A/N: I can't remember the last time I had two chapters up within three days! Finished polishing this one much earlier than expected, and just in time for Christmas, exactly thirty years after it's set. Hope you enjoy it- I enjoyed working on it. It's a long one, so buckle up!
Thank you to all who've read this far. I hope you are having a lovely holiday season (as lovely as it can be during these strange times- though I suppose as it's occurred most of recorded history has been regarded as a 'strange time'!). For those reading this in the future, I wish you a lovely whatever-time-of-year-it-is.
Sending love and cheer and health and happiness to all of you. Happy holidays!
Chapter Eighteen: The Eternal Point
Harry watched as Greg struggled to close his trunk. The clothing inside was wadded and stuffed in at every angle, and Greg had to sit on top to force it shut, gritting his teeth and grunting with exertion.
"You might have more luck if you fold your clothes first," Harry said, gesturing at a shirt sleeve that hung out from under the lid.
"Nah," Greg said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He stood up, cracked the lid open, shoved the sleeve in, then sat on it again. "Nearly there."
Harry snuggled further into the pillows he'd propped against his headboard, the thick, down blanket beneath so fluffy and comfortable he never wanted to get up. He thought back to his first night in Slytherin, when he'd been wary about sleeping in the dungeons, imagining unheated, icy-cold cells with barred windows and narrow, wooden-plank beds held up with iron chains. He hadn't expected the delightfully comfortable beds, nor the thick rugs that enveloped one's bare feet as they stepped out of bed, nor the ornate tapestries that now shared wall space with posters for wizarding bands and Quidditch teams. Draco and Theo's posters for Puddlemere United hung alongside Vincent and Greg's strong, stubborn support of the Tutshill Tornados, a team which hadn't won the cup in decades. Blaise and Harry both enjoyed the sport but didn't have a team preference, though Blaise admitted he wouldn't mind spending a day with the Holyhead Harpies, something Harry suspected had less to do with Quidditch and more to do with something Harry only half-understood, and didn't think Blaise fully understood yet either.
He hadn't expected the two large windows that peered deep within the lake and the strange creatures within, including rare appearances of merpeople, the occasional Grindylow, and even the Giant Squid sometimes. The faint green glow that illuminated their dorm and the common room had become a welcome sight, one that made Harry feel at home.
It was a far sight from the cupboard under the stairs. Even being confined to his room since Saturday afternoon hadn't been all that terrible compared to the long stretches he'd been forced to spend in disgrace in said cupboard. That had been horrid. Harry shuddered at the memory of being locked in for a week (or sometimes even two) by himself in that dark, spider-infested space, with only school to break up the day, a place he hadn't any friends to keep him company. A day and a half spent in the greatest bedroom he'd ever had, with five of his best mates (well, Draco was debatable, but he'd count him for now)? That was heaven compared to a punishment at Privet Drive.
Not that it had been a party. The rest of Saturday was spent in grim near-silence as the first years pondered how near they'd come to a significantly more severe punishment, while the entirety of Sunday was devoted to writing their respective four foot essays on the importance of doing as they were told. This was made significantly more difficult by the fact that all six boys were writing on the same topic, and couldn't run the risk of any one essay sounding too much like the other despite there really only being so many ways to do so. The month prior Vincent and Greg had both been assigned similar (though shorter) essays on the benefits of wearing one's uniform properly after showing up to the common room in a slovenly state one too many times. The two essays were practically identical, and upon being presented with them, Snape blasted each sheet of parchment with a flick of his wand and told them to begin again- but to write twice as much this time, with a coda on the unacceptability of plagiarism.
The six Slytherin boys managed to finish their equally unique essays by Monday morning, though Harry had no idea how they managed it. He imagined the girls finished theirs as well, though he'd only seen them at mealtimes, where they were all noticeably as subdued as the boys.
It wasn't all terrible, though. On Sunday night, once they were reasonably certain they'd have the essays finished in time (shuddering at the thought of what Snape would do if they didn't), the boys finally relaxed and began to laugh about the entire incident.
"You nearly wet yourself!" Theo teased Blaise, who drew himself up haughtily.
"I did not," he enunciated so clearly and with such indignation the rest of the the boys broke into even harder laughter. "Take that back! I've never wet myself!"
"Not even when you were a baby?" Greg asked, and Harry snorted, adding, "There might be something wrong with you in that case, Blaise."
Blaise glared at them, but he couldn't stay angry for long, not when they'd all faced down Professor Snape at his most furious together.
"I really thought we were done for," he admitted as they all lay strewn across their beds, snacking on a mountain of treats the older years had brought them upon learning their fate.
The older years were clearly curious at what the ickle firsties had done to infuriate Snape so greatly. Snape was always a miserable bastard, according to them, but those who had witnessed his rampage through the dungeons tracking down the wayward students had never seen him so incensed toward a group first years.
"The last time I saw him that angry was four years ago, when we were first years," Alice Robertson told them when she and Ellen Greybourne appeared Saturday evening with an armful of sweets including Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, and packages of Bertie Botts pooled together from the rest of the fifth and sixth years. "Marcus Flint was twelve then, and he started doing an awful impression of McGonagall as a grieving widow in the common room. Only one or two people laughed. The rest thought it was horrid, but he wouldn't stop, just went on and on with it. He didn't even see Snape come in."
"He was furious," Ellen agreed. "He summoned his ruler and used it on him right there in the common room."
"In front of everyone?" Harry shuddered at the idea, though he imagined Marcus bloody well deserved it. "I didn't know McGonagall was widowed."
Ellen nodded. "Elphinstone Urquart, that was his name. She used to work at the Ministry of Magic before she was a professor, and he was her boss. That was back in the fifties, a million years ago. They were friends for years, then married right after You-Know-Who vanished."
"Poor sod died three years after that," Alice said, shaking her head. "Venomous Tentacula bite. It was before we started Hogwarts," she said, gesturing at herself and Ellen. "But everyone knew, even if no one talked about it. She didn't let it show, but it had to be terrible for her."
"That's awful," Harry said.
"Venomous Tentaculas are no joke," Blaise said darkly, and Harry was surprised at just how serious his face had gone. "Did they have children?"
"No," Alice said. "I think she was too old by then. But she has nieces and nephews, I've heard."
Blaise nodded, mulling this over. "Marcus shouldn't have done that."
"Agreed," Ellen chimed in. "Snape really let him have it. He was about as angry as when he hauled you lot in into his office earlier. And you're just a bunch of first years. What did you do?"
But they stayed silent, with vague references to it having to do with something the night they'd gone dueling.
