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Chapter Text

Jo took a deep breath, tightening her grip on her pack straps as she looked up the trail to the summit. She had always loved hiking, and when she saw a discounted flight alert pop into her email for Scottland, she knew that the Highlands would be a key destination. She was from Colorado and was equipped to handle the altitude easily. She was grateful for it, too, because it allowed her to cover more ground and fully experience the lochs, glens, and mountains.

She sipped from her water bottle and began trekking up the mountain once more. Her ears caught the sound of a twig snapping, and her gaze fell upon a red deer only yards away. A smile formed on her lips, and she whispered to the animal that everything was okay as she cautiously took a few more steps so as not to startle it further. She needed this, she thought to herself. It had been a tough few years; whenever she felt that she had caught a break, something else would come along to try and trip her up. She had made it through leaving an abusive relationship, the loss of her grandmother, who raised her, and braved cancer. She was not unscathed by any means. Each tribulation left a scar, some visible, others less so. This trip was her way of coming to terms with the surgery that saved her life but stole any chance of having a child.

Her hands barely glanced the birch trees as she walked on the path, as her heart began to ache thinking about it. She scolded herself. It wasn't as if she had a partner and they were planning on raising children. She never gave them much thought until she knew she wouldn't be able to have any. The only thing she had really looked forward to in an esoteric way was reading the Harry Potter books to them. Maybe that was why she jumped at the chance to visit Scotland. She loved the outdoors: backpacking, traveling, discovering new places…. but those books had always been her refuge, steady and familiar, in childhood and beyond.. She knew those books cover to cover, and it felt like visiting old friends. Traveling to the land where they took place seemed magical.

The dirt crunched beneath her feet. She was steps from the top now. The anticipation of the vista was growing. Typically, she always followed proper signage about following designated paths, but when it forked back a few days ago on her journey, she felt the inexplicable desire to take the track that looked like a deer trail littered with spear thistle. Her grandmother would have chided her for losing her head, but something was calling her that way, and she had no place to be and no real itinerary, so she took the path of most resistance. She hoped her choice paid off.

Four steps at most. Three. The horizon was now visible. Two. Her heart was thumping from the exertion and excitement. One. She saw something that looked like giant children's bubble wands in the distance, sticking straight up from the ground. What the heck?

POP. POP.

Her gaze left the odd sight as she spun to try and find the source of the noise. Fear and confusion swept her as she tried to process what she was seeing. There were two men just feet away from her. One was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver in his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He wore vibrant purple robes that stopped at his ankles, which revealed bright, black, buckled boots. His face was lined, but his eyes were a bright, twinkling blue that peered at her curiously over half-moon glasses.

The other was also tall and thin, but that was where the similarities ended. He had sallow skin, a large, hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair that framed his face. His eyes were cold and black, matching his billowing robes. He held a stick and was pointing it directly at Jo ominously.

Jo had neither flight nor fight instinct. If she thought about it, she would liken her response to a terrified rabbit who just sits very still hoping that it wasn't seen despite all evidence to the contrary.

"Ah, Severus. You appear to be frightening the woman. Lower your wand. She means us no harm." He said the words gently, but there was no mistaking that it was a command. Severus begrudgingly lowered the wand.

Jo's mind was racing. Two men appeared with a pop out of nowhere, wearing robes, holding wands, and one was named Severus. She still was frozen to the spot, not daring to move. Was this real?

"My dear," the older wizard looked at her kindly and took a step towards her. "I must ask how you managed to come all this way. Did you not notice the trespassing signs or have any desire to turn about when faced with obstacles along the path? Perhaps you remembered things you had forgotten to do that needed to be seen to?"

Suddenly, Jo felt that she could move again. She wet her lips and swallowed. Her mouth was parched as she tried to speak.

"I just enjoy hiking." She managed feebly. He nodded for her to continue. "I didn't see a sign explicitly telling me I was trespassing. I did ignore some a ways back advising me to stay on the trail. I don't know. Something just urged me to come this way, I suppose. I didn't mean any trouble by it, I swear."

"Headmaster, really, I have things to do. Can't we just perform the charm and go?" Severus asked this question caustically, without looking at his target, his eyes remaining fixed on her. The question broke her out of her reverie. Charm. It must be. However, unlikely, it must be. Her heart pounded.

"Please don't." She pleaded. "Please, I think I know who you are, and if I'm right, I don't want to forget."

"And who do you think we are, Miss..." The Headmaster's voice trailed expectantly.

"My name is Jo Harper, and I think that you are Albus Dumbledore." She turned to Severus. "And that you are Severus Snape." Severus's wand rose immediately.

"What kind of trick is this? Is she not a muggle? Who are you?" He demanded.

"Severus." the Headmaster rebuked, using his hand to forcibly lower the other man's wand. "Miss Harper, like my colleague here, I am also curious how you know us. I detect no magical signature from you and don't recall any Squibbs by your name."

"I... um. Well, I'm not magical. Definitely a muggle." She started but was cut off before she could continue.

"Then how do you know of our kind?" Severus bit back at her.

"Well, from the books about you. There are seven. I read them when I was 11 and frequently thereafter. But they must not be entirely accurate."

"And why is that, my dear?" The Headmaster asked kindly, his eyes twinkling at her.

"Oh. Well... Bit awkward, I suppose, but neither of you survives the stories."

At this, the Headmaster chortled a little. "Learning of one's hopefully fictional demise is a bit, how did you put it? Ah yes, awkward. Still, I would be keen on hearing the tale, but perhaps a change of venue would be better? My knees aren't what they used to be, and this ground is very hard. Would you mind taking my arm?"

"Headmaster, I must protest. The Dark Lord may be gone, vanquished by that infant, but his followers would delight in besting you."

"Severus, I see no malice in her mind. She is telling the truth. You see it too." Jo bristled at the thought that they were so casually reading her mind.

"It would be foolhardy to believe I was the only Occlumens in the Dark Lord employs."

Her hand wavered just over the Headmaster's arm. "Vanquished when? How? You say, infant... You mean Harry Potter? How old is he now?"

"Curious questions Miss Harper. Voldemort-" Snape winced as Dumbledore continued seamlessly, "fell nearly ten years ago. Harry just celebrated his eleventh birthday."

Jo's face turned white as a sheet. "It hasn't happened yet!" She saw the puzzlement on Dumbledore's face. "My stories, they take place when he is at Hogwarts. Sir, if they're true, the lives we could save."

At this, Severus glared at her. "I see nothing of these books in her mind, and it's not like it's a complex one. I implore you, Headmaster, to wipe her mind, and be done with it. She offers no proof."

"Please, I know things about you that Death Eaters wouldn't." She bit her lip as she contemplated what to say. "Professor Dumbledore you have a scar of the London Underground on your knee. Professor Snape, your Patronus is a doe."

