"That's a bit morbid, isn't it," Babbling muttered to Harry, looking at the screen hiding Smith's body. "Zacharias's body being here, next to her."

"Don't say anything about that as well, please."

She let it slip to Judith that her Uncle was dead as soon as she came. Harry, who was just about to caution her against doing this very thing, was angry, but his concern turned out to be unfounded. Judith met the news with calm acceptance, more upset that David had not told her right away. The siblings shared a moment of silent communication before Snape, irritable and snappy after his visit to McGonagall, took him away. Harry was dying to know what was said in the Headmistress's office to work him into such a snit, but with Babbling and the students in the room, it was certainly not the time.

"Mum will be upset," she said thoughtfully. "They were very close before he went to Hogwarts and she married dad. She told me once she had taught him how to read with Beedle the Bard, and spent every summer holiday on their grandmother's farm with him when she herself was a student. When the Smiths disowned her, he was still a kid who didn't understand why his sister wasn't there for him anymore. And his parents must have set everybody against her. So when he left Hogwarts and Mum tried to reconnect, he shot her down. Dad hates him, but Mum still sends him cards for Christmas. People make all these barriers out of nothing and then spend their whole lives miserable. I'm sure if they had just sat and talked, they would have cleared things up once and for all."

Hufflepuffs, bless their little black-and-yellow cotton socks. Harry himself had been much more jaded by fifteen. Hell, he had been much more jaded by nine, growing up with an Aunt who took her resentment of her sister out on him. But then, Judith could afford to be magnanimous to a dead man, unless Smith had gone out of his way to be rude to her personally.

"Professor Smith once told me I look more like my mother with each year," Judith continued. Her shapely lips twisted into a bitter expression that looked out of place on her open face. "He said he wished he hadn't had to face the reminder of Mum's 'betrayal' of the family every time he looked at me."

Of course, he did. Who would've thought?

Babbling huffed. "It's baloney! Zacharias should never have said that to you." She put her hand on Judith's arm. "My husband is a Muggleborn. The only reason my family grudgingly accepted our marriage was because Archie is American and they could pretend he came from an old bloodline. I think they only fully accepted him after half a century of us being together because they started to believe their own lies. Now when Archie reminds them—and he is proud of his heritage, so he does it every time he can—they laugh it off. The Smiths have a long memory but prefer to fill it with wilful delusions."

"I met my Grandmother when I was nine. Mum asked her to look at me when I turned green and spent the whole week like that, hair and all. She was a bit weird, but maybe that's because I looked like the Grinch. She's been sending us Christmas presents ever since then."

Harry thought about his boss and the whole side of her life that he had no idea about a couple of days ago. Her strange reaction on the occasions when he brought Teddy to work—alternating between feeding him mountains of sweets and coldness combined with snapping at Harry for bringing distractions to the Ward—made more sense now.

"Well, not all of us are like that," Babbling said, producing a bowl of ginger biscuits in various shapes. "Archie and the family will have to get by without these today, but I still have a family to share my trademark recipe with. Even though we aren't closely related, you and your brother are always welcome to come to me with anything."

"Thank you, Professor." Judith smiled, taking a biscuit.

Babbling offered the bowl to Harry as well, and a robe-clad gingerbread man on top winked at him. Harry grinned at it but took a Christmas tree-shaped one. Wizarding obsession with interactive food was something he would never get.

The biscuit melted in his mouth, sweet and buttery, almost as good as Molly's. It brought back warm memories of that first fudge he received from the Weasley matriarch for his first Christmas in Hogwarts. He was happy that Judith had family around for Christmas, people that were ready to support and care for her.

Leaving Babbling and Judith to bond in private, Harry decided to stretch his legs and headed out of the Hospital Wing. Would Snape see him as too pushy if he were to visit him now? Harry had decided to chance it later, but he was never the most patient person. Just as he talked himself into venturing to the dungeons, he heard loud voices through the open door of the staffroom.

"Stop conjuring those brooms, Oliver!" Alicia's voice was loud even on the other side of the corridor. "Those are not Christmas decorations! And I see what you did with the baubles. Transfigure them back this instant!"

