The late-autumn sun glinted off the Black Lake, its surface rippling with soft waves that lapped at the grassy shore. Harry, Draco, Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Daphne, and Neville had gathered on a gentle slope near the water's edge, a brief moment of calm away from the churning rumors inside Hogwarts. The air carried a crisp tinge, and a few dried leaves scattered underfoot, hinting the season had begun its slow shift toward winter.
They had picked a spot beneath a willow whose drooping branches provided partial shade. Settled on the grass, they chatted quietly about classes, upcoming Quidditch prospects, and the swirl of speculation around the recent attack. Though the mood stayed subdued, it was a relief to breathe free from the oppressive hush that haunted the castle's corridors.
Draco tipped back on his hands, glancing at the mirrored reflection of Hogwarts towering on the far side of the lake. "At least out here, we can forget the gloom," he murmured.
Blaise, sprawled beside him, flicked a pebble into the water, watching it skip. "Only briefly. The rumors aren't dying down. Everyone whispers about the Chamber and who might be next."
Neville, perched at the base of the willow trunk, nodded, eyes on the far bank. "Rumors get worse every day. A few Hufflepuffs claim to have seen shadows in corridors, though it might just be spooked nerves."
Pansy brushed some dried leaves from her robes, letting out a quiet sigh. "The staff can't keep secrets forever. Sooner or later, Dumbledore or someone will demand more from us—especially if another attack happens."
Harry only half-listened to them, gazing across the lake's calm waters. He still felt the weight of the serpent voice and the petrified cat. Dumbledore had given no new statements, but each day, the headmaster's watchful glances grew more pointed. Harry couldn't forget Snape's advice: speak of his hidden gift to no one but come forward if something new arose.
Theo nudged Harry's shoulder gently. "You all right? You look miles away."
Harry shrugged. "Just… anticipating questions, I guess. Dumbledore's not one to let matters rest."
A mild hush followed. Then Draco gave an encouraging half-smile. "We can handle it. We've come this far together. If he tries to corner you, do what you always do—stay calm, deflect."
Pansy and Daphne both made small noises of agreement. The group let a short silence pass, letting the lake breeze swirl around them, stirring the lingering autumn scents.
Eventually, Blaise sat up, brushing grass off his sleeves. "We should head back. Dinner's not far off, and we shouldn't skip another meal just because the castle feels tense."
Harry and Draco rose first, with Neville and the others following. They lingered a moment, all casting a final glance at the watery expanse that, for a fleeting time, had given them reprieve from the castle's shadows. Then, turning away, they started the short trek up the slope toward Hogwarts' imposing silhouette.
As they climbed, the wind rustled dying leaves overhead, an echo of the unsettled mood within the school's walls. None of them spoke much, bracing for whatever might happen next. The path curved, revealing tall arches and the main entrance in the distance. Each footstep carried them deeper into the shift from calm lakeside hush to the unrelenting murmur of Hogwarts' anxious heart.
Harry and Draco led the way, quiet tension etched on their faces, while Blaise, Theo, Pansy, and Daphne followed at a slower pace. Neville, trudging along in their midst, eyed the looming castle with a mix of nerves and resignation; dinner beckoned, but the climate of unease hung over the school like a storm cloud.
Just as they reached the stone steps leading inside, Severus Snape emerged from the dusk-shrouded corner of the courtyard. His presence, abrupt and certain, halted them at once. The lamp above the door revealed his sharp features, angled in grim determination.
"Potter," Snape addressed, disregarding everyone else, though his gaze flickered over Draco and the others. "The Headmaster has requested to see you immediately." His words carried a heavy finality that prickled at Harry's already-frayed nerves.
Harry exchanged a swift glance with Draco, whose eyes flashed concern. Even Pansy and Blaise stiffened, sensing the professor's ominous tone. Theo shifted his stance, while Daphne silently pursed her lips.
Snape let a taut moment stretch before adding, "Not to worry, though, Potter. I will be joining you as your Head of House." His voice dropped into a lower, warning note. "Shall we proceed?"
A hush stilled them. Harry swallowed his trepidation; a summons to Dumbledore's office could only mean pointed questions about the recent events. The menacing edge in Snape's demeanor—almost protective in its severity—did little to soothe Harry's unease.
