December swept into the Highlands with a vengeance, burying the grounds under a thick blanket of pristine white snow and frosting the windows of the castle with intricate, feathery patterns. Inside, Hogwarts transformed. Great, fragrant fir trees appeared in the corners of the Great Hall, suits of armour were enchanted to hum slightly off-key carols, and a general, irrepressible buzz of holiday excitement began to build in the student body.
For Jake, it was a season of quiet contentment. His new, more balanced schedule was working wonders. The dark circles under his eyes had faded, and the perpetual fog of exhaustion had lifted. His grades in the subjects he'd neglected were slowly but surely climbing back to respectable levels. His friendship with Penelope had solidified into a comfortable routine of studying together in the common room, their silences just as easy as their conversations. He was, for the first time, truly settling in.
The conversation that shattered that peace began, as most life-altering conversations do, with an innocent, innocuous question.
He, Penelope, and a sharp-witted third-year Ravenclaw named Chester Davies were huddled around a table near the common room fire, putting the finishing touches on a particularly tricky Transfiguration essay.
"Finally, done," Chester announced, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. "I swear McGonagall gets tougher every year. Still, it'll be worth it to have a clean slate before the holidays. Are you two excited to go home?"
"Absolutely," Penelope beamed. "My parents are taking me to visit my grandparents in the countryside. I can't wait for a proper Christmas dinner." She turned her bright, curious eyes to Jake. "What about you, Jake? Big plans?"
Jake shook his head, a small, comfortable smile on his face. "No, I'll be staying here. Hogwarts is home for me." He said it simply, as a statement of fact, devoid of any self-pity.
Penelope's expression softened with sympathy. "Oh. Well, I've heard Christmas at the castle is amazing! You'll have to tell me all about it."
"It's the summer I'd worry about," Chester chimed in, tapping his quill against his chin thoughtfully. "Christmas is one thing, plenty of students stay. But they clear the castle out for the summer holidays. My older sister said you can only stay if you get special permission directly from the Headmaster, and that he almost never grants it. Says the castle needs to rest, or something like that."
The world tilted.
For a horrifying, silent moment, Jake's mind, his greatest asset, simply shut down. The friendly chatter of the common room, the crackle of the fire, the scratching of quills on parchment—it all faded into a distant, meaningless hum. A cold, sharp spike of pure panic, an emotion he hadn't truly felt since his first disorienting moments on the Hogwarts Express, lanced through him.
His entire plan, the meticulous seven-year framework upon which he was building his new life, was predicated on one simple, unshakeable assumption: that this castle was his sanctuary, year-round. The idea of being forced to leave, to be cast out into the mundane, non-magical world for two months every year, was not just an inconvenience; it was a catastrophic failure point. Where would he go? What would he do? The thought was a black, terrifying void.
"Jake? Are you alright?" Penelope's voice cut through the roaring in his ears. "You've gone completely pale."
He blinked, forcing the world back into focus. He saw the genuine concern on her face and the mild curiosity on Chester's. He swallowed, the calm, analytical part of his mind wrestling control back from the panic. The problem had been identified. The parameters were known. Now, he had to find the solution.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice a little strained. "Just realised I've never actually considered the summer arrangements. Thank you, Chester. That's... very useful information."
He needed to see Dumbledore.
His first stop was the Charms classroom. He waited until after the lesson, when the other students had filed out, leaving only the diminutive Professor Flitwick packing away his notes. The professor looked up and beamed as Jake approached.
"Mr Bloom! An excellent bit of wrist-work on the Softening Charm today. Truly top of the class!"
"Thank you, Professor," Jake said, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Actually, sir, I was hoping to ask for your advice on a personal matter."
Flitwick's cheerful expression shifted to one of gentle concern. He perched on the edge of his desk. "Of course, my boy. What seems to be the trouble? You seem to be in a great rush these days, always working, always studying. A commendable Ravenclaw trait, but one must find balance."
