Sword of Gryffindor

This was strange.

Silvan raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he looked at the uncharacteristically silent Snape and Dumbledore.

By all rights, Snape should have been one of the people most eager for Dumbledore to completely remove the curse. Before today, he had asked Silvan more than once when he would be able to summon the unicorn's soul again.

But because Silvan had promised Dumbledore, he had kept finding excuses to put it off.

Yet now that Dumbledore had finally made up his mind and decided to completely remove the last of the curse, why did Snape seem unwilling instead?

Unfortunately, neither of the two seemed inclined to explain.

"Trust me, Severus," Dumbledore said. "I know what I'm doing, and I know this is right. Everything is for victory."

"Yes, of course I trust you," Snape said, though a mocking sneer appeared on his face.

After that, he said nothing more. He simply slammed the bottle of potion onto the table.

The table gave a dull thud. Silvan instinctively worried that he might have shattered the bottle—fortunately, the glass bottles in the Potions office were sturdy, and nothing of the sort happened.

What followed was much simpler. Dumbledore calmly drank the potion, and a milky-white, ghostlike soul emerged around his body.

But compared to last time, his soul had not been restored perfectly. Fine, glowing cracks were still visible.

However, everyone present knew this was already the limit.

His soul had been forcibly torn apart twice. If it had been anyone else, they would probably have fallen into a complete coma—or, like the Longbottoms at St Mungo's Hospital, become muddled and delirious.

Yet Dumbledore had not only avoided falling into a coma, but his mind remained clear. That alone was remarkable.

And Dumbledore had prepared himself to endure the pain once