For the first time in years, Hagrid's hut was bursting with visitors, and he was basking in the unprecedented popularity among the students—all because they were desperate to snag the largest pumpkins from his patch.
The students were far more enthusiastic about crafting pumpkin warships than the professors had anticipated. They couldn't wait to sail across the Black Lake and sink their rivals' vessels.
Hagrid's pumpkin supply nearly ran dry, forcing Professor McGonagall to step in and magically enlarge some ordinary pumpkins to meet the demand.
By noon on Halloween day, the shores of the Black Lake were lined with an array of pumpkin ships, each more bizarre than the last. Thanks to magic, the students had unleashed their creativity, transforming pumpkins into shapes that barely resembled their original form.
Under their Heads of House's instructions, senior students were tasked with including a few younger ones in their crews. The magically enlarged giant pumpkins were spacious enough to accommodate everyone comfortably.
"Right! That's the spirit, kids! We need a battering ram!" Sirius Black shouted from the edge of his pumpkin ship, his voice brimming with excitement. "Not too sharp—blunt's the way to go. Speed's what matters. Only with enough speed can we smash their ships to bits!"
"Aye, Captain!" Fred and George Weasley bellowed in unison, their heads looking more crowded than ever. In addition to the bull horns they'd sprouted, they each sported a pirate hat today.
Harry wasn't the least bit surprised that Sirius got along so well with the Weasley twins. Their mental ages were strikingly similar, and they shared a lively, prank-loving spirit. If the twins had been born a decade or two earlier, the Marauders might have been a six-man crew instead of four.
Birds of a feather, Harry thought, rolling his eyes.
He was already questioning whether letting Sirius out to "play" today had been a wise decision.
"Foolish. Crass," Severus Snape drawled from beside Harry, his voice dripping with disdain. "Utterly foolish. It's clear he's learned nothing from his past mistakes. One might think Sirius Black's brain is inferior even to a troll's—at least a troll might learn from a failed hunt."
"Do they really, sir?" Draco Malfoy asked, curiosity piqued.
"Obviously not," Snape replied, casting a glance at his friend's son. "Just as trolls can't learn from their errors, neither can our dear Mr. Black. Such basic self-reflection is apparently too challenging for him."
"What did you say, Snivellus?!" Sirius, standing on the edge of his giant pumpkin ship, clearly overheard Snape's unfiltered jab. He leapt down and stormed over, his face flushed with indignation.
Thankfully, Harry's presence kept Sirius from spitting out the full insult, or Harry would've had to regretfully inform Fred and George that they'd need a new captain.
"Are your ears failing you now?" Snape countered, stepping forward without a hint of hesitation. His lips curled into a sneer. "I thought your brain was merely troll-like, but trolls have remarkably keen hearing. You, on the other hand—"
He didn't finish, but Sirius read the contempt in Snape's smirk loud and clear.
"Can't you two just stop?" Harry sighed deeply. "I don't get it. It's been so long, and you've fought so many times. Why is it still like this every time you meet?"
The students were already gathering to watch the spectacle.
Sirius had been living near the castle for some time now, and while he hadn't shared the full history of his feud with Snape, it was no secret that Harry's godfather, Gryffindor's dark hero Sirius Black, and Professor Snape were at odds.
Truth be told, the students were used to these outbursts whenever Sirius and Snape were in the same place. They'd grown accustomed to circling up and watching the fireworks.
It was mortifying. Worse, Harry realized the antagonism wasn't one-sided. The usually composed and reclusive Snape seized every chance to provoke Sirius just as fiercely. Both men were alarmingly enthusiastic about their rivalry.
"Perhaps because a certain mangy dog has never won?" Snape continued, his sneer widening. "Never having tasted victory, he clings to his resentment. What more can a defeated man say?"
"What did you say, Snape?!" Sirius was practically hopping with rage. "Who hasn't won? Who's the defeated man?!"
"Such excessive anger only betrays your guilt, mutt," Snape mocked. "From the day you crawled out of Azkaban to now, have you ever bested me? Or has the disgrace of the Black family abandoned even the last shred of shame, inventing victories that never happened?"
"Argh!" Sirius let out a furious roar. Snape always had a way of getting under his skin, making it impossible for him to stay calm. "I challenge you to a duel, Snape! If you're any kind of man, you'll accept!"
"Spare me," Snape said, his lips twisting into a thin, cruel smile. "I have no interest in repeatedly crushing the same opponent. Unlike certain unemployed vagrants, I, as a Hogwarts professor, have actual work to attend to. Here, Harry." He handed over a small pouch. "This is the cold potion I brewed with Madam Pomfrey. You asked for it on short notice, and she couldn't finish it alone."
"Thanks," Harry said, taking the pouch and glancing at the vials inside. "I was almost too nervous to face Madam Pomfrey myself. This was a lot of extra work."
