He was almost at the Gryffindor Tower when he felt something brush against his legs. He looked down, and to his horror, realised the presence of Mrs Norris.
Damn it.
That cat was never far from her master, and this was not good news for him, especially considering that he was out of his dormitory after curfew.
And, as expected, it didn't take long for the hated caretaker to arrive. Harry felt a rough hand grab his arm.
"Well, well, who do we have here?" Filch hadn't yet recognised him in the dim light of the corridor, but Harry knew, the moment the man turned him around, that finding him had just turned his night into a triumphant day.
Harry almost sighed at his bad luck. He glanced longingly at the portrait of the Fat Lady—he was just a few steps away from safety. But, once again, his misfortune had struck.
"Potter."
Filch's eyes gleamed with malice, and a wicked grin spread across his face.
"Finally, I've caught you, you little brat!" he croaked. "I can't wait to take you to Professor Umbridge. She'll be delighted to see you."
Harry shuddered inwardly, fervently wishing he wouldn't have to see the pink witch again. But fate seemed determined to make him endure one too many encounters with the toad for his liking.
He didn't even bother trying to justify himself. He let Filch drag him along the dark corridors, knowing from experience that no excuse or explanation would do him any good.
On top of that, he felt a bone-deep weariness, a dull ache, and an overwhelming desire for it all to end. He wished this were just a bad dream because the things happening to him lately were too absurd and too frequent to be real. He couldn't catch a break.
And so, once again, he let himself be torn from his bed by a fate that seemed to have no mercy for him at the moment. He closed his eyes and yawned so many times on the way that he wondered if he'd be able to stay upright much longer.
He tried to wake himself up by focusing on his surroundings. No way, absolutely no way, was he going to faint or fall asleep with Filch as his only help. The Squib would have to manage without magic, assuming he even bothered to help.
The thought of being carried bridal-style by Filch, who'd stoop to such lengths just to deliver his prize to Umbridge, was enough to snap Harry back to reality.
He became even more alert when he realised where they were—near the hospital wing.
Harry turned to Filch, confused, but the man seemed determined and as pleased as if he'd just been told corporal punishment had been reinstated at Hogwarts.
"Why are we going to the hospital wing?" he asked, trying to free himself from the caretaker's grip.
"That's none of your business, Potter," Filch replied, tightening his rough hold on Harry's arm. Then he looked at him and added, "But if you must know, all the professors and the Headmistress are in the hospital wing because of an emergency." He muttered and then added, almost as an afterthought, "And if Merlin wills it, the Headmistress will restore order and enforce the rules that have been neglected at Hogwarts for far too long…"
A shiver ran down Harry's spine. He knew well what the "emergency" was, and the image of his Head of House being tortured by Voldemort himself briefly flashed in his mind.
Harry wondered briefly how Umbridge had discovered McGonagall's situation so quickly. He silently questioned whether she had some means of spying on the castle's occupants.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became of this theory, considering how often Umbridge seemed to know exactly where he was at any given moment. He shuddered again at the thought and resolved to discuss it with his friends. Hermione would surely help him find an answer.
Just a few steps separated him from the hospital wing, and Harry idly wondered what scene awaited him inside.
He could piece together what was happening even before entering; the chaos could already be heard from outside.
He heard Umbridge's grating voice and tried to wriggle out of Filch's grasp. The impulse to flee as far away as possible from the woman who had caused him so much pain surged within him.
Despite his efforts, Filch quickly dragged him to the infirmary door and threw it open. But despite the caretaker's rather theatrical entrance, no one seemed to notice Harry was there. All the attention in the room was fixed on the two people who were speaking.
Harry did his best to make himself invisible, moving slightly behind Filch, though the man wasn't having it and seemed eager to show off the "prey" he had captured.
Harry knew he hadn't gone unnoticed; he could feel the side of his temple burning. But he did his best to avoid the obsidian gaze boring into him. Instead, he focused on the scene playing out before him, though he had tensed up, feeling like a trapped animal. Being stared at made him uncomfortable.