Severus glared at her, while Dumbledore looked pensive. "To Severus's point, that isn't necessarily something that Voldemort's followers wouldn't know."

She felt sick. She had to come up with something. The only things that came to mind were dark, though. She did not know how well they would go over.

"Sir, I apologize, it might seem an invasion of privacy, but I know what happened with Ariana. She was attacked by muggles as a child. It left her frail and damaged, and she did not control her magic well. Your mother died shortly after you completed your studies. You went back to Godric's Hollow after one of Ariana's outbursts killed your mother and watched over her so Aberforth could continue his education-"

"That's enough, Miss Harper." His eyes did not twinkle. He looked distraught. Severus, on the other hand, looked intrigued but remained silent. "Take my arm, please. Let's head to the castle."

Jo silently took his arm, her eyes lingering on the trail. Beyond the giant loops, the castle loomed. Two pops, and the Highlands were empty.

Chapter Text

They reappeared standing at a tall black gate. Dumbledore held his hand to the lock, and it opened as if it recognized him. The trio walked silently up to the castle. It was a long walk, and Jo still carried her pack on her shoulders. Her mind continued to go over everything, which felt surreal. She kept pinching her arm, half-expecting the dream to dissolve.

"Stop that inane fidgeting, woman." Snape barked at her, and she immediately dropped her hand from her arm. A splotchy red mark left in its wake. She thought to herself that he was just as charming in person as in the books. They rounded a corner, and the castle came into full view. She couldn't help herself. She just stopped in awe.

They stepped through the massive oak doors into the entrance hall, and Jo felt her breath catch. The space was cavernous, cathedral-like, with the air cool and tinged with the faint scent of old parchment, stone, and wood smoke. Every inch of the castle seemed alive with history. The walls were built of ancient stone, smooth in some places from the passage of countless hands and rough in others where time had chipped away at the surface. Light poured in through high, narrow windows, illuminating floating motes of dust that shimmered like magic itself.

Jo’s eyes darted everywhere, unable to focus on just one marvel. Ornate suits of armor stood like silent sentinels along the walls, their polished surfaces catching the light with a ghostly gleam. One tilted slightly, as if bowing in acknowledgment as she passed. Her gaze flicked upward; moving portraits hung in gilded frames, each one home to witches and wizards from across the centuries. They shifted and murmured to one another as the trio entered. Some dozed, others looked curiously in her direction, and one elderly wizard gave a harrumph and turned his back with a rustle of robes.

It was too much. Too beautiful. Too impossible. Her legs kept moving, but her head turned in every direction, trying and failing to take it all in. The world she had known, one of bills and parking lots and fluorescent lights, faded at the edges. This was something older, deeper, and infinitely more alive.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" The Headmaster remarked, following her gaze. All she could do was nod dumbly.

Overwhelmed, she reached out and brushed her fingers along the stone wall, grounding herself in the texture, the reality of it. This was real. She was here.

"Severus, let's go to my office. We can discuss the books and what Miss Harper might be able to contribute to the cause."

"If you insist." He said shortly.

They made their way up staircase after staircase. Jo figured they were quite high up in one of the towers. She saw the great gold gargoyle.

"Ice Mice." The Headmaster called. She smiled as she recalled all the sweets passwords he would employ. The gargoyle gave way to a moving circular staircase. They began the ascent.

Dumbledore's office was extraordinary. The staircase led into a large circular room filled to the brim with bookcases, and fascinating little objects. The walls are covered with portraits of snoozing past Headmasters. Her eyes fell on a small basin with glittering liquid, a Pensieve, she surmised.

A soft cooing sound drew her gaze upward. Fawkes sat perched near the window, his brilliant red and gold plumage practically glowing in the warm light. He regarded her calmly, eyes intelligent and unreadable, like he knew more than he was letting on.

The room had a deep, layered feeling, like the air itself had absorbed centuries of secrets. The towering shelves overflowed with ancient tomes bound in dragonhide and cracked leather, some pulsing faintly with enchantments. Silver instruments whirred and ticked on delicate spindly legs, occasionally emitting a puff of smoke or a faint chiming sound. One orb glowed softly, dimming slightly when Jo looked directly at it, as if shy.

To her right, she spotted the spindly-legged table where a fragile glass case held the Sword of Gryffindor. Behind the desk, the wall was partially concealed by high-backed, carved chairs and cluttered side tables, one of which contained a shallow dish filled with what looked like sherbet lemons.

She realized her mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it. Snape rolled his eyes at this.

Dumbledore sat behind a large desk, he conjured two comfortable chairs and motioned them to sit.

"Pippy" Dumbledore crooned. Suddenly, a house elf appeared. "Please return with a tray of tea and cakes for our meeting. After that, if you wouldn't mind, could you let Professor Flitwick know that I will be unable to keep our chess appointment? Thank you." And the elf disappeared with a pop and moments later reappeared with their afternoon snack. Jo was ravenously hungry and gleefully exclaimed her thanks to the elf and Headmaster. The elf bowed in appreciation and left.

"Please tuck in, while I think aloud on how best to approach this." Jo needn't be told twice, and she hungrily grabbed a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. "It seems to me that the place to start is everything you can think of that has already transpired in your stories. Harry is eleven now. The books obviously contained some details of the past. I want to ascertain how truthful they have been to try and estimate how predictive they may be in the future."

Jo finished chewing and swallowed as she thought. "Well, sir. Voldemort killed Harry's parents in Godric's Hollow. The curse rebounded when he tried to perform the killing curse on Harry because Lily died trying to save him. Her love protected him. Hagrid took Harry to the Dursley's at your bequest on Sirius's motorbike. Petunia took him in, and they basically abused him over the past ten years. He slept in a cupboard under the stairs most of his life and was bullied terribly by his cousin and his awful friends."

Severus, who had been sitting motionless this whole time, neither taking tea nor sandwiches, didn’t react at first. But when Jo mentioned the cupboard under the stairs, his eyes flicked sharply toward Dumbledore just for a moment. The smallest shift. A tell. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his expression unreadable once more.

Jo almost missed it. But she’d learned to spot quiet reactions in people who didn’t want to be seen. Severus was angry with Dumbledore at this detail. Apparently, Harry's home life was not common knowledge.

"When his Hogwarts letter arrived, his uncle tried to keep it from him. Many more were sent, and Hagrid had to hand-deliver one. Hagrid told him he was a wizard and took him to buy his supplies. His wand has Fawkes' tail feather as a core. Same as Voldemort."

As if on cue, there was a tap at the window. An owl was rapping its beak on the glass. Dumbledore rose and opened the window. He removed the missive from the owl's leg and moved his hand in a flowy movement to show it to Fawkes' perch, where it could grab a drink. His eyes peered through his half-moon spectacles and read the note. He looked up, bemused.

“This is a letter from Ollivander, informing me that this afternoon, Harry was in his shop, and the wand that chose him was none other than the one you described.” Snape's head snapped up. "Really now. This is all anything a good spy can surmise, and that was too well planned."

