Chapter 50: New Year's Day

Note: Sorry I've been away. I'm back now.

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When Severus awoke the next morning and looked in the mirror, he wondered whether he should dye his 'chestnut brown' hair back to black, or just let it grow out. The moustache definitely had to go, however. He cast the shaving spell and vanished his facial hair. Then he cast the tooth-cleaning spell.

He was in an unusually good mood. The masquerade was over and he had managed to attend without being recognized. Or killed. And although it had been quite disconcerting to discover that castle had been sending him pleasant dreams, he realized that it was rather nice to be appreciated, even if it was by an old, marginally sentient pile of rocks.

It had been good to see Bingle again, too. The Elves had been invaluable to him when he was Headmaster. The little fellows could be counted on to keep his secret. He must to write to them and thank them.

Seeing the Hufflepuff ghost had been an unwanted surprise, but he had to admit that the annoying spirit had been trying to help him, in its strange, bumbling way. The castle, the Elves, and a ghost. It wasn't much of a fan club, but it was better than nothing. Not that he needed to be appreciated. Of course he didn't. But it did feel rather good.

The song about Lupin had been a delightful treat! That man had been such an irresponsible coward. Even young Longbottom had the courage to stand up to his friends when he knew they were wrong, but Lupin? He couldn't even be counted on to drink his potion. Parselmouth's song had painted an excellent portrait of that useless fool. He was almost sorry that the wolf-man wasn't around to hear it. Almost.

And then there was that business with Rita Skeeter. He smiled to himself. He had managed to escape her clutches, and he'd saved her life, too, all without being recognized. He wondered if 'Captain Hook' was wanted for questioning. Well, let the Aurors search. They wouldn't find him.

He went to get some breakfast and found Seabiscuit wearing a Parselmouth T-shirt. It had their logo in the center: a pair of big green lips, a long green forked tongue, and a pair of white fangs, surrounded by the band's name and the slogan "Hiss and Tell".

"Nice, isn't it?" the cook said. "We missed their performance but they sold us a recording and some T-shirts. We got one for you, too."

"Their singer gave me this," Kat said happily, holding up a signed photo of the band. They were standing in the Forbidden Forest, holding their instruments and looking terribly serious. "She's kind of pretty. We should go see them perform some time."

Severus snorted. He'd never thought of Tracey Davis as 'kind of pretty'. One oughtn't think about one's students that way. That was a slippery slope that could lead to trouble. She was no longer a student, of course, but still, she was very young and it was inappropriate. Instead, he thought of her as smart, talented, determined, and stubborn. He had encouraged her interest in music. It had kept her and her band mates too busy to take an interest in the Dark Lord and his minions.

Severus looked out a porthole and saw that the boat was currently submerged. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"We just picked up a few people in Amsterdam," Kat told him, "and someone's calling in St. Petersburg. We're going to swing close to the UK on our way so we can get our mail. I can't wait to see what The Prophet and The Quibbler have to say about the masquerade!"

Severus didn't really share the mate's enthusiasm for that, but as he set off to make his security checks he found himself humming 'Werewolf of Hogwarts'.

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When Jeremy Lesser awoke he found himself alone in a holding cell at the Aurors' headquarters. He had a terrible headache, he was dressed as a cowboy, and he couldn't remember how he got that way. I must have really tied one on last night, he thought. Maybe I ought to quit drinking. That fire-whiskey is gonna be the death of me!

After a while Inspector Waverly came in. Kingsley Shacklebolt was with him. Waverly handed Jeremy a mug of strong tea. "What's your name, sir?" the Auror asked him.

"It's Jeremy Lesser," the man replied. "Look, I'm sorry about last night. Really, I am. I won't do it again, I promise. I'm going to quit."

The inspector gave him a funny look. "Um, let's back up for a minute," he said. "Do you know what you did last night?"

Jeremy took a big gulp of the tea. "I got stinking drunk, I guess. I don't remember, really."

"You don't remember that you tried to murder someone?" Kingsley asked.

"Murder? What do you mean? I wouldn't murder anyone. I just got drunk, that's all. I'm sorry." He took another gulp of tea. The fog was beginning to lift from his brain.

"You tried to murder Rita Skeeter at the masquerade ball last night," Waverly told him.

Jeremy almost laughed. "Rita Skeeter? You're kidding, right?"

The Inspector and Kingsley just stood there frowning at him.

