The wind whistled through the old windows. Outside, the air was heavy, the birds flew low, and the atmosphere was almost stifling; it was bound to rain soon. The night had plunged the castle into silence, and only the occasional snoring of animated portraits echoed through the corridors of the English school of witchcraft and wizardry.
The only source of activity in the school, now on the verge of summer break, was a tense meeting taking place on the top floor of the immense building. In the headmaster’s office, he and three of his teachers were discussing the recent events that had shaken a small part of the wizarding world.
Indeed, in this year of 1995, after hosting the famous Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts experienced a tragic accident: the death of Cedric Diggory, a student from Hufflepuff who was well-liked by everyone. Although “accident” was the official version, others were convinced it had been murder—an outright assassination orchestrated by none other than the Dark Lord himself, Voldemort.
"Is it wise to leave him there alone?" asked Minerva McGonagall, concerned.
The head of Gryffindor House was visibly troubled by the recent events. Standing with her arms on her hips and her brows furrowed, she questioned the Headmaster. He, in turn, gazed out the window, lost in thought. Uncertain himself, he pondered the situation they were facing.
“For now… I don’t think it’s necessary to move young Potter…” Dumbledore began. “I dare hope that Tom will lie low for a while… long enough to regroup his forces. Let’s not worry too soon, but observe how things unfold.” He paused briefly. “But… it would still be wise to increase security around Potter.”
He glanced at Mad-Eye Moody, who nodded in agreement. The Auror had been captured by the Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr. and spent much of the year locked inside a cursed trunk. The wizard, who had served many years on the front lines, still felt somewhat ashamed of these events and angry at himself for being unable to prevent the tragedy. However, no one seemed to hold it against him—except perhaps himself. There are certain treacheries one cannot foresee, and Barty Crouch was a man full of guile, whose years in Azkaban had rendered him mentally unstable.
“I suppose, Moody, you won’t be staying with us next year…” the bearded headmaster inquired.
“No, I’d rather return to my post as soon as possible. I don’t think I’d be of more use to the students here than I could be to the… cause, out there…”
“Very well… I can’t argue with that. We will need watchful eyes and ears once again…”
“I’ll do what I can with what’s left of me! AHAH!” the Auror said, laughing loudly.
Dumbledore cracked a smile, and a soft chuckle escaped him, betraying his amusement. Minerva, on the other hand, rolled her eyes and sat down to relax. Though she didn’t particularly appreciate such humor in a moment of great seriousness, she understood the more carefree nature of her two old acquaintances. They had both lived through dark and grim times their entire lives, which had, over time, taught them a sense of detachment.
A fourth person was also present in the room but had not uttered a word since the meeting began. Not much of a talker, the man was more of a sharp observer. Tonight, like the others, he was preoccupied with the recent events, seemingly lost in deep thought, from which no one dared disturb him.
After Moody's humor, a silence settled over the room. But it was short-lived, as a voice began humming in a corner of the office. An old voice, not particularly pleasant to hear, to be honest.
It came from one of the shelves where the headmaster kept his collection of odd trinkets.
Between a clock that showed the wrong time and an unusually ornate globe stood a hat—proud in appearance but worn and shabby. This hat, well-known to anyone who had ever set foot in Hogwarts, wriggled and continued to boast.
The Sorting Hat, an enchanted object imbued with ancient magic, was a wise entity that guided young students to the house they were destined for during the Sorting Ceremony. Though it occasionally prattled on about trivial matters to Dumbledore, the headmaster seemed surprised to see it so lively this evening.
“A loooong awakening ends tonight…” it began, stretching out the long "i~" sound.
“What are you telling us, my friend?” asked Dumbledore, perplexed.
“What am I saying? I've forgotten… Perhaps, if I weren’t interrupted, the words would continue to flow endlessly…”
“My apologies, do carry on.”
“I was saying… a looong awakening ends tonight… Perhaps we should greet our dear guest…”
“You don’t mean to say that…”
“But yes, yes, yes!” confirmed the patched-up hat.
“Incredible! By Merlin’s beard, this is the sign we’ve been waiting for!”
“What does this mean, Albus?” Minerva McGonagall asked, confused.
“AHAHAH!” It seemed that Mad-Eye Moody had caught on, as he burst into hearty laughter.
“Come, Minerva, you’ll understand soon enough,” replied Albus Dumbledore, heading for the door of his office.