"Please. I can tell you more. See if it happens, then you'll believe me. Hagrid and Harry visited a vault, and it's going to be broken into today.

"And do you know who breaks in or what was contained therein?" Snape implored.

"I do. If I share it, though, there are implications. If we don't act, I think we can selectively make changes to save lives. The second war lost so many. So, by telling you, I must trust that you won't act."

"Won't act? Are you mad? Do you have any idea what will happen if it falls into the wrong hands? “Snape did not raise his voice; instead, he spoke in a whisper-quiet voice that chilled Jo.

"It won't fall into the wrong hands." She said simply.

"And we're supposed to trust you?" he said, the word seeming to disgust him.

"Severus, for the time being, we shall. Please, Miss Harper. Answer his original question."

"The vault holds the Sorcerer's Stone, and Professor Quirrell, at the behest of Voldemort himself, will attempt to steal from the empty vault." Severus sputtered at this.

"What happens the rest of the year? You said these books follow Harry?" Dumbledore inquired.

She proceeded to give them a brief overview of the first year as she remembered it. How the trio came together over shared danger and loyalty, solidified by a mountain troll and bound tightly from then on. How, early on, they grew suspicious of Severus, mistaking his constant vigilance and cryptic behavior for guilt. At this, Jo spared a glance at the man in question, who arched a brow but said nothing.

She recounted how Quirrell, stuttering and seemingly harmless, had actually been working against them the entire time. How he managed to get past Fluffy, Hagrid’s three-headed dog, on a night Dumbledore was away from the school. How the children, against all odds, managed to get through the magical protections each professor had put in place: the Devil’s Snare, the enchanted keys, the life-sized chessboard.

Dumbledore didn’t interrupt. He only steepled his fingers and listened.

Finally, she described how Harry encountered Quirrell alone, and ultimately Voldemort, who had been hiding beneath Quirrell’s turban. How the encounter ended with Quirrell’s death and Voldemort’s spirit fleeing once more.

Then she tried to go further. To explain what happened next. But as soon as her thoughts turned toward Voldemort’s return, her throat constricted. The words simply wouldn’t come. Each time she tried to describe the diary, the resurrection ritual, the snake, the prophecy, or the Horcruxes, her voice failed. The air around her seemed to press in, heavy and unmoving.

She coughed, shook her head, and tried again. Nothing.

“I can’t,” she whispered finally, looking between them helplessly. “I want to, but I physically can’t. It’s like something’s shutting me down.”

Severus narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her for any sign of deceit, but said nothing.

Dumbledore, however, looked deeply thoughtful.

Severus grew increasingly frustrated that she wasn't finishing her thought and told her to knock it off.

They sat quietly. Finally, Severus piped up, "If these are books that hold this knowledge, then I suggest we go to Muggle London and buy them." Dumbledore nodded, "I feel that would be prudent as well." He stood and walked to his fireplace. "Come, Miss Harper. We shall use Floo Powder to go to the Leaky Cauldron. From there, I would like you to take us to a Muggle bookshop with these books." Jo merely nodded. It hit her. Once they had the books, they might not need her at all. She wondered if they would modify her memory. She took the powder from his proffered hand and threw it into the fire. She walked in and sadly but clearly said the Leaky Cauldron. She spun for what felt like ages. When she finally stopped, she tumbled onto the stone by the fireplace. Unable to get her bearings, she just sat there, tears forming as she contemplated what she would soon lose. Severus came through next. He opened his mouth to sneer, then paused. She was crying. To her surprise, he offered his hand without a word, steadying her as she rose. His grip was firm, his hand cold against hers.

He let go of her immediately when Dumbledore entered through the fireplace. Dumbledore cast a spell that removed the dust from their clothes. His eyes fell on Jo, and he seemed to take in her emotional state. He pondered Severus and himself for a moment and transfigured their clothes from robes to ridiculous get-ups. When Jo looked at them, she couldn't help but laugh appreciatively at his thoughtfulness in trying to cheer her up at their expense. Dumbledore was in a zoot suit and hat, while Severus was in a bright pink Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. Severus glowered and transfigured his clothes to a black, long-sleeved button-down shirt, black trousers, and black shoes.

"Really, old man?" he scowled.

"Black again, Severus?" Dumbledore asked mildly. He turned to Jo. "Shall we, my dear? The door to Muggle London is right there."

Jo led the way out of the Leaky Cauldron. She had never been to London before and was unsure where to find a bookstore. Her cell phone was dead, and she supposed that they would just ask for help. To her surprise, though, there was a Waterstones right on the corner. She pointed to the store and went in. A mousy woman was behind the counter, and Jo asked where she could find the Harry Potter books. The woman smiled and asked if they were going to cosplay, as they were ringers for Albus and Severus, while pointing to the back of the store. Jo just nodded, unsure of what to say. She overheard Severus asking Dumbledore what cosplay was, and she couldn't help but smile.

She approached the shelf, heart pounding. "Well… here they are."

Dumbledore picked up a book, "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Hmmm, they know about that, do they?" A look of befuddlement played on his features as he flipped through the book. Severus had grabbed a copy of the Half-Blood Prince and was flipping through it angrily.

"What is the meaning of this?" He barked at her.

"What do you mean?" She asked quietly.

"It's empty. Blank pages all the way through." He grabbed another book and another and was discarding them haphazardly on the floor. She knelt down and picked it up. It wasn't blank. The familiar black words shone starkly on the white pages.

Snape removed his wand and cast a notice-me-not charm. "Every one of these is blank. Headmaster, I tire of this charade." He looked at Jo and pointed his wand directly at her. "Legimens."

Jo felt a pressure in her head, and then memory after memory began playing before her unbidden. She was ten and couldn't go trick or treating because she had a fever, and her grandmother had just given her the first Harry Potter book. She was twelve and was hiding from the neighborhood bully, reading in her grandmother's tree. She was sixteen and standing in line for the midnight release of another Harry Potter book, dressed up as Tonks- she always wanted the freedom of becoming someone else for a while.

Her ex was hitting her.

It wasn’t a single moment, but a collection of them—fractured, disjointed. The memory flashed like lightning. She saw his face twisted in anger, his voice a low, poisonous hiss. The crack of impact, the way the world narrowed. Her body recoiled before her mind caught up. She didn’t fight back. She just endured—silent, small, waiting for it to end.

And then, it shifted.

A different memory rose to the surface.

She was alone. The apartment was still, the air thick with panic. She had locked the bedroom door and shoved a chair beneath the knob, even though she knew it wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted in. Her hands trembled as she pulled an old duffel from the closet and started packing. No plan. Just motion. She stuffed in whatever she could reach; jeans, socks, her wallet, her grandmother’s scarf.

And then she saw the bookshelf.