It was the perfect opening. Jake took a breath and, for the first time, was completely honest with one of his professors about his situation. He didn't mention his training or his projects, but he explained his status as an orphan, his lack of any home to return to, and his deep-seated need for the stability and safety that Hogwarts provided. He explained that his academic focus was born from a desire to build a secure future for himself within the magical world.
Professor Flitwick listened patiently, his large, intelligent eyes never leaving Jake's face. When Jake finished, the little professor was silent for a moment.
"I see," he said, his voice soft. "Thank you for your honesty, Jake. It takes a great deal of courage to be so vulnerable." He hopped off the desk. "The Headmaster is a very understanding man, but his time is precious, and the ancient rules of the castle are not easily bent. A student's word, however earnest, is often not enough."
He scurried over to his desk, pulled out a small piece of parchment, and began to write, his quill moving in a flurry of elegant, looping script. "As your Head of House, I will of course provide a recommendation," he said, handing the sealed note to Jake. "Give this to the Headmaster when you speak with him."
Jake took the note, a wave of immense gratitude washing over him. "Professor, I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing," Flitwick said with a kind smile. "But this alone may not be enough. To make the strongest possible case, you will need the endorsement of every professor who oversees your development. Go and speak to Professor McGonagall. As the Deputy Headmistress, her word carries significant weight in administrative matters. Go to Madam Hooch; your performance in her class was legendary. And then," Flitwick's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, "you must speak to Professor Snape. His recommendation, as your Potions Master, is crucial."
The warmth of gratitude in Jake's chest was instantly chilled by a sliver of ice. Snape. He had to ask the man who viewed him with open suspicion for a personal favour.
"Go on, my boy," Flitwick said, giving him an encouraging nod. "Fortune favours the bold."
Buoyed by his Head of House's support, Jake made his way to the Transfiguration classroom. It was one thing to speak to the cheerful Professor Flitwick; it was another entirely to approach the formidable Deputy Headmistress. He found her grading a tall stack of essays, her lips pressed into a thin, severe line.
She looked up as he entered, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Mr Bloom. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Jake's heart did a nervous flutter, but he stood his ground. He repeated the same honest explanation he had given to Flitwick, laying out his circumstances and his request. He made sure to look her directly in the eye, his voice quiet but steady.
Professor McGonagall listened without interruption, her expression unreadable. She had, after all, seen both sides of him: the brilliant essayist who grasped theory far beyond his years, and the exhausted, struggling student who couldn't manage a simple beetle-to-button transfiguration.
When he finished, she set down her quill. "I see," she said, her tone crisp and business-like. "You are aware that such exceptions are granted only in the most extreme of circumstances?"
"Yes, Professor," Jake replied. "I believe my circumstances qualify."
She studied him for a long, silent moment, her gaze so intense it felt as though she were weighing his very soul. "I will not have a student under my tutelage work himself into an early grave, Mr Bloom. I have seen your recent efforts to find a more sustainable balance in your studies. It is a sign of maturity. That, combined with your undeniable talent for this subject, is enough for me."
She took out a piece of parchment and wrote a short, concise note, signing it with a flourish. "My recommendation is conditional," she said, handing him the sealed letter. "It is conditional upon you maintaining not just your grades, but your health. Do not make me regret this."
"I won't, Professor. Thank you," Jake said, his relief palpable.
His meeting with Madam Hooch was a breath of fresh air. He found her on the Quidditch pitch, overseeing a practice session for the Hufflepuff team. When he explained his situation, her weathered face broke into a wide grin.
"Say no more, son!" she boomed, clapping him on the shoulder so hard he nearly stumbled. "A boy with your kind of talent on a broom belongs at Hogwarts! It would be a crime to kick you out for the summer! I'll write a recommendation so glowing it'll singe the Headmaster's beard!"
She was as good as her word, scribbling a note on a piece of parchment that was already smudged with mud, her praise for his "unflappable nerve" and "instinctual grace" filling the page.
Three down, one to go.
He stood outside the Potions classroom, the three sealed letters feeling like a shield in his hands. The air in the dungeons was cold and damp, seeping into his robes. This was the final, and most dreadful, hurdle. He took a deep, steadying breath, raised his hand, and knocked on the heavy wooden door.