The wreath on the door now featured miniature Quaffles, Bludgers and Snitches instead of the House coloured decorations it did before.

"Looks nice," Harry said, coming inside.

Alicia finished hanging up big red and gold letters spelling 'Happy Christmas' over the curtains and came over as well. Her hair, straightened for the last days, was a puffy mess of curls again. "That's actually a very good Transfiguration, Ollie," she said, tracing her index finger along the life-like crystal Quaffle.

Oliver puffed up his chest.

"But if you break any, your own Quaffles are on the line."

Flitwick, who was pushing the walls away to expand the room, chuckled into his beard.

"Should we add some more mistletoe?" Oliver asked.

Alicia looked torn. "I don't want it to be too cheerful. Less than two days since Zach died, and we're already partying."

"It's Christmas Eve," Oliver said with a slightly annoyed note in his voice, as always when Alicia mentioned Smith. "Everybody is so high-strung, and some distraction would do us good. I'm not even suggesting we do drinking games."

"No games." Alicia crossed her arms over her chest. "And no trying to do your standup routine. Just an understated dinner."

"I bet we can ask Snape for his routine," Oliver said. "That would fit the miserable mood."

Harry snorted. "Personally, I'd pay big money to watch Snape doing standup."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste." Oliver shrugged.

"No standup, not from you, and definitely not from Snape," said Alicia. "I'm still having flashbacks from his speech last year."

"We still can have some fun, right, Harry?"

Harry was not going to get in the middle of this particular fight. "I'm not sure I'll be here for long anyway. It wouldn't be fair to leave Judith alone for the evening."

"Can she join us for an hour?" Flitwick asked, done with expanding. The walls stopped moving, and the staffroom was now almost twice its usual size. "We don't usually let the students come to our Christmas party, of course, but under the circumstances, accommodations will be made. Her brother and the girls will be here for the meal and leave before curfew."

"Then I'll bring her down for a bit if her condition keeps improving," Harry said. "Ideally, I'll need a levitation chair, though."

"I've charmed several for Poppy over the years. Let me look through my storage room or make you a new one."

"If it isn't too much trouble. Thank you, Professor," Harry said. Flitwick had always been one of his favourite teachers for a reason.

"I told you to call me Filius, my boy."

With that, Flitwick left, bumping into Trelawney in the doorway. She wore a long-suffering expression, fingers massaging her temples under a headscarf adorned with a horseshoe-shaped pin. Without the airy cloud of hair framing her face, her eyes looked even bigger behind the enormous glasses.

"I see I've missed lunch," she said regretfully.

"It's a pity; the elves had your favourite chickpea curry," Alicia said. "The Headmistress told us you're still unwell."

Harry exchanged glances with Oliver. That must have been one hell of a hungover.

"This night, my soul went too far on the path beyond. But opening your Third Eye around Yule is always wrought with risks, so I accept the consequences."

"Have you seen anything?" Alicia asked.

"A black raven and a sparrow flying around the castle."

"Both promise nothing good, do they?" Unlike McGonagall who had asked a similar question before, Alicia seemed genuinely interested in the answer.

"No, I'm afraid not," Trelawney shook her head gravely. "More trials await us."

"What should we do to avoid them, what's your Seer advice?" Oliver asked, lounging in the chair Harry remembered to be Trelawney's.

"You cannot escape fate," Trelawney said before looking over at the 'Happy Christmas' letter garland Alicia had put up earlier. "But putting up a Gryffindor-coloured banner for a party with Severus Snape in attendance is just asking for those trials to multiply."

"I should've thought about that." Alicia flicked her wand, and the gold letters turned into green.

"Very Christmassy," Oliver said.

"Although there are more Houses in Hogwarts than just these two, their members are about such petty fights," Trelawney said, somehow managing to sound both ethereal and peevish. Harry remembered that she was a Ravenclaw. Apparently, even Sybill Trelawney was not above house pride.

"Professor McGonagall mentioned you've seen someone behind the suit of armour yesterday?" He doubted she could remember anything, and there was a big chance that it was a figment of her alcohol-soaked imagination, but it never hurt to ask.