Her fingers hovered for only a second before she grabbed Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone from the middle shelf. The spine was soft, worn from years of rereading. That book had been her first escape, her first glimpse into a world where the right people won and cruel ones got what they deserved. She didn’t think. She just placed it carefully in the bag.

It was the only thing she packed gently.

The memories that followed were relentlessly focused on the books.

She was reading about Molly comforting Tonks and thought how she wished her grandmother could comfort her that way after a funeral. She was reading the epilogue in a hospital, tearing up, thinking of the kids she would not have. Severus pushed into her mind deeper. Trying to read the pages in her mind. Her skull throbbed. A white-hot pressure pushed behind her eyes. The memories poured out of her, unbidden. Then… nothing. The pain vanished as suddenly as it came.

"Severus!" Dumbledore bellowed at the Potions Master. "You will drive her to madness." He conjured a cushion for Jo to sit on and pat her back comfortingly. "I am sorry, Miss Harper."

"I don't know why you can't read them. I'm sorry." She cried as she said this.

"I have a theory, Miss Harper," Dumbledore said. “I am beginning to think that these books are charmed. Anyone with magical ability will be unable to read them; only Muggles can. We cannot force you through magical means to divulge their contents. I imagine if we tried Veritaserum it would be rendered inert. Tell me, when you were unable to speak back in the office, what book was that information in?"

"The sixth." She provided.

"I see. Would you mind telling me anything specific about Harry's second year?" Dumbledore asked.

She opened her mouth, thinking of the basilisk, and found that she was once again unable to speak.

Jo’s brow furrowed. "I couldn’t speak. It was like the words caught in my throat. Like something was protecting the future from me…until it’s time."

Dumbledore nodded. "A temporal fail-safe. Fascinating."

"Indeed. Interesting. Yes. I think that you will only be able to tell us about the future one year at a time. I think that whoever created the books was a powerful Seer and wanted to provide a prophecy that couldn't fall into the wrong hands." Dumbledore continued offhandedly, "Smart, seeing how devastating the last prophecy was when it was used by Voldemort."

"Dumbledore, this is outlandish. Surely you can't believe this?" An incredulous Severus balked at the idea.

"Severus, it is simply an explanation. I do not know yet if it is the correct one. However, I think we would be wasting a precious asset if we turned Miss Harper away, assuming she would consider staying at the castle and helping us?"

Jo couldn't believe her ears. Stay at the castle? It was everything she had dreamed of. Suddenly, questions started flooding her mind. What about her cat? How would she make money? She had no family anymore, so she wouldn't have to explain her moving to them. Her few friends knew that she longed to travel and hated her job, so that would be explainable.

As if he read her mind, and Jo presumed he likely did, Dumbledore responded to her unspoken questions. "If it is amenable to you, I would like to offer you the position of Muggle Studies Professor. Our previous professor had some antiquated ideas on muggles and was let go. You would receive compensation and would have a private room and office in the castle. Arrangements for you to pack up your things and say goodbye to your friends would begin as soon as possible, so you can move in and start reviewing the curriculum and proposing changes. I think it would be prudent not to disclose that you are not a witch, so I will find a wand for you to carry. I will ask Professor McGonagall, my deputy, to arrange a Portkey and assist you."

Jo blinked, caught between disbelief and awe. It was everything she'd dreamed of… Hogwarts, a new life, a second chance. But there was a flicker of unease, too.

Charity Burbage.

The name came to her unbidden. The Muggle Studies professor from the books, who had died screaming under Voldemort’s gaze. Dangling above a table, begging for understanding that never came. Was that her fate now? Was she stepping into a role already marked for death?

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly chilled despite the warm office. Her life, what little she had of it, would be gone. Her friends, her home, her cats. Her grandmother’s garden. The rituals of her world: morning coffee, emails, long runs on empty trails. Was she really ready to disappear?

But even as the fear pressed down on her, a deeper truth rose to meet it.

This was magic. Real magic. And this wasn’t just some fantasy she had to leave behind when the dream ended. She was here. Somehow, impossibly, she was here and she had knowledge that could save lives.

She didn’t know what would happen next, but one thing was clear: she couldn’t turn away.

She looked up at Dumbledore, then over at Severus, whose expression remained unreadable. Her throat felt tight, but her voice was steady.

“I… yes. I’ll do it.”

Chapter Text

Jo woke up in a four-poster bed with soft, crisp sheets and curtains drawn. She took in her surroundings, the previous day's events slowly surfacing in her mind. She was really here. Hogwarts. She felt a wave of excitement crash over her. She leaped out of bed as if she were a child on Christmas Day. A beautiful walnut wardrobe stood in the corner, her trekking poles propped neatly beside it. In her exhaustion, after drawing up plans with the Headmaster and Professor Snape for what her backstory would be and how regularly they would meet to discuss the future, she just dumped her bag on the ground and stumbled into bed when the Headmaster showed her to her new quarters. She wondered if someone cleaned up after her in the night? A house elf, perhaps? Another prominent big grin flashed across her features. She opened the wardrobe and saw what few things she had in the bag were laundered and put away neatly. To no one in particular, she said, 'Thank you' enthusiastically. She was shocked when a high-pitched voice replied.

"Missus is so kind." A tiny house-elf was standing by her bed. She had bat-like ears and beautiful doe eyes. Her tea towel was clean and pressed, and she proudly wore the Hogwarts' crest, puffing out her chest a bit so Jo would see it plainly. Beaming, she continued. "I am Tibby. Professor Dumbledore gave me a most important job. I am to make sure you are comfortable and safe and have everything you need to be a new professor. He said you had no magic of your own and to keep it secret, but to help you with magic when you need it. There's no tricity here, so your shortcuts won't work right."

Jo was delighted to meet Tibby. She knew Hermione's views on keeping a house-elf, but during her time reading the books, she thought that most of them genuinely enjoyed their status. She felt something needed to be done to protect elves like Dobby from cruel masters, but if they wanted to help their human counterparts, who treated them kindly and with respect, she had no problem with it.

"Tibby, it is my honor to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to help me. Were you the one who was so thoughtful to put my things away?" Tibby nodded, smiling. "Thank you. I was worried I would have to eat breakfast smelling like a campfire. A wonder though, would you happen to know where the bathroom is?"

"Missus has a private one," Tibby said as she scampered across the stone floors wrenching open a massive carved door on the other side of the room. Jo followed her into an exquisite place. Italian marble graced the floors, a cream-colored vanity lined one wall. On another, there were open shelves filled with fluffy white towels of all sizes, and comfortable-looking bathrobes hung from intricate hooks that resembled vines. In the center of the bathroom was an elegant garden-size tub with many taps and levers. Tibby walked up to the tub and snapped her fingers. Instantly, water began to pour from one of the spouts. Tibby looked quizzically at Jo.

"Does Missus like bubbles?" She queried.

