The first snow came during the night.
I did not notice it immediately. The dungeons had that particular flaw that the weather could end, begin again, and pass through three different seasons before anyone near our window decided it was any of their concern.
I found out at breakfast.
Someone opened the doors to the Great Hall, cold air rushed inside, and with it came half a dozen students covered in snow and looking extremely pleased with their own existence.
Malfoy looked at them with disgust.
- Barbarians.
One of the Hufflepuffs had just shoved a handful of snow down another student's collar.
- Hard to disagree - I said.
Beyond the tall windows, everything was white.
The grounds, the rooftops, the trees near the Forbidden Forest. The lake looked darker than usual, almost black against the snow. Even the Quidditch stadium, from a distance, had lost some of its ability to offend common sense.
More than a month had passed since the match.
Long enough for Hogwarts to find other things to talk about.
Flint had stopped losing the same match over every meal.
Malfoy had not.
Harry could once again walk through a corridor without three people asking him to describe catching the Snitch, though there were still those who looked at him with something between admiration and the expectation of another accident.
Quirrell went back to being Quirrell.
I checked the trace two more times.
Not during lessons.
The first time it was weaker. The second time, so little of it remained that I was not sure whether I was looking at something real or simply remembering where it was supposed to be.
Then I stopped.
At least with Quirrell.
Hermione stopped asking too.
That did not mean she had forgotten.
Hermione Granger did not look like someone who forgot things simply because someone refused to explain them to her. She had merely stopped trying to force the answers out of me between one lesson and the next.
Sometimes I caught her looking.
Usually when I myself was looking somewhere I should not have been.
I got used to it.
Almost.
- You do not like snow? - Blaise asked.
I looked at him.
- What makes you think that?
- Everyone is looking out the window. You are looking at the people looking out the window.
- People are more entertaining.
- That sounded unsettling.
- Thank you.
Malfoy set down his cup.
- Snow looks better in Wiltshire.
Blaise raised an eyebrow.
- Of course it does.
- Because it is cleaner.
- Draco - I said - it is water.
He looked at me with superiority.
- You would not understand.
- True. I have no experience with aristocratic precipitation.
Blaise snorted with laughter.
Malfoy managed to open his mouth just as a thud sounded from the other side of the hall.
Ron Weasley had just hit his forehead against a thick book.
Not by accident.
Hermione sat opposite him with three more volumes open. Harry had a pile of Chocolate Frog cards in front of him and the expression of someone who had been dragged into academic research without informed consent.
I looked at the book Ron was trying to enter with his head.
Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century.
Right.
Flamel.
They had started earlier than I remembered.
Or maybe the books simply had not spent enough time describing the weeks people wasted turning pages without success.
Ron raised his head.
- Nothing.
Hermione did not even look up.
- Did you read the index?
- I read everything.
- Ron, you have been staring at the same page for five minutes.
- Very thoroughly.
Harry put down another card.
- Nicolas Flamel was not a Quidditch player.
- That much we already knew - Hermione said.
- We did not know for certain.
- Harry.
- I am trying to help.
I smiled into my tea.
Mistake.
Hermione saw it.
From the other side of the hall.
I had no idea how she did that. Perhaps she had been born with a separate organ dedicated exclusively to detecting people who knew something she did not.
Her eyes narrowed.
I looked away.
- What? - Blaise asked.
- Nothing.
- You smiled.
- It happens.
- Rarely.
- Enjoy the moment.
He did not get the chance to answer.
Hermione stood up.
Of course.
- Incoming - Blaise said.
- I can see that.
- She looks determined.
- She always looks determined.
Malfoy glanced over his shoulder.
- Granger?
Hermione stopped on the other side of the table.
Harry and Ron remained where they were, though Ron was watching us with the expression of someone already assuming this would go badly.
Hermione held a book against her chest.
- Nicolas Flamel.
I reached for a piece of toast.
- Good morning to you too.
- You know that name.
It was not a question.
Malfoy looked first at her, then at me.
- Who is Nicolas Flamel?
