The corridors of Hogwarts felt oddly muted the morning after. It wasn't just the lingering chill from the Dementors' visit — it was the absence of something, a gap Harry couldn't quite name until he saw Lupin's office door standing open and bare.
His desk was cleared, shelves stripped, maps rolled up and stacked like the final sigh of a long year. Lupin himself was there, quietly fastening his battered suitcase shut.
Harry lingered in the doorway. "You're leaving."
Lupin looked up and smiled, but it was the tired kind. "The Ministry's made it… clear that a werewolf has no place teaching children. I thought it best to go before they send someone to escort me."
"But you didn't hurt anyone!" Harry protested.
"No," Lupin agreed, "but fear doesn't listen to reason, Harry." He straightened, brushing dust from his robes. "I'm more concerned about the people who were truly in danger last night. That includes you."
Harry swallowed. "And Snape?"
Lupin's mouth curved faintly. "Severus and I… will never agree on much. But I've no doubt you were alive this morning because he was there. He's not easy to thank, is he?"
Harry almost smiled. "Not really."
Lupin clapped him on the shoulder. "Then thank him in your own way. Actions speak better than words."
---
The day trudged on, filled with whispers about Pettigrew's escape and Sirius Black's fate. The Daily Prophet printed half-truths and pointed fingers, and the Ministry patrols lingered like they were waiting for trouble to sprout from the stone itself.
At lunch, Harry caught sight of Draco across the Great Hall. Malfoy was unusually quiet, staring at his untouched plate while Crabbe and Goyle muttered to each other. His gaze flicked briefly toward the Gryffindor table, just long enough for Harry to notice before it snapped back to his food.
Harry frowned. That was… odd. Normally Draco's stare meant a cutting remark was coming. This time it just looked… thoughtful.
---
That evening, Harry wandered into the library, only to find Snape at the far end of a deserted aisle, his black robes stark against the pale candlelight. He was examining a row of old defensive magic tomes, his left hand still bound in fresh bandages.
"You're supposed to be resting," Harry said.
Snape didn't look up. "I could say the same."
Harry hesitated. "I went to see Lupin."
"I imagine he had plenty of farewells to dispense."
"He… said I should thank you."
Snape finally turned, one eyebrow lifting. "And do you intend to?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I thought I already did. Last night."
"That was… acceptable," Snape said, the faintest trace of wryness in his voice. "Do not overindulge. Gratitude makes people reckless."
"I think it makes people better," Harry replied before he could stop himself.
Something unreadable crossed Snape's face, but he said nothing. He simply closed the book he'd been holding, placed it back on the shelf, and swept past Harry, leaving only the faint rustle of his robes in his wake.
---
Later that night in the Slytherin dormitory, Draco lay awake, the firelight from the common room casting long shadows across the stone floor. His father's words from the letter echoed in his head — warnings about loyalty, about enemies. But they didn't fit anymore.
The man his father had painted as dangerous had shielded Potter with his own life. Pettigrew had run. Black had risked himself to save them.
Draco stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. Nothing was as simple as he'd been told.
And Potter… Potter had been right in the middle of it all.