41. Snape’s Grudge
No one in Gryffindor Tower slept that night. The whole house remained awake in the common room, waiting anxiously for news. They knew the castle was being searched again, but as dawn broke, Professor McGonagall returned with grim news—Sirius Black had escaped once more.
By morning, the signs of increased security were everywhere. Professor Flitwick could be seen charming the front doors to recognize a large picture of Black. Filch was bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes.
Sir Cadogan had been sacked. His portrait was returned to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady was back in her rightful place. Though expertly restored, she remained extremely nervous and had only agreed to return under the condition of extra protection. A group of surly security trolls now guarded the portrait hole, pacing the corridor in a menacing pack, grunting to each other and comparing the size of their clubs.
Despite all this, Hope had noticed something odd. The statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor—hiding the secret passage to Honeydukes—remained unguarded and unblocked. It seemed Fred and George had been right; only they, and now Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, knew about it.
“D’you reckon we should tell someone?” Harry asked, glancing between Ron and Hope.
“Maybe…” Hope hesitated, though the thought made her uneasy. That passage was useful, and losing it would be more than inconvenient.
“We know he’s not coming in through Honeydukes,” Ron dismissed. “We’d’ve heard if the shop had been broken into.”
Harry nodded, relieved. If they boarded up the one-eyed witch, sneaking into Hogsmeade would be impossible.
Ron had become an instant celebrity. For the first time in his life, people paid more attention to him than to Harry, and it was clear he was rather enjoying it. Though still shaken from the night’s events, he eagerly recounted the story to anyone who would listen, adding plenty of dramatic detail.
“…I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise—thought it was in my dream, you know? But then there was this draft… I woke up, and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled down. I rolled over, and he was just—standing there. Like a skeleton, all filthy hair—holding this massive knife, must’ve been twelve inches at least! He looked at me, I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he scarpered.”
As a group of second-year girls walked away, whispering excitedly, Ron turned to Harry and Hope, lowering his voice.
“But why?” he muttered. “Why did he run?”
Hope furrowed her brows. That was a good question. If Black had gone to the wrong bed, why hadn’t he just silenced Ron and gone after Harry? He had already proven twelve years ago that he had no issue murdering innocent people. And this time, he had been facing five unarmed boys, four of whom were asleep.
“He must’ve known he’d have a job getting back out of the castle once you yelled,” Harry said thoughtfully. “He’d’ve had to kill the whole house just to get through the portrait hole. Then he would’ve run into the teachers…”
Hope shuddered at the thought, glancing toward Neville, who sat miserably at the end of the table.
Neville was in complete disgrace. Professor McGonagall had been furious. She banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, gave him detention, and, worst of all, forbade anyone from giving him the password into the Tower. Now, every night, Neville was forced to wait outside the common room for someone to let him in while the security trolls leered at him.
None of these punishments, however, compared to what his grandmother had in store.
Two days after the break-in, Neville received the worst thing a Hogwarts student could get over breakfast—a Howler.
The morning post arrived as usual, owls swooping over the long tables, dropping letters and packages to waiting students. Neville paled as a large barn owl landed in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak.
Hope, Harry, and Ron, sitting across from him, recognized it instantly.
“Oh, Neville, you poor thing,” Hope murmured, eyes wide with sympathy.
“Run for it, Neville,” Ron advised, wincing in anticipation.
Neville didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing the Howler as if it were a live bomb, he sprinted out of the Great Hall. The Slytherin table erupted with laughter at the sight of him. Moments later, the Howler exploded in the Entrance Hall, and his grandmother’s magically amplified voice shrieked so loudly that even in the Great Hall, students winced at the sheer volume.
As the commotion settled, Harry turned back to his own breakfast, only then realizing Hedwig had delivered a letter for him. She nipped his wrist impatiently.
“Ouch! Oh—thanks, Hedwig…”
He tore open the envelope while Hedwig helped herself to Neville’s abandoned cornflakes.
Inside was a note:
Dear Harry and Ron,
How about having tea with me this evening, around six? I’ll come and collect you from the castle. WAIT FOR ME IN THE ENTRANCE HALL—YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED OUT ON YOUR OWN.
Cheers,
Hagrid
“He probably wants to hear all about Black,” Ron said, folding the note.
“Hope, do you want to come?” Harry asked.
Hope shook her head. “Can’t. I’m studying tonight with Hermione.”
