robert froze in place, stunned and bewildered.
Seeing his reaction, Snape let out a sigh and muttered:
"You absolute imbecile. Don't tell me you didn't know—after you take a life, your magic is tainted with a cold aura. Anyone with experience can sense it."
"That's basic magical knowledge."
Robert's mouth twitched. Basic knowledge? Really?
Still, he was relieved. He'd been lucky these past two days—barely around any professors. If someone like Professor Sprout had noticed, she might've grounded him for a month.
Snape gave him a look of absolute disdain, then pulled out a spray bottle filled with a potion and gave Robert two quick spritzes.
"There," Snape said flatly. "That aura is gone."
Robert could immediately feel it—the faint chill clinging to his magic was gone. He hadn't even realized it was there before.
Snape's voice came again, cold but curious:
"Now tell me. What happened that made someone like you—who avoids danger like the plague—resort to killing?"
Robert hesitated for a moment but decided not to hide the truth. There was no point now—Snape had already figured it out.
He gave a rough account of what had happened in the Forbidden Forest.
When Snape heard about the confrontation with poachers, his expression darkened instantly. His voice, sharp and angry, cut through the silence.
"How many spells do you even know?"
"You don't understand shielding charms. You can't use counters."
"Your strongest opponent before this was a troll."
"And you had the audacity to face actual poachers?"
Snape's fury boiled over.
"Do you know those men are dangerous criminals who should be in Azkaban?"
"If they weren't planning to sell you alive, you'd be dead already!"
"A single Killing Curse and we'd be planning your funeral!"
He ranted for ten straight minutes. Robert couldn't even lift his head by the end of it.
Eventually, Snape calmed himself. Barely.
"Next time that happens, leave Hagrid and run."
Robert tried to protest, but Snape cut him off.
"Yes, I know you're a Gryffindor. You lot never abandon your friends."
"But do you think they'd dare actually kill Hagrid?"
"He works for Hogwarts. He's Dumbledore's guy."
"They might rough him up, sure. But kill him? Not worth it."
"You, however—there's a bounty on your head. They'd kill you without hesitation."
Snape stared coldly.
"Any rebuttals?"
Robert lowered his gaze. "I still need your guidance, Professor."
Snape's lips curved into a faint smirk—but he quickly resumed his usual icy expression.
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Your death wouldn't matter much. But if it delays my potion research... Can you bear that burden?"
Then, his eyes gleamed.
"Let's make something clear tonight."
"Draw your wand."
Robert's heart jumped. Was Snape going to teach him combat?
After what happened in the Forbidden Forest, Robert knew firsthand—magic learned in school was nothing like actual battle.
Training meant nothing if you froze in the real world.
Snape wasn't just a master. He'd been a Death Eater. He had fought in the great war. A teacher like him was rare beyond belief.
Taking a deep breath, Robert drew his wand.
"Then, Professor—"
Before he could finish, everything spun.
He was suddenly hanging upside down from the ceiling.
Snape stared up at him with amusement.
"You didn't think this was a proper duel, did you?"
"This is real combat. No etiquette here."
Snape flicked his fingers. Robert hit the ground hard.
"Get up," Snape said coldly. "Quickly."
Robert scrambled to his feet, backing away, wary now.
He hadn't seen Snape cast the spell at all.
When did it happen?
Then—wham! He was airborne again.
Snape said one word:
"Continue."
Over and over, Robert was hoisted, slammed, stunned. He tried focusing on Snape's movements, like a boxer watching footwork.
But again, Snape mocked him:
"You're a wizard, not a fighter. You don't rely on footwork or fists."
"You're ignoring the most important thing."
That's when it clicked.
"Magic?"
"I need to sense magical changes?"
Snape gave a rare nod.
"Exactly."
"Now try again."
Robert gave it his all, trying to feel the flow of magic.
But Snape's casting was too subtle. Too fast.
Before he could react—bang! He was down again.
Outside, the fireworks still exploded.
Inside, Robert was being pounded into the ground—again and again.
At last, Snape called it off.
Robert lay there, panting, a wry grin forming on his face.
He finally understood the vast difference between himself and a true master.
Snape had dominated him with just one spell—Incarcerous—without ever drawing his wand.
Even with his strongest form and power, Robert admitted, unless it was a surprise attack like the one he used on Quirrell, he wouldn't stand a chance against Snape.
Still, it wasn't all for nothing.
He had learned something priceless.
Real combat wasn't about flashy spells—it was about perception, instinct, magic.
And Harry Potter... maybe his power wasn't just a "protagonist halo."
Maybe he had real talent. Combat instinct. The kind Robert lacked.
But Robert didn't let the comparison get him down.
He'd improve, little by little.
He turned to Snape, gratitude in his eyes.
"Thank you, Professor."
Snape just snorted and shoved a mountain of ingredients toward him.
"Finish these by dawn."
Then Snape walked away.
Just before he left, Robert called out,
"Oh, Professor... Merry Christmas."
Snape paused.
He gave the faintest nod—almost invisible—before closing the door.
Robert didn't mind.
He smiled and turned to his task.
Meanwhile, Snape returned to his office, pulled out a hidden letter and black parchment, and scribbled something with icy determination.
"You dare place a bounty on my assistant?" he muttered. "You'll regret this."
He ignited the letter with a special flame.
In Knockturn Alley, chaos broke out as a new message appeared on the bounty board:
"Robert Sprout is mine. Cancel the bounty. Immediately."
Young dark wizards scoffed.
Until they saw the signature.
The Lily and Sword.
Veteran wizards turned pale.
"It's him... the madman with Sectumsempra."
"Severus Snape."
The bounty was gone in seconds.
The bar owner erased all traces, shaking with fear.
Elsewhere, in a distant sickbed, Quirrell trembled as his bounty was canceled and his money seized.
"My money!!!"
He screamed, then fainted.
The next morning, Robert stepped out of the Potions classroom, hearing the news of Quirrell's sudden collapse.
A perfect Christmas gift.
Then, an owl arrived with a package—from Professor Sprout.
Inside, he found a willow branch soaked in potion.
His eyes widened.
"This is... the Whomping Willow?!"
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