Harry wasn’t sure why Dumbledore had allowed him to stay in the room while they planned how to proceed, but he was glad they had. He’d never been able to cope with not knowing what was going on, and hearing what would happen tilted the world upright just that little bit more. The blanket the headmaster had tucked around him helped, too— it smelled very slightly of cedar, and the feel of the fibres under his fingertips was grounding— but it was hearing the professors plan out their actions that did the most.

The goal, it seemed, was to capture and question the imposter as soon as possible, while remaining utterly cautious towards the safety of all the students and staff of Hogwarts. Harry, the most obvious target, was not part of the plan. Instead, Dumbledore explained, to keep him safe he would be taken to the hospital wing. He would remain in one of Madam Pomfrey’s warded quarantine rooms, which only allow people who had been keyed to the wards in or out, until the imposter was confined.

After that had been established (with no room for argument on Harry’s part), the boy leant against the back of the chaise and listened to the unfolding plans. Unfortunately, despite his interest, his lack of sleep the previous night as well as the day’s events had taken their toll on him. Harry was finding it ridiculously difficult to concentrate on the professors’ words. Snape and Dumbledore’s voices faded in and out as Harry blinked slowly, his eyelids lowering closer and closer together…

But before he could fall irrevocably asleep his woolly brain stumbled across a thought which jerked him awake.

The map!

If they looked at the map, they’d be able to tell if Moody was actually an imposter. The map was never wrong– it had even had Peter Pettigrew on it while he’d been hiding as an animagus. Surely it wouldn’t be fooled by Polyjuice Potion!

But Harry’s initial rush of enthusiasm was soon tempered. He ought to mention it, really he ought, though he had a squirming reluctance to do so which he recognised as childishness.

Neither Snape nor Dumbledore knew about the map. Or, well… last year the potions professor had caught Harry with it. He’d been suspicious of the “spare bit of parchment” and its penchant for insults, but Professor Lupin had backed Harry up. There was no way the man would be happy to have it revealed for what it was now. Snape would be angry at Harry for lying to him— and probably far, far angrier at Remus Lupin, who he detested. But Remus Lupin wasn’t present to be angry at, and Snape wasn’t unknown for taking his anger out on other people— especially Harry.

Dumbledore might appreciate the map for the clever piece of spellwork that it was, and would be very glad of it in their situation. Harry couldn’t help but have a creeping doubt that the headmaster would also express his disappointment that Harry had previously kept the map to himself even when Sirius Black was entering the castle last year.

He struggled with himself for several minutes, but in the end, rather angry at himself for being cowardly enough to consider obscuring the existence of such a useful tool simply because he might get in trouble, Harry said, “Professor?”

They both turned to look at him. “Yes, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. His tone was lightly curious.

The boy swallowed, but ploughed ahead. “I know a way to tell who it is.” 

The two men listened to him as he talked, slightly stuttering his explanation. 

“...and I know I should have handed it in last year,” Harry said. Even though Snape’s face was forbiddingly impassive, and Dumbledore’s wasn’t betraying anything more than a slight frown, he felt rather miserable. He hoped that they wouldn’t ask about how he had gotten it in the first place— he didn’t want to incriminate Fred and George.

“Indeed you should have,” Dumbledore said, finally. “It was deeply foolhardy not to— but I shall leave off scolding you this time in recognition that to mention this now indicates an increase in your maturity since then.”

Harry carefully didn’t look at Snape. He hadn’t the least bit of interest in what the potions teacher thought of his supposed increase in maturity . 

And really, he himself wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe he would have handed it in last year if he’d thought about it properly. Well, he had thought about it a bit, but really it had seemed more a way to avoid teachers than look for a mass-murderer. And then Professor Lupin had confiscated it, and so he hadn’t had it any more. 