Did Snape have nothing better to do? Harry thought irritably.
Umbridge's shrill voice grated on his ears, and he tried to forget someone was watching him.
"I demand to be informed immediately of any medical emergencies!" Umbridge was shouting, standing in the centre of the room with an indignant expression. "I am the highest authority in this school, and I decide who deserves to be treated and who does not!"
Madam Pomfrey stepped forward. The height difference between her and the pink toad was stark—a perfect metaphor, in Harry's mind, for the true worth of the two women.
"This is absolutely unacceptable!" Madam Pomfrey was furious. "You cannot barge in here and decide who I can and cannot treat. It's against my ethical code and the oath I took as a healer!"
"I don't care about your code," Umbridge snapped venomously. "I have control over everything that happens at Hogwarts, and that includes the hospital wing."
"You cannot be serious. This has never happened at Hogwarts! You cannot decide who deserves medical attention and who doesn't. And surely, if merit is to be considered, you must agree that an honoured member of this staff, not to mention the Deputy Headmistress of this school, is more than deserving of the necessary care to survive."
With that, she turned away, as if to assert that the conversation was over. But Umbridge was seething.
It was a clash of titans. But while one wielded undeserved power granted by the Ministry, the other possessed power derived from respect, esteem, and the value demonstrated over years at Hogwarts.
A single glance at Umbridge made it clear that she wasn't done. She was furious, her face contorted with the same look she usually reserved for Harry.
"DON'T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" she suddenly screamed, and all the background chatter ceased. Silence fell, and Harry held his breath.
Madam Pomfrey turned slowly, determination and pride burning in her eyes. Harry knew that during Umbridge's reign, the matron had been significantly restricted in her infirmary. This, clearly, was the last straw.
"Anything to add, Dolores?" she asked in a calm tone, as if making casual conversation about the weather rather than addressing an enraged Ministry official and the fate of her infirmary's management.
Harry found the response highly amusing and almost laughed outright; he had to press his free hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. Only then did he realise that Filch was no longer holding him back—at some point in the conversation, the caretaker must have let him go. Glancing towards the doors, he wondered if anyone had noticed, but when he turned back to the observer from before, he saw that he was still watching him.
Cold, calculating eyes bore into him, and Harry understood that he wouldn't get far, so he resigned himself.
He turned his attention back to the scene just in time to see the toad explode.
"How dare you disobey my orders! Your insolence is utterly unacceptable. I am the High Inquisitor of this school, appointed directly by the Ministry of Magic, and I will not tolerate your insubordination any further!" she declared in one breath. Her face, now a furious shade of red, reminded Harry vividly of his uncle when he became enraged and turned that horrible plum colour.
"Cease your use of Mediwitch skills this instant, or consider yourself unemployed," she concluded with a sadistic smile, as though she'd just dealt a decisive blow.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Surely, Umbridge couldn't be serious. Harry's mouth fell open.
He glanced at the faces around him and saw the same astonishment mirrored on the expressions of the other professors and members of the Order.
Looking at Madam Pomfrey, Harry immediately understood that she wouldn't betray her oath. There was a determination in her eyes—a fire that brooked no alternative.
Her gaze held no trace of surprise, only unshakable resolve, almost as if she had already anticipated this possibility.
"So be it," she said with finality, turning her back on the toad and striding towards Professor McGonagall.
Harry then turned his eyes to the pink-clad woman, who seemed to be positively steaming with rage. She puffed up her chest and stood as tall as she could—though, in fairness, it didn't make much difference—and spoke.
"Very well! By the authority vested in me by the Minister himself, and as the High Inquisitor of this institution, I dismiss you with immediate effect!"
The silence that followed her proclamation was deafening. No one said a word. Harry scanned the faces of everyone in the room, noting that no one seemed prepared to intervene this time, either.
Another injustice was being carried out within the walls of Hogwarts, and no one was standing in the way of that harpy.
