The door creaked open with the sort of ominous finality that usually accompanied last words or tax audits.
The torches flickered as if they were personally offended by whatever eldritch energy just slipped through the crack. Shadows danced like they were trying out for a gothic ballet, and then—
Boom.
In strode Professor Severus Snape, billowing in black like someone had just dared him to out-dramatic a thunderstorm.
He paused, eyes scanning the room with the weariness of a man who knew he was surrounded by idiots and had made peace with that fact only because murder was still, technically, illegal.
"Children," he drawled, voice dripping with disdain and the weight of ten thousand bad decisions he didn't make but was somehow blamed for.
Everyone froze.
Not because Snape was scary (okay, yeah, he kind of was), but because—
Click.
A tiny snap. Almost imperceptible.
Like a thread being cut. A trigger tripped.
A ripple of magic bloomed in the air, subtle but undeniable—like a breath held too long, finally exhaled.
And then—oh, then—it happened.
A shimmer of blue light rippled over Snape's figure, wrapping him in a cocoon of translucent magic, and in the blink of an eye, his robes vanished. Gone. Banished to the Phantom Zone of fashion.
In their place...
Was the Batsuit.
Not just any Batsuit. The Batsuit. The Joel-Schumacher-era, oh-Gods-why-did-they-do-that-to-Batman Batsuit. Sculpted abs. Ridiculous sheen. Utility belt shinier than Draco's hair. And, yes.
Bat-nipples.
The room held its breath like it had been slapped.
Snape blinked. Once. Slowly. As if trying to determine whether he had just suffered a stroke or if the universe was actively conspiring against him.
He looked down.
Another blink.
Then, finally, up.
Locked eyes with Harry James Potter.
Who stood.
Arms crossed behind his back like a royal courtier who absolutely just poured glitter in someone's goblet and was about to deny it with a smirk.
"Nice entrance, Professor," Harry said, deadpan. "I didn't realize you were moonlighting for the Ministry of Brooding Vigilantes."
There was a beat.
Tonks—pink-haired and wearing a pair of acid-green dragon-hide combat boots—exploded into laughter, actually falling out of her chair and taking a nearby cauldron with her. "Bloody—Batsuit?! HA! I KNEW you had a dark side, Snape! Wait, no, I meant kinky, not dark—no, wait—OH GODS NEVERMIND."
Neville—sweet, slightly awkward Neville (now played by a post-glow-up Matthew Lewis and therefore contractually obligated to be adorably flustered)—made a noise like a startled mouse who'd just been handed a tax audit. "I—I think I just had a religious experience."
Hermione had both hands over her mouth. "That's not... that's not even theoretical. That violates at least six known Magical Ward Interaction Protocols and an entire chapter of 'Why We Don't Hex Professors, Volume VII.'"
Tracey Davis—mischief in a bottle, eyes glittering like a chaos goblin—murmured, "We need to build a shrine. Right now. Candles. Offerings. A tiny replica of the nipples."
"Absolutely," said Daphne Greengrass, casually flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder like Sydney Sweeney at a red carpet event. "This is a cultural reset. Hogwarts history just split into pre-nipple and post-nipple eras."
Blaise Zabini—cool, unbothered, the human embodiment of jazz music in expensive cologne—nodded like he'd just seen God. "Iconic," he whispered, as if he was witnessing the Sistine Chapel being painted live.
Snape's nostrils flared. The temperature dropped.
The silence was suffocating.
"Mr. Potter," Snape said slowly, his voice like poisoned silk, "is there something you would like to share with the class?"
Harry tilted his head.
"Oh, just that your new... ensemble," he said with the kind of grin that should've been illegal in at least three countries, "really emphasizes your commitment to justice." He paused, dramatically. "And nipples."
Tonks snorted so hard she almost dislocated a lung. "HE SAID NIPPLES. OH MY GODS."
Neville backed into a cauldron. "Don't look directly at the chest plate! It's like a solar eclipse!"
Hermione whimpered, "This is not what Arithmancy was meant to be used for!"
Snape reached for his wand with all the restrained fury of a Shakespearean villain who just realized he was in a farce.
"RUN!" Tonks screamed.
And chaos exploded like Fred and George had catered the moment.