Snape had seen it then, Harry remembered. In the rush of that awful night, he’d almost forgotten that that was how Snape had known to come out to the shrieking shack. But Snape thought it was Lupin’s map, and didn’t realise that Harry had had it first… and for all Harry knew Snape didn’t remember that night very clearly. What with the way three hexes had hit him all at once… and Harry had a vague memory of Sirius bumping the man’s head a few times when he levitated him through the passageway…

He shook his head to clear it. All that was over, now. 

“—think it is worth a try,” Professor Dumbledore was saying. “Severus, will you escort Harry? I don’t think he ought to go alone, in case something unexpected happens.”

Snape gave a short nod. He had still not said a word since Harry had mentioned the map. 

“Bring him down to the quarantine rooms afterward,” Dumbledore concluded. “No point coming back here. I shall meet you there.”

As the staircase revolved them slowly downwards, Snape turned to Harry.

“Try to look repentant, Potter— even if I suspect it’s beyond you. If you can’t manage that, your usual temper and whining will have to do.”

Harry glared, confused. “I do not whine—”

“Exactly so,” Snape said. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “You know, Potter, I did not realise that you had a talent for acting.”

What on earth did the man mean? Harry had thought he might be berated about the map, but this was just plain confusing…

The gargoyle grated open; Harry let out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp. There was a sudden pain in his left ear, because for an unfathomable reason of his own Snape had pinched it between his fingers and it didn’t seem as though he was feeling inclined to let it go anytime soon. In fact, he seemed annoyingly satisfied with the outraged expression on Harry’s face.

“Precisely, Potter,” Snape said. “Now, to Gryffindor tower.”

“What are you doing? ” Harry gritted out. “Let me g—”

“Silence!” hissed Snape. “Not. Another. Word. If I hear one more peep out of you, Potter…” 

And his voice was so suddenly, awfully cold and his face so utterly furious that Harry found himself hardly able to breathe, let alone speak. His throat felt tight and his head ached, and the day had gone on for far too long, all he wanted was to go to sleep and everything be over and there to be some kind of mix-up so that everyone was who they said they were, and dream of a beautiful nothing. 

But Harry wasn’t given any time to blink away the pressure behind his eyes, because he was pulled off balance and nearly fell over. Snape had started walking.

Snape’s stride was long; Harry, held by the ear and feeling awkwardly short-legged, stumbled after him, needing at least two steps for every one taken by Snape. It was a most uncomfortable process, and as they turned the corner into a main corridor Harry realised it could only get worse. 

A group of third-year Hufflepuffs were passing through— they gaped at Harry. One by one smug grins overtook their faces. It was clear that they resented him for being a Hogwarts champion alongside their own Cedric Diggory and were happy to see him in trouble. Turning to each other, they began whispering.

There was nothing quite so efficient as the Hogwarts rumour mill, and Harry, to his awful and growing certainty, knew just what the next big rumour would be. 

Snape strode past the Hufflepuffs, Harry utterly miserable in his tow. He could hear them laughing in their wake. Another corner— two Ravenclaw girls gaping incredulously at Harry— a flight of stairs. Snape had to slow there for a moment, tapping his foot impatiently as Harry stumbled on one of them in his haste. 

Worse than all that, however, was Professor McGonagall, who was just leaving her classroom with a large armful of books. She leaned down awkwardly to lock the door behind her, dropping her wand into her pocket. Then she turned, only to exclaim loudly and fumble all her books upon seeing Snape and Harry, the professor’s hand still clenched tight upon Harry’s poor ear.

“Severus!” she said, sounding startled and angry. Leaving her books on the floor, she stepped closer. “What are you doing? ” 

“Escorting Potter to his dormitory,” Snape said lightly, sounding as if he’d admitted to taking a turn around the grounds. “Stop that, Potter.”

Harry, who was trying to lean over and pick up the dropped books, found himself jerked painfully upright once more. He opened his mouth to say something angrily, Snape and his Silence be damned, when he heard something that made his mouth lose all moisture and his brain frantically whirr.

Step— clunk. Step— clunk.