A surge of rebellion rose in Harry, surpassing all feelings of exhaustion and shock. He looked at each professor in turn, anger building within him.
Why weren't they resisting?
Why weren't they doing something?
Why weren't the adults acting like adults and putting an end to this nonsense?
It was so unfair that Madam Pomfrey—who had devoted her life, effort, and care to protecting and healing the population of Hogwarts—was being so brutally dismissed for the simple act of trying to help someone.
Harry felt ungrateful for not acting. She had tended to him so many times, kept him company, and spoken with him kindly on countless occasions.
Nobody was doing anything, and Harry couldn't stand it. He would do something for the woman who had helped him so much.
He hadn't been able to help his Head of House, but he was here now, and he could at least try to speak up for Madam Pomfrey.
And despite every ounce of self-preservation he possessed urging him to stay silent, that night he spoke—or, at least, he tried to.
Just as he was about to defend Pomfrey staunchly, a pointed hand landed on his shoulder and gripped tightly.
Harry flinched audibly and turned his head, only to find himself staring into the dark gaze of the Potions Master, who silently threatened him.
It didn't take a genius to interpret what Snape was trying to convey:
"Not a word."
Harry had to give credit to Snape's ability to communicate. With just one look, the man had managed to convey an entire series of threats.
"Oh, but look who we have here…"
Harry shivered inwardly at the sickly sweet voice of Umbridge, who had undoubtedly noticed his presence by now.
He met the old hag's gaze. Her face was still flushed with anger, and her small, cold eyes were fixed on him, glinting with a malice he knew all too well.
She was about to continue speaking when Filch interrupted her, emerging from nowhere on the opposite side and grabbing Harry by his free arm, shaking him as if displaying a trophy. This action also succeeded in pulling him away from Snape in the process.
"Headmistress Umbridge, I found him outside his dormitory after curfew, and with all the trouble this brat causes, I thought you might want to investigate and punish him for breaking the rules so blatantly."
Umbridge no longer seemed annoyed by the abrupt interruption. Instead, she was staring at Harry with the predatory smile of a vulture about to descend on its prey.
Harry shivered involuntarily and braced himself for the worst.
Just as Umbridge was about to begin, Snape's cold, measured voice cut through the tension.
"Headmistress Umbridge, I fear there has been… a misunderstanding."
Every eye in the room turned to Snape, who was advancing slowly towards them, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression utterly devoid of emotion.
"A misunderstanding?" repeated Umbridge, folding her arms across her chest and arching an eyebrow. "If there's a misunderstanding, Professor Snape, you had best explain it at once."
Harry was speechless. He pinched his thigh repeatedly with his free hand, but the pain made it clear that this was no dream.
Snape stopped just short of Harry, not sparing him so much as a glance, and addressed Umbridge with icy composure.
"As much as it pains me to admit, and though I do not deny that I would rather report Potter as deserving of punishment, he was not breaking curfew." Snape's tone was as cold as ever.
Harry froze. This couldn't be happening. He must have misheard—surely his exhaustion was playing tricks on him. He redoubled his efforts to focus on the conversation, desperate to grasp what was actually being said.
"Mr Potter was under my supervision, serving a detention, when I was urgently summoned here to provide my… indispensable expertise. He had completed the task assigned to him, and I left him near his common room, trusting—foolishly, it seems—that he would be capable of finding the entrance to his dormitory on his own. Alas, I often forget how… limited the cognitive abilities of Gryffindors can be."
Umbridge stared at him, her mouth tight as though she had just swallowed a lemon. Harry didn't know what to feel. He was dumbfounded, confused, but careful not to display any of these emotions in front of Umbridge, who was now watching him closely.
"And why didn't you personally escort him back? That seems like a significant lapse in judgment, Severus," she said suspiciously.
Snape's expression didn't shift; his impassive mask remained firmly in place.
"My judgment, Headmistress Umbridge, was dictated by necessity. The situation in the hospital wing was too urgent for me to waste additional time. However, if you believe this decision warrants an investigation, by all means, report it to the Ministry. I am certain they will appreciate your meticulous attention to… details."
