It was well past ten when Harry left Snape's quarters, humming a tune from the record he persuaded Snape to play. It was rather upbeat, despite the singer professing the desire to paint the whole world around him black. Certainly more fun than listening to the wireless that played the same half dozen Christmas songs over and over, even though Snape mocked him ruthlessly when Harry attempted to sing along. Apparently, his musical talent was less developed than Neville's aptitude for potions. Harry conceded that Snape's opinion was understandable, but only because he had never had to sit through Hermione trying to recreate her favourite song from the show about a green witch she had dragged both Harry and Ron to.
He did not know what to think about their time together that started under the pretence of talking strictly business, rather thinly-veiled on his part, and got progressively flirtier as they shared their second glasses of eggnog. Or perhaps it was all in his head. Since it was Snape he was dealing with, the line between flirty and insulting was thin indeed.
This doubt had stopped Harry from making any overt moves, but still he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. His social life had become rather non-existent recently, he had to admit. Ron and Hermione were preoccupied with their second baby, whose arrival had cut short Harry's only proper date this year. Harry shuddered, remembering Ernie Macmillan's older brother, a man so dull he would make Binns seem lively in comparison. He did not know what precise combination of spite and hormones made Hermione set them up, but he would be eternally grateful to little Hugo for his timing.
This evening was much closer to his idea of a good date night, Harry had to admit. Perhaps he was that screwed up of a person, and normal folk were supposed to find their date's job at the Ministry a more engaging topic than murder plots. Oh well, Harry had accepted that there was nothing normal about his life long ago.
The darkness retreated deeper into the dungeons, giving way to Harry's Lumos, and Bloody Baron was clunking his chains rhythmically somewhere nearby, a weirdly reassuring rather than frightening sound. He would have great stage presence if he ever decided to create a rock band, Harry thought as he emerged at the ground level.
Something was off there, and Harry's hand reached for his wand before he even realised what exactly. The door of the Great Hall was half-open, and Binns was nowhere to be seen.
With a non-verbal Nox, Harry peeked inside, wishing for his Invisibility Cloak. He could not see anybody right away, but a dim light was coming from behind the Christmas tree. The branches on one side moved.
"Ow! I told you not to go through me, it's gross!" A girl's voice echoed loudly across the empty hall.
"I want to see what's going on." The whiny notes in the new speaker's voice were painfully familiar. "I didn't have to let you in, you know."
"Shhh! You two will wake up the whole castle!"
Harry lit his wand and strode inside. There were gasps and some jostling as the perpetrators noticed him halfway in and dove under the staff table.
"Get out of there, girls," Harry said. "I know you're here."
"It isn't Snape," one of them whispered loudly, Calliope or Emily, he wasn't sure which. "What if it's the murderer?"
"Either way, we are dead."
"It's me, Healer Potter."
"Of course you'd say that," the first girl scoffed from under the table. "I watched enough horror movies to know when to keep hiding."
"What's a horror movie?" the second voice asked.
"My life is a horror film," the too familiar voice said with a wobbly note.
"What's a film?"
"I'll tell you later," the first hissed before questioning the third, Harry's presence seemingly forgotten, "You know what a horror film is?"
"I watched the Wolf Man in the cinema in 1941. Blood-curdling experience; I couldn't sleep for a month straight. Reminded me of Olive Hornby's bad hair days. And now I only have that stupid Headless Hunt for entertainment. It gets really old after the first twenty years, you know."
Harry prayed for patience. If he was indeed a villain in a horror film, this would be the time to concede his surrender and retire.
The quibbling started anew. "Why don't you go check if it's really Harry Potter?"
"Why should I? Sacrificing me to the murderer first, eh?"
"Well, you are already kind of... dead."
The silvery spectre of Moaning Myrtle emerged through the table, soared to the turbulent sky of the charmed ceiling, and dived back, landing before Harry. "Everyone is out to mock me!"
