"Murder! Murder in the corridor! Murder!"
A shrill, hysterical scream drifted faintly in through the window.
Seated in the Headmaster's Office, Jon Hart paused and looked up. Turning toward a portrait beside him, he asked, "Dexter, what's going on outside?"
"Just a moment, Jon… I'll have a look!" the energetic old man in the frame replied at once. His figure vanished from the canvas.
Less than half a minute later, Headmaster Dexter Fortescue reappeared in his portrait.
"It's Peeves making a racket," he reported. "Two students seem to have been fighting in the corridor. One of them's been knocked unconscious!"
Just a student scuffle. Nothing that concerns me, Jon thought. Aloud, he asked casually, "Has a teacher gone to deal with it?"
"Yes. I just saw Professor Minerva McGonagall heading that way," Dexter Fortescue answered.
"Good. Thank you, Dexter."
"Not at all." The old Headmaster gave a slight bow before disappearing from the frame again.
...
However, things proved far more complicated than Jon had expected.
A quarter of an hour later, the portrait's occupant returned in haste.
"Jon, get ready!" he said urgently. "Professor McGonagall is bringing a student up to the Headmaster's Office."
"How long?" Jon asked calmly.
"Two minutes at most."
"That will do."
Jon poured himself a glass of pale purple liquid from a small decanter on the side table and downed it in one swallow. Moments later, his features shifted—he was once again Albus Dumbledore.
"I like fizzy drinks!"
Professor Minerva McGonagall's voice sounded outside the office door.
Footsteps hurried closer—
"Oh, Minerva!" Albus Dumbledore looked up from the Daily Prophet in his hands and regarded the two unexpected visitors with mild surprise. "What brings Mr. Malfoy here?"
Professor Minerva McGonagall stood before him, lips pressed thin, face pale with fury. Beside her stood Draco Malfoy, head lowered, looking lost and shaken.
"This is attempted murder, Headmaster!"
McGonagall burst out, her voice trembling with rage.
"Malfoy—how could you use such magic against a fellow student? Poor Potter—when I brought him to the Hospital Wing, he was barely breathing! I've already sent for Professor Snape."
From her agitated words, Dumbledore quickly pieced together what had happened.
The two students fighting on the eighth floor had been Potter and Malfoy.
Draco had apparently cast some strange, powerful spell on Harry—one that had nearly cost him his life. No wonder McGonagall was beside herself.
Though known for her fairness and sternness, the Head of Gryffindor truly cared for her students—each and every one of them.
"What has happened, Minerva?" came the cool, hollow voice of Professor Severus Snape from the doorway.
"Severus—you're finally here!" McGonagall said, trembling. "Look at your student—look at what he's done! He nearly killed Potter!"
"Nearly killed Potter?" Snape raised an eyebrow, glancing at McGonagall before turning his gaze to Draco. "Explain."
After McGonagall repeated the story—
"Oh? How unfortunate," Snape said mildly, a trace of a smile flickering at the corner of his lips.
"Severus!" McGonagall snapped, like an enraged lioness. "Your student used a spell I didn't even recognize—nearly killed another student—and you—"
"Calm yourself, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently.
"My apologies, Headmaster," McGonagall said stiffly, drawing a steadying breath. "Professor Snape, I believe Mr. Malfoy should be expelled from Slytherin."
"Expelled?" Snape frowned slightly.
Malfoy's face drained of what little color remained. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Before discussing punishment," Snape said coolly, "we should establish the full account of events."
He drew his wand and flicked it at Draco. A flash of dark red light streaked through the air, and some color returned to Draco's face.
"What happened, Draco?"
...
Now steadier, Draco Malfoy began recounting his version of events.
He claimed he had been walking along the eighth-floor corridor when he ran into Harry Potter by chance. A heated exchange followed. Words escalated. Wands were drawn. A duel broke out.
During the Christmas holiday, he said, he had come across a strange spell in an old book. In the heat of the moment, he had used it on Harry—never expecting it to be so powerful. What followed was what Professor McGonagall had witnessed.
"The matter seems clear enough," Snape said slowly. "Just another student duel. Potter's inherited his father's and godfather's taste for trouble."
"Severus!" McGonagall's voice shook with anger. "Harry Potter is the victim! You cannot twist the facts because of old grievances with his father—"
"Enough."
Dumbledore's tone was firm. Another moment and the two Heads of House might have come to blows.
"Minerva," he continued quietly, "how is Harry?"
"He was scarcely breathing when I carried him to the Hospital Wing," McGonagall said, dabbing at her eyes. "Madam Pomfrey thought—briefly—that he was dead."
"Dilys, please go to the Hospital Wing and check on Harry's condition," Dumbledore instructed.
A figure in one of the portraits nodded and vanished at once.
"And Minerva," Dumbledore added gently, "please trust Severus. He will administer appropriate discipline to his student. If Harry's life is not in danger, I would advise that Mr. Malfoy be allowed to continue his studies at Hogwarts."
McGonagall nodded reluctantly, still wiping away tears.
"I understand, Headmaster."
"Of course," Severus Snape said gravely.
Then he seized Draco Malfoy roughly by the hair and said in a low, dangerous voice, "You. Now. To my office."