When the flames in the fireplace of the dungeon exit hall changed from green back to orange, the taller Auror tucked the key into a hidden pouch on his belt and patted it twice to make sure it would not fall out. The shorter one yawned, opening his mouth wide enough to see down his throat. He did not cover it with his hand, and halfway through the yawn, he saw Severus Snape walk out from inside.
The hem of his long black coat was still smoking. The smoke was thin and white, like strands scattered by the wind. Snape did not look at them. His gaze passed through the eyeholes of his silver mask, sweeping over the mantel before settling toward the hall exit. He did not slow, his boots striking the black flagstones with crisp, rhythmic taps. The two Aurors followed behind him like two leaves blown forward by a gale, with no idea where they would land.
Gerhart stood beside a pillar at the exit, gripping his wand with both hands until his knuckles turned white. He still wore the gray prison uniform he had worn for years, its fabric bleached pale from washing, its loose collar exposing a patch of pale skin beneath his collarbone that had never seen sunlight. The wind had made his hair even messier, several gray-white strands clinging to his forehead and curling above his brows.
His eyes narrowed in the sunlight, unaccustomed to it, his pupils shrinking into two tiny black pinpoints. He saw Snape, and his lips moved as if he wanted to say something. But then he remembered the shattered stone slab around the corridor corner and closed his mouth again. His fingers lightly rubbed the wand in his hand. It was black, its surface covered in fine patterns