The Crash Down the Corridor
The crashing sound that echoed down the second-floor corridor made James Potter stop in his tracks. It was well after midnight, too early for Peeves to be plucking at portrait wires or rattling suits of armour, but too late for any students to be roaming the castle.
Unless, of course, they were up to something, which James Potter most certainly was not.
Besides, the Gryffindor alpha had at least taken care to put on his invisibility cloak. Not that he really needed it, being a prefect and all, but some habits die hard.
At the same time, Hogwart’s chief mischief maker, in his new and illustrious role, had taken quite well to turning his nose up at tomfoolery when it was in his best interest. Why just last week he had reported Killian Warwick, a charming 6th year omega and best chaser for the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, for attempting to charm dung beetles to the tapestries in the Great Hall, and as punishment the boy had had to sit the match out in detention with Filch—last one of the season before the Christmas break, unfortunately—while his replacement, the beta Melrick Dunsan—performing as expected—helped Ravenclaw lose the match to Hufflepuff and with it their place as first ahead in the interhouse competition.
Leaving Gryffindor and Slytherin tied to take the lead.
Well, not for long, at least. Not if prefect Potter had anything to say about it.
Ruffling ...
Rustling ...
A groan and the sound of metal tinkering against porcelain...
... and all of it coming from inside the boy’s lav.
James cocked his head to the side as he honed into the muffled sounds which followed the crash, his brows knit firmly together. Even for an alpha, his hearing was sharp, discerning even, but there was no telling what could possibly make such an unusually quiet and cacophonous ruckus; and it only took a moment or two of trying to piece together what sort of mysterious misconduct was afoot in the dead of night to no avail for James to determine that he should go and investigate.
And, unless it were Sirius on the other end, either dock points or issue warnings, like any goody good prefect would do.
And to think James had expected spending his two weeks of winter holidays at Hogwarts to be boring, what with most of the school off and about! Yet here he was, first night in, and it already seemed to be promising, not boring at all.
The prefect unfasted his invisibility cloak, tucked it safely behind the statue of a Welsh water horse and its floating cloud, which rest in the little alcove just before the toilets, and then proceeded to crack open the door to the boys lav.
Only for his nose to be hit immediately with traces of ink and peppermint.
It was like Christmas come early.
The alpha grinned. He knew that scent; it was muted, but familiar, and the Gryffindor knew exactly who he would find on the opposite side of the door. Rightening the already straight prefect’s badge pinned to the front of his robes, he pushed against the carved, medieval wood and strode inside, unconscious of the way he puffed out his chest as he did so.
The figure might have been crouched down, the face obscured by his long black hair, but there was no mistaking the wayward student for who he was.
None other than Severus Snape.