Chairs toppled. Daphne cast a Shield Charm—on herself, obviously. Tracey vaulted over a desk while yelling, "Protect the Bat-nips!" Neville sprinted straight into the wall and bounced off with a confused "ow." Hermione threw a copy of Hogwarts: A History like it was a grenade. Blaise slid under a bench with the calm of someone saving their Gucci robes.
And Harry?
Harry dodged a hex like he was in a Marvel film, flipped over a chair, and turned mid-spin with a wink. "Totally worth it," he muttered, as sparks flew overhead.
Snape's wand glowed ominously.
The torches flared brighter, casting his rubber-clad form in dramatic silhouette as he snarled, "Detention, Potter. A month."
Harry winked again. "Can I wear the Batsuit too?"
Snape's eye twitched so hard it might've reset the rotation of the planet.
—
**Snape stormed out of the dungeon like a man on a mission—or a warpath, depending on how dramatic you liked your entrances. His cape—sorry, bat-cape—fluttered behind him like a flag of pure malice, as if it too was offended by the very idea of being worn in public. Each step was deliberate, his boots clacking with the kind of authority that made the portraits on the walls quietly mutter, "Is that... Batman?"
Harry, ever the cocky genius, walked two steps behind him, hands casually shoved into his pockets. His grin was as wide as the Black Lake.
"So," Harry said, letting the words roll off his tongue like he was addressing a particularly slow cat, "are we heading to the Batcave, or is it the usual Headmaster's Office of Guilt, Lemon Drops, and Dumbledore's Hidden Magic?"
Snape didn't respond. His silence was a heavy, impenetrable thing. The kind of silence that you could feel in your bones.
"Come on, Snape, don't tell me you're still mad?" Harry continued, a knowing grin dancing on his lips. "I complimented you. Even called it 'brooding.' That's gotta count for something, right?"
Nothing. Not even a twitch. Harry adjusted his posture slightly, smug as ever.
"Oh, don't play hard to get now," he muttered to himself, "I know you're feeling the vibe."
Meanwhile, back in the dungeon classroom—three seconds after the door slammed shut behind Snape and Harry—Daphne Greengrass was already preparing her own battle plan.
"Right," she muttered, whipping out her enchanted mirror like a pro. "Time for some serious damage control."
Tracey Davis, half-laughing and half-panicking, quickly flicked her wand. "Lumos Maxima. Gotta make sure the 'spy cam' works."
The mirror gleamed. And then—like magic—Sirius Black's grinning face appeared, impossibly good-looking in the way only someone with a criminal record and a God-given charm could pull off.
"Daphne? What's going on?"
"Your godson is in deep, Sirius," Daphne snapped, eyes sharp as daggers. "Snape's in a bat-suit—complete with nip—well, you know what I mean—and he's dragging Harry to the Headmaster's office! Now! Get here, and bring the big guns. Oh, and bring Charlus and Dorea too, because we're going to need the whole family to handle this."
Sirius blinked. Then blinked again. "...Bat-nipples?"
"SIRIUS. Focus."
"I am focused! I just—did you say Bat-nipples?"
Daphne's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Yes, I did. Now, get your ass over here, and bring backup. No, seriously—backup."
With a dramatic pop, Sirius disappeared from the mirror, leaving Daphne standing with a look that could kill. Tracey gave her a thumbs up.
"Well, I guess that's our cue to move."
Tonks spun on her heel, grinning wide as she fluffed her pink hair. "YES. This is what I've been waiting for."
Hermione, wide-eyed and utterly overwhelmed, clutched her books tighter. "Wait—hold on. Are we... are we actually going after Harry? This sounds...dangerous."
Tracey threw her arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Oh, don't worry, Hermione. It's like... a super fun club. You'll get used to the chaos. Eventually."
Neville, who had already managed to spill half of his inkpot on his robes, stared down at his shoes, looking like he was mentally preparing himself for what was coming.
"Well, Harry's, uh, kind of saved my life twice, so I guess... it's only fair I return the favor, right?"
Blaise, who had been standing with his arms crossed, casually examining his reflection in a polished goblet, gave an approving nod. "I've only been here an hour, but... you guys are a lot of fun. Let's cause some magic-induced mayhem."
Tonks threw open the door and pointed forward. "Alright, folks. Justice League: Off-brand edition—let's go."
They moved swiftly through the corridors, ducking behind statues, slipping through shadowy doorways, and even casting a few quick disillusionment charms. Tonks, in her usual way, switched between disguises at the drop of a hat, even taking on the form of a perfectly realistic Dumbledore at one point to yell, "Ten points from Slytherin!" just to mess with Peeves.