Trelawney looked momentarily put-off by the question, most likely realising that the Headmistress must have spared nothing of their encounter. Her cheeks pinked slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. "I was suffering from a terrible migraine at that moment, so the details are a bit hazy. But I remember a figure in all black, definitely a man. His eyes were gleaming from under his hood. He raised his wand at me, and I rushed to escape. Thankfully, Minerva appeared and must have spooked him. I'm sure this was the raven from my dream later that night."

Alicia and Oliver were looking at her with wide eyes, and Harry realized his mistake. He should have talked to her alone. Then there was at least a chance she would tell him honestly what exactly she remembered without embellishments or whether she remembered anything at all. Now, she was working for the audience.

Trelawney sauntered to the kitchen, leaving a subtle trail of patchouli behind. To the chagrin of his amateur perfumer ex, Harry was not a connoisseur of scents, but this one he knew well. Uncle Vernon had got Aunt Petunia some fancy patchouli perfume for their anniversary once, and she had insisted on wearing ungodly amounts of it, probably because the smell made Harry sneeze. He wondered what she would say if she knew she was sharing the taste in perfumes with a witch like Trelawney, the opposite of everything Aunt Petunia ever stood for.

Oliver whispered something into Alicia's ear, his arm sneaking around her waist. She turned her head and hissed something under her breath, eyes flaring with annoyance, but did not make much effort to shake him off. Both glanced at Harry, who decided it was his cue to leave as well.

Babbling was still chatting with Judith, so his feet brought him to the ground floor. The Fat Friar was proving to be more reliable than his predecessors, floating in front of the doors of the Great Hall.

"Healer Potter!" he called, proving that the news of Harry's occupation had reached the ghosts as well. "It seems like just yesterday you were just wee lad anxious to be sorted, and now look at you! So nice of you to help Hogwarts amidst yet another tribulation."

"I'll get to the bottom of this." Because the Aurors would be perfectly happy to put the blame on Snape and wash their hands off the case. "Or at least try my best."

"Kind heart and determination is what one needs to succeed, and I believe you have that."

"Thank you." Harry smiled. He liked Nearly-Headless Nick the most, but the jolly Friar was a close second.

"Now, could you perchance do me a favour, young Harry?" the ghost asked.

"Yes?"

"Sir Nicholas is a tad late to relieve me of my duty. Of course, four hours is nothing for an eternal soul, but I still need to prepare to my Midnight Mass and check on the Christmas table before tonight. You attended one of our gorgeous feasts, right?"

"Yes, Sir Nick's Deathday Party." That was quite an experience, and one he did not long to repeat.

"Well, in all modesty, most of the organising has been on me since the times of Helga, and this year is not an exception. So while I'm sure Nick will be here any minute now anyway, I'd like to find him and hurry him up."

"Sure," Harry said, bemused at the ghost's active social life. "But I need to be with my patient soon."

"Naturally, naturally. I myself did my share of healing in my bodily days, so I understand the urgency. I'll be but a moment!" the Fat Friar said, floating off. His moves were swift and fluid for such a corpulent man, although Harry supposed the dead did not have the fitness problems of the living.

With nothing else to do, Harry went inside to inspect the scene again in the light of day. Now that he looked closer, he did see the difference in the craftsmanship of the goblets. The poisoned goblet was exquisitely ornate in a way that the other ones except the Headmistress's were not; every snake's scale and eagle's feather was intricately carved.

It reminded Harry of a beautiful phoenix-shaped clock that used to crown the mantelpiece in Grimmauld's drawing-room. It was one of the few things Harry really liked in the house before, so he left it where it was. Unfortunately, as a toddler, Teddy tried to summon the clock with accidental magic and dropped it half-way through. It didn't break but opened, revealing a secret compartment and a vial of transparent liquid leaking on the floor. Before he could so much as raise his wand, Kreacher had appeared and vanished the clock together with the carpet. Teddy, who had been fascinated with the clock for some reason and attempted to get it multiple times, was heartbroken over its disappearance. Harry had been so angry at Kreacher then. He had thought the house-elf just wanted to get rid of Sirius's chosen decoration that was sure to offend his old Mistress's sensibilities, and was surprised that Kreacher would not spare even the carpet he had previously fought tooth and nail for. Now, with a sinking feeling, Harry realised that it was probably another bottle of Gertrude's Kiss that Dumbledore had given Sirius.

