Late at night in the common room, everyone was in pajamas, chatting about the day's chaos.
Most of them were first-years, of course.
The older students still had exams to worry about.
Just as Seamus was bragging about his explosive talent and Neville was waving his wand like a sword to show off, Fred and George strolled over.
"You looking for me?" Ron stood up. "To praise your little brother for overcoming the spider fear you guys gave him?"
They sidestepped Ron.
"Little Ronnie."
"We're here for Harry."
They handed over a piece of parchment.
"Here."
"A letter from Hagrid."
"Thanks." Harry took it.
Hagrid's messy scrawl was all over it, with a huge ink blot making the words hard to read.
Dear Harry, Basil, Ron, and Hermione,
Aragog died today.
He was an Acromantula. One of today's victims. And the "monster" they blamed me for in the expulsion notice.
He meant a lot to me.
If you could come to the funeral tonight, it would mean the world.
I'm planning it at dusk tomorrow—that's his favorite time of day.
I didn't want to ask, but I can't face it alone.
Hagrid
"Good thing it's not tonight," Ron sighed, peering over Harry's shoulder.
He really didn't want to see any more Acromantulas, even dead ones.
"Maybe because dusk has already passed," Hermione said softly, eyes welling up.
"A funeral, huh," Basil murmured.
Meanwhile, the Headmaster's office was unusually lively.
Sirius and his cousin—along with her son—were gathered together.
Narcissa, dressed in mourning black, was holding back tears while discussing Lucius's funeral with Sirius.
Sirius, who normally had nothing but disdain for his cousin who'd gone to the Dark side and was desperate to see Harry, was now acting like a proper relative.
He ruffled Draco's hair, patiently going over details like the date, guests, and arrangements.
He didn't even mention Harry's name once.
Draco stared blankly at his father's head, grief-stricken to the point where he couldn't speak or cry anymore.
The portraits of past headmasters had either left their frames to visit elsewhere or were pretending to sleep.
Dumbledore wasn't in the room.
He'd left it to them as a family.
Basil, though, was a little confused.
Suddenly getting 20,000 Gems was great.
But Peter Pettigrew getting locked up, Sirius getting out, Narcissa's Polyjuice disguise being exposed and her release—all happening at once.
How did Dumbledore pull this off in under an hour?
The Ministry acted like it was his personal playground.
Fudge didn't even cause trouble.
This couldn't possibly have anything to do with him, the great Basil, right?
Actually, Dumbledore was a bit surprised too.
These demands should've looked like challenges to the Ministry's credibility and Fudge's authority.
He'd braced for a long fight.
But the second he asked, Fudge nodded like a bobblehead, as if terrified of what Dumbledore might do next.
Umbridge, who usually played the bad cop, was meek and compliant.
Before he knew it, Sirius and Narcissa were changed into fresh clothes and escorted in.
They'd been settled in the office without any fuss.
At least they weren't fighting.
But right now, Dumbledore's priority was stopping the man in front of him, eyes blazing red.
His double agent, his most trusted ally—Severus Snape.
On the eighth floor, next to the gargoyle, Snape in his eternal black robes, greasy hair restored, pale skin unchanged, was pointing his wand at Dumbledore.
"Let me in! Let me end that mangy mutt's life!"
His eyes were wild with fury.
Dumbledore spoke gently. "You already know the full story, I assume."
Snape shrugged it off. "Oh, Peter Pettigrew was the real traitor. Great Sirius Black willingly sacrificed himself and spent over a decade in Azkaban? So what?"
"You forgot? When the Secret-Keeper should've been you, he convinced that idiot to choose him instead. Then, when the Potters were targeted by the Dark Lord himself, he got clever and switched the Keeper—picking a coward with a mother as his weakness?"
"Even if Peter betrayed him, Sirius isn't innocent."
His gaze turned icy. "Move, Dumbledore!"
"You know Narcissa and Draco are upstairs. They're planning a funeral—Lucius Malfoy's."
Snape's face twitched.
Then he turned and silently headed for the dungeons.
Dumbledore went to another room.
It was brightly lit, furniture pushed to the corners.
A long table with files and high-backed chairs had been set up in the middle.
Spread out on the parchment was:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorc.; Chf. Warlock, Wizengamot; Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Lockhart,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been appointed as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Enclosed is the arrival time and salary structure.
If you accept,
Please confirm the textbooks by June 31.
We await your owl.
Deputy Headmistress
Minerva McGonagall
Dumbledore looked at it and smiled faintly.
Then he waved his wand.
The letters of Lockhart turned bright red and twisted, reforming into Lupin.
Basil didn't notice any of this.
After seeing Snape didn't storm the office to fight Sirius, he'd started chatting with Harry and the others.
They munched on roast meat the Weasley twins had smuggled from the kitchens and sipped ice-cold Coke Basil had grabbed from a London supermarket.
As time passed, more students yawned and headed to bed.
Eventually, only Basil—still wide awake—and Hermione, who refused to leave and kept inching closer, remained.
Right now, he was lost in the wonderful feeling of her pressed against him.
Her delicate feet, like little pearls, dangled in front of him.
Her smooth, pale calves occasionally brushed his leg, her hair tickling his nose, making his heart race.
He looked down—Hermione's face was flushed, her soft, glossy lips parted slightly, as if waiting.
The room grew quiet, only their heavier breathing filling the space.
Then came soft murmurs and the sound of kisses.
At 2 a.m., Basil slipped back into the dorm, shrinking his bones a bit, neck dotted with a few red marks.
"You're just getting back now?" Harry rubbed his eyes.
"Practicing Occlumency," Basil said casually.
Not a lie—restraining desire counted as Occlumency practice.
No one was asleep yet.
Ron was sitting cross-legged on the rug, bed messy, trunk dragged out from under it.
He kept muttering, "Scabbers."
Neville yawned. "Ron's rat is missing. Seamus thinks Fat or Hedwig ate him. But that's impossible—they've been in the Owlery lately. Barely come back."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I think he sensed the Acromantulas coming and hid. I saw something on TV once—when Dudley was watching. Animals sense danger better than humans. They can predict stuff like earthquakes."