Daphne, ever the tactician, muttered to herself. "Okay, Snape's in the suit. That'll slow him down. The cape alone probably weighs a ton. We follow from a safe distance, wait for Sirius and the grandparents to show up, and then we hit them with Operation Legal Bombardment."
Tracey, loving every second of it, grinned. "Legal Bombardment. Sounds glorious."
Hermione, still processing the insanity, shot a glance at Neville. "Are we really doing this? Is this... normal?"
Neville nodded sagely, though he looked slightly uncomfortable. "Honestly? Harry's the only person who'd drag us into something like this. But, I mean... he's our mate."
Blaise stretched his arms out. "And I am here for it."
Finally, they reached the corridor near Dumbledore's office.
Tonks held up a hand, signaling the group to stop. "There they are."
And at the far end of the hallway stood Snape, striding toward the gargoyle with his Bat-cape flowing dramatically behind him, like someone who had spent way too much time watching superhero movies.
Harry, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, walked right next to him, hands in his pockets.
Daphne glanced at her friends. "You ready?"
They nodded, steely resolve in their eyes.
Just as Snape was about to speak the password to the gargoyle, three figures appeared at the far end of the hall.
Sirius Black.
Charlus Potter.
Dorea Potter.
The group froze.
Harry's eyes went wide. "Oh shit."
Sirius, wearing a grin that could have been trademarked, leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Oh yes. We're here."
Charlus Potter—looking impossibly sharp in a tailored suit, the kind that could have only been crafted in the finest magical tailor shops—narrowed his eyes at Snape. His voice was a low growl. "Severus... is that... latex?"
Dorea Potter, whose elegance was matched only by her lethalness, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Severus. You didn't tell us it was that kind of party."
Snape made a strangled sound—like someone had just shoved a salad fork through his ego.
Harry, still grinning, whispered to Sirius, "I love you."
Sirius slapped him on the back. "Of course you do, kid. I bring the drama and the backup."
Daphne, standing with her arms crossed, shot Snape a smug look. "Told you they'd come."
Hermione blinked, suddenly realizing what this meant. "We're so expelled."
Blaise, looking eerily calm, shrugged. "Totally worth it."
Tracey, grinning ear to ear, threw a fist in the air. "Bat-nipple crisis? Neutralized."
Neville, who was doing his best not to faint, hiccupped. "Can someone please just tell me what's happening?"
Tonks, as usual, was ready to wrap things up with style. She turned to the group and raised her eyebrows. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hogwarts: Year of Chaos."
And just like that, the battle was won.
—
Snape stood rigid, his black attire gleaming with an ominous sheen, and a posture so stiff it could've doubled as a petrified tree. The man radiated fury and some serious bat-related vibes, with his long cloak fluttering behind him like a winged specter out of a gothic novel. His glare could've burned a hole in the very fabric of the space itself. When he finally spoke, his voice oozed with the coldest venom imaginable, thick enough to freeze the blood in one's veins.
"Black," Snape drawled, each syllable dripping with acid. "Tell me you're not here to make this worse."
Sirius leaned against the wall, a playful grin stretching across his face like he was savoring the moment. He looked like he had just been handed a free pass to annoy Snape for the next hour. "Oh, I definitely am. I mean—look at you, Sev. You're practically the lovechild of a bat and a rubber tree. One step away from being the Dark Knight's sidekick."
Snape's eye twitched. Again.
Charlus took a step forward, his voice low and as refined as the tailored robes he wore. His tone carried the weight of authority, but there was a mischievous edge that even Snape couldn't miss. "Severus," he began, letting the name roll off his tongue like he was speaking to a child, "explain to me why you look like a latex-clad fever dream. Was there an emergency at a mysterious costume party?"
Dorea, who had been watching the scene with a growing smirk, tilted her head slightly as she crossed her arms. "I'm just wondering if that suit breathes. Or are you slowly cooking in there like an overstuffed sausage?"
Snape did not flinch—much—but the twitch in his eye betrayed his growing irritation. His patience was thinning faster than a pre-Halloween potion in Snape's personal cauldron.
"Black—Potter—Potter," Snape snarled, gritting his teeth so hard that it sounded like the creaking of a well-aged door. "Your commentary is neither requested nor helpful. And your godson is in enough trouble to warrant a suspension."