Umbridge glared at him, and Harry could tell the exact moment she realised she had lost this particular battle. The malicious gleam in her eyes dimmed slightly.
"Very well, Professor Snape," she said in her syrupy tone. "But I expect you to pay closer attention to the… details next time. We wouldn't want tonight's events to repeat themselves, would we?" She ended with a saccharine laugh that made Harry want to retch.
Snape didn't reply but inclined his head in what appeared to be a gesture of submission.
"As for you, Potter," the woman turned her attention to him, "don't think for a moment that you're off the hook. I'm keeping an eye on you."
With that, she spun around and began addressing the rest of the hospital wing, dispersing the crowd that had gathered ever since McGonagall had been brought back to Hogwarts.
As Harry was pushed out of the hospital wing by Snape's insistent prodding, he wondered what would happen to McGonagall and Pomfrey. He was dragged brusquely out into the corridor, Snape pulling him along.
The man had drawn his wand and was murmuring something under his breath in Latin before finally addressing him.
"The frequency with which you manage to find yourself in trouble is staggering, Potter," Snape began venomously.
Well, considering that most of the time he was the one punishing me for things I hadn't even done…
"I find it hard to believe you're truly upset about it, sir, given how much you seem to relish catching me in the act just so you can punish me," Harry retorted, too tired to bother being civil.
Part of him knew the man had just saved him, and he probably could have avoided escalating the situation, but he was fed up with being insulted and ignored the thought.
"Typical of you, Potter. Too famous to acknowledge the fact that I've just saved your miserable, ungrateful hide?"
"I didn't ask you to do it, Snape! I've never asked you for anything!" Harry yelled back.
Snape suddenly stopped, turned to face him, and shoved him against the wall.
"You never do, Potter. You never ask for help, no matter how much trouble you're in or how recklessly you risk your neck. You never realise when something is bigger than you."
Harry blinked, stunned. He could see the vein pulsing on Snape's temple, but he had no idea why the man was so angry or what the point of this conversation was.
"Er…" he began uncertainly, "I don't think I understand what you're getting at, sir." And it was true; his anger had been replaced by complete bewilderment.
Snape seemed even more irritated, and that only made Harry more uncertain.
"I'm not surprised you can't grasp the subtleties of events and their consequences. Or perhaps you do understand and simply don't care, just like your arrogant, spoiled father…" Snape said venomously.
"I'm neither arrogant nor spoiled!" Harry snapped, tired of being described as someone he wasn't.
He hadn't expected the professor's expression to shift. Snape's calculating, cold gaze scrutinised him, making Harry uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet, almost regretting speaking up.
"Perhaps you're not spoiled, Potter, but you're certainly arrogant. Not in the way I initially believed, but arrogant nonetheless. Only an arrogant, petulant child would think it wise to speak out of turn in front of Umbridge…" Snape said tonelessly.
Harry, stung by the insults, almost missed the fact that Snape had essentially admitted he had been wrong about certain aspects of him.
"It wasn't fair. Madam Pomfrey didn't deserve to be treated like that, and no one else was doing anything!"
A bitter laugh escaped Snape's lips, sending a shiver down Harry's spine.
"Oh, let me guess. The great Harry Potter had to step in, didn't he?"
The derision in Snape's tone made Harry bristle.
"Yes! You adults were just standing there doing nothing while she carried out yet another injustice, and—"
"And in that brilliant mind of yours, Potter," Snape interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "it never occurred to you that the woman currently holds all the power, and there was no way to prevent what happened tonight?"
Well, yes, it had occurred to him, but it still wasn't right.
"But it's not fair!" he echoed his own thoughts.
Snape gave him a look as if he were an especially dim-witted child.
"Life, Potter, is not fair," he said coldly.
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Snape continued.