"But that already happened," Ellen pointed out. "And he already gave you hell for that. He gets angry, but once it's over, it's over, and he forgives you and everyone moves on. Why come after you again again, a month later?"
They remained equally vague, knowing the girls would be asking the first year girls the same thing, and they hadn't had time to coordinate their stories.
"Have it your way," Alice finally said, shrugging at Ellen in defeat. "But just so you know, the entire house is trying to figure out what you've been up to. I've never seen a group of first years drive Snape so up the wall."
Great, Harry thought. The last thing they needed was the rest of Slytherin getting involved in a matter they were trying to disentangle themselves from.
"It was stupid," was all he finally said, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog. "We..."
"We sneaked out to duel again," Theo said, throwing caution to the wind, the six boys silently hoping the girls would back them up if questioned. "He found out yesterday. It wasn't worth it."
Ellen and Alice looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
"Well, of course it wasn't worth it," Ellen said, holding a hand to her mouth and failing to contain her giggles. Affectionately, she added, "The first time wasn't enough? You little idiots, when are you going to learn?"
Once the two girls had left, Greg murmured to the ceiling, "They're pretty."
"They're four years older than you," Theo called back, and the boys broke into laughter of their own. Even Draco, though he'd been remarkably quiet since the almighty bollocking they'd received in Snape's study.
Harry knew why, and why Draco kept shooting him nervous looks every time the other boys muttered about Hagrid running his mouth to Snape.
"It wasn't Hagrid," was all Harry would say, and though he wanted badly to reveal Draco's father's interference to the rest of the boys, if only to vindicate Hagrid, he wouldn't. Harry didn't have a father, not one that he could remember, but he could see Draco was hurt beyond words by his father's betrayal. He wasn't going to add another betrayal on top of that, even if Draco had technically betrayed them all first by asking his father for advice. He was still angry with Draco for that, but he wasn't about to blow the entire thing up, not now that he didn't have to spend Christmas at Malfoy Manor or work together with Draco's father on the mystery of Nicolas Flamel. Deep down, he was almost grateful Mr. Malfoy had revealed the entire ruse- almost. The thought of how petrified he'd been in Snape's study came back to him and kept him from being too grateful for Mr. Malfoy's loose lips.
"The carriages are ready to take you to the gates," Professor Snape said, standing in the doorway of the boys' dorm. "A simple levitating charm will be enough to carry your luggage. I'm often proven wrong in my low assumptions of your capabilities, but I imagine you can sustain a spell that simple?"
His voice was clipped; he was insulting them, which was a good sign, but it was clear they hadn't quite clawed their way back into his good graces. And yet he wasn't as obviously furious as he'd been two days before. If anything, Harry saw the housemaster wasn't quite angry so much as he was irritated. And he was always irritated, so that wasn't so bad, then.
"Erm," he said, as Draco started, "Sir, we wanted to say we're sor-"
"I don't care that you're sorry," Professor Snape interrupted him. Harry knew what the next sentence would be, and he was correct. "What I care is that you learn. Something you have not proven you're capable of as of yet."
The boys glanced at one another, then at the floor, some murmuring reflexive apologies despite what Snape had just said. Sheepishly, they one-by-one handed over their four foot essays, doing their best to make awkward eye contact before it was ordered of them.
"We won't..." Harry started, then paused as Professor Snape's gaze fell onto him. "I mean- We will learn. We are- we have. We won't... we're done looking into things, sir. It was a stupid idea. We shouldn't have done it."
The boys around him nodded like bobbleheads, Vincent so enthusiastically that Harry wondered if his head might pop right off his neck. Professor Snape just stared at Harry, and he prattled on, not sure what else to do.
"All of us- I- Well, what you said to me about coming to you with things," he blathered, wishing he'd just shut up but unable to. "You were right, sir. I'll do that, going forward. You don't have to worry about us..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.
"Acting like prats?" Millicent's voice rang out from the corridor.
Harry jumped. He craned his head and saw Snape had already retrieved the rest of the first year girls from their own dorms; they were bundled in their cloaks, their luggage beside them, ready to join the boys on their journey to the castle gates. Millicent smirked at Harry, but her expression turned somber as Professor Snape levied his gaze on her. As fearless as Millicent was, it was a fearlessness that did not extend to their housemaster when he was in one of his moods.
"Er," she said, quickly composing herself. "What I mean to say- what we mean to say-" She gestured at the girls behind her.
Pansy spoke up. "We'll behave, sir. And we're sor- I mean, we'll learn, sir. We've learned our lesson, we promise."
Professor Snape just raised an eyebrow. He gestured at the boys with a menacing crook of the finger, and they scurried into the hallway to stand beside the girls. Snape towered over them, arms folded across his chest. "I hope you understand I have never had such an obstinate, stubborn, difficult group of first years in my entire time teaching."
The children shuffled obligatorily, but Harry could feel them (and himself) relax slightly. If Snape was insulting them, things would be all right.
"I hope you understand your apologies mean less and less when you continue to go against your promises and defy me," Snape went on, glowering down at them.
The children nodded remorsefully, all wishing they could tell him just how much they intended never to put a toe out of line again. They meant it, too. Harry suspected they, like him, weren't only terrified by the prospect of the cane, but that they felt as rotten as he did for having deceived a man they thought so highly of. Harry thought of the discussion he'd had with the housemaster over tea about coming to him instead of continuing to play the hero, and the guilt he felt for having gone against his word intensified far more than the fear he felt at any impending punishment (though the thought of that cane terrified him out of his skin, too).
"I hope you come back to school next year with resolutions to turn a new leaf, because you will find yourselves extremely unhappy children otherwise." Snape's tone had an effect of both making Harry's hair stand on end and, somehow, making him feel anchored in a way the Dursleys' wrath never had.
"Most importantly," Snape said, his voice low and his eyes narrowed. "I hope you enjoy your holidays and have a very happy Christmas."
Harry bit his lip to hide his smile. He and the rest of the children replied in sheepish affirmatives, and Professor Snape gestured for them to make their way to the common room, where the rest of the house was already assembled. All except Harry waved a wand and raised their trunks into the air, carefully balancing them as they slowly made their way to the common room. Tracey hesitated, lowered her trunk, and before she could think too hard about it, wrapped her arms around her housemaster's torso. "Happy Christmas, sir. We'll miss you."
Professor Snape looked very much as though he wanted to be sick in response to being hugged, but before he pried himself free Harry saw him reach down and ruffle the girl's hair, followed by a gentle pat to the back. "I most certainly will not miss you, Miss Davis. A long holiday with barely a student in sight? It's the greatest Christmas gift a teacher could ask for."
