“Well, well, well,” Professor Snape drawled in his familiar, deep baritone. “If it isn’t our local celebrity.”

Harry’s insides sunk as the sour Potions Master lowered his wand and dimmed the intensity of the light that shone from its tip.

“Out for a little walk under the moonlight, are we?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The words, more than the tone, made the Gryffindor’s blood boil. They hadn’t been chosen at random, and Harry felt the cut of the well-aimed barb quite keenly. But he could think of no excuse to save his skin. Fact: he was a student. Fact: students weren’t allowed out of their dorms past curfew. Fact: it was almost midnight, and he’d been caught wandering the hallways alone.

It had been sheer stupidity on his part to remove his cloak and fold away the map when he did. He should have kept examining the artefact to make sure the path back to the dorms was safe, and he should have stayed under the cloak as a secondary precaution. He’d been stupid—and now he would pay the price for it. Surely nothing could save him from Snape’s wrath now.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” said Severus Snape, and Harry was surprised the man had taken so few. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

“Nothing, sir,” Harry rushed out to say. “Just wanted to stretch my legs a little.”

Snape’s thin lips stretched into a sneer that consumed half of his long, tired face. “And another ten points for lying to me. Shall we try again? What are you doing here, Mr Potter?”

If this was the game the Head of Slytherin House wanted to play, Harry would lose many points very quickly. He had better think of something convincing, fast. “I wasn’t doing anything, honest. I had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“And that was another ten points.” Snape’s obsidian eyes glimmered in the dim light. “I can do this all night, Potter.”

Rising his Occlumency shield to make sure the Potions Master wouldn’t be able to see through his lies, Harry shouted, “I needed some air!” Then, acting as if that had been an unwanted admission, he added more contritely, “I just went to the Astronomy Tower for some fresh air.” Then, with even more reluctance, his eyes lowered as he said, “I—I wasn’t lying about the nightmare, sir. I’ve been having a lot of them since the night Sirius died.”

Harry was saved from having to lie further when the sound of steps coming their way echoed on the tiled floor. He fleetingly thought it was Malfoy coming back—until he realised the sound came from the opposite direction. Whoever it was had a light gait and wore heeled shoes—it was a woman’s step.

An instant later, the familiar figure of a tall, dark-haired witch rounded the corner. Leen Nine’s movements were more lively than usual, the spring in her step quick and assured. She slowed down when she caught sight of the two wizards, and she ducked her head so that her face remained partly in the shadows of the dark corridor.

“Professor Nine,” Snape said, an acknowledgement rather than a greeting. “Unless I am mistaken, this isn’t your night to patrol the corridors.”

The sentence had been as much a statement as a question, and Harry gulped as he wondered how his friend was going to react. Though he knew she’d likely come to his rescue, she didn’t belong in this corridor any more than he did.

“You’re correct,” she said, her accent slightly thicker than it had been earlier that day. She was dressed as she always was, and once she’d reached them, she wrapped her black robes tightly around herself as if to fend off the cold. “I was on my way up from the kitchens when I heard voices.”

Harry kept his face blank and his Occlumency barrier firmly up at her words. He knew she was lying; she had been absent from the castle when he’d checked the map earlier. Wherever she’d been returning from, it wasn’t the kitchens.

“A student out past curfew—nothing I need your expertise with, Professor,” Snape said. His voice was dismissive and condescending as he returned his attention to the young Gryffindor facing him.

“Of course,” Saturnine said, and her shoulders hunched forward a little as she made herself appear smaller. “But seeing as I’m here now, I will escort him back to his dorm.”

Snape turned on her faster than a snake could pounce on a mouse, one eyebrow arching up in silent interrogation.

Reaching a hand forward, Saturnine grabbed Harry’s shoulder, forcing him to step closer until he’d reached her side. “That way, Professor,” she continued, stepping back a little to escape from the harsh halo of light that still came out of Snape’s wand. “You are free to return to your patrolling duties.”