"Hi, Myrtle." Harry was struck by how young she seemed now. Barely a teenager, old enough for spots and insecurities, but still wearing those silly pigtails. Stuck as an eternal fourteen-year-old in a place where no one cared enough to even ask her how she had died. As an adult, Harry could not imagine a sadder fate for a child.
"You're too old to be Harry Potter," she said, looking him up and down.
"I'm twenty-eight now."
"I suppose you are. But how can you prove it?"
"My friend once accidentally turned into half-cat in your bathroom." Harry silently sent his excuses to Hermione. He was not going to mention the Chamber and risk the girls exploring there. Somehow, he was sure that they would do exactly that.
Myrtle brightened. "Oh yes, I remember that as if it was yesterday. So embarrassing," she crowed.
"Right." He suddenly remembered why he found her so obnoxious in the first place. Another reason against becoming a ghost as a teenager: one would never have a chance to outgrow being a tightly wound coil of self-centred angst. Harry wondered what nickname a ghost of his own fifteen-year-old self would get.
"It's safe, girls. He's really Harry Potter."
"What are you even doing here?" he asked as she turned to float off.
"Binns shoved the guard duty off on me, as if I don't have anything better to do. Didn't even ask, just told me to go stand here, old dotard. I haven't been his student for half a century!"
Calliope and Emily appeared from under the table, glancing at the wine spot with wide-eyed curiosity.
"Don't be mad at us, Healer Harry—I mean, Healer Potter!"
"It's alright, you can still call me that, Callie." Her traditional parents insisted on using titles every time they brought her to St. Mungo's, but Harry always tried to foster trust rather than propriety. Merlin knew she needed it. "What is not alright is to sneak out past curfew when a murderer is on the loose." He dearly wished for Hermione's presence right now. Scolding was not something he had ever been good at, even after years of working with children.
"But you have to see this!" She stood up straighter and raised her hand as if they were in a classroom.
"We found evidence!" Emily chimed in.
"Evidence?" Harry was intrigued despite himself.
Had they all missed something?
He circled the staff table to where the girls were standing near the Christmas tree. The baubles reflected the light of their wands and the floating candles that followed Harry, deceptively festive.
"Look!" Calliope exclaimed, going around the tree and pointing her wand at a spot between it and the wall.
A red bauble lay shattered on the floor. Looking closer, Harry noticed that some branches were clearly disturbed, the decorations hanging in less than perfect order. A crystal icicle was squashed between the green needles, a hole gaping at one side.
"The murderer was hiding right here!" Emily said, sounding excited and scared in equal measure.
Harry had to admit it was plausible. Smith must have disturbed the preparations, and the murderer retreated behind the tree. Had Smith seen who it was in the end?
"I see," he said. "I agree, it looks suspicious, but it might also have been Dolores playing with the baubles. Not enough evidence to warrant leaving the tower after curfew when we do have a murderer in the castle, don't you think?"
The girls looked down, shuffling from foot to foot in a twin motion.
"At your age, I was just like you, breaking all the rules to solve a mystery," Harry said. "I'll be a hypocrite if I said I regret all or even most of it. Often, I would believe my friends and I were the only ones who could make a difference. But some of my reckless actions had catastrophic consequences, and to this day, I wish I would've stopped and thought twice before diving headfirst." He looked from one contrite little face to another. "I don't want you to endanger your lives just because you're curious."
"We're sorry," Emily and Calliope mumbled in unison.
"Now, let's get you to your dorms, and I'll be speaking to your Head of the House in the morning."
That plan fell apart right outside the Great Hall, where they came face to face with a furious Snape and the Bloody Baron. One glare from the ghost made Moaning Myrtle, who was floating near the doors as well, squeak and retreat into the wall. The girls all but tried to repeat the feat, hiding behind Harry.