"She's furious," Snape said flatly. "That's why I'm delivering it. I'm also tasked with ensuring these little trolls drink their potions. But it's not the urgent brewing that upset her—it's the fact that your event puts the students at risk of catching colds. You'd best not fall ill anytime soon."
What's that supposed to mean? Is Madam Pomfrey going to force-feed me foul-tasting potions if I do? Harry thought, suppressing a grimace. "Shaman priests know healing spells too," he muttered, then continued, "Anyway, thank you both. You're a true Potions Master, Snape. Sirius is in much better health now than when he first got out of Azkaban."
"No need for thanks," Snape said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His gaze flickered briefly toward Sirius. "Unlike certain irresponsible individuals, if you ever face a problem you can't solve, you can always come to me. I assure you, I won't disappoint."
The words carried a pointed undertone, and it didn't take much to guess who Snape was calling irresponsible and disappointing. Harry was thoroughly exasperated with the older generation's drama. Both Sirius and Snape were people he trusted, but clearly, his trust in them didn't translate to trust between them.
When Harry glanced worriedly at Sirius, he was surprised to find his usually explosive godfather remarkably calm.
"Scared, Snape?" Sirius said, and Harry noted with amusement that the mocking smile on his face was an almost perfect mirror of Snape's earlier sneer. "Can't blame you. You always act like you've won, like you're the victor. But in the end, Lily chose James, not you. You lost. Completely and utterly—"
Whoosh!
Before Sirius could finish, a red flash of light streaked toward where he'd been standing. Sirius, prepared, had already leapt aside the moment he spoke, and then—
"Ha—ptoo!"
With a theatrical flourish, Sirius spat at Snape.
The white glob of spit traced a graceful arc through the air, carrying no magical aura or abnormality, and landed squarely on the hem of Snape's robe.
Silence fell.
Neither Snape nor the gawking students had expected such a move. Even more shocking—Snape didn't dodge.
He didn't dodge.
Whether due to slow reflexes or some other reason, the spit landed on him.
"Well, look at that!" Sirius, stunned by his own success, turned to Harry with a grin. "I didn't break my promise, Harry. No wand, no fight with Snape."
He was practically glowing with pride.
"Enough of this childish nonsense," Harry said, sensing the storm brewing in Snape's silence. He took a deep breath and warned, "The students are watching. Don't make Professor McGonagall step in."
"Of course not," Snape said suddenly, his smile forced. "But if you don't mind, as payment for those potions—I'll need a pumpkin ship, Harry."
As he spoke, Snape swiftly waved his wand, neatly slicing off the soiled hem of his robe. Under the terrified gazes of the students, he incinerated the fabric to ash.
"Don't go too far," Harry said, meeting Snape's gaze. After a moment's silence, he added, "Please."
Snape's eyes dulled, as if he'd sealed off his emotions. Harry recognized the technique—Occlumency, a spell that allowed wizards to stay calm, shield their thoughts, and prevent mental intrusion. It could also force a state of composure.
Honestly, Harry hadn't seen Snape use this in a long time, not since he'd glimpsed Lily's soul last year. Snape had been in good spirits since then—until Sirius was freed.
"Ha! Think I'm scared of you?" Sirius taunted, clearly itching for a fight. "Let's see it, old bat. You flopping around in the water'll be a sight. Need to borrow some shampoo while you're at it?"
Snape didn't respond. He merely cast a long, pointed look at the trembling Weasley twins before turning sharply, his robes billowing as he stalked away.
A bloodbath was coming, Harry thought with a wry smile. At least this Halloween would be lively.
"Wait, Harry," Fred whispered, sidling up nervously. "What was that look Snape gave us?"
"I swear we didn't teach Sirius to call him 'old bat,'" George added, panicking. "He won't blame us, will he? Will he? He won't, right? Will he?"
Harry paused, then patted George's arm.
"Enjoy today," he said simply, walking away and leaving the twins to stare at each other in dread.
"Harry… what does that mean?"
"Are we doomed after today?"
[Woo—!]
Hagrid blew a long, resounding note on his horn, laughing heartily.
"Hurry up! Get yer ships in the lake! The battle's on!"
"Remember! No harmful spells! No direct attacks on opponents! And no attacking anyone who falls in the lake! Unless ye fancy a chat in Professor McGonagall's office!"
"No way!" the students shouted back, buzzing with excitement as they pushed their pumpkin ships into the Black Lake. They'd donned an assortment of peculiar outfits—pirate costumes, but not the kind pirates would actually wear.
It was a classic wizard stereotype: male witches in women's clothing, convinced they were dressed like proper Muggle pirates. Only the Muggle-born students looked remotely authentic, and they didn't bother correcting their peers, stifling their laughter instead.
Some students had painted their pumpkin ships jet-black, carving menacing skulls onto them. Others made their ships emit blinding white light, so intense it was like staring at the sun at noon, forcing others to avert their eyes.
That was probably their strategy—blinding their opponents to gain an edge in the battle.
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