"Look, this has got to be some kind of mistake. I admit I hate that lying witch. She has no right to spread those filthy lies about Professor Dumbledore. He was the greatest wizard of our time! I've sent her a few Howlers, and she deserved them, but I'd never attack her. I'd never attack anyone. It can't be true."

"There were more than a dozen witnesses," Waverly said firmly.

Slowly it began to dawn on Jeremy that he might be in serious trouble. "Oh no. No! I didn't … I couldn't … "

"We want to question you under Veritaserum," Waverly continued, "and we want to use Legilimency to examine your memories. We want you to give us permission to do that."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you want," Jeremy eagerly agreed. "You'll see that I didn't do it. I could never do something like that."

"I'll get the paperwork for you to sign," Waverly said as he and Kingsley left the cell.

"It wasn't too long ago that we wouldn't have bothered to get his permission, let alone do any paperwork," Waverly said as they walked back to his office.

"True, but the war is over and I've rescinded the Emergency Decrees. We have to go back to doing things properly now. So don't forget to do the paperwork for using the Killing Curse on that assassin. There will have to be an inquiry. Which reminds me, I have to have a talk with young Mr Potter."

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Rita Skeeter had awakened before dawn. She was deeply disappointed to see that 'Captain Hook' was gone but when she read his note, she understood. He mustn't endanger his mission. He was a dedicated professional, and she admired him all the more for it.

She hoped she would see him again some day. She sighed. He had such beautiful blue eyes!

Thank Merlin he'd been there when the cowboy attacked! He had saved her life and captured the man before she even realized what was happening. She shuddered when she remembered how the cowboy had tried to kill her, just because she'd exposed the truth about Albus Dumbledore. What was it about that old phony that attracted such fierce devotion?

Well, she wasn't going to let it stop her. She tossed a few treats to the Daily Prophet's owl that eyed her suspiciously from its cage, and she took up her quill:

Assassins Strike at the Masquerade Ball! by Rita Skeeter. Yes, gentle readers, your correspondent was on the scene when the murderous attacks occurred, and narrowly escaped death when …

If she hurried, she could make the morning edition.

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It was early afternoon before Clayton Urquhart woke up, and he was a little bit late to the secret meeting of the House representatives.

"Glad you could join us, Slytherin," Bentley Ballard, the Gryffindor rep, said sarcastically. "Zinnia was just explaining that the Ravenclaws think that your man Snape isn't dead, weren't you, Zinnia?"

Anthony Goldstein's younger sister Zinnia was the Ravenclaw rep. "That's right," she said, smiling. "We've given it a great deal of thought. The evidence is all circumstantial, but after careful consideration, we think that Headmaster Snape must have survived the attack in the shack. If he died, he must have done it later, somewhere else. He many well still be alive."

"That's good news," Melody Nowak, the Hufflepuff rep, said, "but it's not really relevant to our problem here. We need to get the administration to restore our Houses. The new House system is a joke. Furthermore," she added, "we've heard a rumor that the real problem is the Sorting Hat. It's reportedly been damaged too badly to do the sorting, and the professors haven't been able to find a way to fix it. If that's true, they can just blame the whole thing on the Hat."

"Where did you hear that?" Bentley asked.

"Well, I heard it from Willy Jenkins, who heard it from the Fat Friar, who said he heard it from one of the portraits. That's not very a reliable source, I know, but it could be true."

"I think it's a pretty good source, actually," Clayton said, smiling at her. "The portraits can listen to pretty much everything, and I've heard that the Friar can be quite talkative. The ghosts can't too happy about the House thing, so the Friar is bound to be on our side."

"Nearly Headless Nick has been in a tizzy ever since our House was abolished," Bentley told them.

"And we haven't seen the Grey Lady since before the battle," Zinnia added.

"Likewise for the Bloody Baron," Clayton said, "so it's up to you Puffs to keep the Friar talking. You never know what we might find out."

"Keep him talking?" Melody gave him a look. "It's usually hard to get him to shut up!"

"Anyway, if it's true about the Hat, we'll have to make them find a way to fix it," Clayton declared.

"Do you really want kids to be sorted into Slytherin, Urquhart?" Bentley interjected. "Think about it. It's a stink that will follow them for the rest of their lives. No one will ever trust them if they're sorted into Slytherin. They'd be better off under the new system, even though it's totally stupid."