Tracey giggled happily, not taking him seriously for a moment as she smoothed her hair back into place, and levitated her trunk again. Before long they were in the common room, greeted by snickers and grins from the older years who were all under the assumption they'd been out dueling again.
"Thanks for the Fizzing Whizzbees," Harry whispered to Terence Higgs, who was also staying behind for Christmas. "Those were from you, weren't they?"
Terence just winked; he took his position as Head Prefect seriously and would never openly admit to rewarding wrongdoing, but Harry knew damn well he'd contributed to the mass of sweets that were still hidden in drawers and under beds.
The leaving Slytherins walked briskly, led by Professor Snape, to the Hogwarts gates. The remaining students joined them, some looking downbeat at the idea of staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, others smiling broadly. Harry wished he had parents to spend the holiday with, but given his only other option was the Dursleys, he was pretty solidly chuffed at getting to stay at Hogwarts. Last Christmas he'd received a tin of peas and a tattered, secondhand manual for a discontinued brand of microwave.
"Have a good time," Harry said to his housemates. Tracey, in an even more soppy mood than usual, threw her arms around him as well, wishing him a perfect, wonderful Christmas, before disappearing through the gates. Millicent punched his shoulder so affectionately that it bruised nearly instantly. Blaise shook his hand gravely, as though they were old friends about to depart to war.
"Don't eat all the sweets," Greg whispered in Harry's ear, and he nodded, solemnly promising he wouldn't.
Pansy and Daphne just waved, beaming widely. Vincent darted past, calling out his goodbye, and telling Harry he could play with his Gobstones if he wanted. Theo shook his hand much as Blaise had, but he smiled warmly, saying, "See you next year, then!"
That left only Draco, who nodded at Harry and said, "See you, then."
"Have a good time," Harry said. When Draco scowled at him, he lowered his voice and said, "He was probably just trying to do the right thing. You know?"
"What do you know about fathers, Potter?" Draco shot back.
"Shut it," Harry shot back. "Not going to work on me."
Draco slumped slightly. "I hate him."
Professor Snape's fingers closed around Draco's shoulder. Harry and Draco both jumped. Snape wordlessly guided Draco away to a tree, past the rest of the houses making their way to the gate. Harry couldn't make out what Snape said, but his expression remained decidedly neutral as he murmured to the boy, who in turn said quiet words back when prompted. They spoke for several moments, and Harry glanced away, only turning back as they approached. Snape patted the boy's back, much as he had with Tracey, and the hand on his shoulder was much gentler than it had been a moment ago.
"I will see you next year, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said smoothly, gesturing with his head toward the open gates.
"Bye, sir," Draco said, still downcast but a little less miserable. He turned to Harry. "Bye."
"Bye," Harry said, watching as he and the rest of the departing students wandered down the path toward the train station.
Professor Snape turned around, facing the remaining one-sixth of his house. He scowled at them, clearly wishing he had the castle to himself, and with a 'so-be-it' face, he motioned for them to follow him back to the castle.
Christmas holidays at Hogwarts proved to be, for lack of a better word, magical. Harry stayed up as late as he wanted to and slept in until noon. Instead of his uniform, he wore whatever he felt like. By this time, he'd grown adept at the clothing-altering spell Snape had taught them in the common room, and his multi-month long effort to resize Dudley's old outfits had paid off. Instead of being booted off the furniture every night, he had his pick, and he made it his mission to try everything, discovering a particular affinity for a high-backed chair near the fire.
During the day the students ran loose across the castle and its grounds. Harry was the only Slytherin first year spending Christmas at Hogwarts, and the older students instantly took him under their wing. George Lambourne took him sledding down the steepest hill on the grounds, showing him how to lean forward to gain extra speed. Terence Higgs let him fly his broom for hours at a time. Three days into the holiday, Harry and Carl Riggle, a second year, agreed to stand guard for a select group of fifth through seventh years (including rule-stickler Terence of all people) as they smoked something particularly fragrant behind the greenhouses.
"Can we try some?" Harry asked, it suddenly connecting what the smell was when they emerged, massive grins on their faces.
"Nope," Ellen said, grinning broadly as she reached in her pocket for another Chocolate Frog and having to pause to pick up the prefect badge she dropped. "Snape'll kill us if he finds out what we were doing, but if we let a first year join?"
"We'll not just be dead, we'll never walk again!" Terence announced, and the older students devolved into hopeless giggles.
Lunch was a magnificent affair; students wandered in throughout the day and found food ready any time they wished. Harry watched as the older students, still feeling the effects of their illicit jaunt, scarfed down enough to last a lifetime. Their grins sobered slightly as Professor Snape finished his meal and stepped down from the head table.
"Shh," George Lambourne muttered and the students all tried to look as natural as possible. Harry didn't think they did a very good job at it, but Snape just paused beside them before continuing out of the Great Hall, at which point eight simultaneous breaths of relief were heaved.
"He knew," Ellen said, then paused. "Did he know?"
"I don't think so. We weren't being obvious about it," George said quietly.
"Even if he had noticed, he looks the other way when it's Christmas," Terence said, with the wisdom of a sixth year who'd seen it all before.
Not that they had complete and total free reign. The following evening George and Reggie Derrick got into a tiff over who would choose which station to listen to on the Wizarding Wireless Network, during which words were said and ended with George whipping out his wand and causing two thick, knee length wads of hair to shoot forth from Reggie's nostrils. The hair vanished almost instantly, and the two boys froze as Professor Snape lowered his wand from his spot at the just-opened common room door.
"A word, Lambourne," he snarled at George, who turned noticeably pale.
It was pretty obvious what Snape meant by a 'word'. When he returned several minutes later, wincing, the entire common room erupted into laughter, even Reggie. Even George, reluctantly, who agreed he'd been a berk, and any unpleasant was forgotten nearly as quickly as it had started.
Even with the threat of Snape hauling them in if they really pushed things too far, the holidays were well and truly wonderful. Sometimes his dorm felt lonely at night, but he was so tired by the time he dropped into bed that he fell asleep in no time. He spent entire days running about having (age appropriate, for once) adventures with his fellow classmates, and so many afternoon teas with Hagrid he soon lost track. Hagrid, horrified at the idea that the other first years thought he'd ratted them out to Professor Snape, swore up and down he wasn't responsible, which Harry reassured him he knew was true, and promised he'd convince the others in time. He introduced Hagrid to several of the older students, and before long Carl Riggle, who turned out to have an equally fervent love for magical creatures, was spending half his time at Hagrid's hut excitedly talking about the various types of animals they'd met or wanted to meet.