"From what?" Sirius asked innocently, as if the very concept of trouble was beneath him. "Being brilliant? A fashion visionary? A prank legend?"
Charlus nodded solemnly, the corners of his lips twitching as if he might crack a grin any moment. "The nipple detailing is frankly a bold choice. Dorea, remind me to get Cursed Artifacts into the House Curriculum again. Clearly, we've been slacking."
Dorea made a nonchalant gesture, her eyes never leaving Snape. "I'll have a word with the Board. But honestly, Severus, you might need a second opinion on your… aesthetic choices."
Snape didn't reply, but Harry was fairly certain that if looks could kill, they'd have to scrape Snape off the stone floor with a shovel.
And then, like a chaotic parade of teenagers summoned by the sound of battle, the younger squad appeared around the corner. Daphne strutted forward with a calculated air of superiority, her posture perfect, as though leading a battalion into war. Tracey was right behind her, twirling her wand with a dangerous sort of elegance, ready to slice through any arguments. Tonks—who had obviously had too much coffee that morning—was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and her nose had even shifted into a new shape in her excitement. Hermione jogged up looking half-ready to pull out a parchment and start citing school bylaws. Neville was clutching a toad-patterned notebook like it was the Holy Grail, eyes wide in a mix of fear and curiosity. Blaise, of course, walked up like he had just stepped off the cover of Wizard Vogue, immaculate in every way.
Snape, clearly trying his best not to lose his mind, spoke with venomous clarity, his voice echoing off the walls. "I explicitly said no one was to leave the classroom—"
"We're witnesses, sir," Daphne interrupted smoothly, stepping up with the confidence of someone who knew how to handle a room. "Legally, we're obligated to provide testimony. Which we will, to the Headmaster, directly. In detail. With possible illustrations."
Snape could only glare, eyes narrowing into slits. His attempts to counter were about as successful as a broomstick in a hurricane.
Charlus, never one to shy away from a good verbal joust, glanced at Daphne and gave a small nod of approval. "She's right, Severus. We'll need a full account from everyone. Especially if a cursed artifact was involved. Or if Harry's in danger."
"I am in danger," Harry muttered behind Sirius, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Danger of laughing myself into a hernia."
Tracey, always one for quiet mischief, elbowed him with a grin. "Shh. The adults are roasting each other. It's art."
Tonks, not to be outdone, grinned wildly and spun in place, her hair shifting into an actual mini-Dumbledore look. "Ten points from Snape for crimes against aesthetic."
"Miss Tonks," Snape said through gritted teeth, his tone dripping with danger. "I will have you—"
"You'll what?" Sirius cut in, sounding utterly delighted. "Ground her? Please. The moment you put on that suit, all your authority evaporated faster than a House-Elf on a hot summer day."
Blaise, ever the picture of cool detachment, raised a hand politely. "Question. Is there a tail on that thing, or is it just an unfortunate wrinkle? 'Cause I'm not seeing it working for you, man."
Hermione gasped in horror. "Blaise!"
"Just asking," Blaise shrugged nonchalantly. "For posterity."
Dorea chuckled darkly under her breath, eyes sparkling with mischief. "This generation might be worse than ours."
Charlus didn't respond, too busy inspecting Snape's outfit like it was a rare potion gone horribly wrong.
Neville, who had been standing just behind Daphne, suddenly spoke up, his voice unusually firm for someone so prone to blushing. "Um. Also. I think I saw the runes on the baseplate where the suit was attached. I might've written them down. Maybe. If that helps."
Snape snapped his head toward Neville, glaring with the intensity of a Basilisk.
Neville squeaked but stood his ground. "I mean… it could be useful?"
Dorea raised an eyebrow and shot Neville a grin. "Good lad."
Hermione leaned into Tracey, her voice low. "Are you sure I won't be expelled for this?"
"Almost," Tracey whispered back, her grin widening mischievously. "Depends on whether we see bat-butt or not."
Daphne, who had been standing just a step in front of everyone, turned to Snape with a look of complete disdain. "Regardless, we're all going. We're involved, and we're not about to let Harry take the fall for something that was obviously a magical mishap."
Snape looked like he was about to argue again, but Charlus didn't give him the opportunity. With a raised hand, he interrupted, his voice low but commanding. "Enough. They're coming. Let's end the dramatics and get to the truth. All of it."