That night, Hope sat in the library with Hermione, who was drowning in a sea of books.
“Honestly, Hermione, you need to drop some of your classes. Even with a time—”
“Shh,” Hermione hushed, her eyes never leaving the page.
Hope lowered her voice, undeterred. “Even with a time-turner, it’s still way too much for one person to handle.” She sighed, grabbing one of the books from the top of Hermione’s pile. Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles.
She flipped through it before shaking her head. “I mean, is Muggle Studies really necessary? Your parents are Muggles—you’re not even learning anything new.”
“That’s not true,” Hermione said, still not looking up. “I’m learning a wizard’s perspective on Muggles.”
Hope dropped the book with a sigh, about to argue, when a shadow fell over the table.
“Hope.”
She glanced up to see Cedric Diggory standing there, hands in his pockets, looking slightly hesitant.
“Mind if we talk? Alone?”
Hermione flicked her eyes up briefly before returning to her book, apparently deciding that whatever this was, it wasn’t her problem. Hope, on the other hand, raised a curious brow but nodded, pushing back her chair.
Cedric led her a few steps away from the table before pulling out a couple of rolls of parchment from his bag. “Right, so—your Potions essay.” He handed it over with a smirk. “In exchange for my Divination homework.”
Hope grinned, taking the parchment from him and trading it for the one in his hand. “You actually did it?”
“I would’ve done anything to get out of Divination,” Cedric said with a mock shudder. “You’re a saint for taking it off my hands.”
Hope unfolded her Potions essay and immediately raised a brow. “Cedric. There are so many spelling errors.”
He shrugged, his smirk growing. “I had to make it believable that you wrote it.”
She swatted him lightly with the parchment. “Just because I’m rubbish at Potions doesn’t mean I don’t know how to spell.”
Cedric chuckled before unrolling his Divination homework, skimming over it and then reading aloud:
"In this dream, I won the Quidditch House Cup. I’m holding it, celebrating, but the cup itself is damaged. This indicates that I will have a great triumph, but it will come with an even greater cost."
He blinked, frowning. “That’s ominous.”
“Hey, it was your dream.” Hope shrugged.
Cedric studied her for a moment before nodding. “Well, Trelawney will probably love the dramatics.”
Hope let out a chuckle. “Yeah, she probably will.” She then held out her hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Diggory.”
He took it, shaking with a small nod. “You as well, Lupin.”
With that, they parted ways, and Hope returned to her seat.
Hermione gave her a disapproving look over the top of her book. “That’s cheating.”
Hope simply shrugged. “Not really. I did the homework. Just… not my homework.”
Hermione sighed, shaking her head but not arguing. Hope smirked, tucking the parchment away.
A couple hours later, Hope and Hermione returned to the common room, where a large group of students had gathered around the noticeboard. Hope, standing on tiptoe, tried to peek over the crowd. Her eyes lit up when she read the announcement.
“Hogsmeade’s next weekend!” she said with a grin, turning to Hermione. Together, they made their way to a nearby table, where Hermione set down her stack of books.
“I really don’t think you should go, Hope. Or Harry,” Hermione said, her tone serious, as if she had said it a hundred times before.
Hope let out a dramatic groan, slouching into the chair beside her. “Hermione,” she whined, not wanting to hear this again.
“I’m serious,” Hermione insisted, fixing her glasses. “If your dad didn’t sign the permission slip, there’s probably a reason for it.”
Hope rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her palm. “Just like there’s a reason he won't give me my jinx-free Firebolt?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Hermione sighed, her face softening. “Honestly, yes. I’m sure he had a reason for that too. Professor Lupin seems like a fairly reasonable person.”
Hope frowned. She didn’t want to admit it, but Hermione was probably right. It still didn’t make her feel any better about it.
“Besides,” Hermione added, trying to ease the tension, “I thought you two made up after the match.”
“We did,” Hope said, her voice flat. “But I still want my broom.”
Just then, Harry and Ron came in, both looking excited when they saw the noticeboard.
“Hogsmeade, next weekend!” Ron exclaimed, practically bouncing on his feet.
“What do you think?” he asked Harry quietly, as they made their way over to the couch.
“Well, Filch hasn’t done anything about the passage into Honeydukes…” Harry muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening.