Harry was aware through all this that he was being watched closely. The Bloody Baron seemed to turn up whenever he was in the dungeons, and the subjects of a handful of portraits whose frames were located near Snape's office kept appearing wherever Harry went. Professor Snape spent every evening in the common room with a sour look on his face; according to the older students he usually cut loose from his house during the holidays and had adventures of his own.
"Rotten luck, too," George said sadly as they trundled back up to the castle after a freezing, slushy attempt at Quidditch. "We haven't had a single night this term he's not been in the dungeons after lights out."
"None that we know of," Ellen corrected, stuffing her gloved-hands under her armpits for extra warmth. "But hold out hope, we'll have a Slytherin Night at some point this year. Before long, at least."
"Before we're eighty?" George asked wistfully.
Harry had heard about but not yet experienced one of these legendary nights when the fire in Snape's room was put out and he went elsewhere- to where, no one knew, but it sounded like an absolute party took place in his absence. He doubted there'd be one anytime soon, given the events of the past month, and sighed, hoping he'd experience a Slytherin Night by the time he was a seventh year.
Despite the eyes that followed him wherever he went in the castle, Harry didn't mind, and he supposed it was only fair. He had broken Snape's trust in him, and he knew Snape very well could have confined him to the common room for the holidays. He was grateful he hadn't, and even more determined to prove he could be trusted going forward.
In addition to being watched by a small army of portraits, ghosts, and grumpy housemasters everywhere he went, Terence Higgs also seemed to turn up whenever he left the castle. It didn't take long for Harry to say, "Professor Snape put you up to looking after me, didn't he?"
"You're not as stupid as you look, Potter." Terence smirked. "You must've really driven him off his rocker, sneaking out again. Haven't seen a batch of first years that brave, or that stupid, in a long time. Can't say I approve but, off the record, you've really got to get better at not being caught."
"We're not going to sneak out again," Harry said, and he meant it. "We're never going to make Professor Snape cross with us again."
Terence snorted. "Of course you'll make him cross again. You could be a perfect, model student for the next seven years- and not to be rude, Potter, but I doubt it- and he'd still find some reason to snarl over something. It's his nature. If he weren't miserable all the time, it would make him miserable."
Harry shook his head. "I can never tell if he can't stand children, or if he cares for us more than anything."
"Both," Terence said confidently. "So, if I'm to follow you, where are we going?"
"Hagrid's, for tea," Harry said. "If you want. I mean, if you're stuck following me, I don't mind doing what you want to do."
"Hagrid's it is, then," Terence said magnanimously. "Besides, I owe you for standing guard the other day."
Harry grinned. His pockets jingled with money and sweets the older students had plied him with; between the sweets still hidden in his bedroom and the sweets in his pockets he could probably open his own confectionary if he were so inclined.
Tea with Hagrid was an enjoyable affair, with Hagrid immediately taking to the polite, upstanding young man who put away a surprising amount of sandwiches and forced down his barely edible treacle tarts with remarkable grace. Upon bidding their farewell, the two young men walked back to the castle slowly, enjoying the sharp December air.
"Why are you staying at Hogwarts for Christmas?" Harry asked, warmed by the multiple cups of tea he'd drank over the past hour. It hadn't occurred to him to ask until now.
Terence shrugged. He broke off a stick from a beech tree and dragged it along a thick pile of snow before releasing it. "I like it here during the holidays. It's nice."
"And your parents don't mind?" Harry asked. "My aunt and uncle are probably throwing a party to celebrate me staying at Hogwarts, but I can't imagine your parents would."
Terence's face went dark, and Harry could see he was pushing a sensitive subject. "It's complicated, Potter."
"Oh." Harry fell silent. He added, "Sorry."
Terence shook his head. "It's not your fault. It's just... Slytherin is complicated. I don't speak with my parents anymore."
Harry gazed up at him. He didn't know you could do that, have parents and choose not to talk to them. He would have killed for a chance to speak with his parents. But he knew what some of the parents in Slytherin were like.
"Oh," he said again.
"It is what it is." Terence stuffed his hands in his pockets. "They have their beliefs. I have mine. We've agreed it's better for me to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays."
"Even the summer?" Harry imagined Terence wandering the castle alone each summer- was that an option? Could he join him? His heart skipped a beat at the thought of never having to return to the Dursleys again.
Terence shook his head, dashing Harry's hopes. "Dumbledore would never allow it. No one stays during the summer. George Lambourne's folks let me stay with them. They believe the same rubbish my parents do, but they're not as..." He trailed off, trying to find the right word.
"Mad?" Harry tried.
"Fanatical," Terence settled on. "But mad works too. Anyway, all our parents agree it's for the best, and when I come of age and finish Hogwarts I'll rent a flat on my own. But I don't want a thing from my parents, not that they'd give me anything at this point. So I have to keep up with my grades, and land a good position at the Ministry."
It had never occurred to Harry why Terence Higgs was so dedicated to his role as Head Prefect, nor why he was so studious and fastidious about ensuring he received top marks.
"I think you'll do it," Harry said solemnly. "You're more brilliant than anyone in Slytherin-" Terence snorted at this. "-and just you wait and see, you'll be Head Boy next year."
"Slytherins are never made Head Boy," Terence said. He clapped Harry on the back before he could question this, adding, "And enough of my sob story. Everyone in Slytherin's got one, trust me. No use crying over it. Race you back to the castle?"
Harry ran as fast as he could, but the sixteen-year-old had much longer legs and absolutely demolished him. It was all right, though, because he let him borrow his broom for the rest of the afternoon for coming in second.
Professor Snape sat in the common room each night, determinedly sour, shooting dirty looks at anyone who passed, a sight to behold next to the enormous, beautifully decorated Christmas tree next to him. Like his students, he had taken the opportunity to dress down a bit, but only a bit. His casual robes fit him immaculately and somehow managed to look more formal than they actually were. Harry heard whispers that the housemaster usually spent his Christmas break in a state of near-constant undress with Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor, but no one had any actual proof beyond the bored, idle chatter exchanged between students looking for something interesting to imagine. Not that Harry wanted to picture Professor Snape (or anyone else for that matter) doing- that. The very thought made him shudder.
Even so, Harry could see the determined miserable façade of the professor waver here and there. He obviously didn't want to be spending his holiday with the same children he looked after the rest of the year, but each night the man relaxed bit by bit, occasionally even joining them in their board games, trouncing them every time.
"Have I ever told you the story of the time a centaur foal wandered out of the forest and into the castle?" Snape asked one evening, settling into the same chair Harry had come to appreciate. "And how two Hufflepuffs decided to hide it in their closet, raise it on their own, and nearly triggered a war?"