Mad-Eye Moody was walking round the corner.

“But—” Professor McGonagall was saying, “What— let go of his ear! Gods, Severus, what—”

The problem was, Harry realised, that he no longer felt angry or frustrated or mistreated by Snape. In fact all he felt was incredibly limp. Moody was coming closer, his eyes fixed on Snape, and Harry thought he knew what Snape had been trying to do, but Harry was utterly failing at projecting repentance or guilt or even the temper that Snape thought he was good at. 

What if the imposter could tell— if he was an imposter? What if he saw through Harry’s shoddy acting and realised they were onto him?

“Finally snapped and revealed your true colours, Snape?” came Moody’s voice from along the corridor, his step— clunk getting closer. “Frothing at the bit to get your revenge on the boy who stopped your happy times torturing and killing innocent people?” The man stopped, not too far from the two heads of house. Harry, peeking through his fringe at them, tried not to make eye contact.

“What, Minerva,” Snape said, utterly ignoring Mad-Eye Moody, “ is that Potter in all his wretched glory, has managed to surpass himself. Out long past curfew in restricted sections of the castle. Stealing from my stores. Cheating in an international tournament— and showing utter disrespect when confronted with his actions.”

It was with a queasy mingling of guilt and relief that Snape’s voice brought Harry back to himself. That, and the awful twist that Snape gave Harry’s ear. As Harry’s face screwed up in pain he managed to get control of himself and allow just enough anger and guilt to filter through his expression. He was scowling, now, even though underneath he thrummed with nervous tension.

“Is this true?” Professor McGonagall asked Harry softly. Harry, looking at her, felt horribly guilty even though he hadn’t really done those things— or not all of them, at least.

“Yes,” he muttered, looking away. “Yes, Professor.”

The look she levied on him was scathing in its disappointment. “I see,” she said grimly. 

“Thus,” Snape said with overtones of sarcasm, “I am escorting him to seclusion until a proper punishment can be decided. A suspension will do him a world of good— and I’m sure all your lovely Gryffindors will be so pleased to be away from his disruptive influence …”

McGonagall sighed, then nodded in acknowledgement. “Let go of his ear, Severus.”

The man released it and Harry’s hands flew up to shelter it, but only his right arm was successful, because Snape had grabbed Harry’s left forearm instead. It was a tight grip, but not wrenching. 

“The meeting with the headmaster will take place tomorrow morning,” Snape informed her. “I think of it with anticipation .”

And then he tugged Harry along. 

They were moving quickly past McGonagall, then Moody… stumbling past them both, Harry was utterly relieved when he and Snape left them behind as they turned the corner. He felt as if he’d like to sit down and just breathe for a few minutes, but Snape’s march onwards was inexorable.

Gryffindor Tower was just up another flight of stairs, now, then round a corner… the portraits were all tittering at them, and Harry knew his face was bright red even if he had no idea how he was actually feeling. 

And then Snape halted in front of the Fat Lady, who had a bit of a smirk on her lips as she looked at Harry and his teacher. Harry had a feeling that she’d been told that they were coming, probably by another painted gossipper.

“Password,” she said. 

Harry blanked. For the life of him, he had no idea. It seemed an age since he had last been in the tower, a whole lifetime… he hadn’t the faintest idea.

“I’m a head of house, I don’t need a password,” Snape growled darkly, resting his free hand on his wand. “ Open. ”

The Fat Lady blinked, a fluttering of eyelash that seemed rather superfluous. “Oh, but you’re not head of Gryffindor house, are you? Ever since last year,” she gave a dramatic shudder, “I’ve been careful. And letting you in without a password— oh, it just is not right.”

Snape stared at her forbiddingly for a long moment. Then, he said, “Fine. So be it.” 

The professor drew his wand with a dramatic swish, but before he could begin to encant, Harry said hurriedly, “Pallypest— no, palimpsest !”