There was no reply from the sour Potions professor as he stalked away in a fury of black robes. His wand-light died a moment later, plunging the corridor into darkness.

“This way, Mr Potter,” Saturnine said, in a voice that brooked no argument. Her fingers hadn’t loosened their grasp on his shoulder, and she pressed on it until he got moving in the right direction. It may have looked like she was merely doing her job of escorting him back to his dorm, but Harry knew better than that—she was angry at him.

Saturnine said nothing as they returned to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and she kept silent as Harry woke the plump woman up to request that she let him in. When he disappeared within the Gryffindor quarters, Saturnine followed him inside. And after making sure the common room was empty, she cast a spell that would ensure their discussion would remain private.

“Well?” she demanded in her regular voice. All shyness and hesitation were gone from her attitude. She was pissed all right. “What have you to say for yourself, Harry?”

“Sorry I got caught,” he said, moving to sit on a sofa. “I got careless.”

“Not quite what I was expecting to hear.” Saturnine moved closer, and Harry saw that she’d crossed her arms over her chest. “But please do go on.”

Harry had no choice but to tell her the truth, all of it. He spared no detail, from Malfoy’s attitude since term began to the discussion he’d overheard in the dungeons. He finished by telling her about the Marauder’s Map and the Room of Requirement, which had been the Slytherin’s secret destination tonight. Saturnine remained silent throughout, and when it was clear that Harry was done with his account of events, she unleashed the dragon.

“Do you have any idea how stupid all of this was, Harry?” she asked. Then, she resumed talking before he could reply. “I’m not talking about the why—I’ll get to that later. I’m talking about the how. How could you not tell me of your concern, or anyone else? How could you go wandering the hallways alone at night while we’re at war? Anyone could have gotten to you. Merlin; even Malfoy could have. Didn’t that thought cross your mind at all? Not to mention your carelessness at the end, which led you to be caught by a teacher. And Professor Snape, at that! He’s not going to let that slide, Harry. If he so much as suspects you’re up to something, he’s going to keep a very close watch on you.”

When she paused to draw in a breath, Harry tried to get a word or two in edgewise, but she beat him to it.

“As for the reasons for your nightly crusade,” she continued, “where do I even begin? That Malfoy ponce could have meant anything. Maybe he was just venting his frustration. Maybe he was trying to impress his girlfriend by spooking her. You have no proof that he’s up to something!”

“But the Room—”

“Yes, I know the Room of Requirement is a concern,” she cut him off, continuing with renewed passion. “But it wasn’t enough to warrant putting your life on the line that way—not when I am here. Not when Aurors are patrolling the school grounds. Or have you learned nothing?”

That rubbed Harry the wrong way. What did the Aurors or any of the adults care about what he thought? When had they ever? They only directed him about, pushing him in one direction or another when it suited them. Or they fed him information by the droplet when they felt it was adequate. He was tired of all this.

Some of his inner turmoil must have shown on his face because Saturnine’s stance changed, and she tensed up. “What is it, Harry?” she asked. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

He looked up to her at that—at her tone, which had held some measure of warning in it. “I’m just tired of it,” he said. “Tired of adults telling me what and what not to do. Deciding what I can know and what I can’t. Or how I should act.”

A look of hurt crossed the witch’s face, and Harry regretted saying the words the moment they’d left his lips.

“Do you mean adults in general? Or was that grievance directed at me specifically?” she asked, blowing out a breath that sounded tired and pained.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that, Saturnine,” he said. “I—I’m just—” he sighed. “It’s been a long night, all right? My temper got the better of me. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Changing her stance again, Saturnine let her arms drop by her side as she moved to come to sit down sideways, next to Harry. She was done berating him for the moment, it would seem. Her tone was gentle and open as she said, “That’s not quite true, though. You did mean it, and I can understand why. But we’ve had that discussion already.”

Harry nodded. “I know, and I get it. I’m not mad at you for that.”