Sirius, putting his arm around Harry's shoulder, added in mock solemness, "And maybe we should start planning a memorial for Snape's dignity while we're at it."
Snape's eyes closed for a moment, his expression unreadable. It was as though he were praying to Salazar Slytherin himself for the strength to deal with this circus.
"Up the stairs," he spat, his voice raw with frustration. "Now."
The stone gargoyle leapt aside, and the staircase began to spiral upward.
Harry grinned at Daphne. "You brought the whole cavalry?"
Daphne smirked, eyes glinting. "What can I say? We believe in full dramatic backup."
As the group climbed onto the moving staircase, their banter continued unabated. Laughter echoed through the hall, a symphony of irreverence, mischief, and youthful exuberance.
Sirius leaned toward Harry as they ascended, his voice low but laced with humor. "Bat-nipples aside... you're still grounded."
"Totally worth it," Harry replied with a grin. "Ten times over."
Snape, who was leading the group, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Insufferable brats."
Charlus, not even glancing back, quipped, "You were one once, Severus. They're just more stylish about it."
The doors to the Headmaster's Office loomed large ahead.
And whatever was about to happen next, they were ready.
—
Absolutely! Here's a rewritten version of your scene with a lot more banter, detail, and character flair, fully leaning into the casting you've specified and really letting the personalities and performances shine through:
The doors to Dumbledore's office creaked open—not with the usual groaning resistance, but a kind of theatrical flair, like even the castle itself knew this was going to be a show.
Inside, Albus Dumbledore sat serenely behind his cluttered desk, half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, an enormous leather-bound tome floating midair in front of him. He looked up, and in an instant, the composed arch of his brow shot north like it was trying to flee the scene.
In marched a parade of students like the cast of an offbeat teen comedy—mischievous eyes sparkling, smug grins plastered on their faces—and at the front of this strange brigade… stood Severus Snape.
Draped—or rather vacuum-sealed—in a glossy black, latex-esque suit complete with exaggerated bat-like shoulder flares and glistening boots, Snape looked like a cross between an S&M enthusiast and a rejected Gotham villain.
Dumbledore blinked once, slowly. Then again, as if unsure if this was some kind of late-night lemon drop hallucination.
"Well," he said finally, voice dry as desert air. He adjusted his spectacles with the delicate poise of a man trying not to burst into laughter. "This is… a first."
Snape's jaw clenched. Hard. The muscle there pulsed like it was trying to break free from his face.
"Headmaster," he said, his voice the usual silky snarl, but now with an undertone of murder. "I assure you—"
But Dumbledore lifted a hand, forestalling him. "No, no. Please. Allow me a moment. I feel we must... appreciate this ensemble properly."
He gestured at the suit with an almost reverent wave. "The bat motif. The gleam. It reminds me vividly of a Muggle film I saw once. A rather... theatrical piece directed by a Joel Schumacher. Do you perhaps moonlight as Gotham's newest menace, Severus?"
From behind Snape, a choked snort escaped Dorea Potter.
"Honestly, I thought the same," she said, her tone imperiously amused. "All he's missing is a rubber ducky and a monologue about vengeance."
"Or," Sirius Black chimed in with a devilish grin, "a grappling hook and an angst quota."
Charlus, leaning lazily against a nearby cabinet, observed Snape with the withering gaze only Charles Dance could deliver. "You look like a midlife crisis wrapped in patent leather, Severus. Has your dignity finally surrendered?"
Snape inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring like an angry stallion. He was seconds away from either hexing someone or combusting entirely from the heat trapped in that suit.
Tonks, bouncing in place like a kid about to explode, threw up both hands.
"Oh my Merlin, can we talk about the boots? The heels, people. The absolute power move."
Tracey Davis, leaning casually on Daphne Greengrass's shoulder, added with a smirk, "Snape's out here living his best villain arc. All he needs is a dramatic entrance with fog and a theme song."
"Preferably not in that suit," Hermione muttered, nose wrinkling with visible discomfort.
Neville, bless his soul, was staring at Snape like a deer in headlights, jaw slightly open.
"I—I think he's... melting," Neville said uncertainly. "Is that steam? That looks like steam."
Sirius slapped him on the back. "Don't stare too long, Nev. You'll start seeing your worst fears in latex."
Blaise Zabini let out a low whistle. "Honestly? Respect. It takes serious commitment to look that horrifying and still pretend it's normal."