"Miss Fawley and Miss Chang," Snape said with deceptive calmness. Harry, who had vast experience with that tone, knew that it would not last long. "You were given clear instructions to stay inside your dormitories. Not only did you blatantly disregard them, you did it by sneaking like common thieves into the crime scene under the cover of the night! You are fortunate this foray didn't get you killed, but it can still get you expelled. In fact, you can be positive that I will advocate this course of action to the Headmistress." His voice got louder with each sentence, and by the end of the speech, it was cracking with anger. In the semi-darkness of the ground floor, his black robe faded into the background, and he was looming over the trembling first-years like a vengeful ghost himself. After a dramatic pause, he delivered the final blow, "Fifty points from Gryffindor. Each."
"This is not fair!"
"The girls are regretting their behaviour," Harry cut in before Emily could dig an even deeper hole for herself and her friend.
"And they'll regret it more trying to explain it to Headmistress McGonagall in a few minutes."
Calliope gulped.
"I don't think the Headmistress would appreciate being woken up for this," Harry said placatingly. "Let me take them back to the Tower, and we'll talk to her in the morning."
Snape's eyes were shooting stunners in Harry's direction now. "You're forgetting yourself, Mr. Potter. I'm the teacher in this school. You are not."
The disdain in the voice made Harry's chest cold, but he stood his ground. "I'm not disputing that. But my main concern here, as, I'm sure, is yours, is the children's well-being. They will be better off safe in their beds right now."
Undermining Snape's authority would not endear Snape to him, and Harry hated spoiling their evening like that, but this exercise in intimidation was rather pointless and ill-timed. Herding the girls to the stairs, he sent Snape a regretful look, trying to convey his sincerity. It got pointedly ignored.
At Snape's side, the Bloody Baron rasped a hollow sound, as if taking his last dying breaths. Halfway up the stairs, Harry realised that it was a laugh.
"Are we going to be expelled now?" Calliope asked fearfully once they were out of Snape and Baron's earshot. "I don't want to leave Hogwarts. Will they call our parents?"
Harry, who knew enough about the girl's home situation to understand that there was more at stake for her than being afraid of a scolding, put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Callie. I promise you that no one is getting expelled."
Emily Chang came once with simple Dragon Pox her parents felt ill-equipped to deal with, being a Squib and a Muggle. Calliope Fawley, on the other hand, was a much more complicated case. Over the course of two years, she came to St. Mungo's several times with broken bones and concussions, and once with second-degree burns on her face and arm, explained away by her close-mouthed mother as clumsiness. Calliope herself had never disagreed with that explanation but asked once if there was a potion to trigger magic in her. Harry was furious at the implication. His subsequent talk with Lucretia Fawley had gotten him a reprimand from his boss and the knowledge that he could not do much against a reputable pureblood family. It was a great relief to learn that Calliope did get her Hogwarts letter after all. Still, it was telling she was spending her first Christmas as a student here at the castle and not at home. Harry could emphasise with that. Hogwarts had always been his refuge as well.
"What if Sna-Professor Snape was the one who killed Professor Smith?" Calliope asked carefully. "He's so mean."
"And he was mad we went to the crime scene!" Ellie added.
"He was mad you broke the curfew and endangered your lives needlessly," Harry said.
"Yeah," said Emily. "He's too openly mean. In all the mystery stories, it's never the most obvious suspect."
"But we are not in a story," Calliope said. "Besides, your Professor Flitwick theory is a stretch even for fiction."
"Professor Flitwick?" Harry repeated in disbelief.
Emily shrugged. "Nobody can be so cheerful and patient all the time. Ian still cannot pronounce the levitation charm right, and it's December! I would snap and kill somebody too after a hundredth LeviosA!"
It's a pity little Ian did not have his own Hermione to explain the difference, Harry thought with a smile.
They came to the portrait of the Fat Lady who was dozing in her frame, ample bosom heaving. The girls looked at each other in hesitation.
"Kneazle's tail," Emily said at last.
The Fat Lady shook herself awake and huffed indignantly. "I told you not to leave, but who ever listens to me? And now you got yourself in trouble. Although this one here was a famous curfew breaker himself." She wagged her finger at Harry, and the portrait swung open.