The remaining students gathered around his chair, even the older ones who'd heard the tale countless times before.
He was still his grouchy, snarly self, but as the week wore on, Professor Snape continued to relax, and Harry could tell that as much as he'd rather be anywhere than the castle, keeping an eye on his most wayward of students, the man wasn't in as foul as a mood as he seemed to be. His point was proven when, in the midst of a massive, Slytherin-wide snowball fight, Harry received a surprise lob of snow to the face. He looked up sharply, wiping his face with his sleeve, only to find the great bat of the dungeons himself half-hidden behind a tree.
"Professor Snape's here!" he yelled, pointing at him and alerting everyone else to the surprise addition.
Everyone stared, startled- then immediately scooped up massive balls of snow. Of course, they also froze just before actually throwing them at their housemaster.
"Oh, come now," Snape shouted to them. "Are you that afraid of me?"
With a flick of his wand, huge mounds of snow flew at every Slytherin, and they roared with renewed zeal as they hurled their snowballs in return. It was all of them against him, but Snape fought dirty, using his wand to flip attackers into the air and dump them into drifts of snow. Harry slammed into a snowman they'd built earlier, both toppling to the ground, and as he pulled himself to his feet he saw Ron Weasley watching from the front steps of the castle. The redhead's mouth hung open at the sight of the fearsome Potions Master frolicking across the grounds hurling snowballs at his students.
Harry hesitated, then motioned at Ron to join them, but the boy shook his head sheepishly and motioned that he had to go inside. Harry shrugged and returned to the snowball fight.
It was nearly one in the morning. Harry wandered back to his dorm from the lavatory, shooting a glare at the Bloody Baron, who ignored him as he drifted alongside him.
"I'm not going to go anywhere. I'm not an idiot. Snape would kill me," he said. The Baron didn't respond. "I imagine you'd rather be doing many other things rather than look after me."
"Indeed," the Baron said flatly.
Harry glanced sideways at him, and relented. "Sorry you're stuck minding me."
The Baron just raised an eyebrow and glided down the corridor, as they reached Harry's dorm. He rounded the corner, and it hit Harry that he wasn't frightened of the ghost anymore. Mostly not, at least.
One morning at breakfast, Ron slipped onto the bench next to Harry. With a sheepish shrug, he said, "Hello."
"Hi," Harry said. No one from another house had sat at their table since Neville joined them for dinner, and after the 'welcoming' he'd had in the common room he'd never tried again, though he and Harry remained friendly. "Enjoying your holiday?"
Ron nodded, reaching for a piece of toast. He paused. "Is it okay if I sit here?"
"Of course it is." Harry piled eggs on his plate, followed by several pieces of sausage. "Want some?"
Ron nodded, and piled even more on his plate than Harry had. He attacked the food with gusto. "This is good. Tastes just like breakfast at the Gryffindor table."
"It's the same food," Harry said, and they fell silent. After a moment of eating quietly, Harry asked, "Why'd you stay for Christmas?"
"My parents are visiting my brother Charlie in Romania," Ron explained. "Too expensive to bring all of us, you know?"
His ears reddened slightly at this, but Harry didn't comment on it. Reggie and George passed as they walked up the table toward the exit, both pausing.
"You're the youngest Weasley, right?" Reggie asked.
"Well, my sister's the youngest Weasley," Ron said, flushing a bit more. "But she doesn't start Hogwarts until next year."
"He's Ron," Harry chimed in.
"Nice to meet you, Ron," George said. "I'm George, and this is Reggie."
"Hi. My brother's named George too," Ron said, and as the two boys exited the Great Hall, they passed Fred and the aforementioned George, who noticed where Ron was sitting and stared at him in horror and indignation. Ron just glared back and held out both hands in a gesture that said So what if I am? The twins said nothing and continued on to the Gryffindor table.
"Remember when we rode the Hogwarts Express?" Ron asked, as though they were elderly men and this had happened seventy odd years ago.
"That was fun," Harry said, thinking back to that wonderful afternoon sharing a compartment. "It was a lot of fun."
They sat in silence for another moment, then Ron said, "Neville says you're all right."
"Well, good on Neville," Harry replied. "I think he's all right too."
Ron's ears reddened even further. "I'm friends with him. Hermione Granger, too."
"I noticed," Harry said. "Because of what happened with the troll?"
Ron nodded. "He's sort of jumpy, but all right. And she's annoying sometimes, but she's all right too." He poked at a fried egg and said, "Neville told us what happened when he came to your common room."
"Oh." Harry's stomach sank. That had been an unpleasant affair. "I didn't know that was going to happen. It was only a couple of people who were mean to him, and Professor Snape was really angry at them. Not all Slytherins are like that."
"I know," Ron said. "He told us about how a bunch of you followed him, and were kind."
Harry nodded slowly, thinking of the discussion they'd had in the unused room near the kitchens, the older students comforting the crying boy and the younger ones reassuring him that he was welcome in Slytherin.
"He told us Professor Snape brought him back to our common room, and that he was really nice," Ron said, glancing at the head table in disbelief. Snape gazed back at them, his expression unchanging, before returning to his conversation with Professor McGonagall and his own plate of eggs. "I can't picture Snape being nice."
"He's not that bad," Harry said. "He's... it's hard to explain. He's crabby and obsessed with rules and never smiles, but he's not evil or anything. He sits with us in the common room and teaches us spells and tells us stories. When some of the first years- not me- have nightmares, he's made them warm milk and sat with them for a while. He plays games with us. He's strict, but he's great too."
Ron stifled his laughter. "You're having me on. He doesn't make warm milk for the first years."
"Yeah, he does," Harry said, thinking of Tracey Davis admitting just that.
"For Malfoy?" Ron's eyes gleamed with vindictive delight at the very thought.
"No, not him, and don't make me regret telling you," Harry shot back. He paused. "Would you like to come to the common room with me sometime? I don't mind telling you where it is. It won't be like Neville again, I promise. The Slytherins that stay behind for Christmas, well, they're especially all right. And Snape told me after what happened with Neville that any house is welcome in our common room."
"I know where it is," Ron said, looking away. "Neville told me. Maybe. I don't know."
"You don't have to," Harry said. "But if you want to come and see for yourself that we're not a bunch of dark wizards, you're more than welcome."
Ron turned a particularly bright red at this. "I don't think you're dark wizards."
Yeah, you do, Harry thought. You said as much on the Hogwarts Express. But he didn't push him.
"Do you want to build a snow fort?" Ron asked after they'd finished eating. "I'm the only Gryffindor first year who stayed for Christmas and none of the older years will bother with me."