“Harry!” Hermione snapped, her voice loud enough to make Harry jump. He spun around, startled, to see her sitting at the table behind them, half-hidden behind a wall of books. She moved the books aside with a frustrated huff.
“If you go into Hogsmeade again…” Hermione’s voice dropped to a near whisper, “I’ll tell Professor McGonagall about that map.”
“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Hope groaned, rolling her eyes and leaning back in her chair.
“I will,” Hermione replied, her tone unwavering. “And the same goes for you, Hope.” She turned to Hope, her gaze firm.
Hope’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
“Can you hear someone talking, Harry?” Ron muttered, pretending not to notice the tension between the girls.
“Please don’t start this again,” Hope groaned, massaging her temples. Harry exhaled, clearly irritated.
“Ron, how can you let him go with you?” Hermione continued, her voice sharp. “After what Sirius Black nearly did to you? I mean it, I’ll tell—”
“So now you’re trying to get Harry expelled?” Ron shot back, his voice rising. “Haven’t you done enough damage this year?”
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Crookshanks leapt onto her lap with a soft hiss. Her eyes widened in panic as she looked down at the cat, then back at Ron, who was giving her a furious look. Quickly, she scooped Crookshanks up and hurried toward the girls' dormitory.
“Hermione!” Hope called after her, exasperated, before turning to Ron and swatting him on the arm.
“Ow!” Ron yelped, rubbing his arm where Hope had hit him. He scowled, but then his attention shifted back to Harry. “So, what about it?” he asked, as if nothing had happened. “Come on, last time we went you didn’t see anything. You haven’t even been inside Zonko’s yet!”
Harry looked around to make sure Hermione was well out of earshot. “I’ll go if Hope goes,” he said, his voice low and serious.
Hope hesitated. She really wanted to go, but she knew Hermione wasn’t bluffing.
“If Hermione finds out—” Hope began, but Harry quickly interrupted.
“We can take the Invisibility Cloak this time,” he said with a grin. “Come on, I won’t be able to fully enjoy Zonko’s if I’m worried about you stuck here alone.” He nudged her lightly with his elbow.
Hope glanced toward the girls' dormitory, torn between her desire to go and her loyalty to Hermione. After a moment, she shrugged, a smile spreading across her face.
“Alright,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let’s go.”
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On Saturday morning, Hope sat at the breakfast table next to Harry, who had his Invisibility Cloak packed in his bag and the Marauder’s Map tucked into his pocket. Across the table, Hermione kept shooting them suspicious looks, but they both avoided her gaze, pretending to be caught up in their food.
As the crowd began filing out, they made sure she saw them heading toward the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall while the rest of the students moved toward the front doors.
“Bye!” Harry called to Ron. “See you when you get back!”
“Bring me something from Zonko’s!” Hope added with a grin.
Ron smirked, throwing them a wink before disappearing into the crowd.
Wasting no time, Harry and Hope hurried up to the third floor. As they moved, Harry pulled the Marauder’s Map from his pocket and unfolded it. Crouching behind the one-eyed witch, he smoothed it out on the floor.
A tiny dot was moving toward them. Hope squinted at the name beside it.
“Neville Longbottom,” she muttered.
Harry cursed under his breath, yanking out his wand. “Dissendium,” he whispered, tapping the statue. The hump creaked open, and he shoved his bag inside, ready to follow—
But before he could climb in, Neville rounded the corner.
“Harry! Hope! I forgot you weren’t going to Hogsmeade either!”
Hope groaned internally. She’d completely forgotten Neville wasn’t allowed to go. Guilt prickled at her as she stepped in front of Harry, blocking his movements as he hastily shoved the map back into his pocket.
“Hey, Neville,” she said, forcing a casual tone. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing much,” Neville shrugged. “Want to play Exploding Snap?”
“Er—” Hope stalled, glancing at Harry, who kept his head down. “Not right now. I was going to head to the library and work on that vampire essay for my dad.”
Neville brightened. “I’ll come with you! I haven’t done it either.”
Hope scrambled for an excuse. “Oh—hang on—yeah, I forgot, I finished it last night!”
“Brilliant!” Neville said eagerly. “You can help me then! I don’t understand that bit about garlic at all—do they have to eat it, or—”
He broke off suddenly, his face going pale.
Hope turned just as a familiar, dark figure strode toward them.
Snape.
Neville took a nervous step behind Harry.
