Snape’s face tightens in visible pain as you force the order through the curse. He turns toward the table with stiff, unwilling steps, black robes whispering over the chalk marks like spilled ink. His wand rises, then pauses, trembling as if something below is pulling against him from the other side of the stone. The blue flames flare higher, and your scar answers with a hot, jagged pulse.

He speaks a sharp countercharm, and the open book lurches as though slapped by an unseen hand. The chamber shudders at once, dust raining from the beams, and the hidden trapdoor groans beneath the pressure of whatever is waking below. Snape’s eyes flick to you with furious intelligence, as if he wants to warn you even while obeying. Whatever secret is sealed under Hogwarts, it is resisting being closed now, and the room is running out of time.