A muffled "Enter" echoed from within.
Jake pushed the door open and stepped inside. The classroom was empty, the cauldrons scrubbed clean and stacked neatly. The only light came from the flickering torches that cast dancing, distorted shadows on the stone walls, making the jars of pickled creatures seem to squirm in their murky liquid. Snape was at his desk, marking a stack of essays with a vicious-looking black quill. He didn't look up.
"Well?" he drawled, his voice a low, dangerous sound. "I do not hold office hours for dunderheads who have nothing better to do than waste my time. State your purpose."
Jake's carefully rehearsed speech evaporated. He was left with only the cold, hard facts. "Professor," he began, his voice admirably steady. "I am petitioning the Headmaster for permission to remain at the castle over the summer holidays. I have been advised that a recommendation from my core professors is required." He decided to add the crucial context. "I am an orphan, sir. I have no home to return to."
Snape's quill stopped moving. He didn't look up for a long moment, the silence in the dungeon stretching into a taut, uncomfortable wire. When he finally, slowly, raised his head, his black eyes were not filled with the familiar venom or contempt. For a fleeting, shocking instant, they were something else entirely. Blank. A dark, unreadable void that seemed to look straight through Jake, at a memory only he could see. It was the briefest of flickers, a crack in the stone, but in that moment, Jake saw not a hateful teacher, but a man haunted.
Then the mask slammed back down, the sneer returning to his lips, but it felt… different. More brittle. More forced.
"The world is not a charitable institution, Mr Bloom," Snape said, his voice a soft, cutting hiss. "It does not care for sob stories. Your circumstances are your own. Why should this school bend its ancient rules for one student?"
It wasn't a real question. It was a test. A harsh, cruel lesson from a man who had learned it the hard way.
Jake didn't rise to the bait. He didn't argue or plead. He simply reached into his robes and produced the three letters, placing them gently on the edge of the desk. "Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and Madam Hooch have already provided their recommendations, sir."
Snape's eyes flickered down to the letters, then back to Jake's calm, unwavering face. The sneer faded, replaced by that same, unsettlingly blank expression. He was a boy who had come prepared. A boy who did not whine, but strategised. A boy who understood that to get what you want in a cruel world, you did not ask for pity; you built a case.
He picked up the letters, his long, pale fingers turning them over, before setting them down unopened. He pulled a fresh piece of parchment towards him, dipped his quill, and scratched out a few sharp, spiky lines of text. He sealed it and held it out.
"This is not a recommendation," Snape said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual malice. "It is a statement confirming that you meet the minimum requirements of my curriculum. Nothing more."
Jake took the letter, the fourth and final shield. "Thank you, Professor."
As Jake turned to leave, Snape's voice, quiet and cold as a gravestone, stopped him at the door. "Do not mistake the castle's protection for the world's indifference, Mr Bloom. The summers end. See that you are prepared when they do."
It wasn't a threat. It was a warning. And perhaps, in the darkest, most twisted corner of the Potions Master's soul, it was the closest he could get to an act of kindness.
Jake left the dungeon, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. He felt not a sense of victory, but a profound, unnerving confusion. He had his letter, but he had seen something he wasn't meant to see, a glimpse of the man behind the monster.
His final task was to find the Headmaster's office. He asked Professor Flitwick during his next class, and the cheerful little professor provided him with the location of a stone gargoyle on the seventh floor and the current, slightly absurd, password.
And so, late that afternoon, Jake stood before the grim-faced gargoyle, the four letters clutched in his hand. He took a final, steadying breath, the culmination of his terrifying day now at hand.
"Sherbet Lemon," he said, his voice clear in the quiet corridor.
The gargoyle sprang to life, grinding sideways to reveal a hidden doorway and a moving, spiral staircase that began to slowly ascend. With a heart full of trepidation and hope, Jake stepped on, the stone rising to carry him upwards, towards the office of the most powerful wizard in the world.