"All right, sir," Harry finally managed, forcing calm into his voice. He looked to his friends. Draco's brow was knitted in concern, but he gave a short, supportive nod. The others wore similar expressions—troubled, but trusting Harry to manage.
Without further exchange, Snape turned, leading Harry along the perimeter of the courtyard. The rest of the group hung back, uncertain whether to follow or leave. Snape paused to direct a strict glance at Draco, as though telling him to remain behind. Draco froze, then inclined his head in assent, stepping aside.
Harry cast one last, fleeting look at his friends—Draco, Theo, Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, and Neville—who all returned the gesture with subdued confidence. Then he moved forward at Snape's side, the professor's robes sweeping across the stone flags as they crossed the threshold into Hogwarts proper.
In silence, they passed through a tall archway into the dim corridor that led toward the Headmaster's domain. The echoes of their footsteps bounced off the old walls. Outside, dusk deepened over the grounds, and somewhere above, the castle's many windows gleamed with the lights of students gathering for dinner. But for Harry, that meal would have to wait.
Snape said nothing more, pressing on with the resolute stance of a guardian, or perhaps a warden, guiding Harry into the heart of the matter. The single torch in Harry's hand flickered with each turn, revealing the drawn look on his face. He could almost hear his pulse in his ears, bracing for Dumbledore's inevitable, probing questions.
Yet the knowledge that Snape—Head of House, and now a cautious ally—would stand beside him lent a slender thread of reassurance. For better or worse, he was not alone as he prepared to face the Headmaster and whatever hidden suspicions the man might harbor.
They climbed the last of the spiral stairs, arriving at a polished door that swung open of its own accord. Harry stepped inside with Severus Snape right at his shoulder, black robes brushing silently against the threshold. Within, the Headmaster's office gleamed under soft, golden lamplight. Slender contraptions ticked gently on a nearby shelf, and Fawkes the phoenix dozed on its perch, feathers ruffling in a faint dream. At the broad desk sat Albus Dumbledore, hands folded in a contemplative pose, half-moon glasses perched at the tip of his nose.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore greeted, voice exuding warmth that rang strangely hollow in the charged silence. "And Severus—thank you for coming." He gestured for Harry to approach the desk. "Do sit. I merely wish to… talk about these troubling events."
Snape took a position behind Harry, arms crossed, jaw set. From the flicker in his eyes, it was clear he had no intention of leaving Harry alone. Dumbledore, still wearing that benign smile, leaned forward. "I trust you're holding up well, given the circumstances?"
Harry's outward calm never wavered. He settled into the visitor's chair, posture measured. "I'm managing," he answered simply, ignoring the headmaster's coaxing tone. The chill from the corridors still clung to him, but he refused to let it show.
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment too long. "Students whisper about… certain connections between these attacks and Slytherin's heritage. It brings me no pleasure to ask, but I can't disregard the possibility of, shall we say, a serpent's involvement. You understand, of course, my concern for the safety of all students." He paused, as though inviting Harry to volunteer any revelations. "You've no experiences that might shed light on a hidden serpent in our midst?"
Snape's dark figure shifted. "Headmaster," he said icily, "Harry has already reported everything pertinent. Unless you suspect him of something unfounded…?"
An almost grandfatherly sigh escaped Dumbledore. "No, Severus, not at all. Merely exploring all avenues. You know how these rumors breed suspicion—particularly around those rumored to have 'special connections' with snakes." He turned his piercing attention back to Harry. "It would be tragic if silence allowed more harm."
Harry's face remained impassive. He met Dumbledore's gaze without a flicker. "I understand, sir. If I had any insight into this creature or the attack, I'd say so. My circle of friends is just as concerned." His calm tone stopped short of outright defiance, but it carried enough steel to discourage further prying.
Dumbledore's benign smile tightened by a fraction. "Of course, my boy. I value your honesty." Yet the keen light in his eyes belied the gentle words, as if he sensed Harry was withholding some core piece of the puzzle.
Snape broke the awkward pause with a light cough. "Unless there is more, Headmaster, I believe Mr. Potter has made himself clear. We have a House to safeguard; the hour grows late."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose a fraction, but his paternal warmth never slipped. "Indeed," he agreed, leaning back in his chair. "Harry, if you recall anything new, do come to me. Secrets can fester dangerously." There was a careful emphasis on that last sentence.