“What exactly are you three doing here?” Snape’s voice was as sharp as ever, his black eyes scanning them with clear suspicion. “An odd place for a meeting…”
Hope stiffened as his gaze flicked to the doorways on either side of them, then to the one-eyed witch’s statue.
“We’re not—meeting here,” Harry said quickly. “We just—ran into each other.”
Snape’s expression didn’t change. “Indeed?” He took a slow step forward, folding his arms. “You have a habit of turning up in unexpected places, Potter. And you are rarely there without reason.”
Harry swallowed hard.
“I suggest,” Snape continued, his voice like silk over steel, “the three of you return to Gryffindor Tower. Where you belong.”
Neither Harry nor Neville argued. They turned on their heels and left, Neville practically glued to Harry’s side. As they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, Hope let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“That was close,” she muttered.
“We should get back,” Harry said, lowering his voice. “Now.”
Neville hesitated as they reached the entrance. “Aren’t you coming in?”
Hope and Harry exchanged a look.
“Oh, right,” Hope said quickly, thinking fast. “I, uh—Harry left his vampire essay in the library. We’ll be right back.”
Neville nodded and climbed through the portrait hole, disappearing inside.
Hope exhaled. “I’m gonna have to buy Neville loads of sweets to make up for this.”
Harry shook his head, already pulling the map back out. They ducked out of sight of the security trolls as he held it close to his nose.
“The corridor’s clear,” Hope murmured, scanning it with him. A relieved smile crossed her face as she spotted the tiny dot labeled Severus Snape safely back in his office.
Without wasting another second, they sprinted back to the one-eyed witch. Harry tapped the statue again, and the hump slid open.
“Go, go,” Hope whispered as she watched the corridor, heart pounding.
Harry heaved himself inside first, sliding down the chute to meet his bag at the bottom. Hope followed right after, her stomach flipping as she shot down the narrow passageway.
At the bottom, Harry quickly wiped the Marauder’s Map blank. Then, without another word, the two of them took off running.
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Harry and Hope, completely hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, emerged into the sunlight outside Honeydukes. Harry prodded Ron in the back.
"It's us," Hope muttered.
Ron jumped slightly but quickly relaxed. "What kept you?" he hissed.
"Snape was hanging around..." Harry muttered, still irritated.
Hope reached into her pocket, pulling out a few Knuts and Sickles. "Ron, I need you to go back in and grab some sweets for me."
Ron took the change with a nod. "What do you want?"
Hope paused, considering. "I'm not sure, actually..." She turned to Harry. "What's Neville's favorite sweet?"
Harry furrowed his brow, thinking. "You can never go wrong with Chocolate Frogs."
Hope nodded. "Alright, a couple of Chocolate Frogs, a Sugar Quill, and... ooh, a Cauldron Cake."
Ron smirked as he turned to go back inside.
"And don't treat yourself to any of it either!" Hope hissed playfully.
Ron turned back, sticking his tongue out before disappearing through the shop door. A few minutes later, he returned with a small bag of sweets, and they set off up the High Street.
"Where are you?" Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "Are you still there? This feels weird..."
They wandered into the Post Office, where Ron pretended to check the price of an owl to Bill in Egypt so Harry and Hope could look around. Hundreds of owls hooted softly from their perches, ranging from massive Great Greys to tiny Scops owls labeled Local Deliveries Only, so small they could have sat in Hope’s palm.
Next was Zonko’s, packed wall to wall with students. They had to move carefully, stepping lightly to avoid bumping into anyone and giving themselves away. Hope was completely in her element—shelves stocked with jokes and tricks that could make even Fred and George jealous. From under the Cloak, Harry slipped Ron some gold and whispered instructions. By the time they left, their pockets were stuffed with Dungbombs, Hiccough Sweets, Frog Spawn Soap, and a Nose-Biting Teacup apiece, though their money bags were much lighter.
The day was breezy and warm, too nice to stay indoors, so they wandered past the Three Broomsticks and climbed the slope leading to the Shrieking Shack. The abandoned house loomed over the village, its boarded windows and overgrown garden adding to its eerie charm.
"Even the Hogwarts ghosts avoid it," Ron said, leaning against the fence. "I asked Nearly Headless Nick—he says he's heard a real rough crowd live here. No one can get in. Fred and George tried, obviously, but all the entrances are sealed shut..."
