"Mm... thank you for talking with me, Myrtle," Snape murmured. "That was actually quite helpful."
He did regret, faintly, that Myrtle hadn't turned out to be a Parselmouth—like Ron, of all people, someday would be. Still, the evening hadn't been wasted. He now had what he needed. If he had to bring Dumbledore into this as a "witness" down the line, at least he had a plausible reason.
"Will you come visit me again?" Myrtle's voice trembled as she hovered sadly above the sink. "No one's ever talked to me this long before."
"We'll see each other again," said Snape—truthfully, at that. He most certainly would be back.
"Goodbye, then," she said wistfully.
Snape put his hand on the doorknob, pulling the lavatory door open just a crack. As he leaned forward to check the corridor, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck—like cold needles tracing his spine. Instinct took over.
He dove sideways, rolling across the filthy floor without a care for the stagnant puddles beneath him.
BANG!
The door burst open with a deafening crack, and a bolt of searing red light sliced through the air.
The spell smashed into the already cracked mirror, shattering it in a spray of glittering shards.
"AAAAH!" Myrtle's shriek bounced off the walls. She flattened herself against the stone, eyes bulging. "MURDER! THERE'S A MURDER IN THE LOO!"
"Stupefy!"
A gust of wind swept in with another flash of red light. The next spell missed by inches, slamming into the nearest toilet and bursting the porcelain. Water gushed like a fountain, flooding the tiles.
Snape knew that voice.
James Potter.
But he couldn't see anyone. Of course—he had to be wearing that damn Invisibility Cloak.
Snape rolled behind a sink, wand already in hand.
"Sectum—sempra!"
His spell tore into a nearby iron wall sconce. It collapsed with a clatter, the candle it held hissing as it landed in the water and went out.
Darkness swallowed the lavatory.
Spells lit the air with sudden flashes, zipping past Snape's ear.
"STOP IT! STOP IT!" Myrtle wailed, spinning in panic. "My lavatory! You're ruining everything! Stop it this instant!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
A loud splash. Then silence.
Snape whispered, "Lumos."
The tip of his wand glowed, casting a faint circle of light. He crouched, sweeping the wand across the waterlogged floor—until his hand brushed something.
His fingers found a shape beneath the Cloak. He yanked the fabric away to reveal a frozen James Potter, sprawled on his back, mouth slack, limbs locked in paralysis.
Snape kicked James's wand away with a wet clink. Then he leaned over him.
"Really, Potter. Coming after me alone?"
He sneered, brushing wet hair from his own face. "How should I reward such Gryffindor bravery?"
Snape narrowed his eyes, thinking aloud.
"Let's see... how did you know I was here? And before that, how did you know I was with Lily in Slughorn's office...?"
He reached into James's robe pocket.
"Well, what have we here?"
He pulled out a slightly creased, but otherwise pristine, piece of blank parchment.
"Empty?" Snape tilted his head, smirking. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, why are you carrying around blank parchment?"
He strolled over to a working toilet and flushed it, just in case Potter could still hear through the Petrification.
Then he whispered over the parchment, tapping it with his wand:
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink began to snake across the page.
A black dot was moving steadily toward the second-floor girls' bathroom.
Snape chuckled and tapped it again.
"Mischief managed."
The parchment wiped itself clean.
"Well then," he said, folding the Marauder's Map and sliding it into his robe, "that's enough fun for one night."
He turned toward Myrtle.
"We're friends now, aren't we?"
She peeked out from her corner, sniffling. Her eyes went round with surprise.
"You... you want to be friends with me?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Snape said with a shrug.
BANG.
The door flew open again. Professor McGonagall stormed in, wand raised, face a mask of thunder.
She wore a tartan dressing gown and a hairnet. The expression on her face could curdle pumpkin juice.
"Snape," she snapped, "what in Merlin's name are you doing here at this hour?"
Her gaze dropped.
"Potter! What on earth—?!"
"Professor, I was just talking with Myrtle when Potter attacked me—"
"—I can confirm that!" Myrtle cried, doing a somersault in the air. "We were having a lovely little get-together. He barged in and destroyed my lavatory! Look at this place, Professor McGonagall! It's ruined!"
"Silence." McGonagall cut through their voices, lifting the spell from James with a flick.
"Silence you too, Potter."
"Out past curfew, dueling in bathrooms—do you have any idea—" Her voice was low, clipped with fury. "You're both coming with me. Now."
They followed her without a word, trailing behind her as moonlight poured across the corridor.
Up on the eighth floor, they turned the corner and halted in front of an enormous, grotesque gargoyle.
This would be Snape's second visit here this year. The first time, Lupin had been there too—pale, anxious. And Potter had worn that same smug scowl then as well.
"Lemon sherbet," McGonagall muttered.
The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside. The wall cracked open, revealing a spiral staircase that rotated upward like an enchanted escalator.
They stepped on. The wall sealed shut behind them.
Round and round the staircase turned, lifting them ever higher until it deposited them at a great oak door with a brass griffin knocker.
Voices murmured on the other side—many voices.
McGonagall knocked three times.
The talking stopped at once, as if someone had flicked off a switch.
The door creaked open on its own.
She led them into the headmaster's office.
The room was vast and circular, aglow with strange lights. Delicate silver instruments whirred and puffed gentle plumes of smoke on every surface.
Paintings of old headmasters snored in their frames, chests gently rising and falling.
Near the far wall, perched on a golden stand, was a magnificent creature: a phoenix, red and gold and radiant, the size of a swan, blinking serenely at them through the gloom.