Behind a wide desk, Albus Dumbledore leaned forward into the candlelight, reading documents. He wore pristine white nightclothes beneath a plum velvet dressing gown, and yet, somehow, he looked utterly alert.
On the shelf behind him rested the tattered, wrinkled Sorting Hat and, beside it, encased in glass, the gleaming silver Sword of Gryffindor.
Dumbledore looked up.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall. And James... and Severus. How nice to see you again."
"Headmaster," McGonagall said sternly, "these two were duelling in the second-floor girls' lavatory. An absolute disgrace."
"It wasn't a duel," Snape cut in at once. "It was self-defence."
McGonagall glanced back at him with a slight frown.
"Was anyone hurt?" Dumbledore asked.
"I'm fine!" James said quickly, his voice a mix of frustration and wounded pride.
Snape rolled his eyes in silence. That didn't answer the question.
"Let's hear what happened," Dumbledore said, setting his papers aside. His piercing blue eyes moved from one boy to the other. "Who would like to begin?"
"I don't mind," Snape said coolly, shrugging.
James, clearly uncomfortable but still fuming, spoke first. "I saw him sneaking into the girls' bathroom after hours, so I wanted to find out what he was doing."
"With a Stunner? Under an Invisibility Cloak?" Snape snapped.
He reached into his robes and pulled out a shimmering, liquid-silver cloak.
"Mr. Potter, would you care to explain whose charming little item this is?"
James lunged and yanked the Cloak from Snape's grasp.
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the fabric. His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes—an emotion too complex to name.
"Sir," Snape said, tone edged with venom, "do you truly believe a student needs an Invisibility Cloak to explore Hogwarts at night?"
"Certainly not," Dumbledore said calmly. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall will hand out the appropriate punishment."
He turned to her. "Minerva, what do you recommend?"
She gave a brisk nod and relayed her decision. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin, each. One week of detention, beginning tomorrow at six."
"Very good," Dumbledore nodded. "Magic is meant to protect, to explore, and to learn—not to harm one another. I hope you both learn from this."
"Headmaster," Snape said, his voice a touch too innocent, "I happened to glance over Mr. Filch's Prohibited Items list. Invisibility Cloaks are number one hundred and twenty-eight."
He wasn't about to let James wander around unchecked, cloaked in literal immunity.
"Severus," Dumbledore said, gently shaking his head, "even I cannot confiscate a student's personal heirloom without due cause. This Cloak is... very precious."
"You can't only enforce rules when it's convenient," Snape said coldly. "Precious or not, it's still an Invisibility Cloak."
"He was sneaking around a girls' bathroom," James protested, desperate now. "I was just trying to—"
"Enough," Dumbledore raised a hand.
"Young people are often full of curiosity," he said, his tone warm as he turned to Snape, "and you, Severus—what were you doing in the girls' lavatory? Please don't say you were there to chat with Moaning Myrtle. We both know you hardly know her."
"I'd rather speak with you about that privately, sir," Snape replied smoothly, "I believe it's something you'd find... of interest. Of course, after the Cloak is appropriately dealt with."
"This was my father's," James blurted out, almost pleading. "I can't just lose it. He'll go spare."
Snape ignored him, speaking directly to Dumbledore.
"You could simply hold onto it until term ends. Return it to Potter when he goes home."
Dumbledore paused. "A reasonable suggestion. Very well, James. I will keep it safe until the end of the year."
James hesitated, but eventually nodded and handed the Cloak over.
"It's late," Dumbledore said, waving them toward the door. "Off to bed, both of you. Severus, I imagine you have something to share."
"Wait!" James said suddenly, "He has something else of mine. A piece of parchment."
"That blank one?" Snape said, feigning surprise. "Oh, I flushed it down the toilet."
"What—?" James stared at him, horror-stricken.
"Such a shame. But don't worry," Snape added lightly, "I'll buy you a whole stack of parchment as compensation."
"Not the same!" James shouted, red-faced, fists clenched.
"Oh, I know. A whole stack is so much more generous. No need to thank me."
James looked close to combusting.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said gently, "please take James back to the tower."
With a stiff nod, McGonagall led the raging Gryffindor out of the office.
"Muffliato." Dumbledore cast the spell without prompting. "You may speak freely."
He gazed at Snape through the half-moon lenses, those clear eyes expectant but not unkind.
Snape sat across from him, carefully gathering his thoughts.
For weeks, he'd debated how much to reveal. On one hand, Dumbledore was the most powerful and intelligent "white wizard" in the school—ignoring him would be foolish. On the other, Dumbledore was the single person most difficult to deceive within the bounds of Hogwarts.
Snape needed help, yes—but not at the cost of giving up every card in his hand.
"Professor," he began, "I went to the lavatory because I wanted to ask Moaning Myrtle about Tom Riddle."
Dumbledore stood up so abruptly his chair nearly toppled.
He stared at Snape, and in that moment, his blue eyes were sharp as shards of ice—piercing, unnerving.
Snape almost flinched.
He had Dumbledore's full attention now.