Hope fanned herself, feeling the heat from the climb. Harry, also growing warm, was just considering taking off the Cloak for a few minutes when voices drifted up the hill.
“…should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing to tell them about my arm… about how I couldn’t use it for three months…”
Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle trudged behind him, sniggering.
"I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself," Malfoy continued, voice dripping with mockery. "There’s no ’arm in ’im, ’onest—" He laughed. "That Hippogriff’s as good as dead—"
Hope’s jaw clenched, fingers balling into fists. She took a sharp step forward, but Harry grabbed her arm, holding her back.
Malfoy’s sneer turned on Ron. "What are you doing here?"
His gaze flicked to the house behind Ron, lips curling. "Suppose you’d love to live here, wouldn’t you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room—is that true?"
Ron’s face burned red, and Harry’s grip on Hope’s arm tightened. He reached out and grabbed the back of Ron’s robes too, stopping him from lunging.
"Leave him to us," Harry whispered in Ron’s ear.
The opportunity was too good to pass up. Moving in perfect sync, Harry and Hope crept behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. They bent down and scooped up large handfuls of mud.
"We were just discussing your friend Hagrid," Malfoy continued, smirking. "Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D’you think he’ll cry when they cut off his Hippogriff’s—"
SPLAT!
Malfoy’s head jerked forward as a handful of muck smacked into the back of his pale-blond hair.
"What the—?"
Ron doubled over against the fence, laughing so hard he nearly collapsed. Malfoy spun wildly, hands scrubbing at his dripping hair while Crabbe and Goyle stared around in bewilderment.
"Who did that?! Who’s there?!" Malfoy demanded.
Ron straightened up, wiping tears from his eyes. "Very haunted up here, isn’t it?" he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged nervous glances. Their muscles were no use against ghosts. Malfoy, meanwhile, was glaring suspiciously at the empty space around them.
Harry grinned and scooped up another handful of sludge.
SPLATTER!
This time, Crabbe and Goyle took the hit. Goyle flailed, rubbing desperately at his small, beady eyes.
"It came from over there!" Malfoy shouted, pointing wildly at a spot several feet away from where Harry and Hope actually stood.
Crabbe stumbled forward, arms outstretched like a zombie. Harry and Hope nimbly dodged around him. Harry grabbed a stick and lobbed it at Crabbe’s back.
Crabbe spun in a circle, looking for the culprit.
Hope pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
Harry nearly collapsed with silent giggles as Crabbe, now properly spooked, lurched toward Ron. At the last second, Harry stuck out his foot—Crabbe tripped, his giant foot catching the hem of Harry’s Cloak.
The fabric yanked backward.
Harry and Hope froze.
Their faces were suddenly visible.
For a split second, Malfoy just stared. His eyes widened.
“AAARGH!” He let out a strangled scream, pointing. Then, without hesitation, he turned and bolted back down the hill, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.
Harry yanked the Cloak back over their heads, but the damage was done.
Ron staggered forward, staring after them. "You two better run for it! If Malfoy tells anyone—you need to get back to the castle, quick!"
"Right," Hope muttered, pulse racing.
"See you later," Harry said, and without another word, they tore back down the path toward Hogsmeade.
Would Malfoy believe what he saw? Would anyone believe Malfoy?
Nobody knew about the Invisibility Cloak—nobody except Dumbledore. And if Malfoy said something… Dumbledore would know.
Hope’s stomach twisted with nerves.
Back into Honeydukes. Down the cellar steps. Across the stone floor. Through the trapdoor.
Harry yanked off the Cloak and tucked it under his arm as they ran flat out along the passage. Malfoy would get back first. How long before he found a teacher?
Panting, they didn’t slow down until they reached the stone slide. Harry cursed under his breath—he couldn’t take the Cloak back up, it was too obvious. He shoved it into a shadowy corner and began to climb, sweat making his hands slip on the rough stone.
Hope went first, reaching the top and tapping the statue with her wand. The hump slid open. She stuck her head through, hoisting herself out, Harry right behind her.
Just as the two jumped out from behind the statue, they heard quick footsteps approaching.
It was Snape.
He approached at a swift pace, black robes billowing behind him, and stopped right in front of them.
“So.”
There was a look of suppressed triumph on his sallow face. Hope kept her expression as neutral as possible, while Harry, attempting innocence, quickly stuffed his muddy hands into his pockets. It was no use—Hope’s hair was a mess, Harry’s face was sweaty, and the whole scene screamed "guilty."
