"Bubble-Head Charm!" Snape gasped out the incantation the moment he plunged into the water.
A stream of silvery-blue sparks erupted from the tip of his wand, and a transparent bubble, like rapidly inflating chewing gum, swelled until it encased his head like an upturned fishbowl, sealing perfectly around him.
"Cough… cough…" Snape hacked violently.
Sunlight filtered through the murky water, transforming into wavering bands of light that swirled around him in inky green eddies.
He could feel the rippling muscles beneath the giant serpent's scales as it dragged him with alarming speed toward the depths of the lake.
"Perhaps I should've used the Reductor Curse," the thought flickered through his mind just as a swarm of horned, green Grindylows burst from the tangled waterweed.
Their sharp-toothed mouths twisted into greedy grins as they closed in from all directions, their twig-like fingers clawing at the hem of Snape's robes.
The serpent let out a hiss so powerful it seemed to vibrate the water itself. Snape felt a sudden release in his chest—the coils around him loosened, and he was flung to the side.
In the dim currents, he saw the serpent's massive tail whip through the water, smashing a nearby Grindylow into fragments. Green blood bloomed in the water like ink.
The force of the current sent Snape spinning. His wand slipped from his fingers, twirling away into the distance. Worse still, his Bubble-Head Charm collided with a jutting rock, and the bubble burst with a sharp pop.
"Gurgle… my… gurgle… wand!"
Snape choked out a few bubbles, flailing to grab something, anything, but his hands closed only on icy water.
He watched helplessly as a green thief—another Grindylow—snatched his drifting ebony wand, made a rude gesture, and vanished into the shadowy depths.
In that moment, he could almost hear the wails of Death Eaters who'd lost their wands under his own spells.
Water surged from all sides, cold, murky, and reeking of rotting plants, flooding his lungs.
His chest burned as if set ablaze, and the darkness of oxygen deprivation began to swallow his vision.
In his final, hazy glimpse, he saw the serpent furiously tear apart several Grindylows, its tail coiling around him once more before speeding through the dark underwater channels.
Tick, tick, tick.
The sound came from far away, carrying the distinct echo of a cavern.
When consciousness clawed its way back, the first thing Snape noticed was the steady drip of water.
He slowly opened his eyes to a faint, ghostly blue glow. The light came from bioluminescent fungi clinging to the cave walls, pulsing like enchanted fireflies in the dark.
"I… I'm alive?" Snape was startled by how clear his voice sounded, reverberating faintly in the cavern.
Propping himself up on his elbows, he found himself lying in a shallow stone hollow. A thin layer of water had nearly dried, leaving only damp pebbles pressed against his back.
Strangely, he felt no discomfort—no aftereffects of drowning, no headache from the impact, not even the ache in his ribs where the serpent had coiled around him.
Instead, an odd vitality coursed through his veins. He felt healthier than ever before.
"Something's not right…" Snape cautiously sat up, his robes half-dry.
By the faint blue glow of the fungi, he surveyed his surroundings.
He was in a vast cavern connected to an expansive underground lake. The ceiling soared high, adorned with stalactites and stalagmites, some fused into thick stone pillars.
More striking were the clear signs of human craftsmanship: crumbled stone walls, the remnants of columns carved with ancient runes.
Snape shuffled down a slope, his boots crunching dried plant debris. He crouched, carefully examining the fragile, weathered stems and leaves.
"Moonshadow Herb?" he whispered in disbelief, staring at a shriveled silver plant. He'd only seen its illustration in the oldest potion grimoires. Even long dead, its distinctive spiral veins were unmistakable. "A key ingredient in the Elixir of Life… extinct for at least three hundred years…"
The cavern seemed to have once been a meticulously designed magical garden. Though most plants had turned to dust, the remnants suggested it had once housed countless rare potion ingredients from ancient texts.
But he had no time to dwell on it. The pressing matter was getting out.
"Bloody rotten luck—wand's gone too," he muttered, cursing under his breath. He chose a path that seemed to bear human-made markings and began edging along the cavern's perimeter. "The wizard who caused this mess is long dead, so I can't even take it out on him…"
The cavern air was damp and cold. Occasional droplets fell from above, sliding icily down his collar and making him shiver.
The passage twisted and turned, sometimes wide, sometimes so narrow he had to sidle through.
After two bends, the cavern grew deeper, the blue fungi thinning. Snape was considering turning back when he froze—a pair of emerald-green slit-pupil eyes stared unblinkingly at him from the darkness.
"Hello," Snape said dryly, his Parseltongue hissing off the rock walls. "Nice… scenery around here, isn't it?"
The eyes blinked. With the sound of scales scraping stone, the serpent's full form emerged.
It stared at him for a few seconds before opening its massive jaws, revealing sharp, venomous fangs.
Snape instinctively stepped back, but the serpent merely spat out a few shimmering silver fish, their gills still faintly twitching.
The serpent nudged the fish toward him with its tail, fixing him with a cold stare and hissing in a strange, halting tone: "Eat… eat…"
"Raw?" Snape eyed the wriggling fish, hesitating. "I lost my wand. Can't exactly prepare food."
The serpent tilted its head, seeming to ponder, then slowly hissed, "Wait… wait…"
With that, it turned and slithered into the darkness, its long body vanishing into the cavern's depths, the sound of scales fading.