Ah, Harry thought. The only reason Ron was spending time with him was because he was lonely. But then again, he couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. Slytherins didn't ignore their younger years.
"Come on," he said. "I think Carl said he was going out after breakfast too. Mind if he joins us?"
Harry heard the soft footsteps pad down the corridor as he drifted in and out of sleep. He paused- the Baron didn't make noise when he glided around. Was it Snape personally keeping an eye on him? Or was the cloaked figure from the stairs back to finish him off?
He pushed himself out of bed. The clock on his bedside table told him it was just past midnight. Harry crept to the door, then stuck his head cautiously into the corridor. Ellen Greybourne froze, staring back at him.
"Shit," she muttered.
Harry grinned, thinking back to how Blaise had found her coming back from the kitchens a month before and blackmailed her into revealing the nighttime patterns of the Bloody Baron. "Caught by a first year again? Seriously?"
Ellen looked at him warily, and his grin only widened. "Don't worry. I won't make you give me anything."
"Good. I wouldn't think you of all people would be against a little nighttime wandering." Ellen grinned back at him, gratefully, and nodded up the corridor. "I'm going to scamper before the Baron shows up, or worse, Snape."
The next morning, as the students assembled in the Entrance Hall to watch an impromptu performance of the portraits caroling, Ellen sidled next to Harry and pressed a tiny bundle in his arms. He peeked inside and his eyes widened when he saw it was filled with Pumpkin Pasties. There were so many sweets hidden in his dorm at the moment he had no idea what to do with them all. He unwrapped one now and offered a second to Ellen.
"Thanks for not ratting me out," Ellen said, keeping her voice low as the portraits caterwauled their way through 'Hark! The Herald Angels Sing'.
"I wouldn't do that," Harry said. "What were you doing in the boys' corridor, anyway?"
"Not what you think." Ellen blushed. "I was on my way back from the kitchens and the Bloody Baron popped out of nowhere. I ducked down that way before he could see me."
"He's changed his patterns," Harry said. "He's keeping an eye on me for Snape. Because of... well, you know."
"I've noticed." Ellen grinned. "We've all noticed. I suppose you're a nighttime wanderer, too. The whole first year is."
Harry just shrugged. Really, they'd only sneaked out that one time, but they had to keep up the ruse, or reveal the mystery of Nicolas Flamel to the rest of Slytherin. A mystery Harry had no intention of revisiting.
"I've never seen Snape that angry," Ellen said, shaking her head and smirking at the memory. "Well, no. I've seen him that angry. But not for a long time."
"I think he was more angry that we went behind his back than that we sneaked out," Harry said quietly as the portraits transitioned into a particularly rousing rendition of 'God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs'. "We'd sort of broke a few promises we'd made to him."
Ellen nodded, her expression going slightly serious. "He takes promises seriously." She shrugged, adding, "Well, now you know, and he probably made you pay for it. Anyway, he'll call off the Baron eventually. Just give it time."
Harry nodded, and admitted, "He didn't wallop us, you know. But he said if we do it again we're getting the cane."
"Wow." Ellen blinked, surprised. "You must've really broken a promise."
Harry shrugged, feeling his cheeks flush. He didn't know why he'd even brought it up.
"He's only used that thing once before," Ellen went on. "Three years ago. Otherwise, he only ever threatens to use it, but I wouldn't push him- anyone threatened with it makes sure never to give him a reason to keep to his word. He doesn't back down from his promises."
"I won't," Harry said. "It scared me half to death. The others, too." He paused. "He's only used it once?"
Ellen nodded. "Three years ago," she repeated. "That was the angriest I've ever seen him, more than when Marcus Flint made fun of McGonagall's dead husband. He never uses it otherwise. Not even when he was forcing the house into shape, back when he first started teaching. The ruler was enough."
"What happened?" Harry asked. The portraits were singing with gusto, each trying to outshine the other. It was a bit overpowering, but not terrible. "Who'd he use it on?"
Ellen hesitated. "It's not really my business to tell that story."
"But-"
"No," she said, gently but firmly. "It wasn't Slytherin's proudest moment. I shouldn't have brought it up."
Harry reluctantly gave up, and they watched and listened to the portraits together. A moment later Ron hurried down the grand staircase, his face lighting up when he saw Harry. They'd had a magnificent time building a snow fort with Carl Riggle the day before, though Ron hadn't taken him up on his earlier offer to join them in the common room.
"Peeves is making an ice rink on the fourth floor," Ron called out breathlessly. "He's already burst half the pipes. It'll be swarming with teachers any second, but do you want to see the chaos?"
Harry very much wanted to see the chaos. He sprinted after Ron up the stairs, along with half the students assembled.
When Harry woke up on Christmas day, he found that it was no different than any other day. His dorm, decorated the past week with spruces of holly adorned with bows and tinsel, was appropriately cheery, but there were no gifts to be found. Harry shrugged; he hadn't expected anything. He threw on his clothes and wandered to the common room, where he found the rest of the house already awake, tearing into a pile of brightly wrapped presents that had appeared under the Christmas tree overnight.
As Harry sat on the sofa, Reggie unwrapped a package with a label reading 'From Mother & Father'. He plastered on a fake smile as he looked down at the leather-bound 1992 planner. The third year opened his next present, which had no tag, and immediately beamed with delight at several packs of new guitar strings, along with six serpent-shaped tuning pegs. "This is brilliant!"
"Oh, God," George Lambourne muttered. Reggie had a guitar that he occasionally dragged out, and when he played it sounded rather like Mrs. Norris wailing.
Harry sat back and watched as his housemates unwrapped their presents. Someone sidled next to him; he looked up to see Professor Snape.
"Morning," Harry said. "Happy Christmas, sir."
"Happy Christmas," Snape replied. "Are you going to open your presents, or are you going to sit there like a sorry Victorian urchin?"
Harry gaped at the man. He nearly asked I've got presents? but before he could, Snape jerked his head toward a small, untouched pile of gifts under the tree.
"Go on, then," Snape said, but Harry was already on his feet, moving toward the tree.
He'd never had presents before, not proper ones. Not ones that weren't a joke from the Dursleys. There was one from them, which he opened first. The envelope contained a short, perfunctory note and a fifty pence piece. The other students crowded around him.
"Whoa." George lifted it, peering at it closely as though it had been excavated from an ancient tomb. "Weird shape. This is Muggle money?"
"That was nice of them," Harry observed.
"Fifty pence," Carl read, craning his head to see the coin. "How much is that?"
"A little under two Sickles, I think," Ellen said before Harry could answer. "We learned the conversion rate in Muggle Studies, but I might be off."