Snape twitched like he might actually explode.
"Enough," he hissed. "This is not a fashion critique. This is—Potter's fault."
All eyes shifted to Harry, who stepped forward slowly with the casual elegance of someone who knew he had absolutely played the game and was about to win it.
Harry raised a brow, arms folded. "Really, Professor? That's your story?"
Snape sneered, "Don't play coy. You did this."
Harry blinked. "I didn't cast a single Transfiguration charm on you."
"Technically true," murmured Tracey, barely hiding her smirk.
Neville nodded along. "He was just standing there. Didn't wave his wand or anything."
"Right," Blaise said with mock solemnity. "Just Harry. Standing. Quietly. Innocent as ever."
Daphne leaned forward, hand on her hip, voice like honey with a razorblade edge. "You're accusing him without proof, Professor. That's... not very Slytherin of you."
Snape looked like he might chew through his own wand.
"Enough games. Priori Incantato," he said, raising his wand at Harry with the theatrical venom of a stage villain. "Let us see the last spell you cast."
Harry, utterly nonchalant, extended his wand like he was offering someone a drink.
"Be my guest," he said. "Last spell I cast was Lumos. Then Nox. Hope you like light shows."
Snape's teeth ground like granite being slowly crushed. He cast the spell, and the echo of Harry's recent incantations shimmered into view—Lumos, Nox, a harmless charm to fix a torn sleeve, a silencing charm…
Nowhere in sight was the cleverly cast magical tripwire—triggered by proximity, laid before class, and timed perfectly.
Silence followed.
Dumbledore peered at the magical display, lips twitching with amusement. "Well. That settles that."
Dorea stepped forward, voice as sharp as ever. "I suggest you triple-check the spell registry next time, Severus. Or ask your wardrobe if it's conspiring against you."
Charlus added, deadpan, "Perhaps next time, try robes that don't squeak when you walk."
"Yeah," Sirius said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "I mean, we could get him a cape. A proper one. Maybe one that billows dramatically."
Tonks was nodding vigorously. "YES. And a glitter bomb entrance."
Snape looked as if someone had personally insulted his potions cabinet. He opened his mouth—
—and Dumbledore raised a hand again, calm and composed.
"Well then," the Headmaster said, standing with his usual serene grace. "Unless there is further latex-based evidence to present, I believe this meeting is concluded. Severus, perhaps you might wish to... change into something a bit more breathable."
Snape said nothing. He simply turned on his heel, boots squeaking like rubber balloons, and stalked from the room.
As soon as the doors closed behind him, the room erupted into laughter.
Harry leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes gleaming. "You know, Professor Dumbledore, he never did answer your question."
"Oh?" Dumbledore asked mildly.
"Yeah," Harry said. "Whether the suit breathes. Or if he's just slowly marinating in his own rage."
Dorea cackled. "That's not rage. That's desperation and vinyl clinging to unmentionables."
Neville shook his head. "I'll never look at leather the same way again."
Daphne smirked. "We just broke Snape."
Tracey nodded. "Yeah. And we didn't even need a spell."
—
As the enchanted gargoyle slid aside with a grumble that sounded suspiciously like it resented being part of whatever unholy farce had just unfolded, the group filed out of Dumbledore's office. The door whispered shut behind them like a secret keeping itself.
There was a beat of stunned, sacred silence.
Then—
"Three more seconds," Sirius muttered, running a hand down his face with the exaggerated despair of a Shakespearean actor in the middle of a tragic soliloquy. "Three. Bloody. Seconds. That's all I needed."
Charlus didn't even look up as he adjusted his cufflinks with surgical precision. "You missed your window, cousin. A tragedy of generational proportions. The Wizarding World may never recover."
"I almost had him," Sirius groaned, half-collapsing against the stone wall like a man defeated not by war, but by comedy denied. "He was right there. One more push and he would've said it. 'I am vengeance, I am the night, I am Batman.' Imagine! We could've bottled that and sold it as Patronus fuel."
Dorea raised an elegant brow, arms folded like a judge in court. "He might have done it, if you'd called him the 'Dark Knight of Dungeons and Detentions.'"
Sirius gasped. "No! Merlin's saggy underpants, you're right! Why didn't I think of that?" He banged his head lightly against the stone. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
Behind the sealed door, Dumbledore could be faintly heard humming a waltz and muttering delightedly, "Hmm, yes... this one shall be filed as: 'Severus in Spandex – A Cautionary Tale in Ego and Elastics.'"
