The Christmas dinner was in full swing when the Weasley twins somehow swiped a jug of eggnog from Hagrid. A few of the stay-over students crowded around, and Ron dragged Harry over to snag a couple of cups. They swapped out their apple juice for the spiked stuff—it still smelled sweet and cozy.
Hermione sat quietly at the long table, only picking at the dishes right in front of her, chewing slowly. Her mind was clearly somewhere else, far from the annual holiday feast. Her little face was tense, brows slightly furrowed.
After two cups of eggnog, Harry suddenly tuned out the party chatter. He'd noticed Hermione acting off—all afternoon she'd vanished for hours, and now at dinner she was totally distracted.
"You're still thinking about Snape, aren't you?" Harry leaned in and whispered.
"Polyjuice Potion!"
Hermione repeated the name, then launched into what she'd seen that afternoon: "I watched him disguise himself as you, take the broom, and fly out of the castle. He hasn't come back since…"
Clink…
Glasses clinked up at the staff table.
Hagrid threw back his drink in one gulp. Trelawney was already face-down on the table, out cold. The other professors kept it together—just rosy cheeks, no one losing control. They'd gone through a whole round of jokes from different wizarding folks and places, laughter ringing out loud and easy.
"Anyone leave the school this afternoon?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror captain from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—you know, the tall Black Auror we fought Death Eaters alongside—he's stationed in Hogsmeade," McGonagall explained. "He sent an owl just before dinner. He spotted someone on a broom leaving the grounds from a distance. Too far to tell if it was a professor or a student."
"On a broom?" Sprout asked.
"Could've been some random wizard passing through, but it's Christmas—everyone's home with family," Flitwick squeaked. "Pretty unlikely it was anyone but one of ours."
"So if it wasn't a student who stayed over…" Sprout mused.
"No need to play detective and figure out exactly who, is there?" Melvin chimed in, already guessing. A hint of a smile crept in. "Maybe one of the professors feeling nostalgic—nice holiday mood, decided to take the broom out for a spin?"
"Nostalgic?" Snape turned and fixed Melvin with a cool stare.
Melvin pretended not to notice. He hadn't expected Snape to remember those awful first-year flying lessons—or that he could even ride a broom anymore.
He glanced over at the Gryffindor trio, then snuck a look at Snape. Sudden detention for Harry and Ron, confiscating the Firebolt, then flying off… he'd definitely gone looking for Sirius Black.
Wonder if he found him?
I'll check the Marauder's Map later.
"You ought to watch yourself," Snape said pointedly. "Don't overdo the eggnog—or you might get lost on the stairs and never find your way back to your office."
…
George and Fred had scared up some firewhisky from who-knows-where and were coaxing Percy into drinking it. Ron's belly was stuffed round; he didn't want to move. He leaned sideways, eavesdropping on Harry and Hermione.
Candles floated overhead, the twelve Christmas trees sparkled, and tiny fairies played soft music. Harry thought he caught a shadow passing the doors, but he was too wrapped up in Hermione's story to care.
This felt like a real clue pointing to the truth. Snape didn't do random things. Disguising himself and flying off on a broom—he was meeting someone. Maybe the person who'd killed Harry's parents. Maybe the rich anonymous sender of the Firebolt.
"Sirius Black—or somebody else. Snape definitely found something!" Ron said confidently.
Harry couldn't hold back his curiosity anymore. He downed the rest of his eggnog for courage. "We have to find out!"
Hermione was still piecing the clues together. "Snape never came back through the gates. He returned some other way—not a sealed fireplace, no Portkey, no Apparition. It has to be a secret passage."
"But where's the entrance?" Ron asked, scratching his neck.
Harry suddenly remembered something. He glanced quickly at the staff table, then lowered his voice. "There might be a clue on my Firebolt. After Snape gave it back, I noticed twigs caught in the tail bristles—branches from the Whomping Willow…"
Hermione's eyes lit up.
"It's got to be near the Whomping Willow!"
The three of them couldn't sit still another second. They jumped up and headed out.
"Hey, where're you going? Dinner's not over!" George blocked them, smelling strongly of eggnog. "Dessert's got chocolate liqueurs—we're collecting them. Stick around and help!"
"We're full… we'll help you open them later tonight," Harry muttered without looking back.
His heart was pounding, burning hot. Even if they served dragon steak next, he wouldn't stay. This was the perfect chance—Snape was busy at the feast. If they found the passage, they might even find Sirius Black tied up.
He grabbed Ron's sleeve and hurried out, silently praying Hagrid would keep Snape distracted long enough.
They slipped out of the Great Hall, across the entrance hall, and outside.
The moment they stepped into the snowy night, the freezing air stung their faces. But the thought of getting close to the truth warmed them up again. Huddled together, they trudged toward the Whomping Willow.
Harry and Ron knew the grounds well—they'd crashed a flying car into that tree just over a year ago.
Running kept Harry warm. He mumbled half-coherent stuff—about his parents' deaths, betrayal, and the Firebolt that someone else had ridden first.
"If the broom really came from Black… if he sent it so I'd forgive him…" Harry couldn't sort out how he felt.
Just as they neared the roots, a silver light flared ahead. Someone stood in the glow, wand raised—face hidden.
"Harry, Ron, Hermione—what are you doing out here?"
The three skidded to a stop, stunned. Harry looked up, mouth open. "Professor Lupin?!"
…
A touch to the knot on the trunk, and the violent Whomping Willow calmed instantly. They ducked into the hollow formed by its twisted roots. Flailing branches blocked the wind and snow. Hermione quickly summed up what she'd seen that day.
