Late at night, Hogwarts lay silent and still.
Every footstep echoed through the dim, empty corridors like a drumbeat in a cathedral. The air was thick with quiet, broken only by the sharp clack of leather shoes and the soft swish of a billowing black cloak.
Snape moved with purpose, his robes trailing behind him like shadows come to life. His expression was cold and unreadable, and the pale light from the torches only made his hooked nose and sunken eyes look more menacing. If a student had been caught wandering the halls at this hour, one look at him would have sent them fleeing in tears.
But tonight, Snape wasn't patrolling for rule-breakers.
He climbed the spiraling staircases with practiced ease, passed through hallways lined with portraits and gleaming suits of armor, and eventually reached the eighth floor. At the end of the corridor stood a grotesque stone gargoyle, leering with its tongue hanging out.
It blocked his path.
Beyond it lay a rotating staircase, which led to the headmaster's office.
Snape stared at the creature as though it were something unworthy of his time. His voice came out in a low, disdainful growl.
"Password. Cockroach Cluster."
The gargoyle slid aside with a groan, revealing the winding staircase behind it. Snape stepped on, ascended, and reached the familiar oak door. Without hesitation, he pushed it open.
The circular office was luxurious and filled with quiet magic. Portraits of former headmasters lined the walls, most of them snoring softly in their frames. The creaking door stirred a few from their slumber, and they grumbled irritably at the disturbance.
"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said warmly from behind his vast desk, where he was poring over a sheet of parchment. He looked up with a gentle smile, his silver beard catching the firelight. "Good evening. Would you care for a Cockroach Cluster? Or perhaps some Fizzing Whizzbees?"
A tray of sweets floated toward Snape. He waved it away with an expression of pure contempt.
"I didn't come here for snacks," he said through clenched teeth. "Say what you need to say. I don't have time to waste."
Dumbledore didn't seem offended. He merely smiled, plucked a wriggling candy from the tray, and popped it into his mouth with visible delight. Then he gestured for Snape to approach.
"Come and take a look, Severus."
Snape stepped closer. Spread out on the desk was a letter, its parchment neatly creased and inked in fine script. The signature at the bottom read: Garrick Ollivander.
"After dinner, I sent a letter to Mr. Ollivander," Dumbledore explained. "I had a few questions for him. I'm glad to see my old friend still finds time to write back. Though I must say, his sleeping habits remain as odd as ever. I expected a reply by morning, but instead..."
He trailed off, smiling fondly, then picked up the letter again, his eyes scanning its contents.
Snape remained silent, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
Dumbledore continued reading aloud.
Snape had no patience for Dumbledore's rambling. His sharp eyes darted to the parchment, scanning it swiftly. The contents were clear. Ollivander had written back about a wand.
"…I must admit it is an extremely powerful wand. Only the most exceptional witches and wizards ever earn its favor. I never imagined it would choose a child… Peter Weasley. It is beyond my understanding…"
"…But Dumbledore, in response to your question, I must say that no one is born unchanging, and no wand is fixed in nature. Wands and wizards grow together, shaping one another. I cannot offer solid proof to calm your concerns. I only ask that you remain watchful—"
"Yours faithfully,Garrick Ollivander"
Snape's gaze narrowed at the name: Peter Weasley.
He looked up at Dumbledore, a glint of disdain in his eyes, and a smirk twisted across his pale face.
"So, another little dark wizard added to your blacklist?"
Dumbledore's smile faltered. He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled in thought. "I believe in Arthur and Molly."
Snape understood exactly what that meant. Dumbledore trusted the parents. Not the child.
He let out a soft, derisive snort.
"Well then? Do I have a new assignment? Am I to keep an eye not just on our precious savior, but also on his wicked little classmates?"
"I never said he was wicked, Severus."
"Heh."
Snape's bitter chuckle echoed off the walls. His sarcasm cut like a blade.
Dumbledore sighed.
"The timing isn't right, Severus. Our focus must remain on Harry. We need to guide his growth, ensure he's prepared for what lies ahead. That's not neglect—it's caution. We don't know what might happen if we tamper with the path too early. The result might be better… or worse."
He looked straight into Snape's eyes. He didn't use Legilimency—he didn't need to. He only wanted Severus to see that he was being honest.
"Help me, Severus. Did you see it? In Harry's eyes? Lily's eyes…"
"Enough!"
Snape's voice cracked the silence. He had raised it without realizing. His face twisted with discomfort.
The firelight flickered in the sudden quiet.
Snape's nostrils flared.
A surge of emotion crashed into his chest, so violent it nearly shattered the icy wall he always kept around his mind. The pressure behind his eyes, the burning in his throat—it was suffocating.