Harry inclined his head in polite acknowledgment, but no flicker of uncertainty broke his outward composure. Rising, he moved to the door, Snape shadowing him every step, protective and unblinking. Dumbledore watched them go, ancient eyes glinting with curiosity and an underlying note of resigned concern.
As the office door closed, the hush in the corridor felt more welcoming than the shimmering tension they'd just left behind. Harry cast Snape a sidelong glance; the professor met his gaze with an approving nod. Without words, they turned toward the descending staircase, conscious that the headmaster had probed as deftly as he could, and Harry, guided by Snape's unwavering presence, had held firm to his own secrets.
Harry walked at Severus Snape's side, nursing a swirl of uneasy thoughts from Dumbledore's probing words. Yet from the clipped swish of Snape's robes and the hardened line of his mouth, it was clear the professor's annoyance was not directed at Harry.
Neither spoke as they turned into the hidden corridors that led down into the sanctuary's warren of private rooms. Lamplight flickered over the old stone, shadows stretching at each corner. Even from a step behind Snape, Harry could sense the bristling anger in the man's posture, a quiet fury that simmered with each stride.
When they reached the narrow entrance, Snape tapped it open. He ushered Harry inside with a brusque motion, shutting the door behind them. The magical lamps glowed in a muted cascade, revealing the main gathering space that was now silent, its wards humming faintly in the background.
Snape whirled around to face Harry, but his glare cut upward, unfocused, as if his ire was aimed at someone far away. "Dumbledore," he said in a low, seething tone. "Always with his indulgent smiles and cunning half-questions. Playing the concerned grandfather, all while tightening his hold."
Harry blinked, relief mingling with caution. He'd expected to be the target of Snape's frustration, but instead, the professor's anger was aimed elsewhere. "So… he's trying to corner me?"
Snape let out a slow breath that hissed through his teeth. "Precisely. How kindly he offered 'help' if you've any new insights—how gently he implied you'd best trust him. That old man's more manipulative than half the Ministry combined." His words rasped with bitter condemnation, but his gaze flicked to Harry, ensuring the boy understood this was no rebuke of him.
Harry stood by a low table where they often studied, heart still uneasy but less tense around the professor now that his wrath had a different target. "He asked leading questions," Harry admitted softly. "Not about me, exactly, but it felt like he was digging for… secrets."
A derisive sound escaped Snape. "Indeed. Had I not insisted on accompanying you, who knows how far he'd have pressed?" His glance darted to the walls, as though verifying the sanctuary's wards still guarded their conversation. "That he would attempt to corner a student—my student—so underhandedly… infuriates me."
A moment of quiet settled, the sanctuary's low hum wrapping them in relative safety. Harry recognized a flicker of protectiveness in Snape's tense posture. It was strange—comforting, in a way. He exhaled, addressing the swirl of uncertainty. "I'm handling it, sir. But it's good to know you'll step in."
Snape pressed his lips together, reining in whatever cutting remarks still hovered on the edge of his tongue. "Just be aware: Dumbledore will not cease. He wants answers that can secure his position—like a wizard who must prove he alone stands at the center of Hogwarts' fate."
The frustration in his voice made Harry speak up more earnestly. "I'm cautious, sir. I won't let him pull me into a false sense of safety and pry secrets we're not ready to share."
Snape's gaze settled on Harry, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I'm counting on that. And if he calls you again, I expect you to inform me first." He paused, letting the flicker of a flame along the sconce underscore his seriousness. "He might wear a kindly smile, but do not be taken in."
Harry gave a slight nod. He stood straighter, feeling a subtle surge of resolve in this unexpected alliance with Snape. "Understood."
A hush followed. The professor closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled in a slow, measured breath. "Get some rest," he said at last, voice more subdued. "We've enough to manage with these rumored attacks, let alone Dumbledore's meddling."
Harry dipped his head in acknowledgment, stepping away from the tension swirling around Snape like a cloak. The day's events weighed heavy on both of them, yet that same weight had forged an uneasy but authentic trust: Snape, the guardian, and Harry, the guarded.
As he headed out of the main room and into the corridors leading to his dorm, Harry couldn't help but feel oddly steadied by Snape's anger—because it wasn't aimed at him, but at the Headmaster's cunning. For once, the old hostility that used to mark their exchanges was absent. In its place lay a shared certainty that, no matter what Dumbledore tried next, they would navigate it together.