Hermione ignored him.
That took character.
- Why do you think that? - I asked.
- Because you smiled.
Blaise immediately looked at me with an expression of pure satisfaction.
Traitor.
- I did not realize you had started monitoring my facial muscles.
- Peverell.
- Granger.
- Do you know him or not?
Yes.
Alchemist. Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore. More than six hundred years old. Harry would find the answer on a Chocolate Frog card he had already seen before.
I could save them several weeks.
I was not going to.
- The name is familiar - I said.
Her eyes immediately brightened.
Not good.
- From where?
- I read.
Malfoy snorted.
- That sounds like an attack on Weasley.
- Everything sounds like an attack on Weasley if you try hard enough.
Hermione placed her hands on the edge of the table.
- Which book?
- I do not remember.
A lie.
Not entirely. I genuinely did not remember a specific book from my previous life.
Technically flawless.
Morally less so.
- Of course you do not.
- I am glad we have reached an understanding.
- Oliver.
Blaise leaned back slightly.
- Oh. First name. This is getting serious.
I looked at him.
- Do you have class?
- In twenty minutes.
- Go early.
- No.
Hermione was still waiting.
- If I remember, I will let you know - I said.
- Really?
- No.
Her face hardened.
- You are impossible.
- And yet I show up every day.
She turned sharply and went back to the Gryffindor table.
Ron immediately leaned toward her.
Harry looked at me.
Not accusingly.
More questioningly.
I raised my piece of toast in something that could pass for a greeting.
Harry shook his head.
Malfoy watched Hermione go.
- Why is Gryffindor looking for some old wizard?
- Maybe Weasley is looking for a wealthy relative - Blaise said.
- Then he should start with a different surname.
- You are terrible - I said.
Malfoy smiled.
- So are you.
- I never claimed otherwise.
The snow stayed.
Over the next few days, Hogwarts turned into the kind of place Muggles imagined magical schools to be before learning about homework.
The stone windowsills became covered in frost. Sprigs of holly appeared above the doors. Suits of armor were given red and green scarves, though one on the third floor apparently considered this an insult to its honor and threw its scarf at every student who passed.
Peeves found a use for mistletoe that McGonagall described as "unacceptable."
I did not know exactly what he had done.
I did not want to know.
A snowball war broke out in the courtyard. On the first day it was innocent, on the second it acquired rules, and on the third it was banned after the Weasley twins enchanted a dozen snowballs to follow Quirrell.
They missed.
Professor Flitwick was delighted by the execution.
McGonagall less so.
Snape gave them detention.
Balance was restored.
At one lunch, a list appeared for students staying at Hogwarts over Christmas.
McGonagall moved between the tables with a parchment and quill, stopping beside every student who had not yet marked that they were leaving.
Most of Slytherin was going home.
Of course.
Malfoy had been talking about it for a week.
Not directly. Never directly.
He merely mentioned from time to time that his mother would never allow him to spend Christmas away from home, that their Christmas tree was taller than something I stopped listening to, and that the house-elves began preparations several weeks in advance.
Goyle was leaving.
Crabbe was leaving.
Blaise too.
McGonagall stopped beside me.
- Mr. Peverell.
I looked up.
- Professor.
- You will be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas?
- Yes.
The quill stopped above the parchment.
Only for a moment.
I did not know what I had expected. Maybe a question. Maybe an offer to return to the orphanage. Maybe that particular expression adults got when they remembered that a child had nowhere to go back to.
McGonagall simply made a quick mark.
- Very well. Details regarding meals and schedules will be provided before the end of the week.
- Thank you.
She nodded and moved on.
That was all.
Good.
Malfoy waited maybe three seconds.
- You are really staying?
- I just signed an official document in front of witnesses.
- At Hogwarts?
- I am beginning to worry about your hearing.
- Alone?
That question came differently from the others.
I looked at him.
Malfoy suddenly became very interested in his own plate.
- Not alone - I said. - There will be dozens of people here. Teachers. Ghosts. Filch. Privacy will be difficult to find.