“Come with me, Potter, Lupin.”
They followed him downstairs. Harry tried to discreetly wipe his hands clean on the inside of his robes before Snape could notice.
The trip to the dungeons felt too short. They entered Snape’s office, the room dimly lit by flickering firelight. It had been a while since they were last in here—also in trouble, coincidentally. A few more slimy, floating things in jars lined the shelves behind Snape’s desk, their glassy surfaces catching the light and making the whole room feel even more ominous.
“Sit.”
They obeyed. Snape remained standing.
“Mr. Malfoy has just been to see me with a rather strange story.”
Harry and Hope said nothing.
“He tells me he was up by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley—apparently alone.”
Still, they stayed silent.
“Mr. Malfoy states that he was standing, talking to Weasley, when a large amount of mud struck him on the back of the head. How do you suppose that happened?”
Hope gave him an unimpressed shrug. “How would I know?”
Harry nudged her foot with his own—Hope had a particular talent for getting under Snape’s skin, but winding him up right now wasn’t a great idea.
“I don’t know, Professor,” Harry added, attempting mild surprise.
Snape’s gaze locked onto him, dark eyes narrowing. It was like staring down a Hippogriff. Harry fought the urge to blink.
“Mr. Malfoy then saw something rather extraordinary. Can you imagine what it might have been, Potter?”
“No,” Harry replied, forcing an innocent curiosity into his tone.
“It was your head, Potter. Floating in mid-air. Along with Miss Lupin’s.”
A long silence followed.
“Maybe he should go to Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said. “If he’s seeing things like—”
“What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?” Snape asked silkily. “Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade.”
“I know that,” Harry said, keeping his expression carefully blank. “Sounds like Malfoy’s having hallucin—”
“Malfoy is not having hallucinations,” Snape snapped. He bent down, gripping the arms of Harry’s chair, his face now mere inches away. “If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of you.”
“We’ve been in Gryffindor Tower,” Hope cut in. “Like you told—”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
Neither of them answered. Snape’s thin lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
“So,” he said, straightening up. “Everyone from the Minister for Magic downwards has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But famous Harry Potter is a law unto himself! Let the ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes where he wants, with no thought for the consequences.”
“Are you even allowed to speak to students like this?” Hope asked, crossing her arms.
Snape turned his glare to her. “Ever the loudmouth, Miss Lupin. If I were in your position, I’d be careful about making enemies. One might start poking around… and it would be a shame if they discovered something they shouldn’t.”
Hope swallowed. She knew exactly what he was implying.
Harry’s brows furrowed, glancing between them, but Snape wasn’t finished.
“Not that anyone’s ever accused you of thinking,” he sneered. “Walking around this school so cavalier, so haughty, with only your”—he gave a slow, deliberate pause—“mediocre talents to support your arrogance. You’re so much like—”
Hope’s nails dug into her palms.
“You are so much like—”
“If you’re about to say my father,” Hope snapped, “that’s not the insult you think it is. He’s worth twelve of you.”
Snape’s expression darkened, but then his lips curled into a twisted smile.
“Actually,” he drawled, “you remind me much more of Sirius Black.”
Harry stiffened, eyes widening in outrage. What a cruel thing to say.
But Hope? She froze.
Like Sirius Black? The same Sirius Black who betrayed Harry’s parents? Who murdered Peter Pettigrew and all those Muggles? The same Sirius Black who made her father go pale at the mere mention of his name?
No. No way.
Snape’s lip curled. “And look how he ended up.”
Hope felt something inside her crack.
Snape turned to Harry.
“How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,” he said, eyes gleaming with malice. “He, too, was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch pitch made him think he was better than the rest of us. Strutting around with his friends and admirers… the resemblance is uncanny.”
“My dad didn’t strut,” Harry said before he could stop himself. “And neither do I.”
“Your father didn’t put much stock in rules, either,” Snape continued, pressing his advantage. “Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup winners. His head was so swollen—”
“SHUT UP!”
Hope snapped out of her daze, startled by the sudden outburst.
Harry had leapt to his feet, his face burning with rage. It was the same fury she’d seen when he spoke about the Dursleys, the same white-hot anger he never let out. He didn’t even flinch as Snape’s face twisted into something dangerous.
“What did you just say to me, Potter?”
