Chapter 358

"A, a, Avada—" Harry adjusted his breathing, "Avada—Abba—"

"No, I'm too nervous—why don't you try first?" He felt as if he'd forgotten every syllable of the Killing Curse; it was far harder than he'd imagined.

"I…" Neville, unusually, looked hesitant, "I, alright."

Ron shrank back—he clearly had no intention of taking part.

"Avada Kedavra!" Neville shouted—perhaps due to panic and mispronouncing the syllables—there was no reaction, no green light shot from his wand.

"Maybe you haven't cultivated the intent to kill?" Harry glanced nervously around, "Let's drop it for now—let's try with the sword first."

"You make me worry—if I ever face Nagini face-to-face, will I hesitate even to swing the sword?" Neville breathed heavily, "But honestly, this curse is just too difficult."

"Swinging the sword to cut off its head feels to me like cutting an object—it might kill Nagini, but it's not direct murder," Neville defended himself, "But the Killing Curse demands too much—I feel I must clearly know I'm ready to kill it, without hesitation, and firmly declare that I don't want it to live."

"Moody demonstrated it," Harry said. "He killed a spider—do you think he truly harbored murderous intent toward the spider?"

"A spider's life isn't comparable to a human's—maybe he just didn't care, right? I mean, we rarely care whether a spider lives or dies—if it dies, fine, whatever. Maybe another way to use the Killing Curse is," Neville explained, "to treat life as worthless. Voldemort rarely cares whether others live or die."

"Do you not care whether Voldemort lives or dies?" Neville asked softly, as Harry was trying to aim his wand at the statue.

"Once, I dreamed of him dropping dead," Harry said. "But watching an execution and being the executioner are two different things—if I had to face him directly, I'd probably only manage a Disarming Charm."

"What are you doing?" Snape snapped.

"We… uh." Harry swallowed hard—he didn't know when Snape had arrived.

"Fools, do you think I'd leave the Horcrux unguarded?" Snape said coldly. "I don't care what you're planning—get out now. Gryffindor loses twenty points."

Harry shot Snape a resentful look—if not for their plan to kill Nagini and use its remains, why would he have come here to experiment with the Killing Curse?

"Now, return to your dormitory," Snape waved his wand, and the wizard statue with the crown returned to the cabinet. "Your childish recklessness shocks me, Potter. You won't participate in this operation—you and your companions will stay safely at school."

Neville looked stunned, but dared not defy the headmaster. The three of them trudged back to their dormitory in silence. Ron flung a tattered book onto the table in a sulk.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"An old Potions textbook I found in that cabinet," Ron said. "Forgot to put it back."

"Better not put it back—wouldn't want another twenty points docked," Harry sighed.

"Who came up with this stupid idea in the first place?" Neville grumbled.

"But we don't have another option," Harry spread his hands. "Though, honestly, this isn't really an option either."

"What do we do now?" Ron looked at them both. "Snape forbade us from joining the operation."

"If he forbids us and we go anyway, and something goes wrong, it might disrupt his plan—so we shouldn't act on our own," Harry said dejectedly. "I'll talk to him again tomorrow."

He said tomorrow, but that night, Harry nervously knocked on the headmaster's office door.

"Correct, Potter. I admit your planning was excellent—you've made me mistake you for Dumbledore," Snape said calmly. "But I forgot—you're still far below Dumbledore in magical ability… Yes, I've changed my mind. I shouldn't have entrusted you with killing Nagini. You're safer here at school, and I'll have one less worry."

"But Professor, I—" Harry started to protest, then fell silent. He had no real reason to kill Nagini himself. Neville didn't either—only a faint touch of fate and divination. Indeed, letting Snape handle it directly would be more reliable.

"You want some sense of involvement, do you?" Snape studied Harry's half-spoken, wide-eyed expression, then relented. "Then do something else. You'll distract Ministry officials—organize another student march at school. Say… say there's suspicion of OWL exam leaks."

"Leaks? That's ridiculous. The Ministry won't care about something like that," Harry blurted out in surprise.