"You need to learn to pick your battles, Potter. To understand when it's worth speaking up and when it's wiser to remain silent." His eyes gleamed like steel. "Although I understand the difficulty in grasping such concepts, given your rather limited mental capacity."
Despite the insults, Harry was struck by how this conversation with Snape had gone compared to their usual interactions. It had been… different.
Snape dragged him the rest of the way, saying nothing more. Harry was lost in thought but didn't miss the swift flick of the man's wand.
A Silencing Charm, he realised. Harry idly wondered if even Snape had noticed how often Umbridge seemed to know too much.
Then he snorted internally. Of course, Snape had noticed. The dungeon bat seemed to notice everything.
He cast a quick sideways glance at the man, whose face was now unreadable. Snape had saved him from Umbridge tonight, and the more Harry thought about it, the more he wondered why. Had Dumbledore ordered him to?
It was possible, but something about it felt… off. His instincts told him there was more to it, and his instincts were rarely wrong.
Then there was Snape's strange behaviour tonight. He hadn't been kind, exactly, but the conversation had been far from their usual dynamic, where the man always seemed ready to bite Harry's head off.
And then there was the fact that Snape had admitted two fundamental aspects of his usual characterisation of Harry—two pillars of his hatred—were incorrect, or at least partially so.
Harry stole another glance at the Potions Master, wondering silently if it was really him. A chill crept up his spine at the thought that he might be dealing with another Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, why hadn't he thought of it sooner?
With anxiety tightening his chest and adrenaline coursing through his veins, he continued walking, trying to act normal.
He counted silently to three and, with a swift motion, drew his wand and pointed it at his professor.
Snape didn't look surprised. If anything, he seemed mildly amused by the display.
"And now what is it, Potter?" he said mockingly, with a posture of nonchalance.
But Harry was not fooled; he could see the wand, even though it was not drawn, ready, and Harry knew the man likely had a dark spell prepared to be cast.
Harry kept his voice steady, though inside he felt a shiver of anticipation and fear.
"What did you ask me during the first Potions lesson?" he asked firmly.
Snape did not look impressed; Harry struggled to read the emotions behind the obsidian eyes, but he just could glimpse a dark amusement.
"Ah, finally a shred of caution. If I may, however, Potter, I'd avoid questions to which an entire class had access." The sarcasm and derision were omnipresent, and Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment.
But he didn't lose heart; after all, he could still be in the presence of an impostor, so he racked his brains, trying to think of a question that only this man could possibly answer.
He could ask him about the Pensieve, but if his suspicions were wrong and this truly was his Potions Master, there would be hell to pay later.
So despite his embarrassment, he asked the only thing he and the man could know about.
He took a fortifying breath; there was no turning back now. He repressed his personal discomfort and looked into the dark eyes of the man.
Snape was waiting, clearly amused and not inclined to interrupt his momentary source of entertainment.
"What did you find at my relatives' house when you came to check on behalf of Dumbledore?" he asked, pleased that his voice had not wavered even once.
He looked at the man's face, waiting, trying to appear strong and hiding the embarrassment he felt at the memory.
It seemed that some darker emotion had crossed Snape's expression, though amusement was still visible.
"I found you battered to a pulp by—"
"All right, all right, I get it… It's you," Harry said quickly, embarrassed by Snape's description of him.
He lowered his wand and kept walking, as though putting physical distance between himself and the man would distance him from the continuation of the answer.
He didn't know what he had expected— he had asked, after all—but he had been sure it wasn't really the man, given how un-Snape-like he had been that evening.
He knew the man was walking beside him, but he didn't dare look at him. He didn't want to see the amusement and derision that were surely written on the face of the overgrown bat.
And so, when he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he darted inside, barely muttering a farewell.
He was almost certain he had heard a dark chuckle beyond the portrait, but clearly, he wasn't thinking rationally; the fatigue was playing tricks on him.
When he lay down on his bed, it was nearly dawn, and despite all the thoughts swirling in his mind, he fell asleep immediately.
I hope you had a wonderful holiday season. I'm eagerly awaiting your comments!