Professor Snape's Sectumsempra was indeed a formidable charm.
Had it been an ordinary Severing Charm, breaking free of one's own chains wouldn't have been so easy.
Furthermore, Sectumsempra was almost silent in its execution, without dazzling effects—precisely what made it so deadly.
Archer, who had secretly studied this charm, knew this fact well.
"Sectumsempra!"
Professor Snape launched the attack without hesitation, the deadly intent in his eyes evident.
Archer was prepared. He reacted the instant Professor Snape raised his wand.
"Protego!"
The Shield Charm burst forth, intercepting the invisible slash mid-air. A sharp crack rang out as the spell was diverted to a side wall.
A jagged crack spread across the stone, fragments flying as dust billowed outward.
Archer exhaled slightly but remained alert—he knew Snape wouldn't relent so easily.
"Stupefy!"
A red beam of light zipped toward him. Archer sidestepped quickly and responded in kind.
"Expelliarmus!"
Snape's reaction was instantaneous. With a casual flick, he redirected the spell off-course.
"Useless," Snape said coldly.
"I advise you, Professor Plant Poison, to drop your wand."
Archer swiftly moved backward. From beneath his robes, countless vines surged outward.
He had allowed Devil's Snare to infest his body that morning—it was now his greatest ally.
The vines exploded into the corridor, sprawling across walls, floor, and ceiling, transforming the space into a writhing, shadowed grove.
Snape's face betrayed a flicker of surprise, though he quickly masked it.
He instantly understood how to deal with the plant.
"Incendio!"
Flames burst from his wand tip, roaring toward the encroaching vines.
The Devil's Snare hissed, shriveling under the blaze, leaving behind scorched ash and a pungent odor.
But the vines didn't stop. New tendrils replaced the burnt ones in seconds.
Archer remained composed as the vines formed a dense wall between them.
"Dumbledore sent me," Archer's voice drifted through the barrier.
"I don't want to be your enemy, Professor Snape. But if you force my hand, I won't wait quietly for death."
Snape's eyes narrowed—he clearly wasn't done.
A sharp gust cut through the vine wall. Archer leaned to the side, but the magic still grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
Snape raised his wand again, but before he could strike—
"Rustle!"
A cluster of vines dropped from above.
Snape had no choice but to switch tactics, aiming upward.
"Incendio!"
The fire burst forth, but he misjudged.
Chains erupted from within the vines—cold, metallic, and impervious to fire.
Clang—clang—
They slithered like serpents, wrapping tightly around Snape's right arm.
His face twisted in frustration. He tried moving his wand, but the chains held firm. Veins bulged as he strained, his grip weakening.
"Archer!" Snape growled.
But Archer had already acted.
"Sectumsempra!"
A silent gust shot forward, slicing through the air.
Snape twisted, barely dodging—but the edge still caught him.
A thin cut opened on his arm, blood seeping.
Snape grimaced, his wand slipping from his grasp.
Clatter.
It hit the stone floor with a chilling finality.
Archer didn't hesitate.
The Devil's Snare snatched the wand and delivered it to him.
He caught it in his free hand, his gaze calm.
Snape stood motionless, face grim, covering his wound.
Archer recalled all the vines back onto his body and slowly walked toward him.
With deliberate care, he extended the wand.
"Professor Snape," he said earnestly, "I think we've had a misunderstanding. I never wanted to fight you. Let's talk."
Victory lent power to his words.
Snape stared at him but didn't take the wand immediately.
"Where did you learn that charm?" he asked coldly.
Archer was caught off guard by the question.
"You mean Sectumsempra?"
He blinked, then smiled faintly.
"From an old textbook left by someone called the Half-Blood Prince. Not a bad title, don't you think? Professor Snape?"
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Snape took back the wand and slid it into his robe.
"Your execution is crude," he muttered.
"If it were me, I'd have severed the entire arm."
Archer shrugged. "I'll keep practicing."
"Can you trust me now?" he asked.
"Dumbledore trusts me. Maybe you could too."
Snape only snorted in reply.
A moment passed. Then—
"Vulnera Sanentur."
A warm sensation washed over Archer's cheek.
The wound closed gradually as golden light glowed faintly.
He looked up in surprise—Snape was pointing his wand at him.
Archer relaxed slightly. He didn't want to resume the fight.
Snape then treated his own arm.
The two stood in silence, a strange truce forming in the aftermath.
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