"I would love bubbles, Tibby. Thank you!" She smiled, feeling impossibly happy. "You know, you can call me Jo. No need for anything more formal."

Bubbles spilled over the water’s surface as a warm scent of honey and almond drifted through the air, instantly soothing. "It is proper to refer to the lady a house-elf serves as Missus. Professor Dumbledore warned me that you mightn't be knowings all the traditions."

"Oh. All right. I just don't want you to think I'm stuffy. I have never conversed with a house-elf before. Where are you from? How did you end up working at Hogwarts?"

"I will tell you, but your bath mustn't get cold. Hop in Tibby will cover her eyes." And with that Tibby mover her bat-like ears over her eyes. Jo disrobed and climbed into the bath. It was the perfect temperature, and the light perfumes were intoxicating. "I'm in," Jo called to Tibby.

"I was born in Hogwarts." She proclaimed proudly. "Fifteen generations have served here. The first in my family was handpicked by Helga Hufflepuff herself to work in the kitchens. But I am the first to have the Headmaster ask them to do a special job."

Jo was delighted that Tibby seemed so thrilled to be helping her. She had worried that Tibby would miss the kitchens and her other house-elf friends, but she seemed delighted to be tasked with the job.

After she cleaned up and put on fresh clothes, Jo's stomach rumbled. Tibby nodded knowingly and held out her hand. Jo took it, and they walked out into the corridor. She mused that it felt very much like being led someplace new by a small child. Minutes later, they were in the Great Hall.

An elderly woman with black hair, wearing a tight bun, greeted her as she entered the hall.

"Good morning, Professor Harper. Dumbledore has explained that you've been hired to take over the Muggle Studies classes from Professor Minturn. I look forward to your improvements to the syllabus; the current one is dreadfully out of date and filled with misinformation and obnoxious myths about muggles. If you follow me up to the High Table, we can have breakfast." Jo followed excitedly to have a Hogwarts' breakfast. The food in the novels always sounded exquisite. She sat down to Professor McGonagall's right and was surprised when shortly after when Professor Snape took the seat to her left.

"Professor Harper." He nodded to her as he sat.

"Good morning, Professor Snape." She said with a happy lilt in her voice. As the words left her mouth, food magically appeared on the table. Her eyes must have been as big as saucers as she took in the feast before her. There were raspberry scones and clotted cream, fluffy scrambled eggs, a whole tray of assorted breakfast meats that sizzled, and big, beautiful carafes of coffee and tea. She eagerly filled her plate.

"You act as if you've been starved. Do you have any decorum?" Professor Snape intoned.

"Severus!" Professor McGonagall chided him. "Where are your manners? You know she's been out in the woods for weeks. I'd expect her to be hungry. I imagine this is your first solid meal in a while, correct, Professor Harper?" Jo smiled.

"Oh, it's no problem, Professor McGonagall. I've been warned that Professor Snape can be a bit rough 'round the edges. I was digging in pretty voraciously. This is my first morning in about a month that isn't campfire coffee and granola. You're both welcome to call me Jo, too."

"And you may call me Minerva, Jo. I must say I've never been much interested in the hobby of camping. It's a very muggle tradition, is it not? Do you have a muggle parent that introduced you to it?"

Jo remembered that her muggle status was supposed to be secret and was uncertain if Minerva was made aware or not. She swallowed but was spared from answering by Professor Snape.

"Minerva, I have no desire to hear her prattle on about this stupid sport. Besides, we have proper business to attend to." He said acidly, turning to Jo. "The Headmaster delegated to me the unpleasant task of escorting you to Diagon Alley, since you were careless enough to misplace your wand on your little backwoods excursion. I shall leave as soon as I finish my meal. If it is your intention to remedy your stupidity, you'll quit chatting."

"Of course, Professor Snape." She nodded. Minerva glared daggers at Severus, but Jo was glad. He cut in at the perfect time, so she didn't trip up and reveal herself to be a muggle. He also gave her an excuse for not carrying a wand, though it was an embarrassing one.

She finished eating just as Severus rose. Without even looking at her, he began to leave the hall. She gave Minerva an apologetic smile. "I better get going. I'll see you soon, Minerva." Her short legs moved twice as fast to catch up to him with his long, purposeful strides.

"You need to be more careful. Minerva is no threat, but you need to protect your secret as if your life depends on it, as it very likely does." She nodded somberly in response. "We will obtain a wand for you to carry, and the Headmaster has instructed me to assist you in purchasing any necessary supplies and living essentials for the year. We will also take a Portkey to your home so you can collect anything you need and say goodbye."

"I thought the Headmaster said Minerva would be doing that?" She questioned.

"I thought that would be inadvisable." He said coolly. "When keeping secrets, it's best to limit the number of people who can betray you. Right now, only four know."

She nodded. Counting in her head. Dumbledore, Snape, Tibby, and herself. Though she knew Tibby was the shortest, she knew she could trust all of them implicitly.

"Are we going to Diagon Alley or my home first?"

"Do you have a preference?" Snape inquired.

"Home." She said simply. "Can I tell them?"

"You may tell your family. I can assist, as most muggles do not believe if they merely hear the news. But you are not permitted to tell your friends." She nodded, noticing that they had stopped at a door. Professor Snape held his hand against a stone for a moment, and the door opened. They were in an office. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things. In the back of the room was an immaculate and orderly desk that had half a dozen bright sunflowers in a vase right in the middle of it. Jo had never seen something look so out of place. Severus surveyed her for a moment.

"The Headmaster believes himself to have a sense of humor. Our Portkey shall be ready in about five minutes." He said, nodding in the direction of the flowers. Jo smiled in acknowledgment. She rather enjoyed Professor Dumbledore's humor.

"I appreciate your helping me today." She said.

"I did not have another option." He said plainly.

"Nonetheless, it's still nice to have the company." When it became apparent that he wasn't going to respond, she tried another tactic. "Have you had much experience talking to muggle parents?"

"I expect you already know the answer." He spat. "Right? You know all about everything here. That's why we're stuck with you."

"Most of what I know is from Harry's point of view, and you weren't exactly chummy, so I don't actually know." There was no anger or shortness in her voice. She understood why a man as private as Snape would be upset with someone knowing his secrets.

"I have only told a small handful of student's parents. Generally, that responsibility falls to Minerva." For a fleeting moment, a tight smile graced his lips. "Also, the Headmaster disapproves of my methods of proving magic exists."

At first, Jo smiled too. She could only imagine how he decided to do this, but then she remembered they were going to see her family. "Wait one minute, mister. You are not going to traumatize my parents." she said sternly, pointing a finger at him. Professor Snape looked at her with bemusement.

"And what, pray tell, is that?" he pointed to her outstretched index. "Supposed to do?"

She laughed. "It is supposed to make you recoil in fear of my menacing nature and heed my warning." Light danced in her eyes. The whole exchange was entirely unfamiliar to him, and he found himself enjoying it.