Carl's brow furrowed. "Is your family poor?"
"Mr. Riggle." Snape's voice was cool but not cold, its intent clear.
"No," Harry said, unbothered. "That's just what they're like."
The Slytherins glanced at one another, then Terence snorted. "Welcome to the club. Two years ago my parents sent me a how-to guide on how to be a better pureblood son."
"My mum sends me a curling iron every year." Ellen held aloft her new curling iron, giving it a dirty look, and gestured at her pin-straight hair. "Every single year. I have five of the ruddy things now. She's trying to make a point of how much she wants me to do my hair like hers and won't get me anything else until I give in."
"You'd look nice with curly hair," Terence observed, and laughed when she swatted him, snapping that wasn't the point.
"Slytherin parents are masters at getting you exactly what you don't want," Reggie said, gesturing at the planner he'd received. "Your aunt and uncle would fit right in!"
Harry couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon being forced to move to Slytherin. It was the greatest place in the world. They wouldn't last a day.
"That planner is a perfectly useful gift," Snape cut in. He'd settled into the high-backed chair near the fire, and Harry observed for the first time that he was wearing slippers in the common room. Before he could marvel at the sight, Snape said, "I believe you have other, more thoughtful presents waiting for you, Mr. Potter."
Harry turned back to the pile. Vincent and Greg had pooled together enough money for a six-month subscription to the Quidditch Times. Blaise and Theo both sent boxes of sweets (Harry thought of the near-impossible mountain he had hidden from Snape in his dorm and wondered where he'd put these new additions). The girls had chipped in together as well and sent him an owl grooming kit. It was very generous of them, though Harry imagined Hedwig would throw a fit if he tried to use it on her. Even Draco sent Harry several bottles of different kinds of fancy butterbeer (which Terence quickly explained wasn't actually alcoholic), along with a note that was even shorter than the one from the Dursleys. Everyone's cards and letters thanked him for the things he'd sent.
There was a flute from Hagrid that was clearly hand-whittled and sounded a bit like an owl when played. Reggie perked up at this and suggested they play a duet in the common room once Harry learned how to use it. The looks from everyone around them told Harry they'd very much prefer it if they did not play a duet in the common room once Harry learned how to use it.
There was even a small box of Chocolate Frogs from Neville and a note thanking him for being so friendly. Harry's stomach sank with guilt; he spent time with Neville occasionally, but he hadn't thought to send him anything. He silently decided to make up for it. Neville was a decent sort.
There was one present left, one without a note. Harry turned the package upside down, and every which way, but there was no tag or sign of who'd sent it. The paper was the same as the gift Reggie had opened earlier, the one he'd actually enjoyed. Harry unwrapped the box and found a book- Quidditch through the Ages. Harry grinned. He'd borrowed it so many times that Madam Pince had been forced to ban him from taking it out from the library for the rest of the year, citing the fact that other students wanted to read it too.
Beneath the book was a small case, which he opened to find a pair of glasses nearly identical to his own. They were round just like his, but the material was firmer to the touch, made of a higher quality than the crappy frames the Dursleys had found God-only-knew where. Harry took off his glasses, put the new pair on, and gasped. His prescription before had been fine, but he saw (literally) now that it hadn't been tuned as carefully as it might have. He pushed them further up his nose, marveling at the lack of tape needed to hold them together. A small card from the manufacturer, located on Diagon Alley, informed him they adjusted with their wearer over time to perfectly match their changing eyesight.
"Who sent this?" he whispered to Carl, who gave him a funny look and said, "Who do you think?"
Harry looked up at Professor Snape, who watched him with raised eyebrows, his feet propped up on a nearby table. Harry shuffled over, resisting the urge to take a page from Tracey's book and show his gratitude by throwing his arms around the man. Forcing himself to be more sensible, he cleared his throat and said, "Er- I wanted to say- That is, I mean-"
"I believe the phrase is thank you, Mr. Potter," Snape said, and his lips curved into the first proper smile he'd ever seen from the man, small as it was.
"Thank you, sir." Harry grinned back at him. "This Christmas is brilliant."
Christmas dinner was a grand affair, even more so than the usual meals. Hagrid grew redder and redder the more he drank, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, much to Harry's surprise, turned red and giggled. Even more to his surprise, he caught Professor Snape winking at Professor Burbage as she passed him on the way to her seat at the head table. Harry elbowed Terence Higgs and gestured as subtly as he could. They both watched as Professor Burbage winked back at Snape. For the first time he wondered if some of those persistent whispers might actually be true.
That evening, they sat in the common room and sang Christmas carols off-tune, guided by Reggie's even more off-tune guitar playing. Snape joined in, and Harry quickly learned the man was one of the worst singers he'd ever encountered, even worse than Aunt Petunia. Filch stopped by bearing some of the treats and toys he'd confiscated from them over the past term, joined by Mrs. Norris, the latter of whom looked to be in a perfectly foul mood with a festive red-and-green ribbon tied in a bow around her neck. The girls cooed over her, and despite her sour face, she accepted their rubs and affection with a deep, rumbling purr.
As the door slid open for Filch to leave the common room he called over his shoulder, "There's someone out here to see you."
Harry craned his neck, and rose to his feet when he saw Ron awkwardly peering into the common room, not moving from his spot just outside.
"Hi, Ron. Come in," he called. "Want a Licorice Wand? We have a million."
"Yeah?" Ron perked up a bit, but he still didn't move.
"We're about to start a game of Exploding Snap," George said after a long moment. "Want to join?"
Ron took a step forward, then paused, eyes adjusting to the common room. He stared around at the decorations, taking in the welcoming faces. It was clearly the last thing he'd expected to find.
"Oh, get on with it already," Snape called out from his chair. "Or it'll be next Christmas by the time you reach the fire."
Ron scurried forward, cheeks turning red. To Harry, he said, "I, erm, thought I'd say hello. The twins are driving Percy mad and won't let me join them, and the older years are busy."
"Welcome to Slytherin, Weasley," Ellen said with a grin, tossing him a Licorice Wand. "Happy to be second best."
Ron turned red. "I didn't mean it like that." He glanced at the Licorice Wand and added, "Thanks." To Harry, he said, "I didn't know the password, and I knocked at the wall, but it's pretty thick. I guess you didn't hear."
"We didn't." Harry motioned for Ron to join him beside the fire, and Ron sat slowly, taking in the common room.
"It's bigger than our common room," he said. "Ours is cozier. But this is nice too. Just..."
"Different?" Harry suggested, though he wouldn't know. He'd never been to the Gryffindor common room.