“I told you to shut up about my dad!” Harry yelled. “I know the truth, all right? He saved your life! Dumbledore told me! You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him!”
Snape’s already pale face turned the color of sour milk.
“And did the Headmaster tell you the circumstances in which your father saved my life?” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Or did he consider the details too unpleasant for precious Potter’s delicate ears?”
Harry clenched his jaw. He didn’t know the details, and Snape knew it.
“I’d hate for you to have the wrong idea about your father,” Snape sneered. “Imagining some act of glorious heroism? Let me correct you. Your ‘saintly’ father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me—one that would have resulted in my death if he hadn’t gotten cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about it. He was saving his own skin as much as mine.”
He turned his glare on both of them now.
“Had their little joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts.”
Hope’s stomach twisted.
She thought back to what her father had told her before—that he and Snape never got along. But… did that mean he was part of whatever had happened?
Snape’s eyes gleamed.
“Turn out your pockets,” he ordered. “Both of you.”
They stood frozen.
“Turn them out, or we go straight to the Headmaster!”
Hope shot Harry a nervous glance. Her pockets were empty—Ron had her Honeydukes bag, and thankfully, she hadn’t been able to afford anything from Zonko’s. But Harry...
Snape snatched up the Zonko’s bag.
“Ron gave them to me,” Harry said quickly. “He—he brought them back from Hogsmeade last time—”
“And you’ve been carrying them around ever since?” Snape’s lips curled. “How touching… and what is this?”
Snape picked up the map. Harry tried with all his might to keep his face impassive.
"Spare bit of parchment," he shrugged.
Snape turned it over, his dark eyes locked onto Harry.
"Surely you don’t need such a very old piece of parchment?" he said slowly. "Why don’t I just—throw this away?"
His hand moved toward the fire.
"No!" Harry blurted out, too fast.
Snape’s long nostrils flared. His gaze sharpened.
"So!" he said, voice curling with suspicion. "Is this another treasured gift from Mr. Weasley? Or is it—something else? A letter, perhaps, written in invisible ink? Or—" his eyes glinted, "instructions to sneak into Hogsmeade without passing the Dementors?"
Harry forced himself to blink, keeping his expression blank. Snape’s lips curled.
"Let me see, let me see..." he muttered, drawing his wand and smoothing the parchment out on his desk. He tapped it. "Reveal your secret!"
Nothing happened. Harry clenched his hands, willing them not to shake.
"Show yourself!" Snape commanded, tapping the map again. It stayed blank. Harry focused on breathing deeply, evenly.
"Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!" Snape struck the map with his wand.
For a moment, nothing. Then, as though an invisible hand had taken up a quill, words scrawled themselves across the surface.
"Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business."
Snape froze. Harry stared, dumbstruck.
Beside him, Hope quirked a grin, but Harry nudged her sharply. She dropped it—barely.
The map wasn’t finished.
"Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git."
Harry might have laughed if the situation weren’t so dire.
And then—
"Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a Professor."
Hope let out a strangled chuckle before coughing to cover it. Harry nudged her again.
Snape’s jaw tightened.
And the final insult appeared.
"Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball."
The silence was deafening.
Harry braced himself.
Snape’s voice was soft, but the threat was unmistakable.
"So... we’ll see about this."
He strode across to the fireplace, grabbed a fistful of glittering powder, and flung it into the flames.
"Lupin!" he barked. "I want a word!"
Hope’s grin vanished. This wouldn’t be good.
She swallowed hard, watching the fire as a large, whirling shape appeared. Moments later, Professor Lupin stepped out, dusting ash from his shabby robes.
"You called, Severus?" Lupin said mildly, his brow furrowing when he saw Harry and Hope.
"I certainly did," Snape snapped. His face was twisted with fury as he marched back to his desk. "I just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this."
He jabbed a finger at the parchment, still shimmering with the Marauders’ words.
An odd, closed expression flickered across Lupin’s face.
“Well?” Snape pressed, his patience wearing thin.
Lupin studied the parchment, his mind clearly working fast.
"Well?" Snape repeated, his patience unraveling. "This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?"
Lupin glanced at Harry and Hope, just long enough to warn them not to speak.
"Full of Dark Magic?" he repeated, tone even. "Do you really think so, Severus? It looks like nothing more than a piece of parchment that insults anyone who tries to read it. Childish, but hardly dangerous. I imagine Harry got it from a joke shop—"
"Indeed?" Snape’s voice was tight. "You think a joke shop could produce something like this? Or is it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"
Harry and Hope exchanged a confused look. They had no idea what Snape was talking about.