"Consider me thoroughly warned." He answered, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. He then began to unbutton his outer robe. Jo immediately felt her cheeks redden, and she looked away awkwardly. "You are insufferable. I am not undressing, woman. I can’t show up in the muggle world drawing attention with robes."

She looked at him after his rebuke to see that he had a plain black shirt and black slacks under the robes, and felt even more embarrassed than before, which didn't help the color of her cheeks any.

"Come, put your hand on the vase. You'll be most comfortable if you take a deep breath before it starts." He added helpfully.

His thoughtfulness touched Jo. Nowhere in the books did it provide any suggestions for taking a Portkey in a manner that wouldn't result in falling or feeling like one would retch. She took a deep breath and touched the vase. A moment later, she felt his hand touch the tip of her fingers, and a shock went through her. Her breath hitched, and everything began to spin. She felt horribly compressed and uncomfortable. She found it easy to breathe out, but couldn't take a breath in due to the pressure she felt. Then, as suddenly as it started, the spinning stopped. She was on her feet, and the world still felt as if it was turning rapidly around her, and she began to fall. A hand firmly grabbed her small bicep and steadied her. She swayed.

"Take a deep breath. Put your hands on your knees if you need." He instructed her, and she complied, immediately feeling better. She stayed like that for a few moments. His hand still held onto her, almost painfully. She took a deep breath and stood, nodding to him.

"Thank you, Professor." she said, smiling at him and looking around. He let her loose from his grip and followed her gaze.

"Where are we?" Professor Snape inquired.

"We're in my parents' yard. That's the barn there." She pointed. It felt odd being here. The yard hadn’t changed. Time bird feeder, Time rickety gate, Time sense that this was never fully hers. Jo had spent more time here as a guest than a daughter. But it still tugged at something deep inside her. Though they were her parents, they were not really involved with her upbringing. They had always traveled and taught in unique places, exploring the world, leaving her with her grandmother for years at a time. Their relationship improved after she became an adult, but it was not one that would be considered warm. "Come on. They'll be inside." He followed her to the door, and she knocked firmly. The dogs started barking chaotically like they always did. Moments later, she saw her mother's face in the window, and the door opened.

"Jo! We weren't expecting you! Thought you were still in Scotland. Who's this?" Jo's mom was a kind woman. She stood a couple of inches shorter than Jo and had sandy blonde hair instead of the deep chocolate locks that Jo had. Her mom held out her hand for Severus to shake. "I'm Abigail."

Severus took her hand and shook it firmly. "Good Morning, Abigail, sorry to intrude without notice. I am Severus." Abigail looked more carefully at Severus as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle. "Come on in." She said and gave Jo a hug. She led them to the kitchen table and started a pot of tea.

"Jo, I thought your trip was going to go another month, and now all of a sudden you show up with a man. None of this is like you. What's going on?" She asked quizzically, and before Jo could begin to answer, she looked at Severus and asked, "Are you her boyfriend now or something? Jo never brings anyone home."

"Mom!" She yelped out. She really didn't feel that her lack of a dating life was anything for her colleague to know. "We're not dating. We're going to work together. I was offered a job in Scotland. I am going to teach there."

Abigail looked confused. "Sweetie, I love you, but you're not exactly qualified to teach anything, are you?" It was an old wound, reopened with the usual gentleness her mother reserved for compliments. Jo swallowed her retort and kept her smile polite. This was how it had always been between them. Her mother was concerned, critical, and just distant enough to make affection feel conditional.

"Ouch. Mom." Jo said drolly. "Mom, do you remember the Harry Potter books I made you read?"

"Jo. Don't you dare. You are not going to work for an amusement park." She turned to Severus accusingly. "I know you've roped her into this somehow. What you have these ridiculous costumes and pretend you're in character and "teach" children's books. I won't have it. TIM!" She yelled loudly for Jo's dad.

There was a noise from upstairs, and a man in his mid-fifties walked into the room.

"Jo! Good to see you," He gave his daughter a big hug and then turned to the man. "Boyfriend? 'Bout time." He asked as he held out his hand. Jo wanted the world to swallow her up.

"Professor Severus Snape." he said, shaking Tim's hand. "Your daughter and I are colleagues."

"Nonsense! Severus Snape my ass!" Cried Jo's mom to everyone's surprise. "Your daughter wants to go play pretend with some losers that the Harry Potter books are real."

Tim looked as though he was missing some details and remained quiet. Severus removed his wand from its holster.

"If you will allow me, Mrs. Harper." he said. He swished his wand in front of him and transfigured a napkin on the table into a beautiful sprig of lilac flowers, then handed it to her. "We will not be playing pretend. Your daughter was trekking through the Scottish highlands and stumbled upon our school. Upon questioning her, we realized that she had a great deal of knowledge about our kind and it seems the future. She informed us of a series of books. We are unable to read them, but she told us that she could help us navigate the events to come. Our Headmaster invited her to teach with us as a Muggle Studies professor, and your daughter accepted."

Tim and Abigail looked perplexed, their jaws slack.

"Jo that seems dangerous. You made me read those book, too, remember." Abigail said quietly. "Particularly Muggle Studies, Jo."

Severus' features were masked, but his ears perked up at that clue. Why was the Muggle Studies position dangerous?

"I know Mom, but I can't pass this opportunity up. I might be able to change things. I think I'm supposed to." She said pleadingly.

"This is what you want, then, kiddo?" Her dad smiled at her, and she nodded. "Abigail, the kid's always been stubborn. She's going regardless of what we say. Might as well support her." Tim looked at Severus. "Genuinely wish you had just been the boyfriend."

The strange quartet had tea and discussed her role and the school. She was happy to learn that their fireplace would be connected to her private one in case they wanted to chat. Severus also charmed three notebooks. So that the writing in one would show up on the others, so they could write to one another. He explained to them that owls simply couldn't make the distance. After they finished the tea, her mom pulled her in for a quick hug, the kind that ended just as Jo started to lean into it. Her dad squeezed her shoulder and said he was proud of her. It was almost enough.

She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket and texted a few close friends that she would be staying in Scottland, but she would be in touch as often as she could, but that the town she was in had spotty internet and cell reception so snail mail might be easiest. Severus explained that many muggle families mail post to special post office boxes where owls will deliver the letters to magical recipients. She knew her friendships would suffer from the distance and the poor communication, but she hoped it would be okay.

She sighed and asked how they would get to her apartment.

"It would be easiest if I performed legimancy once more." He said, and Jo recoiled at the thought. It had been so intrusive and painful before. She was about to say no when he continued, "I was not delicate before. I apologize. If you focus on exactly where the apartment is located and let me know when you're ready, I will begin. It will not hurt." She nodded and thought.