- You know what I mean.
I did.
- I do not feel like going back to the orphanage.
That was simpler than inventing an answer.
Malfoy said nothing for a moment.
Then he shrugged.
- At least the food will be better here.
- Your concern has deeply moved me.
- That was not concern.
- Of course.
Blaise glanced at him over the rim of his cup.
Malfoy immediately changed the subject.
- You are still going to miss a proper party.
- Somehow I will survive.
- You do not know what you are missing.
- Peace at the table?
- Peverell.
- Malfoy.
And everything returned to its proper place.
Three days before the end of classes, Hagrid was carrying Christmas trees into the Great Hall.
Twelve.
I knew there would be twelve.
That still did not prepare me for the sight of a half-giant carrying a tree nearly twice his own size while Filch followed behind, complaining about the needles.
I stopped in the doorway.
Hagrid set the tree against the wall with a thud.
- Oh, Oliver! - he called when he saw me. - Watch your step. It's shedding a bit.
"A bit" meant a layer of needles half an inch thick.
- Filch looks like he is about to declare martial law.
Hagrid looked back.
Filch really was staring at the floor as though every needle were a personal attack.
- Ah, he is always like that.
- I heard that! - Filch shouted.
- See? Everything's fine.
I almost laughed.
Two of the trees were already decorated. Golden baubles floated by themselves between the branches. Tiny lights moved along the needles without candles. Beside one tree, Professor Flitwick waved his wand, sending out golden bubbles that settled on the branches and turned into tiny stars.
I stopped for a moment.
In my previous life, I had seen things like this on screens.
Descriptions in books.
Fan art.
Films.
Here, one of the stars detached itself from a branch, floated several inches, and settled in Hagrid's beard.
Hagrid tried to brush it off.
It refused.
Flitwick laughed so hard he nearly fell off the chair he was standing on.
Alright.
That alone was worth being reincarnated for.
- Peverell.
I turned my head.
Snape stood several steps away with a roll of parchments tucked beneath one arm.
Of course.
Apparently the universe did not tolerate prolonged happiness.
- Professor.
He looked at me, then at the Christmas trees, then back at me.
- If you have finished admiring the extraordinary phenomenon of a tree standing inside a building, your Potions essay is still due tomorrow.
- I remember.
- Astonishing.
He continued on.
Hagrid watched him go.
- He likes Christmas too.
- Of course.
- Really.
I looked at Hagrid.
- Do not ruin my image of the man.
He laughed so loudly that the star finally fell out of his beard.
The final days before departure dragged and raced by at the same time.
Lessons technically continued.
In practice, half the students were already home.
In Charms, Flitwick tried to teach us something about warming charms while two Gryffindors outside the window threw snow at each other.
In Transfiguration, McGonagall confiscated three enchanted Christmas hats, one of which sang.
No one sang in Potions.
Snape ensured that through his presence alone.
It was a good lesson.
Quiet.
The potion required keeping the temperature within a very narrow range, and a few weeks earlier I probably would have watched mainly the structure of the mixture.
Now I watched the color.
Blue.
Lighter.
A moment longer.
I added the powdered bark.
The potion shifted into a silvery gray.
Normally.
No pain in my eye.
No looking deeper.
Nice.
- Peverell.
I looked at Snape.
He was standing on the other side of the table.
- Yes, Professor?
- If you intend to stare at your cauldron like a long-lost relative, at least remember to stir.
I looked at my hand.
The spoon had indeed stopped moving.
- Of course.
Snape moved on.
Hermione, two stations away from me, covered her mouth with one hand.
- Are you laughing? - I asked quietly.
- No.
- You're a poor liar.
- Stir.
- You're starting too?
- I started a long time ago.
I stirred.
The library was worse.
Not because of Pince.
Pince was always the same. There was something reassuring about that.
The problem was the trio.
Over the past few weeks, they had gone from "Nicolas Flamel sounds familiar" to "Nicolas Flamel must be hidden by a conspiracy of librarians."