He had just remembered the password. And Harry thought that it was quite fortunate for the Fat Lady, too, because from the look on Snape’s face the man might have been about to hex her.

The portrait gave a disdainful sniff, and swung open reluctantly; Snape slid his wand back into his sleeve. 

And then he tugged Harry through the portrait hole, into the noisy common room. Well, it had been noisy. Once Snape and Harry had been noticed, it instantly fell silent. The “Well Done Harry Potter!” banner that Colin and Dennis Creevy and were waving fell limp, and everyone stared at Harry, who couldn’t look at any of them.

Of course almost the whole house had to be there. Harry wished he could sink through the floor. Snape, however, ignored them all and strode over to the staircase, pulling Harry along, up to his dormitory. When they turned the corner Harry heard furious whispers break out behind them. 

Inside the 4th year boys dormitory Snape let go of Harry’s arm to close the door with a sharp click . He turned to lean against it, crossing his arms. 

“Well?” he said. “Get on with it. And pack a bag for overnight while you’re at it. We don’t know how long this will take.”

Harry felt very conscious of the room’s disarray as he shoved toothbrush, toothpaste, pyjamas and a change of clothes inside his satchel. Having to crawl half-under his bed to fetch his pyjama bottoms was terrible; he was too aware of Snape’s presence. Lastly, he rooted through his trunk and pulled out the map from the very bottom. 

“Here it is,” he said quietly, and made to put it into his satchel with everything else. But Snape held out his hand, not saying a word. Harry reluctantly gave it to him, and watched as the man tucked it into one of his many pockets. 

Back down the stairs… the students in the common room weren’t whispering any more— they were arguing, loudly. But once again a ripple of silence spread through the room when they noticed Harry and Snape, the man once again holding Harry by the arm like a toddler. 

The crowd slowly parted before them, but suddenly Neville was there in front of them. The other boy was shaking a bit with nerves but he spoke in a surprisingly composed voice. 

“Harry,” he said. “Harry, what’s going on?” 

Harry opened his mouth then closed it again, not knowing what to say. He fiddled with the strap of his satchel and wished vehemently that the triwizard tournament had never existed, that there wasn’t a possible imposter in the school, that Neville would stop looking at him like that…

Neville flicked his eyes around the room when Harry didn’t respond. Harry saw him worry his lip, then take a deep breath—

“Professor,” Neville said shakily. “What are you doing here with Harry?”

For a second Professor Snape looked a bit taken aback by this unexpected boldness in Neville, but his face soon smoothed over into a patently false look of regret.

“I don’t believe that Potter would wish you to know,” he said, in a tone of faux concern. But Harry didn’t bother getting his hopes up, because it was clear from how Snape had said it that there would be no point. 

“But then,” Snape continued silkily, “who am I to deny the fans of the famous boy-who-lived? And Mister Potter—” his voice sharpened, “has exhibited such a need for publicity…”

Harry wished Snape would just get on with it. Even though he wished to disappear through the floor, he somehow couldn’t tear his eyes away from Neville, who remained shockingly composed. Well. The other boy was shaking a bit, but he wasn’t backing down.

“Potter,” Snape said eventually, after what felt like centuries of revelling in his pregnant pause to Harry, “Potter has been found cheating in a Triwizard task. He has also been trespassing, stealing, lying, and behaving utterly reprehensibly. He will be staying in isolation until a decision about how to appropriately punish him can be made.”

The common room was absolutely silent. Neville looked taken aback, though it seemed like he was working up the courage to say something else when Snape tugged Harry along to the portrait exit. But the man couldn’t resist one last word…

“Don’t mind us, however, pray continue your celebrations.”

And then they stepped out of the common room, the portrait swinging shut behind them. 

After all that, Harry felt dirty and sweaty and about two inches high. He couldn’t help but be relieved, though, at the pace which they were heading away from Gryffindor Tower, towards the Hospital Wing. If he had any luck, Harry would never see Snape in the Gryffindor Common Room ever again.