Minerva furrowed her brow before rising. Moody did the same, finishing off the glass of whiskey he had been served earlier. Severus Snape, still seated, eyed the hat, hoping it would offer more clues about the mystery, but the peculiar object had fallen silent. Snape stood up to follow the three professors, but they had already taken a bit of a lead, and in the confusion, he couldn’t quite catch up.
What on earth was happening?
Dumbledore made his way through the school with a confident and swift pace—down a few staircases, along several corridors. He seemed to know the route by heart. In fact, there wasn’t a single corner of this school he didn’t know intimately, and he moved through the labyrinthine passageways with ease, while even some professors would easily get lost.
“We had her moved countless times: St. Mungo’s Hospital, the magical research center, the Department of Curses… I’ve lost track of how many forms I had to sign to authorize the transport of her body…”
“I remember how exhausting it was for you, Moody… I tried to advise you as best I could about the various institutions…”
From afar, Severus could only catch bits and pieces of Alastor Moody’s gruff voice: “Hospital,” “paperwork,” had he just heard the word “body”? Minerva, on the other hand, had resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t understand until these 'gentlemen' decided to explain.
"Exhausting? You mean grueling! I wouldn't have endured such torment for anyone else! But the most frustrating part was juggling between good and bad news, never able to hope or mourn in peace! That klutz, she’ll be hearing from me, I assure you, Albus!"
Severus finally caught up with them when a thought crossed his mind... but no, it couldn’t possibly be that, could it? He paused for a moment, trying to connect the dots, and didn’t immediately notice that the small group had disappeared into a newly formed corridor. A brick wall had disassembled before their eyes, revealing a narrow spiral staircase. He had never seen this passage before, nor had he ever heard of a secret room in this part of the school. It just goes to show that even after many years at Hogwarts, there were still secrets to uncover.
He hurried down the staircase, still confused. There was no way, after all these years...
Ahead of him, the Headmaster and his two companions had reached the bottom of the stairs. As they moved forward, torches on the walls lit up, illuminating their journey into the heart of Hogwarts.
Dumbledore was the first to step through the archway that separated the staircase from the room before them. Minerva McGonagall had never set foot in this place, but she immediately felt a strange comfort. It was hard to describe, but something about the room made it feel incredibly welcoming, as if it was filled with magic—perhaps a spell, or even several.
A soft light bathed the room, which had a rather peculiar appearance. Though it might have once been quite ordinary, it had been decorated with great care. Minerva briefly questioned the taste of whoever had arranged the space. The floor was covered in a patchwork of rugs, each one different, some overlapping, covering almost the entire area.
In the center of the large room was a heap of cushions and blankets, as mismatched as the rugs, clearly arranged with comfort in mind rather than aesthetics. The Transfiguration professor might have spent more time puzzling over the purpose of such a peculiar room if she hadn’t been distracted by movement in the middle of that pile of comfort. Now that she focused her attention, she realized there was a body lying at the center of all that chaos.
Dumbledore approached slowly, while Alastor Moody kept a few cautious meters back, watching intently. Minerva McGonagall moved closer, studying the person who was slowly coming to life before their eyes, as if waking from a long, deep sleep.
The figure began to stir, a mass of brown hair covering her face as she struggled to support herself on her hands. Once she seemed stable, she brushed the hair away, revealing her face. At that very moment, all of the questions swirling in the old professor’s mind vanished.
“Good heavens…” Minerva whispered in shock.
The woman’s gaze drifted over each person in the room, her eyes clouded and distant. Though physically present, it was clear she hadn’t fully returned mentally. No one dared move, as if any sudden motion might shatter her delicate state.
Severus Snape stood frozen at the foot of the staircase, equally immobilized. The man who was usually so composed and sure of himself now seemed stripped of all confidence. All he could hear was the thunderous pounding of his own heart—it beat so fiercely that Snape felt as if it might burst through his chest. His head began to spin, and his stomach churned uncontrollably.
When the woman’s eyes met his, a shiver ran down his spine. Her grey eyes were so light that Severus felt as though he could see the reflection of his very soul within them. The sensation, the pounding of his heart, his twisting stomach—he would have collapsed on the spot if not for the instinct that screamed at him to flee.
The moment she blinked, he was gone. She tried to stand, but as soon as her foot touched the ground, she realized how weak she was and nearly collapsed. Fortunately, Dumbledore caught her. The sudden action snapped Minerva back to attention, and she rushed over to help, followed by Alastor Moody.
That night, deep within the bowels of Hogwarts, a miracle took place—one that few still expected. A miracle that would change many things.
But who was she? The mysterious sleeper whom they all seemed to know?