"It's so kind of you to be concerned for us," Clayton sneered. "But don't worry, we're going to find ways to restore Slytherin's reputation. We know there were a lot of Slytherins who went over to the Dark Lord, but plenty of people from the other Houses did that, too. Or have you forgotten about Peter Pettigrew? He wasn't the only one from your House, either. But when Minerva kicked out all the Slytherins, the innocent and guilty together, that's what really destroyed our reputation. We have to restore our good name. But leave that to us; it's not your problem."

Bentley snorted. "It certainly isn't."

"Let's get back on topic here," Melody said impatiently. "We have to set up a meeting with Minerva. We have to try to make her see reason."

"It won't work," Zinnia sighed, "but I guess we have to try."

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Poppy Pomfrey was fixing herself a cup of tea when Bingle came in carrying the Sorting Hat. She had had an unexpectedly busy night. I hope they won't want to have another masquerade again next year! she thought. She had tended to a fair number of scratches, cuts and bruises, and she had handed out a lot of chocolate to people who were shaken by the assassination attempts, but no one had been badly harmed except for the now-deceased assassin. Even the cowboy that had attacked Rita Skeeter hadn't been seriously harmed.

"The Hat says to come to you," the House-Elf said, holding the Hat out to her. The abuse that it had suffered during the Dark Lord's attack was obvious. It addition to being as dusty and battered as ever, it was badly singed, its peak was gone, and there were several new holes in its brim.

"You want me to fix the Hat?" the nurse asked. "I'm afraid I only know how to fix people, not magical objects."

"No, no. The Hat wants to talk to you. You gots to put it on," the little fellow said.

Poppy gave the Elf a puzzled look, took the Hat from him, and put it on her head.

She stood quietly for a few minutes and then she said, "Really, Mr Hat? I don't know." And after another pause she said, "I see. Well, I'm not sure, but I'll try." A few moments later she sighed. "Yes, yes, I understand. I'll do my best."

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It was midmorning before Minerva noticed the empty glass on the corner of her desk. She picked it up and sniffed it. Whiskey! She went to one of her cabinets and took out her bottle of Glen Mystic. The level appeared to be a bit lower than she remembered, and she called for Bingle.

The Elf arrived almost immediately and when he saw the glass, his expression turned to one of horror. "Oh, Bingle is so sorry, Headmistress Professor McGonagall! Bingle forgots to clean it and put it away!"

The little Elf started slapping himself on the head with both hands, but Minerva quickly intervened to stop him. "It's not a problem, Bingle" she assured him. "It's just that I hadn't realized that I had a visitor."

The Headmistress paused for a moment. She had to be careful how she phrased her question. If she upset the Elf, he might decide to punish himself again instead of answering her. Finally she said, "I'm sorry I missed them. I'd like to apologize to them, but I don't know who it was."

Bingle held his index finger up to his lips. "Former Headmaster Professor Snape said I mustn't tell anyone." Then he winked at her and added, "It's a secret!"

"Oh!" Minerva said, and then she quickly adopted the role of a co-conspirator. "That's right! We must keep it a secret, just the two of us. You can return to your duties now. I'll take care of the glass."

Of course Bingle wouldn't allow that, and Minerva had to wait while he cast a cleaning spell and put the glass away before he left.

When she was alone, Minerva brought out the Pensieve and started looking through her memories of the masquerade. She saw a druid, a unicorn, some Vikings, and a tiger. No, he couldn't have been any of them. A niffler, a ladybug, a honeybee? She laughed at the thought. Then she noticed the pirate walking quietly across the back of the hall. Why hadn't she noticed him before? She took a closer look. Captain Hook? He had blue eyes and brown hair, but that didn't mean anything. He was the right height, and he moved like Professor Snape. That's got to be him! she realized.

She thought for a moment and then looked up at his portrait. "You rascal!" she said. "I wonder what brought you here?"

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Kat jumped back as Fawkes crowed and flapped his wings in the birdbath, sending water and blue-green dye flying in all directions. Biscuit pointed his wand at the bath and refilled it with more warm water. Both the cook and the mate were soaked, and the passengers, who were watching from a safe distance, were enjoying the show. One of them brought out a camera to record the fun.

"Whose idea was it to dye him blue, anyway?" Kat complained as he dried his face. "In fact, whose idea was it to take him to the ball?"

"I think it was yours," Biscuit told him.

"No way!" the mate said.

Fawkes continued to splash happily. They should do this more often. Showering with his friends was so much fun!