"And this time, absolutely no exploring," Harry admonished as the girls went inside. "I hope that a hundred points are enough to keep you in the Common Room."
"The others will kill us," Calliope groaned.
"We're absolutely fucked," Harry heard Emily say after the portrait closed behind them.
"Emily! Don't say such words! Harry Potter might've heard you!"
"Nah, there's no way he can hear us from here," Emily's voice came loud and clear through the canvas.
The Fat Lady shook her head in exasperation.
Amused, Harry turned to leave when a silvery cat appeared before him, humping up its back.
"Please join me in my office, Mr. Potter," it said in McGonagall's voice, Scottish accent coming more pronounced as it was wont to do when she was particularly annoyed. More than a decade later, and it still made Harry feel like a first-year being scolded.
Was Snape petty enough to go complain to McGonagall about him right away? It made Harry feel oddly disappointed. He was going to clear the air between them in the morning, but it seemed like this evening was not over just yet.
McGonagall did not include the password, so Harry lingered before the gargoyle, half annoyed, half grateful for the chance to collect himself. This was the one place he had been hoping to avoid during his stay at Hogwarts. Too many conflicting emotions and memories were whirling in his head, much like the silvery thread in the stone bowl that had once stood in the heart of the office.
Too soon, the gargoyle leapt away, unprompted, and the spiral staircase brought Harry up. The Headmistress's version of the office looked spacious and austere, stripped of all the ticking instruments and bizarre devices of its previous occupant. The Pensieve cabinet now displayed an illuminated manuscript opened at an intricate depiction of the stages of human-to rabbit transformation. The throne-like chair was still there, and McGonagall sat on it as it if was the Stone of Scone. Her hair was in a loose braid instead of a severe bun, and her robe was wrapped over a frilly white shirt Harry could never imagine her wearing in the light of day; she was clearly roused from her bed. Snape was there as well, sitting with his legs and arms crossed. He was staring into the fireplace, not sparing Harry even a brief look.
McGonagall motioned Harry to take a seat as well. "As I've already explained to Severus," she said, "I was readying myself to sleep when an alarm went off, notifying me that Gryffindor lost a hundred points. I correctly guessed who took them—"
Snape huffed. "Who else will uphold the discipline at this school?"
"Severus told me it was you who found Miss Fawley and Miss Chang in the Great Hall, Harry. I'd like to know exactly what's happened."
"What happened is that the new generation of Gryffindors has even less regard for the rules or sense of self-preservation than their predecessors," Snape said. "Nothing that could not wait for the morning, Minerva."
So it was McGonagall who summoned Snape, and not vice versa. Come to think of it, Snape had probably never intended to bring the girls to her right then. Still, Harry did not regret putting a stop to his scare tactics.
"That was pretty much it," Harry said. "The girls discovered that the murderer had likely hidden behind the Christmas tree." He explained the decorations briefly.
"So it's true. The murderer is among us. I didn't want to believe it, despite what Severus had said to me."
Snape bridled at that. "And yet you believe two Gryffindor first-years."
"I thought the worst of you once, and regretted it ever since. I don't want to repeat that mistake."
"With me?"
"With anybody present in the castle."
"Including some anonymous stranger with unclear intentions," Snape reminded.
"Who was only seen by an intoxicated portrait and David Shaw, a boy who had threatened Zacharias a day before," said McGonagall.
Harry found it odd that she was still trying to deny the presence of another person in the castle.
"I know your theory about the true target, but it could be a genuine mistake on the poisoner's part." She sounded not at all sure of her words, almost guilty voicing them. "Especially if the poisoner did not pay much attention to the seating at the staff table since he himself might not sit at it."
"That's a ludicrous assumption about a student with no history of disruptive behaviour outside the Quidditch pitch. I doubt you would accuse him if he was one of your precious lions."
"I sincerely hope that you're right. But you and I know young people are capable of many deeds, great and horrible."