She lived in the city. The flagstone sidewalk led up to her front stoop. She had an assortment of flowers outside her green front door. A bird feeder and a plate filled with seed for the squirrels, too, were off to the left, and a tiny garden box that she built was to the right. She met his eyes, and they bore into hers. Still staring deep, he wrapped one arm around her, and the instant she felt him, her thoughts strayed to how good that felt, and her cheeks reddened once more. He stiffened, and with a POP they apparated.

She stumbled when they landed at her stoop, and Severus's other arm wrapped around her, his arms bracing hers. She gulped a bit awkwardly and murmured her thanks. She punched the code into the lockbox by the door and removed the key. She opened the door. Two cats immediately started meowing and rubbing themselves around her feet.

"Hey, sweeties." She cooed at them. "Did you miss Mum?" She scratched behind their ears and scooped one of them up. "This is Gandhi, and that's her brother, Godzilla. I didn't name them, so don't take it up with me."

Severus smiled slightly at the unusual names. He felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if he was seeing a more personal side to Jo. He didn't know the woman, but had met her family, held her close, and was now standing in her home looking appraisingly at the belongings inside. He pulled out a minuscule piece of luggage from his pocket and enlarged it.

We will not be able to take everything, but you can grab some clothing and items that are important to you.

"How will we take the cats back? We can take them too, right? I don't think I can bear saying goodbye to my parents, all my friends, and my cats in one day. Oh god, I must sound like a crazy cat lady right now."

"Your parents were very dismayed at your singleness, and you have not one, but two felines." He said. Jo looked shocked and hurt until she saw that he was smiling. Severus Snape was teasing her. "Of course, we shall take your familiars back to the castle."

She put Gandhi down on the floor and squeezed Severus's arm in thanks before taking the suitcase into her bedroom. While she packed, he perused her bookshelf and saw the Time set of books that he knew, if he opened, would only reveal white, blank pages; They looked exceptionally worn. The apartment was bright, with plants all over and beautiful oil paintings. It felt cozy. He sat on the sofa, and Godzilla hopped up to get petted. He stroked the cat and waited patiently.

Jo looked bemused when she came out, suitcase packed. She grabbed another bag and loaded the books into it. "You know, he doesn't take to anyone. They were both feral. My mom found them in the barn and gave them to me as kittens. Gandhi will say hi to people besides me, but Godzilla never does. But he sure seems to like you."

Severus looked at the white cat who was purring contentedly on his lap.

"Of course, he is pretty devious. It could be that he just wanted to cover your all black clothing with white cat fur." She laughed when she saw Severus inspect his clothing and his surprise at being coated.

"You traitorous beast." He murmured, stroking the cat's head. "Are you all set?"

"I am." She said before pausing. "What will happen to my place while I am away?"

"The Headmaster has seen that some charms were placed. Everything will remain exactly as it is. It has been made unplottable. Your muggle neighbors will forget that it ever existed."

She shook her head. It was so odd to think that magic could do such things, and the fact that magic was now so entwined with her life was dizzying. Severus shrank the bag once more and put it in his pocket. He attempted to do the Time with her book bag, but the books seemed impervious to any magic. "Peculiar." He said more to himself.

She shrugged the bag onto her back and wrangled the cats into their carrier. She looked wistfully at her home, wondering if she would ever return. For the first time since this had started, she found herself saddened. She was leaving everything she knew. Her parents. Her friends. Her home. She looked around one last time, tracing the outlines of her little kitchen table, the scuff marks on the floor from where her chair always sat, the worn spine of a favorite book she wasn’t taking. This had been her sanctuary. Quiet, safe, hers. But now it was just a chapter ending. Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to cry, not now, not in front of him. But her eyes betrayed her. She embarrassedly wiped at them. This was an opportunity that she never could have dreamed of. She should be happy she scolded herself. Trembling slightly, she felt an awkward pat on her shoulder. Severus was looking at her, concerned and distinctly uncomfortable. "Thank you," she spoke hardly above a whisper.

Severus retrieved a coin from his pocket, pointed his wand at it, and murmured 'Portus.' He stretched out his hand and took the carrier from her. "It'll be easier for me. Remember to take a breath." He instructed. She placed her hand on the coin and felt his on top of hers. She wasn’t ready. Not really. But she couldn’t say no to this, not when it felt like the universe had cracked open just wide enough to let her in. So she breathed in, steadied herself, and placed her hand on the coin. She locked eyes with his, and the room began to spin.

Chapter Text

Her first week at Hogwarts had flown by, full of preparation and small revelations. A few days after her arrival, Severus had taken her to Diagon Alley to gather supplies. She was wowed by all the magical shops. There was one shop that she found particularly invaluable, which was never mentioned in the books - Buchanon's Bazaar. Evidently, Angus Buchanon was a Squib and Muggle Rugby star who later semi-retired by opening a store that sold goods to help Squibs in a magical world.

She was particularly pleased with a magical hairbrush that would style her hair in seconds. It was a splurge item, but after struggling with her hair for the past 30 years, she thought the purchase was well worth it. Severus chided her and pushed her in front of more practical items, such as a charmed bag that would make whatever she carried feel weightless, a skeleton key that was bewitched to unlock doors like the Alohamora spell, a quill that would help with marking, and a shawl that would make her feel comfortable no matter the weather.

They had gone to Knockturn Alley to find the fake wand. Severus ordered her not to speak to anyone and to stay near him. It took him a long while to haggle with an old hag to buy a wand that was not hexed to harm its holder. When he was content with its safety, he gave it to Jo. It was light in color and had small vine details along the handle. She was to have the wand on her at all times, despite its uselessness.

She collected the ordinary things, too, that she would need. Cloaks, robes, quills, and parchment. She also bought many books from Flourish and Blotts, including Hogwarts a History, The Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles, and My Life as a Squib.

Now she was in her rooms, sitting at a desk, eyeing a clock very carefully. She wished it would move faster. Jo was excited because she had her first meeting with Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape today to discuss the upcoming school year. She had taken exhaustive notes after studying the books. To be honest, she was very vexed. There was little that could be changed - at least in Harry's first year. With little else she could safely change this year, the next logical step was to begin the Horcrux hunt. She rechecked the clock. 15 minutes until she had to be at Dumbledore's office. Jo put on her magical shawl and left her quarters.

As she made her way to the Headmaster’s office, Jo’s thoughts spun like cogs in a broken clock. She had tried, more than once, to push past whatever magical force was silencing her. Tried to say the diary would possess Ginny, or that Sirius wasn’t a murderer, or that Harry himself was…

Nothing. Each time, her throat clamped shut, her mouth dried, and the words simply wouldn’t form. It was as if the books were booby-trapped—wired to unravel if she spoke out of turn.

But what if... it wasn’t just about time?

Maybe it was about the cause.

If something had already begun, if events were already moving, maybe she could nudge them. Just enough. A warning here. A name. A suggestion. If she framed it as a reaction to something already happening, would that let her get away with it?

It wasn’t a plan. But it was a theory.