By the third time telling it, she had it down pat—skipping anything unimportant, hitting only the key points. Less than five minutes, start to finish.
Harry and Ron stared at the knot. The branches had stopped thrashing; the snow was shut out. A garden gnome perched warily in the top branches, watching them.
Lupin lowered his wand, extinguished Lumos, and conjured a few bluebell flames for soft light. In their gentle glow, he could almost see the Marauders and Snape tangled in grudges that had lasted half a lifetime.
Schoolboy hatreds, then splitting into different sides after graduation—Order of the Phoenix versus Death Eaters… The war ended without real closure. James and Pettigrew dead, Sirius imprisoned, Lupin wandering, Snape teaching at Hogwarts.
Over a decade later, every month he drank the Wolfsbane Potion Snape brewed for him.
Back in school, if someone had told him this future—even if Dumbledore himself had said it—he'd have laughed it off as a bad joke.
"This passage leads to the Shrieking Shack. I just came from there. There are some signs, but Sirius isn't inside," Lupin said, pausing. He kept quiet about the werewolf scratches.
The kids didn't press for details—they were focused on Black.
Hermione looked disappointed; the trail seemed to end. "Snape's acting way too strange. He won't say anything. You don't think he… killed Black, do you?"
Lupin froze, the words echoing in his head.
Snape killed Black…
"Probably not. Snape's not exactly the righteous hero type…" Ron trailed off, confused why everyone was staring at him.
"If it's Black, Snape might actually hate him that much," Lupin said slowly.
"I don't get it," Ron said. "Even if Black worked for You-Know-Who, Snape was a Death Eater too. Why would he hate him?"
"You idiot!" Hermione snapped. "Don't you remember? Snape was in love with Harry's mum. Black betrayed them, got Harry's parents killed. Of course it's a blood feud. If Black's in his hands, he'll make him suffer things you can't imagine."
Hermione pressed her lips together. "Potions master, expert in dark magic, former Death Eater—think Bellatrix, think Neville's parents. Black's fate would be even worse."
Harry dropped to the ground, staring at the distant castle lights, his face and feelings all twisted up.
He'd never liked Snape since starting Hogwarts, but hearing that Black might be tortured and killed by him… it felt weird. Hard to explain.
Lupin gripped his wand tight, staring into the night sky. "No. There are still too many questions about that night. Sirius can't die!"
"Black… never got a trial… no real malice toward Harry… sent the Firebolt… Pettigrew's body was never found… maybe he's still alive?" Hermione's brain was racing. "How did he escape Azkaban… why break out this year… why can't the Aurors or Dementors find him?"
Something tugged at her, but it stayed fuzzy—like truth buried in the blizzard, dark and cold, impossible to dig out.
She couldn't help asking, "Professor, can I see inside the Shack?"
"He's an Animagus."
Lupin finally revealed it—the Shack was covered in claw marks and dog prints; he couldn't hide it anymore. "We were close friends back then. We learned to become Animagi together. James, Pettigrew, and Sirius all succeeded. They could turn into animals anytime—evade searches. That big black dog Harry keeps seeing? That's Sirius."
Harry's head snapped up, eyes wide. "You knew?!"
"No… I… after he dragged Ron off, I started to suspect," Lupin said weakly. "He didn't seem to want to hurt you two badly—the injuries were light, he didn't take the wand. So I kept quiet."
Ron stared at him like he was seeing the professor for the first time.
Lupin closed his eyes in pain, unable to meet their gazes. "Hermione… do you think Sirius can get away from Snape?"
"Slim chance," she shook her head.
Lupin's lips moved, but no sound came out.
"If everything you say is true—if Sirius Black wouldn't hurt Harry, and actually cares about him—he wouldn't suspect 'Harry' at all," Hermione said quickly. "He might even rush in to help if he thought Harry was in danger. Black has no wand. Snape probably spotted the Animagus form ages ago. The second Black gets close—surprise attack. With Snape's dueling skill, there'd be no contest."
The boys all hung their heads, overwhelmed. Too much to process—their minds were blank.
"Black might already be dead… or maybe not," Hermione turned to them. Her head felt hot—maybe the eggnog. "But there's still one chance. We still have time—to get close to the truth from back then."
"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Harry and Ron were totally lost.
Only Lupin had an inkling. His face filled with disbelief. "You mean… time…"
"Time-Turner."
Hermione pulled a delicate gold chain from under her collar. A tiny hourglass dangled from it. She explained quietly, "I'm taking every class this year—schedule conflicts everywhere. Professor McGonagall got special permission for this Time-Turner so I could be in multiple places. That's how I've managed it."
Ron's jaw dropped. Hope flickered in Lupin's eyes.
"It's strictly for schoolwork only… but Professor Vector told me time isn't just useful for studying and essays. Sometimes you need extra hours to rest. When I'm short on free time, I use it a little."
"That's what she meant with those weird comments during tutoring!"
Harry's eyes went wide. He suddenly remembered—first couple months of term, Hermione had looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. Then it got better.
"Yeah."
"We can go back a few hours—find out exactly what Snape did, whether Black's still alive…"
Hermione unhooked the chain and looped it around everyone's wrists. "If the plan works, we might even uncover what really happened in Godric's Hollow that Halloween thirteen years ago!"
"Let's hope we're in time."
Hermione calculated, then turned the hourglass five times—the device's limit.
The dark hollow vanished. Everything blurred. Falling snowflakes froze into soft clouds or rippling waves. Vision warped, ears rang—senses twisted all around.
They were going back in time.