Snape looked conflicted for a moment, and Harry wondered if he was going to bring up using Legilimency on David, but he did not. Instead, he said, "You are wrong. And instead of casting aspersions on David, you should do something about Miss Fawley and Miss Chang. Those two deserve to spend the rest of their holiday in detention, if only to keep them out of trouble."
"I shall let Alicia deal with them," McGonagall said in a dismissive tone.
"The last time you did that, Fawley went completely unpunished. The girl is lazy and in need of strict discipline. Both of them are."
"What did she do?" Harry asked.
Both Snape and McGonagall looked at him as if just now remembering he was there.
"The better question would be what she didn't do," Snape said. "The girl is continuously slacking in my classroom. Fawley thinks herself above coming over to the cauldron if she can avoid it, making her crony do all the work. Last time I made her set it up without Chang, and she ran away from the classroom after failing to light the fire under the cauldron for ten minutes. Such histrionics are not to be tolerated."
"You shouldn't force her to deal with fire," Harry said sharply.
"Oh? And why is that? A girl you never even met before coming here surely deserves special treatment because—"
"I've met her before. She used to be my patient."
"Fawleys must have fallen over to have such an acclaimed Healer treat their daughter." Snape now fully reverted to the familiar hostility, a jarring dissonance with their easy banter earlier this evening.
"Not really. In fact, her mother tried to get me fired."
"So bad at doing your job?" he asked snidely.
"I didn't want to turn a blind eye at what was clearly happening at Callie's home."
"What are you implying, Harry?" McGonagall interrupted. "The Fawleys are a good family."
"And yet, their daughter is spending her Christmas here instead of going home to them." Harry shook his head. "I'm not discussing my patient's history. I do hope nothing further happens now that she was proven to be a witch. But if she can't stand being close to fire, show some understanding and don't make her relive her trauma."
"The only way she can overcome it is to face her fears," Snape said.
"Not in a hostile environment," Harry countered.
"I'm not going to coddle anybody, no matter their sob story."
Harry felt his anger rise, although he did not expect anything else from Snape. "This sink-or-swim mentality is rubbish. Do you know anyone whom it helped grow up happy?"
"Happiness is a wilful delusion," Snape said with a scoff. "The school's job is not to provide happiness but to drum just enough knowledge into the dunderheads so they don't kill or starve themselves while pursuing those fickle dreams."
Harry could not help but think of everything he knew about Snape's own childhood that had made him into the misanthrope he was today.
"I've had a similar discussion with Alicia recently," McGonagall said thoughtfully, the lines around her eyes deepening. "She said my views were outdated, and the physical well-being of the students is not the only thing we should pay attention to." She tapped the silver frame on her desk with her wand a few times and turned it for Harry and Snape just as the picture changed to her much younger self, witch's hat askew, standing between the two men who shared her strong features. "Robert, my brother, was almost eaten by Red Caps playing in the cairns as a child, and to this day maintains that the scariest thing about the whole incident was our Father's subsequent reaction. Our parents believed in honesty and hard work over happiness. They would see modern-day children as coddled and spoilt. And yet, I look back on my childhood with great fondness."
Snape was listening to her with somewhat betrayed expression, as if she had not just agreed with him. Perhaps, he wanted her to disagree.
The monitoring mirror pinged in Harry's pocket, a signal that one of the spells keeping Judith in her magical coma would need renewing soon. He excused himself, feeling torn at leaving the Headmistress office. Nothing disheartened Harry more than lackadaisical attitude of good people. McGonagall and Hogwarts in general were in a position to make the lives of many children better, and he felt that they did not do nearly enough. Or perhaps he expected too much of her, for she was only human. He himself had never expected adults to be there for him and would not welcome attempts to keep him away from danger in the slightest. And yet, the thought of his godson or little Callie being left alone to deal with the world and its cold everyday injustice was not something he could accept and still sleep soundly at night.
Before turning to the door, he glanced at the wall behind McGonagall, sure he caught blue eyes watching him through the half-moon spectacles, but Dumbledore was deep in slumber in his gilded frame.