Ire at his godfather and Dumbledore's negligence flared in him. Of course, Sirius would not have carried a poison that Snape had brewed on him, had the Headmaster not known him at all? If Sirius had to go, he would never have given Snape the satisfaction of knowing it was at his hand. No, Sirius left it just lying around, and Teddy could have easily died.

Harry took a deep breath. It was no use getting mad at the dead. Teddy was safe and sound, probably helping Andromeda with their Christmas dinner right now. He vowed to set up more TV channels so Kreacher could indulge in his favourite 'dirty muggles' soap operas', because the elf still despised being thanked.

There was a small door behind the staff table, the one that led to a small chamber where he had been once ushered together with all the Triwizard champions after the Goblet of Fire spat out his name. Another cursed goblet, Harry thought bitterly.

Curious, he pushed the door open and went inside. Nothing has changed since his fourth year except for the light snoring coming from the portrait on the wall. Violet, the Fat Lady's best friend and companion, was leaning against the frame, fast asleep, her wide-brim hat askew.

Harry's throat suddenly felt dry. Hadn't the other portraits mentioned that Violet had left after Snape's ancestor and could have seen something? And even if not, she could have easily heard what was happening in the Great Hall through the door.

"Violet?" Harry prompted. When she groaned but did not wake up, he knocked on the frame.

"Pass!" she mumbled. "I'm passing this round."

"Violet!"

"Hm?" Violet jumped up, eyes flying open. She looked at Harry groggily. "Oh, right, the bridge game is over already. Hello, Harry."

"Hullo, Violet. Have you been asleep since the bridge night?"

She frowned. "I think so. Is Prince asking for another round to win back her garters? I'm holding on to those."

"No." Harry shook his head. The portraits' bridge night was apparently more exciting than Harry imagined it to be. "Well, maybe she does, I don't really know. I wanted to ask if you heard anything in the Great Hall when you returned."

"Nothing more than some ranting, why?"

"Ranting?"

"There was a male voice going on about... Well, you, actually."

"What did he say?"

"Something about Saint Potter always being fawned over and getting everything on a silver platter." Violet rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Harry."

"It's nothing. I've heard it all before."

"Well, people shouldn't disparage you," Violet said fiercely. "For what it's worth, it was probably Smith. Flitwick has a much higher voice and wouldn't say those things, and Severus's voice is lower, and he would've been much more eloquent in his insults."

"Was there anybody else?"

"No, I didn't hear anybody else. He sounded drunk, though, so I wouldn't be surprised if he was alone." Violet leaned forward, ready to share a juicy gossip. "Do you know that he broke our Alicia's heart?"

"Yeah."

She looked mildly disappointed that she didn't get to tell him it. "He showed his real face then, and now probably drowned his regrets in a bottle after she moved on to a much better choice. Not that I'm bad-mouthing Hogwarts Professors to everybody," she added hastily. "The school has a reputation to uphold. But you are a special case, aren't you, Harry? I'm just telling you this so the next time the duplicitous badger turns his snout at you, you know exactly what kind of a person he really is."

"Thank you, Violet. Say, have you seen anybody on your way here?"

"Yes, the Headmistress was going upstairs with some man. He looked really familiar, but I couldn't place the face."

"McGonagall?" Harry gaped at her. This was one name he did not expect to hear.

"Well, we only have one Headmistress."

He slumped onto one of the chairs standing in disarray around the room. He wanted to believe it was somebody under Polyjuice, but McGonagall's behaviour proved the opposite. Why would she be so insistent that there was nobody in the castle? "Fuck."

"What happened?" Violet asked, searching his face.

Harry stood back up. "Zacharias Smith was poisoned," he said curtly.

Violet gasped, as one would upon encountering a surprising twist in a book: shocked but eager to know more. She started to ask for details, but Harry was already marching out of the room.