Boom!
The roof of the Shrieking Shack caved in with a thunderous crash. Splintered beams hurtled straight toward Snape.
With a sharp flick of his wand, Snape deflected the debris hurtling toward him. But a peculiar scent lingered in the air—acrid, herbal, unmistakable to a Potions Master like him. His nose twitched as he instinctively parsed its components: nightshade, aconite, a hint of something sharper.
That split-second distraction was all Harry and Sirius needed. "Expelliarmus!" they chorused, wrenching the wand from Snape's grip.
"Well done, James!" Sirius crowed, but his triumph died as he whipped around. Horror flashed in his eyes. "Harry, behind you!"
Lupin, lost to his feral rage, had turned on friend alike. He lunged at Harry with bared teeth and claws.
Seeing the timeline hold steady, Argus exhaled in relief and ducked back into the shadows. His earlier interference had drawn too much attention—his original self from the unaltered timeline had noticed. By the time Argus had concealed himself again, that other version had already intervened, blasting Lupin away with a Stunning Spell.
The group huddled briefly, plotting their next move, then sprang into action. Snape, seething, barreled straight toward Argus.
"Bloody hell, Argus! You really hold a grudge, don't you?" Argus muttered under his breath. In his memories of this moment, Snape had claimed to pursue him but let him slip away. Ambiguous words—either a fleeting glimpse of a cloaked figure, or a brutal duel where Argus barely escaped. Snape's relentless charge screamed the latter.
"Oh, no," Argus groaned, sensing the noose tightening. He abandoned the search for Harry and bolted into the night.
But Snape was faster, a shadow on his heels. Outpaced, Argus veered into the dense woods bordering Hogwarts grounds.
"Sectumsempra!" Snape's voice sliced through the dark, his signature curse carving into a tree inches from Argus's hiding spot. Splinters flew as bark exploded.
Argus barely rolled aside before the next assault hit. "Bombarda!"
The forest erupted. Trees groaned and shattered in a chain of blasts, flames licking the underbrush. No hiding now—Argus whipped out his wand. "Protego!"
His Shield Charm flared, but the explosive force buckled it, toppling swathes of woodland around him.
Snape's lip curled in a sneer. "Clever rat, skulking in the shadows. If you won't show yourself..."
He leveled his wand, and Fiendfyre roared to life—a serpent of cursed flame uncoiling from the tip, swelling from ember to inferno in seconds. It thrashed toward the trees, devouring everything in its path with a guttural hiss.
Argus knew he was cornered. Death by fire, or face the storm. He drew the Elder Wand and the Philosopher's Stone from his robes, clutching the stone like a talisman. With a surge of will, he slammed the wand into the earth. "Finite Incantatem!"
A chill blue wave rippled outward, snuffing the Fiendfyre in a hiss of steam. Argus threw on his Invisibility Cloak and charged from the treeline, hurling a jet of red light. "Expelliarmus!"
"Tricks," Snape snarled, raising his wand to parry. But Argus, empowered by the Stone's alchemy and the Wand's supremacy, struck with unnatural force. Snape staggered, his grip loosening for a heartbeat.
Seizing the momentum, Argus pressed. Snape retaliated with a barrage—curses flying in rapid succession. But Argus matched him spell for spell, his magic amplified, unyielding.
"Incendio!" Flames erupted from Argus's wand, only for Snape to counter with a precise Diffindo, slashing the blaze apart.
"Stupefy!" Argus fired back, the red bolt grazing Snape's shoulder.
"Reducto!" Snape's blast pulverized a nearby stump, forcing Argus to dive.
They dueled in a whirlwind of light and shadow, wands tracing deadly arcs. Snape's battle-hardened instincts kept him ahead, but Argus's raw power prevented a rout. Each clash shook the ground, neither yielding.
Argus needed an out. He baited a dark curse from Snape, then countered with another Expelliarmus. Snape didn't flinch, layering a Protego over himself. But woven into Argus's strike was something lethal—a Sectumsempra, invisible and swift.
The Shield Charm shattered like glass. Snape flew back, robes tearing as the curse grazed his side. The blade's edge whispered past, slicing Argus's cloak instead—exposing his face.
"It was you," Snape hissed, eyes narrowing to slits. Recognition dawned, cold and furious. "Argus."
No point in denial now. Argus dropped the pretense. "Looks like your suspicions were spot-on. That Wolfsbane Potion recipe I 'borrowed' gave me away, didn't it?"
Snape had pieced it together in the Shack—the altered potion's bitter tang, a formula only he and Argus knew. Improved for potency, but unmistakable.
"Who's your mark? Potter? Black?"
"Harry," Argus admitted flatly. "He's in deep."
Snape's gaze hardened, but footsteps echoed from the Shack—reinforcements closing in. He glanced at the Time-Turner glinting on Argus's chest, then jerked his head. "Move. The fight's wrapping up. They'll swarm here any second. If they catch you, I won't shield you."
Argus nodded, relief flooding him. He traced the original timeline's path and fled the opposite way.
Moments later, his unaltered self arrived with the others. "Professor, did you spot that cloaked figure?"
Snape straightened, composing himself. "Slippery bastard. Cloak hid his face—gone before I could get a clear look."
...
Safely distant, Argus slumped against a tree, chest heaving. "Timeline intact. We're in the clear—for now."
Rescue Peter Pettigrew, lure Harry back. Simple on paper. But the skirmish had thrown him off—Harry's trail was lost in the chaos.
"No matter," he murmured. "As long as he doesn't cross paths with his original self, no time rift. Tracking the Time-Turner version is impossible, but the unaltered Harry? Predictable."
After the Shack, Harry and Sirius would head to the Room of Requirement. Argus could intercept there. Peter's capture was set for tomorrow—plenty of buffer.
Pacing through his thoughts, the pieces clicked. Harry's disappearance stemmed from two flaws: missing the return window from the Time-Turner, or chasing Peter to either nab him or stop his escape. Either way, a collision with his past self had hurled him into the temporal void.
"If that's it, we've got breathing room," Argus realized. In the original flow, Peter's breakout drew a Dementor horde to Hogwarts. Whether they swarmed on instinct or were baited... that was the wildcard.
He straightened, wand at the ready. Time to hunt.
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