Pandora froze in horror as the Inferi clawed their way out of the stairwell, a wave of rotting flesh and stench pressing toward the exit.
With a scream, she drew her wand and shouted, "Bombarda Maxima!" aiming straight at the bag on the ground.
Still suspended in the air, Snape twisted violently to see if she was all right, heart pounding.
Time slowed.
The bag quivered once under the force of the spell. Then—flash!—a sharp burst of white light erupted as it inflated rapidly like a balloon filled with fire.
Without hesitation, Snape bellowed, "Protego Maxima!"
A dome of pale blue light shimmered into being, encasing all three of them within its protective radius.
BOOOOM—
The explosion shattered the tunnel like paper against a storm. The stairwell caved in. Walls buckled. Stones thundered down. Dust and debris filled the air, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the whole castle trembled.
The sheer force broke the grip on Snape's ankle. He flew sideways through the air.
Ahead of him, Pandora was hurled upward like a leaf in a gale, her body spinning helplessly toward the stone corridor wall.
"Incarcerous!" Snape shouted, eyes wide.
"Ahhh!" Pandora screamed, arms flailing, as the spell caught her mid-air, binding her in a net of ropes and redirecting her fall.
Snape twisted midair to reach her and, using the recoil of the ropes' snap, managed to steer both of them into a semi-controlled crash.
They hit the floor hard.
Snape felt like his back had been struck by a hammer. His whole spine screamed in agony, and for a moment he couldn't feel anything below his ribs.
"You okay?" he wheezed, struggling to sit up. He quickly undid the bindings and tapped Pandora's shoulder. "Pandora—are you hurt?"
She was still in shock, mouth open, eyes wide, her hair full of dust.
He helped her up slowly, then slapped the side of his own head to clear the ringing in his ears.
As the dust began to clear, the destruction came into view.
The passage was gone—gutted. The stairs had vanished completely. Rubble and shattered mirror-glass littered the floor. The air stank of magic and rot.
A few twitching limbs of the Inferi still moved weakly. One torso, torn in half, dragged itself forward on its elbows, leaving a black smear on the stones behind it.
Snape slammed a heavy rock down on its remaining arm, pinning it to the floor.
"Where's James?"
The thought hit him like a jolt of cold water.
He scanned the rubble frantically—then found him, crumpled in the corner.
Potter was unconscious, blood streaming down his face, one arm twisted at an ugly angle.
"Episkey," Snape muttered, directing his wand at the gash.
The wound on James's head sealed itself with a faint shimmer.
Then Snape knelt and tapped his broken arm. "Ferula."
Bandages unraveled and wrapped themselves tightly around the limb, splinting it to a thin wooden stick.
James groaned faintly.
Snape leaned close, checked his breathing, and then slapped him—hard.
"Wake up, Potter."
James's eyes fluttered open. His face was drained of all color, dazed and unfocused.
He raised a hand to his cheek instinctively.
"Don't touch that. You faceplanted into stone, genius," Snape snapped. "You nearly blew everything. Do you even realize what you've done?
"I saved your life, James Potter. You get that? I saved your bloody life!"
Before James could reply, footsteps pounded toward them—fast, urgent.
Professors arrived in a flurry of robes and nightclothes.
McGonagall led the charge, her lips pressed into a hard line, fury burning in her eyes.
Flitwick, Slughorn, and the stern-faced Professor Grubbly-Plank followed close behind, each of them breathing hard from the sprint.
"What happened here?" McGonagall cried, staring at the devastation in disbelief. "Snape! Potter! Why is it always you two?
"Lovegood, what are you doing here?
"WHO did this?!"
Her hands trembled with rage as she pointed between the three of them.
Then, behind them, the pinned Inferius twitched.
"What is that?" McGonagall shrieked.
"Inferius," Grubbly-Plank answered grimly. She crouched beside the mangled corpse, frowning. "But not a proper one. It's weaker than usual."
"What do you mean, Wilhelmina?" McGonagall demanded.
"These weren't made from fresh bodies." Grubbly-Plank wrinkled her nose. "They're rotted. Someone used old corpses."
She stood and looked at Snape, Pandora, and James. "This isn't their work. They don't have the knowledge—or the stomach."
"Seal off the area," McGonagall ordered sharply.
Wands flashed. A magical barrier shimmered into place, cutting off the ruined passage.
"Professor McGonagall!" Argus Filch hobbled in, puffing and red-faced, his lantern swinging wildly. "What's happened? More student mischief?"
He glared at Snape and James with bloodshot eyes. "Utter disgrace! No respect for the school! Do you know how much cleaning this is going to take?!"
Then—
Dong. Dong. Dong.
The distant tolling of a bell cut through the night.
The sound came from Hogsmeade.
Every professor froze.
McGonagall began pacing, clearly torn.
Then she stopped. "Argus," she said with finality. "Take all three of them to the hospital wing.
"Horace, Wilhelmina—secure the school. Get the prefects to gather the students in the Great Hall.
"Filius—come with me. We need to get to Hogsmeade. Now."
The teachers nodded sharply, scattering into motion.
"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" Snape called after her.
No answer.
McGonagall's robes whipped around the corner and vanished.
The bell kept ringing over Hogsmeade—loud, urgent, and endless.