Ron looked personally offended by the fact that there was no book titled Nicolas Flamel and Everything Harry Potter Wants to Know About Him.
Harry was still going through books.
Hermione was going through them faster.
I sat three tables away with a Potions textbook.
Not because I was watching them.
The library had a limited number of good seats.
That was what I told myself.
- Nothing - Ron groaned.
Pince looked up from her desk.
Ron lowered his voice.
- Nothing.
Hermione closed another book.
- We must be searching the wrong way.
Yes.
Harry rested his chin on his hand.
- Hagrid said the name was on a card.
Yes.
- What card? - Ron asked.
Harry frowned.
- I don't remember.
I almost turned the page too quickly.
Hermione looked in my direction.
No.
Don't do that.
She turned back to Harry.
- Try to remember.
Harry stared at the table.
- It was summer. Ron... I think that was the first time I ate a Chocolate Frog.
Come on.
Ron frowned.
- Dumbledore.
Harry's head snapped up.
- What?
- You had Dumbledore.
Hermione froze.
I turned the page.
More quietly than necessary.
- The Dumbledore card - Harry said. - It said...
- Library - Pince hissed.
All three of them immediately lowered their voices.
Hermione began packing the books with the speed of someone who had just found the road to an answer.
Ron looked, for the first time in weeks, like someone who wanted to go back to the dormitory.
Harry stood up.
Hermione took two steps.
Stopped.
Looked at me.
Oh no.
She walked over.
- You knew.
I did not lift my head from the book.
- That's a rather broad accusation.
- About Flamel.
- I recognized the name.
- You knew where to find him.
Now I looked up.
- I never said that.
- You were smiling at breakfast.
- You're still stuck on that smile?
- Yes.
- That was two weeks ago.
- I remember.
Of course she did.
Harry and Ron were waiting a few steps away.
Ron looked irritated.
Harry looked more curious.
- Why didn't you tell us? - Hermione asked.
It was a fair question.
I had several answers.
Because I knew you would find it yourselves.
Because I don't want to change more than I have to.
Because knowledge of the future works best while the future still resembles the one I remember.
None of them could be said aloud.
- You didn't ask where to find him.
Hermione opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Ron snorted.
- Seriously?
- Technically, he's right - Harry said.
Hermione turned toward him.
- Don't help him.
- I'm not helping. I just...
- Harry.
- Fine.
She looked at me again.
- You're awful.
- I've heard that.
- We could have found him two weeks ago.
- Instead, you read a lot of books.
Ron made a sound of suffering.
- I'm going to kill him.
- Library - Pince hissed again.
Ron looked at her.
Then at me.
- Later.
- I'll be waiting.
Hermione started after them, but before leaving, she stopped for one more second.
- How did you know?
- I read.
Her expression made it very clear what she thought of that answer.
She left.
I returned to my textbook.
I read the same sentence four times.
On the fifth, I gave up.
The next day, the castle began to empty.
Trunks appeared in the corridors. Owls flew more often. People said goodbye as if they were not going to see each other for a year rather than a dozen days.
Malfoy was ready half an hour early.
Of course.
His trunk looked as if someone had prepared it for military inspection.
- Don't destroy the castle while I'm gone - he said.
- I'll try to limit myself to one wing.
- I'm serious.
- That's your first mistake.
Crabbe and Goyle were waiting by the exit.
Blaise slung a bag over his shoulder.
- We'll come back and find him as Headmaster.
- Don't give him ideas - Malfoy said.
- I don't want to be Headmaster - I replied. - Too many students.
- The only sensible thing you've said this month.
Malfoy hesitated.
- Well... Merry Christmas.
It sounded like someone had forced him to confess to a crime.
I smiled faintly.
- Merry Christmas, Draco.
He grimaced at the use of his first name, but said nothing.
Blaise nodded to me.
- Don't die.
- Very festive.
- I'm trying.
They left.
The common room became strangely empty.
Not quiet immediately. Older students still moved between the dormitories, someone was looking for gloves, someone else was arguing about a seat in the carriage. But there was more and more space in it.