It felt like poison.
Ten years of it.
Ten years of silent torment, coiled like a snake in his heart, striking every time that name—Lily—was spoken.
The office was deathly still. Neither man moved.
Eventually, Snape's voice returned, cold and clipped as if the outburst had never happened.
"If there's nothing else, I'll be going. I need to finish preparing my lesson plans. I'm quite looking forward to tomorrow. Let's hope your savior manages not to be upstaged by his wicked classmate."
He spun on his heel. His cloak flared behind him as he stormed from the room.
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said softly behind him. "Sweet dreams…"
The door creaked shut. Silence fell again.
Dumbledore sat motionless, staring at the letter on his desk. His eyes lingered on every word. His fingers—thin, pale, and veined—traced the lines of Ollivander's elegant handwriting, again and again, as though trying to engrave them into memory.
He didn't move for a long while.
Then, finally, he spoke—quietly, almost to himself.
"Armando… have you ever wondered what might have happened to Tom, if we had only shown him more care… in the beginning?"
One of the portraits stirred. The old wizard within it, Armando Dippet, turned over with a grunt, feigning sleep.
"Who knows," he muttered groggily.
Dumbledore smiled faintly, without warmth.
"Yes… who knows."
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its flickering light casting long shadows across the walls.
The next morning, Peter woke at his usual hour, stirred by his internal clock rather than any alarm.
He felt refreshed. After yesterday's feast, he had eaten well, slept deeply, and his body responded with practiced rhythm. The dormitory, once shared, now belonged to him alone.
The two other Slytherin boys who had originally roomed with him had proven more sensible than expected. They had returned late last night, gathered their things quietly, and moved to another room without fuss or confrontation.
Having the whole dormitory to himself was unexpectedly pleasant.
Peaceful. Private.
Peter sat up, stretched his arms, and glanced at the enchanted window. It was just past five in the morning. The sky outside was still dark, and the castle lay wrapped in silence.
He washed up in the cold basin, tied his robe neatly, and tucked a pouch of fruit tea into his sleeve before stepping out.
The Slytherin common room was still and dim. The greenish glow of the underwater light shimmered faintly along the stone walls. The prefect who had fainted the night before was nowhere to be seen. Peter guessed he'd been dragged off to bed by his roommates.
The fireplace still burned, casting flickering warmth across the empty chairs.
The house-elves had likely kept it going through the night.
Without pausing, Peter crossed the room and pressed his palm to the stone panel. The hidden door opened with a soft grinding sound, and he stepped out into the dungeon corridor.
The air was cold and still.
Too early for most students, who had no habit of rising before the sun.
That was just fine with Peter.
Peter wandered the empty corridors and courtyards, enjoying the rare stillness of the early morning. His footsteps echoed softly against stone and grass as he strolled without purpose, letting the cool air clear his thoughts.
Eventually, he found a narrow path sloping gently downhill, one that led toward the Black Lake.
The surface of the water shimmered like polished glass beneath the first hints of sunrise.
Peter reached into his robe and pulled out Guoguocha, who blinked sleepily at the sudden light. Setting the fluffy cat down on the grass near the shore, Peter gave her a gentle pat on the head.
"Go on," he said. "Have some fun."
With a chirping meow, Guoguocha bounced away, tumbling and pouncing through tufts of dew-drenched grass. Peter let out a quiet sigh and dropped into a seat on the ground, leaning back on his palms as he stared out over the lake. The water was still, disturbed only by the occasional ripple of some distant creature moving beneath the surface.
The cool breeze carried the scent of earth and morning mist. He took it in deeply.
This place… it was good for clearing the mind. If it stayed quiet like this, he'd have to come more often.
Time passed slowly, peacefully. Eventually, the faint hush of voices echoed from the direction of the castle. Students were starting to stir.
Peter rose and stretched, then whistled softly. Guoguocha pricked up her ears and scampered back to his side. Together, they made their way up the hill, back through the halls, and into the Great Hall.
By now, many early risers had already gathered at their house tables, chatting sleepily over toast and porridge.
From across the hall, Peter caught sight of a familiar bushy-haired figure at the Gryffindor table. Hermione Granger sat with a sleepy expression, her curls in a slightly frizzy mess, as if she had rolled straight out of bed and into her books.
Guoguocha spotted her too. Recognizing the girl she had seen on the Hogwarts Express, the little cat trotted across the hall with an eager bounce.
Hermione blinked in surprise as the small creature approached. For a moment, she seemed confused—then realization dawned.
She turned her head, scanning the room until her eyes landed on Peter.
Her face lit up.