“Then what are you mad at me for?” she asked, annoying him with that uncanny habit she had of seeing right through him at a glance.

That whole dang situation, he wanted to say. I’m mad at you for abandoning me, for acting as if I don’t exist anymore.

“Harry?” she asked, her tone gentler than it had been before.

“I—I miss you,” he admitted at last, and the anger vanished faster than food did on Ron’s plate. An intense wave of sadness overtook him. “I just miss you, Saturnine.”

Tears sprung to his eyes when the dark-haired witch reached a hand around his shoulders. And they were almost impossible to hold back when she used her arm to push him forward until he was leaning sideways against her chest.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she soothed. “I thought being reunited with your friends would be enough of a distraction. It seems like I was wrong.”

Harry nodded. It was all he could do with the lump that blocked his throat.

Saturnine held him a little tighter and leaned her head on his, her chin becoming a comfortable weight on the top of his head. “You should have told me,” she whispered.

“You didn’t say it would only be student and professor from now on,” Harry murmured. “You said that you’d find a way.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Cocooned as he was in Saturnine’s comforting embrace, Harry felt safe enough to admit to his fears. “It’s like you don’t care anymore.”

Her pained gasp sounded loud to his ears. “That couldn’t be further from the truth, Harry.”

He felt her press a small kiss on the top of his head, and he melted inside at her words and gesture, which could only be described as motherly.

“I care about you a lot.” Another quick kiss. “A lot more than I should,” she admitted. “And I’m so very sorry for this rotten situation. I wish it could be different, but there are so many things in motion now. Death Eaters attacks are almost a daily occurrence, and no one is safe—not even the students of this school. You have to be careful, Harry. Please. We’re all trying very hard to keep you kids safe. But you’re negating all our efforts when you behave stupidly like tonight.”

Harry nodded against her chest. “I will. But you have to believe me; Draco is up to something. I know it. I just know it.”

“I’ll trust your judgement on that and keep an eye on him—if you promise to start using your brain and acting like the intelligent young man that I know you to be. Deal?”

He nodded again. Then, because it sounded like their conversation was coming to an end, he folded his fists into Saturnine’s robes, and he held on for dear life, not wanting this moment to end. He wanted to ask her to stay and felt like begging her never to let him go. But he held his tongue; he knew not to ask for things he wouldn’t get.

“I’ll ask the headmaster for remedial Defence classes for you,” she said at last. “I know you don’t need them, but it’ll give us a chance to spend some time together, once a week. It’s the best I can do, lad.”

“Thanks, ’Nine,” he muttered, feeling some of the pain ebb away. “Please don’t go just yet.”

“Of course not,” she whispered, her left hand moving to the space between his shoulder blades to rub slow, gentle circles. She stayed until Harry fell asleep, and then she stayed until the sun started to rise.

***

Reading the Daily Prophet each morning had become a grim affair. Saturnine hadn’t lied when she said things were getting rough on the outside. There were reports of wizards getting badly injured—or worse—every day. Sometimes the attacks were blatantly attributed to Death Eaters—the Morsmordre left behind made it impossible to miss the connection—while others remained slightly vaguer, and words like ‘under suspicious circumstances’ were used.

It was only a matter of time until one of the Hogwarts students was personally affected, and that day happened a little after Halloween, when a first-year Hufflepuff’s parents were killed during a Death Eaters raid. The young boy, Kevin Ingram, left school the next day. A week later, the Patil twins’ uncle died in the fire that destroyed his house under suspicious circumstances. By the end of November, no less than five students had left Hogwarts. Two Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws, and that one Hufflepuff. Slytherin House, predictably, was the only one that got spared.

A general wave of fear and anguish descended upon the entire school, and laughter became a rare commodity as everyone wondered who was going to be next. The tension between snakes and lions was at an all-time high, and it truly peaked in the final days that led to the first Quidditch match of the season between Gryffindor House and Slytherin House.