I left before the last group departed.
Snow crunched under my boots in the courtyard.
Students gathered in groups, colorful and loud. Hagrid helped with trunks. McGonagall checked the list with the expression of someone who had no intention of losing a single child, though several of them might have deserved it.
Harry and Ron stood near the entrance.
They were staying.
Hermione already had her coat and bag.
When she saw me, she said something to Harry and walked over.
- You're leaving - I said.
- Excellent observation.
- You're starting to learn from me.
- Don't flatter yourself.
She stopped in front of me.
For a moment, both of us watched the students loading themselves into the carriages.
- Did you find Flamel? - I asked.
Her face changed immediately.
Barely.
Enough.
- He was Dumbledore's partner in alchemical research.
- Mm-hm.
- And he created the Philosopher's Stone.
- Mm-hm.
She looked at me.
- You knew.
- I recognized the name.
- Oliver.
- Hermione.
She sighed.
- Never mind. We'll talk after Christmas.
- That sounds threatening.
- It's supposed to.
Hagrid shouted for everyone to get in.
Hermione took a step back.
Then frowned.
- Don't do anything stupid.
I looked at her.
- Why are you saying that to me instead of Potter and Weasley?
- I already told them.
Of course.
- I feel less special.
- You'll survive.
She turned away.
- Granger.
She stopped.
I did not really know why I had called her.
So I chose the simplest thing.
- Merry Christmas.
For a moment, she looked surprised.
Then she smiled.
Normally. No suspicion. No questions.
- You too.
And she ran toward the carriage.
I watched them leave.
Not for long.
Long enough.
When the last carriages disappeared around the bend, something in the castle changed.
Not the magic.
Simply the number of voices.
Hogwarts without most of its students was enormous.
Truly enormous.
Corridors that usually seemed too narrow suddenly stretched on forever. Staircases moved for only a handful of people. Portraits spoke louder, as if they had finally reclaimed the school for themselves.
Ron passed me near the entrance.
- This is weird.
- What?
He looked around.
- It's so quiet.
Harry stood beside him.
- I like it.
- You like everything that isn't at the Dursleys' - Ron said.
Harry shrugged.
- Almost.
They started toward the stairs.
After a few steps, Harry looked back.
- Coming?
The question was so ordinary that for a second I did not answer.
- Where?
- To see the Great Hall. Fred said Flitwick finished the decorations.
Ron added:
- And apparently there are suits of armor that sing Christmas carols.
- That sounds like a threat.
- That's exactly why we're going.
I could have gone back to the dungeons.
I had books. Notes. Several things I wanted to check in the Room of Requirement.
I looked at the empty corridor.
Then at them.
- Fine.
Ron raised an eyebrow.
- Seriously?
- I can change my mind.
- No, no. Come on.
We went.
The Great Hall looked absurd.
Twelve Christmas trees stood along the walls, covered in gold, snow, and tiny glowing figures. Holly branches hung above the tables. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling and vanished just before touching the floor.
One of the suits of armor really was singing.
Badly.
Very badly.
Ron stopped in the doorway.
- Fred wasn't lying.
- It's worse than I imagined.
Harry laughed.
The armor moved on to the next verse.
It did not know half the words.
We stood there for a while like idiots.
And I did not mind.
There was nothing to analyze.
No curse.
No trace.
No reason to look deeper.
Just snow falling from the ceiling, a terribly singing suit of armor, and two boys arguing about whether it could be silenced without losing points.
I sat down at one of the tables.
Harry sat opposite me.
Ron was still trying to convince the armor to learn the lyrics.
It was not working.
- Don't help him - Harry said.
- I wasn't going to.
- Good.
The armor howled another note.
I grimaced.
- Although I'm starting to consider violence.
Harry smiled.
Snow fell outside the windows.
Christmas was only a few days away.
I knew roughly what would happen then.
Harry would get the cloak.
He would go to the library at night.
Then he would find the mirror.
I did not have to do anything.
That was a pleasant thought.
I almost believed it would stay that way.