While waiting, Snape examined the fish—Albanian Silver-Scales, edible but typically requiring the removal of toxic glands. He sighed, attempting to process them with a sharp stone, but the results were poor.
By now, he had a suspicion about the serpent's identity.
Roughly half an hour later, the sound of scales returned. The serpent reappeared, moving with some effort. Its tail was curled around something—a Grindylow corpse and, Snape's heart sank, the broken half of his wand, still clutched in the creature's hand.
The wand's broken edge was jagged, the dragon heartstring core exposed like a wounded vein.
"This…" Snape pried the wand fragment from the Grindylow's grip, looking helplessly at the serpent. "Did you see the other half?"
The answer was clear in the serpent's eyes.
The wand was now a useless relic. Even Dumbledore, with the Elder Wand, couldn't repair such damage.
Snape looked up at the serpent and, to his surprise, detected a flicker of something like apology in its cold, slit-pupil eyes.
It nudged the Grindylow's corpse toward him.
"Well, it's better than nothing. Thank you," Snape sighed, pocketing the broken wand. "Do you have a name? Would you tell me?"
The serpent stared at him for a long time before hissing haltingly, "Na… gi… ni…"
At the name, Snape's pupils dilated. It confirmed his suspicion—this serpent was Nagini, the blood-cursed Animagus once known to Newt Scamander.
In his mind's eye, he saw the shy, gentle girl doomed to a tragic fate.
Questions flooded his mind: After meeting Dumbledore outside Hogwarts in 1927, where had Nagini gone? When had the blood curse fully trapped her in this serpentine form? And why was she here, in Albania?
Before he could ponder further, Nagini raised her head, hissing for him to follow.
She slithered forward, glancing back to ensure he kept pace.
They navigated a winding, narrow passage until they reached a partially blocked tunnel, rubble leaving only a narrow gap.
Nagini pointed her tail at the slit, gesturing for Snape to go first.
After a moment's thought, Snape decided to trust her. Her earlier actions suggested she hadn't yet been swayed by Voldemort's influence—no schemes seemed afoot.
He squeezed through the gap, the darkness absolute, forcing him to feel his way along the slick walls, rocks scraping his arms and back.
After about twenty feet, the space opened up.
His foot struck something hard, which rolled forward with the sharp clack of wood on stone.
Snape crouched, fingers brushing a slender object. His heart raced as he realized what it might be—a wand?
Gripping it eagerly, he tried a spell. "Lumos!"
The decayed wand shuddered violently, its tip spitting erratic sparks that nearly singed his eyebrows.
The fleeting light revealed a grand hall. In the brief flashes, Snape glimpsed a chilling sight: skeletons in tattered robes sprawled in various poses, some clad in rusted armor, still clutching corroded weapons.
Casting cautious Lumos spells, Snape gathered more wands from the skeletons. After several attempts, he found one that responded decently—a dark wood wand wrapped in tarnished silver wire at the handle.
"Lumos," he whispered. This time, a steadier white glow illuminated the scene.
It was clearly the remnant of an expedition, likely medieval, judging by the attire. Most striking was a wizard's skeleton against a wall, its robes finer and better preserved than the others.
Clutched in its bony fingers was a parchment scroll.
Snape cast a few Revelio charms before carefully extracting it.
The parchment's edges were moldy, the ink faded, but traces of magical ink remained legible:
"…search… legend… ancient texts… Fountain of Fortune… true… friends… twelve knights… spring… eternal power… greatest… rule… only…"
The rest was indecipherable, but the scene told a grim tale.
Snape scanned the room, noting dents in the armor and skeletons posed as if attacking one another.
A theory formed: they'd found the Fountain of Fortune, only to realize its waters could serve just one. Friendship turned to slaughter.
He glanced back toward the entrance, the dry hollow where he'd awoken now vivid in his memory.
Could that have been the Fountain of Fortune? He touched his arm—his skin was oddly smooth, but nothing else seemed amiss.
"Hm… I recall the texts saying the Fountain's waters hold no magic," he muttered. "Besides, everything I've achieved, I owe to my own talent and effort, not some external crutch…"
"But… just in case…" He turned to the serpent waiting silently. "Nagini, that place you put me in… are there others like it?"
Nagini's emerald eyes were inscrutable.
Then, she turned and slithered back toward the entrance.
Snape hurried after her, only to find her stopping where she'd left the fish.
"Oh… not leading me to another spring, then," Snape said, mildly disappointed.
His stomach growled, so he sat to prepare the fish, using the new wand to cook them.
Moments later, he stared glumly at the charred, ashen fish corpses in his hands.
"Care for some?" he offered.
Nagini slid back pointedly, her refusal clear.
"Wait, give me another chance!"
He strode to the lake's edge, raising the wand. "Accio Silver-Scales!"
Two splashes, followed by the slap of fish hitting stone.
Snape repeated the process.
Ten minutes later, he held a blackened, barely fish-shaped lump.
"It's the wand—it's not cooperating redactable!" Snape protested, embarrassed.
Nagini closed her eyes and buried her head in her coiled body.
————
Supporting me on Patreon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .com/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Patreon normally.)