Neither, it seemed, did Lupin.
"You mean, from Mr. Wormtail or one of these people?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He turned to Harry. "Do you know any of them?"
"No," Harry said quickly.
"You see, Severus?" Lupin said, turning back to Snape. "It looks like a Zonko's product to me—"
Right on cue, Ron burst into the office, completely out of breath. He stopped just short of Snape’s desk, clutching his side.
"I—gave—Harry—that—stuff," he panted. "Bought—it—in—Zonko’s—ages—ago..."
"Well!" Lupin clapped his hands together. "That seems to clear that up! Severus, I’ll take this back, shall I?"
He folded the map and tucked it into his robes.
"Harry, Ron, Hope—come with me. I need a word about my vampire essay. Excuse us, Severus."
Hope followed her father, not sparing Snape a glance as they left. They walked in silence until they reached the Entrance Hall. Then, Harry turned to Lupin.
"Professor, I—"
"I don’t want to hear explanations," Lupin cut him off.
"Dad—" Hope started.
"Not another word, Hope," he said sternly.
“Not another word, Hope,” he said firmly.
Glancing around the empty hall, Lupin lowered his voice. “I happen to know that this map was confiscated by Filch years ago. Yes, I know it’s a map,” he added when the three gawked at him. “And I don’t want to know how you got it. What does astound me is that you didn’t turn it in. Especially after what happened the last time someone left information about the castle lying around. And I can’t let you have it back, Harry.”
Hope slumped, disappointment clear on her face.
Harry, however, had expected that. He had bigger questions.
"Why did Snape think I got it from the manufacturers?"
Lupin hesitated.
"Because..." He exhaled sharply. "Because the map’s creators would have wanted to lure you out of school. They’d think it entertaining."
Hope blinked. "You knew them?" she asked, impressed.
"We’ve met," Lupin said shortly.
He looked at them both more seriously than ever.
"Don’t expect me to cover for you again, Harry. I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought what you hear when the Dementors get close would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive. And this is how you repay them? Gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks?"
Harry swallowed. Hope shrank under her father’s gaze.
Lupin turned to her, voice gentler but still firm.
"Look at me, Hope."
She hesitated, then lifted her eyes to meet his.
"I know you don’t like my rules. I know you don’t understand them. But they exist to keep you safe."
Hope shifted uncomfortably. "I know, it’s just—"
Lupin let out a frustrated sigh. Then, dropping his voice, he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in.
"Hope, he knows who you are," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "Black knows exactly who you are."
Hope’s stomach twisted.
"And if he’s after Harry, don’t think for a second he wouldn’t take you out, too given the opportunity. Do not give him the opportunity."
Hope swallowed hard. His eyes were tired—not from his condition, but from her.
She gave a guilty nod.
Lupin didn’t say another word. He turned and walked away, leaving her and Harry feeling far worse than they had at any point in Snape’s office.
Slowly, the three of them mounted the marble staircase, silence weighing heavily between them. Hope’s mind swirled, trying to process everything at once. Sirius Black knew about her. He knew who she was. That thought alone sent a cold shiver through her.
But even worse—worse than Lupin’s disappointment, worse than losing the map—was what Snape had said.
"You’re just like him."
A mass murderer. A You-Know-Who supporter.
Her stomach twisted violently. No, he was wrong. He had to be wrong.
She shuddered.
“It’s my fault,” Ron said abruptly. His voice cut through the silence, rough with guilt. “I persuaded you to go. Lupin’s right, it was stupid. We shouldn’t’ve done it—”
He broke off as they reached the corridor where the security trolls were pacing, their heavy clubs resting on their shoulders. Hermione was walking toward them.
One look at her face made Hope’s heart lurch. Did she know? Had she told Professor McGonagall? Was this about to get even worse?
“Come to have a good gloat?” Ron snapped, his voice thick with frustration. “Or have you just been to tell on us?”
“No.” Hermione’s voice was small, unsteady.
She was clutching a letter in her hands, her knuckles white. Her lip trembled as she looked between them.
“I just thought you ought to know…” she whispered.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.
“Hagrid lost his case.”
Hope’s breath hitched.
“Buckbeak is going to be executed.”