The raven and badgers took the opportunity to declare their allegiance to the lions and made it clear they now sided against the snakes. And thus it was that the entirety of Slytherin House was ostracised for the sheer amount of Death Eaters offspring it contained. According to the rumour mill—and Hermione’s copy of Hogwarts: A History—that was a first. Never before had three Houses banded together against the fourth in such a blatant fashion, thus completely negating the very spirit of the school.

Harry saw how bad it had gotten when he took flight on his trusted Firebolt and looked down at his friends in the benches. Red and gold were everywhere, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students having somehow charmed their clothes to match that of the lions. And everywhere Harry looked, there was a sea of carmine—but for a small patch of green on one end. Chancing a glance towards where Snape sat—not with the teachers but with his students, for once—Harry saw that the Slytherin Head of House was even paler than usual.

Facing him in the Quidditch field was the green and silver team of snakes in all its glory. There were a few new faces, Harry saw: Vaisey had replaced Pucey as Chaser, and Urquhart had replaced Montague as both Chaser and Captain. Next to them stood familiar players: Miles Bletchley as Keeper, Blaise Zabini as the third Chaser, the improbable duo of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, as the Beaters, and of course, Draco Malfoy—the best seeker Slytherin had had in years.

Crabbe and Goyle were prime examples of players who employed brute strength rather than skills. Bletchley and Zabini were smart and sneaky like all Slytherins tended to be. Malfoy was the devil Harry knew, but Vaisey and Urquhart were unknown quantities, and Harry wondered at their new Captain and where he would lead his team. The answer became obvious the minute the game began and the balls were released. While it was the Beaters’ job to protect their teammates from the Bludgers, and at the same time, to aim them towards the opposing players, Crabbe and Goyle took that purview to the next level, teaming up with Zabini to relentlessly—and quite forcefully—throw them towards unsuspecting, rule-abiding Gryffindors. The snakes were out for blood, and Harry knew the game would turn nasty if it went on too long.

Flying his broom high over the melee, Harry frantically looked around for the small, golden snitch, knowing he was the only one who could put a quick end to the massacre going on below. Until a loud, pained scream tore his attention away, and he had just enough time to watch Ginny Weasley fall to the ground. Their Chaser had just been hit over the head with a Bludger, and if the nasty sneer on Zabini’s face was anything to go by, Harry knew who had tossed it her way. There was a short pause in the game to allow Madam Pomfrey to assist the fifth-year Gryffindor. Then the game resumed—only now it looked more like an all-out war between the lions and the snakes.

Students in the benches were on fire, too, screaming their support for their respective teams at the top of their lungs. The cries of “Slytherin for the win!” were far outweighed by the combined efforts of Houses Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, which chanted simultaneously, “Gryffindor will be the victor!”

When a blur of gold zipped him by minutes later, Harry pulled hard on the tip of his broom, and he turned on himself as he started the chase. By his reckoning, Malfoy was thirty feet away at least, which meant he had every chance of getting the snitch before the annoying blond. Forcing his trusted Firebolt to the limits, he lurched forward, zigzagging left and right at an impossible speed, his gaze so focused on the fuzzy spot of gold that he got tunnel vision. Feeling as he so often did when he brought up his Occlumency barrier and indulged in a maddening frantic race that pushed him beyond the limits of physics and magic, Harry started gaining on the snitch. Inch by inch, the distance between them decreased as their respective speed increased. The gasping audience below him was but a blur of red and green. The hoops and other players were nothing but secondary information that he barely registered as he easily sidestepped them. He was getting closer, and closer, and closer, and—his gloved fingers clasped over the golden ball. And thus it was that the ’96 Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Slytherin would forever be remembered as one of the shortest Hogwarts Quidditch game ever.

The Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw game played two weeks later, however, lasted nearly four long, bone-chilling hours. Three of them were spent under a beating rain that saw half of the spectators leaving the benches to return to the warmth of the castle. When the Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang, finally caught the snitch, everyone was delighted, no matter which team they supported.