"They will—because they actually leaked the questions," Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry suddenly remembered Ron shouting, "I knew they'd test this!"—perhaps he was one of the main beneficiaries of the leak.

"Forget it. Everyone did well. If the Ministry announces a retake, they'll be furious," Harry said, head down.

"Then stay in your dormitory. Understood? Potter?" Snape stared at Harry.

For students of other years, finals still loomed—they were still studying hard. But fifth-years, mostly idle, gathered in clubs, inventing excuses to celebrate.

Harry, Ron, and Neville joined the revelry too—but after each party, a lingering sense of failure clung to them. By Friday, the feeling weighed especially heavy; they declined the evening gathering and sat silently in their dorm, staring at each other.

"By now, Snape should've infiltrated the Ministry," Neville said. "He cast the Disillusionment Charm, walked silently to Nagini's display hall—the old bat never makes a sound. No one knows he's there."

"And the Order's fighting Death Eaters and Inferi right now," Ron stared at the ceiling. "Can't imagine how thrilling that must be."

"Not really," Harry shook his head. "Their operation must be cautious, step by step—no one knows how many Inferi are there."

"The Order and Aurors combined to cast Barrier Charms over the lake. Then they sent a three-person team—one to illuminate, two to stun or bind the Inferi. Once they succeeded, they immediately retreated behind the others," Harry described. He'd received many letters from Order members offering condolences (though the higher-ups knew it was just a ruse). "They dragged one Inferius out of the lake, removed the dark magic from its body, and if they could identify the person, set it aside to notify the family. If unidentifiable, they buried it on-site, then bundled the unknown dead's photos and mailed them to Muggle police."

"Today's the third day. Voldemort's residual magic remains powerful, but with their steady erosion, they'll likely unravel all the magic eventually," Harry said listlessly. "Even if they can't unravel it, dragging out one corpse at a time—ten or fifteen more days should finish it."

"Alright, I'm not jealous of them anymore," Ron pounded his pillow. "But can the old bat pull it off…?"

"Snape's powerful," Harry recalled the Death Eaters' assessments. "Apart from Dumbledore and Voldemort, he's probably the strongest."

"Maybe not as strong as McGonagall," Ron said lazily. "Or Flitwick—they just don't show off."

No one replied. Harry stared at the ceiling, thinking of his godfather.

He imagined Sirius in a black suit and overcoat, flanked by equally clad enforcers. They stood coldly in the wind, dozens of black-clad figures raising wands, slowly surrounding the Lestrange manor.

They must've set up an Anti-Apparition ward to trap those inside—such a ward required many hands; perhaps they'd recruited some werewolf wizards to help.

The Lestranges housed many Death Eaters, still holding out. Sirius had already breached the front door; his men raised a shield to block the barrage of spells from within.

From beyond the dorm door came the noise from the common room, but Harry ignored it—he still imagined how majestic his godfather looked.

Sirius had already won over many low-ranking Death Eaters—just a single Stunner from each would create overwhelming firepower. From windows, front door, back door, even holes in the walls, a storm of red spells rained into the house. Those inside might occasionally fire back a Killing Curse—but they couldn't aim properly; outside attackers easily dodged.

Sirius stood calmly at the doorway, wand in hand, waiting for his men to clear the entrance hall. His overcoat fluttered beside his long trousers. He stood at the heart of the battlefield, spells flying everywhere around him.

"You should come out, cousin," he'd say—Sirius always looked utterly cold and cool before his men. "Dying by my hand is your best ending."

Bellatrix should be hiding behind her bedroom door now, gritting her teeth, raging impotently—until fury clouded her mind, and she charged down the stairs to curse Sirius.

But several spells struck her first—her body was flung against the wall, then tumbled over the railing like a ragged sack. Sirius merely showed a faint look of regret…

At this thought, Harry snapped back to reality. He shook his head—Sirius wouldn't do that. He believed Delphi was innocent—he'd deliberately plant a mole, allowing Bellatrix to flee with the child.

Harry lost all interest. He rolled over, ignored that it was only seven-thirty, and closed his eyes, ready to sleep.