Snape had, mercifully for his dignity (and unfortunately for comedy), already stormed off. Though his billowing robes had returned, the last stubborn remnant of the bat-shaped codpiece had lingered long enough to traumatize at least three portraits and a gargoyle.
"Did anyone see the way he turned that corner?" Blaise asked, voice low and velvet smooth. "Like a penguin in a wind tunnel."
"It wasn't a turn," Daphne said coolly, flicking a strand of blonde hair back like she was preparing for battle in the courtroom. "It was a desperate sidestep to escape the crushing weight of self-awareness."
"Or latex rash," Tracey added, eyes sparkling with wicked glee.
Neville blinked slowly, still wide-eyed. "Is... is anyone else concerned with how functional he looked? Like... like he could maybe survive a Gotham Tuesday?"
Everyone turned.
Neville paled. "I mean—not good! Just... efficient? Maybe? Like a very greasy crime deterrent?"
Harry clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "You're spiraling, mate. Abort mission."
"Noted," Neville squeaked.
Tonks snorted, bouncing on her heels, hair cycling from pink to electric purple. "You lot don't understand the trauma of seeing your former professor in tactical leather. I'm going to need four shots of Firewhisky and a very long talk with my therapist."
"Or a Pensieve cleanse," Hermione muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I can still see the way he posed like he was auditioning for a Zack Snyder reboot."
"It's seared into my brain like cursed runes," Tracey added solemnly. "I can never look at bat-shaped anything the same again."
Sirius cleared his throat theatrically and stepped forward, suddenly the picture of solemnity. The wild glint in his eyes gave away the lie.
"Before we part ways, my young Marauders-in-training, a word of wisdom."
Everyone leaned in.
"If anyone ever asks what happened today…" Sirius lowered his voice, "...you look them in the eyes, tilt your head just enough to look mysterious, and say: 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'"
Charlus nodded with the gravity of a man who'd delivered the same line under Ministry inquiry. "Plausible deniability isn't just a shield. It's a lifestyle."
"Live it well," Dorea added, her tone imperial. "And never, ever write it down. Diaries are death warrants."
"Too late," Tonks said, pulling out a quill. "I'm calling this chapter: 'The Bat, the Snape, and the Seriously Deranged.'"
Dorea didn't even flinch. "I will find your journal, Nymphadora. And I will obliterate it."
Tonks blanched. "Worth it."
Harry laughed, saluted lazily. "I'll make sure it goes down in Hogwarts legend."
Charlus turned at the end of the corridor, looking back at Harry with a rare flicker of pride. "You handled yourself well, boy. As smooth as a Slytherin at a Ministry gala."
Harry grinned. "Guess the apple didn't fall far from the smartass tree."
"Hah," Sirius barked, tossing him a wink. "That tree was an orchard. You're the whole harvest."
Charlus smirked without turning. "He lives for flattery, by the way. Has a scrapbook called 'The Charlus Chronicles: Volume One – Praise and Petty Insults.'"
"Footnotes featuring Sirius Black," Sirius shot back.
The trio turned, cloaks swishing like they'd practiced it, and disappeared around the bend.
Blaise gave a low whistle. "You know, for war criminals and serial pranksters, they clean up well."
Daphne smirked. "That's because they are war criminals and serial pranksters. It's in the swagger."
"So," Blaise clapped his hands. "Common room? Butterbeer? Debrief with enough sugar to make Madam Pomfrey faint?"
"Only if we call it 'Operation Batgrease,'" Tracey grinned.
Hermione groaned. "Absolutely not. That's appalling."
"Which is why it's brilliant," Daphne countered.
Neville raised a hand. "Can we all agree to never mention Snape's latex butt again?"
"Seconded," Harry said quickly.
"Praise Merlin," Neville breathed.
Harry threw an arm around him as they started toward the stairs. "Come on, Longbottom. Let's go immortalize our trauma with snacks and sugar."
"And emotional damage," Tonks added cheerfully.
With their laughter echoing down the corridor, the group disappeared into the castle's winding heart—a band of legends-in-the-making.
And back in the office, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore swirled a memory in his Pensieve and chuckled softly. "Ah, Severus. Who knew all it would take was a little cape and a lot of ego?"
---
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