"Yeah." As if reading Harry's thoughts, Ron said, "You should come by sometime. You're welcome to, you know."
"If they'll have me, sure," Harry said.
"They will. I'll make them," Ron said, shifting so he could stretch out on the rug next to the fire. "This is a lot different than I was expecting."
"Is it?" Snape asked, corners of his lips twitching. "I suppose you were expecting manacles, and isolation cells? Perhaps an iron maiden in the corner?"
Ron turned bright red. "Nothing like that, sir. I... thought it would be colder. Not temperature-wise, but..."
He trailed off. The common room's décor was admittedly more festive than it was the rest of the year, but Harry understood what he was getting at. It was the same reaction he'd had at first, and he hadn't had nearly as much of a built-up wariness of Slytherin.
"Indeed," Snape said.
Ron looked at Snape nervously, as though he'd give him detention any second for breathing.
"Do you want to build another snow fort tomorrow?" Carl asked lazily. He was sitting on the floor with his back against a nearby sofa, on which Reggie half-dozed, his guitar resting on his stomach. "You were brilliant at figuring out how to keep ours from caving in the other day."
"That sounds great," Ron said, and shook his head. Almost to himself, he said, "None of you are anything like Slytherins."
"And yet everyone here is a Slytherin," Professor Snape cut in, eyebrows raised slightly. "I imagine we're very much like ourselves."
"I didn't mean-" Ron shrank back slightly, and Harry could see he was just as afraid of Snape as Harry was at first. That would wear off soon, he told himself, if Ron stuck around. "It's just- I meant- well, my point is-"
"Ah, your point," Snape said. rolling his eyes. "There's always a point, isn't there?"
Ron gaped at him. "Er- well-"
"Everyone's point seems to be that the way they see things is the way the world is, and nothing will change that." Snape leaned back into his chair. "So many people trying to prove their points that they never stop to consider whether they're true or not." He gazed down at Ron. "There have been terrible wizards that came from Slytherin. Along with terrible wizards that came from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Plenty of people grow so attached to their need to blame someone else for all the world's ills that they reach adulthood proclaiming all Slytherins evil, with nothing that will change their minds. Plenty others do the same shouting all Muggles and Muggle-born are evil, and nothing will change their minds. They all have their eternal point to prove, and it's all self-righteous nonsense."
Ron's face was very red as he thought this over. Finally he said, very slowly, "I suppose you're right." He lowered his head. "You are right. I don't think all Slytherins are evil, sir."
"Much appreciated," Snape said, the corners of his mouth twitching again. "And I don't think all Gryffindors are evil. But enough of that." He reached for a Chocolate Frog, tossed it to Ron, then unwrapped another for himself. "It's Christmas, and Christmas is no time for lectures. I believe you were invited to play Exploding Snap?"
Ron, emboldened ever so slightly, stood up and said, "Only if you'll join us, sir."
Harry grinned as the man rolled his eyes. Snape hated Exploding Snap- he saw no reason to singe his eyebrows and risk turning into an Exploding Snape. It was Christmas, though, and he joined them. They stayed up to an ungodly hour playing games, singing songs, and sharing stories, until everyone was at last ready to go to bed. Harry didn't have a chance to say goodbye to Ron, as he fell asleep next to the fire just before midnight.
He woke up to Terence Higgs heaving him over his shoulder none-too-gently, but he was comfortable enough that he didn't struggle as the older boy carried him back to his dorm and deposited him on top of his bed. Harry snuggled into his pillows as Terence shut the door behind him, ready to drift off again, when he noticed something was underneath. He sat up, suddenly awake, and lit one of the candles held by the lamp on his bedside table. There was a lumpy parcel under his pillow. Harry unwrapped it, and a fluid, silvery fabric slipped out. Harry shook out the folds to get a better look, and saw it was a cloak. He frowned, wondering who'd want to send him a cloak, and why it hadn't been with the rest of his presents under the tree.
A note fell to the floor. Harry bent down and picked it up, reading:
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.
Harry stared down at the cloak, and after a moment's pause, slipped it on. He looked down and gasped. His feet were gone. In fact, everything below his neck was gone. He dashed to the mirror and it was confirmed- he was invisible. He slipped the hood over his face and the effect was complete. He pulled the cloak off, then on again. Then off again, then on again. He read and reread the note, as though a signature would suddenly appear.
This had been his father's?
Harry paused, pulling the hood over his face once more. He couldn't help himself. He'd promised Snape he wouldn't put another toe out of line, but he he wasn't about to go hunting for information on Flamel. He just wanted to see if this cloak really did what it seemed to do. Carefully pushing open the door, he tiptoed out into the corridor. He paused as Carl Riggle wandered in his direction. Harry walked slowly toward him and paused just outside the door to the second year boys' dorm. He waved his arms and made silly faces, but Carl didn't even blink. He just stepped into his room and shut the door.
Harry continued on, wandering slightly further into the dungeons, heart pounding at the possibilities this cloak could bring. He paused as he grew close to the kitchens and heard footsteps. He quickly flattened himself against the wall as a person passed. It was Ellen Greybourne. Harry frowned, wondering why she was sneaking out so much at night only to go the kitchens, especially considering how much they'd eaten during the day. She couldn't possibly still be hungry, could she?
He followed her as quietly as he could, pausing as she came to a stop outside of the disused room he'd last been in when Neville fled the common room months ago. She slipped in. Harry saw someone waiting.
"Hello," Ellen said.
"Hello," came Terence Higgs' voice. "Happy Christmas, you."
"Happy Christmas, you."
It occurred to Harry that it was so late that it wasn't really Christmas anymore, but Boxing Day. His pedantic thoughts were soon forgotten as Ellen and Terence wrapped their arms around one another, Ellen pushing the door shut behind her.
Ah. Well, Harry supposed it wasn't that surprising. It occurred to Harry that the teasing Ellen had received in the common room before the holidays about having a secret boyfriend hadn't been idle gossip after all. He turned back the way he'd come and left the two young lovebirds to themselves.
He paused for a moment, staring down the corridor toward the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall, and the castle beyond. He could go wherever he wanted. He could go to the library. To the restricted section. He could search for Nicolas Flamel to his heart's content.
He didn't, though.
He couldn't, and not just because he was terrified of the retribution he'd been threatened with if he tried. He'd already broken Snape's trust in him, and that made Harry feel rotten. He wasn't about to do that again, not for no good reason. Not simply because he could.
Instead, he made his way back to his dorm and slipped off the cloak. He put it in his trunk, along with the note, wondering to himself what the rest of the first year would make of it when they came back to school.
