Harry was sitting by himself in front of the big fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. It was Christmas Eve and the tower was emptying itself of pupils, most of whom had caught the Hogwarts Express at noon in order to join their families for Christmas. Because of frequent sick-leaves of Professor Vector during the autumn however, a NEWT class of Arithmancy was scheduled in the afternoon for catching up, so Harry and Ron had to wait for Hermione. They were to leave as soon as she was done. Meanwhile, Ron had gone down to the kitchen to see if he could get them something to eat. Harry had declined to go with him because speaking to the house-elves still reminded him painfully of Dobby who had been lost in the war against Voldemort.
Harry leant closer to the warmth of the fire and smiled to himself. He recalled the wondrous and delighted looks on his friends’ faces in the morning as they climbed down to the Entrance Hall. They had all sensed a harmonious humming in the air as they woke up. When they stepped out of the Gryffindor house and overviewed the grand space of the Hall from the staircase landing, the extent of the Christmas Enchantment hit them. The castle was alive. Every little piece of it contributed to the performance, from the large, gently bowing, gesturing and smiling statues to the knobs on the banisters that had all been gilded and the tiny details in the tapestries that had sprung to life. The decorations placed by the staff were now twirling in the air slowly and in concert, emitting a beautiful, breathing glow. It was even more exquisite than they remembered from previous years.
Hermione had had tears in her eyes and Ron had kissed her on the stairs out of shear happiness. As the pupils gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast, their voices had been hushed and awed and their eyes glittering. The teachers had had relieved and joyous expressions on their faces and had nodded their approval at the headmistress, who, Harry thought, had fought hard not to betray her astonishment.
Snape had arrived late for breakfast, his nose plunged in an unfolded scroll of pergament that he was reading as he emerged from the dungeons. He was half-way up to the podium before he lifted his head and froze in his movement. When Professor McGonagall rose and walked towards him with a huge smile and with open arms, as if she was going to hug him, Snape had simply turned on his heel and disappeared the same way he had come. The younger students who had had class with him during the day had reported him to be in a murderous mood and the Potions Master had not turned up for lunch in the Great Hall either.
”I don’t understand why he has to be so ridiculous about it,” Hermione had said. ”Nor why he doesn’t want to take the credit for this marvellous piece of magic. Oh well, I’m glad that he changed his mind, and that we could relive this a last time.”
Harry stared dreamingly into the fire with a slightly melancholy look on his face when he suddenly became aware of a presence behind him and turned around. Snape stood completely still, a few steps from Harry’s armchair. He was clad in his usual black attire, he didn’t make a sound and his obsidian black eyes were riveted on Harry. There was no telling for how long Snape had stood there and after gripping the armrests tightly for a second, Harry stood up slowly, trying not to let the surprise over finding the head of house of Slytherin inside the common room of Gryffindor show too blatantly. It seemed like Snape, on his side, had no wish to stay in the lions’ den for long, for almost without moving his lips, he said in a monotonous, although steely voice:
”Come with me, Mr Potter. A word if you please.”
”Ron…” Harry started to object.
”Mr Weasley will survive without you for ten minutes,” snapped Snape. He turned abruptly and headed towards the hole behind the portrait of the Fat Lady which constituted the entrance to the Gryffindor house. Harry followed warily.