She clutched her notes tighter. She’d find out soon enough.

When she arrived at Dumbledore's office, she smiled as she spoke the password. "Peppermint Imps." Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, and Severus was in a comfortable-looking chair in front of it. She took the other seat.

"Thank you for joining us, dear." Professor Dumbledore said genially. "As you know, we're here to discuss the changes you would like to see this year and their potential implications."

Jo gulped and retrieved her notes from her bag. "Yes, sir." she said, looking at the two men as they gazed intently at her. "I am hesitant to start because there are things I cannot share from other books. You will just have to trust me that altering some of the events that are to come will have disastrous consequences." Dumbledore smiled encouragingly, while Severus was as inscrutable as ever.

"Professor Dumbledore, have you already extended an offer to Professor Quirrell for the Defense Against Dark Arts position?" she asked.

"I have." Responded Dumbledore while Severus glowered.

"Excellent. He is going to try and steal the Philosopher's Stone."

"Why on earth is that excellent?" Snape interjected.

"Because it sets a lot in motion. Some friendships need to be forged this year, and some demons faced." She replied enigmatically.

"I had surmised that the stone was in danger. I have already taken precautions. Hagrid will fetch the stone today, and many of the professors have provided it with protections." Dumbledore said sagely.

"Terrific. Just wanted to make sure things were on track." She paused. "I think that we need to begin hunting down a few artifacts. We won't be able to destroy them yet, but I think it will save time."

"What kind of artifacts?" Queried Severus suspiciously.

“Horcruxes.” The word left her mouth like a dropped stone.

A shiver ran through her, and the temperature in the room seemed to dip. Severus’s head snapped toward her. Dumbledore’s smile faded."

A children's book told from the perspective of the Potter boy included details on Horcruxes?" Severus asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Errr. The books get pretty dark, I suppose," she said lamely, then took a breath. "Perhaps they weren’t really meant for children if it was a prophecy? Anyway, I think there's no better approach than ripping this band-aid off. The one who—"

She stopped.

The word caught in her throat. She tried again. Nothing. It was as if her vocal cords had seized. Her chest tightened, the same suffocating pressure she’d felt the last time she’d tried to go too far ahead.

She swallowed, shook it off, and pivoted.

"Someone very dangerous created a number of... objects. We won’t be able to get to all of them yet, but we should try to locate a few: Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, Salazar Slytherin’s locket, and Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem."

“This is absurd. You’re telling us these relics are scattered across Britain and tied to the Dark Arts—and you want us to hunt them now? Headmaster, really?” Severus spat.

"Severus, we asked for help. I do not doubt the veracity of Jo's statement. At this time, however, I do not want to know the number or hear the complete list." Dumbledore's eyes did not twinkle as they met Jo's. Jo wondered if he had already guessed about Harry.

"The artifacts can be located. Some of them easily. The diadem is located in the Room of Requirement in this castle on the 7th floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The ring is hidden inside a golden box under the Gaunt shack's rotting floorboards outside Little Hangleton. The locket is with a house elf named Kreature. He belongs to the Black family. The house is unplottable though I know its address. I’m not sure if that will allow us in? At this point in time, I do not know the location of the cup. Only that Hepzibah Smith was murdered. There is a house elf named Hokey that might be able to provide more information, though." She said, looking imploringly at Dumbledore.

Severus sat stunned for a moment, taking in the information without a word.

Jo leaned forward, her voice low but urgent. “And I cannot stress this enough. Do not put on that ring. I don’t care what it shows you. I don’t care what you think it offers. If you do, everything we’re trying to fix will fall apart. Please.”

For the first time, her voice trembled with anger, and perhaps fear, and it hung in the air like a challenge.

"I think if we accomplish that this year, we will be very successful. As certain events happen or come up, I might see you individually to try and help where I can. Or if I notice things straying too much from the books. Switching gears a bit, how much leeway do I have with the Muggle Studies curriculum?"

"The goal of the curriculum is to equip students for life after Hogwarts. Secondarily, the school's courses may be reviewed if they do not prepare students adequately for their O. and N.E.W.T.s by the Wizarding Examination Authority." Responded Dumbledore. "That said; however you choose to accomplish these tasks is entirely up to you."

Jo smiled. "Excellent. Thank you, Professor."

Weeks flew by, and Jo prepared for her classes by reviewing old OWLs and NEWTs exams. She was pleased that while the previous professor's material was woefully out of date and maligned muggles, the exams were not. She used her fireplace, connected to her parents' home, to collect Muggle artifacts that she thought the students would benefit from. She had decided to approach the first few lectures as a comparison and contrast with how Muggles and wizards approached problems, focusing on areas such as communication, transportation, healing, customs, education, and more. She scratched her quill on the parchment outlining notes, feeling a bit daunted by the responsibility of teaching a generation of students about the Muggle world in a way that would shield them against the prejudice and hate that would come.

It was September 1, and Jo was in a tizzy. She was so nervous that she couldn't bring herself to eat breakfast or lunch; instead, she opted to walk around the lake in the brisk fall weather. She was surprised when a very tall and very large man with black, beetle-like eyes wandered over to her as she started another lap.

"'Ello there. You must be Professor Harper. Professor Dumbledore said we had a new Muggle Studies Professor this year. My name's Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone just calls me Hagrid, and I'm the Keeper of the Keys and Groundskeeper here at Hogwarts." He extended a massive hand to Jo, and when he shook hers, she felt as if her whole body was being shaken.

"Good afternoon, Hagrid. It's a pleasure to meet you." Jo said genuinely with a bright smile.

"It looks like yer a bit nervous if all your laps around the lake mean anything. I can put on a pot of tea to help calm yeh down. My hut's just over that hill."

"Oh Hagrid, that sounds lovely. I am nervous. I haven't actually taught before, and it's all feeling pretty real right about now."

They took the dirt path up to Hagrid's hut, and he called to Fang to quit barking and showed her in. He began readying the fire and added water to the kettle.

"You've got nothin' to worry about. The students are alright. Mind the Slytherin's. I reckon some of them won't approve of your subject, but it's not like any of them will be taking it anyway. Besides that, you just have to look after a couple of troublemakers here and there. The Weasley Twins don't mean anyone any harm, but sometimes their pranks get a bit outta hand."

"Hagrid, what do you mean Slytherins won’t take my class?” She had never really considered it. She knew her course was elective, but she didn't realize that a whole house of students might not be attending.

"A lot of them be Purebloods, of course, or at least their more likely to look down on Muggles. Wouldn't do much for their status if they seemed interested." He explained simply.

She harrumphed at this. "But if they don't take it, they'll just remain as biased as ever."

"Aye."

They spoke some more on about the course, and Hagrid told her more about Hogwarts. Most of it she knew, but she just enjoyed his company. She felt as though she had known him for years and found it easy to confide in him her concerns for the term and her nervousness to be in a new place. When he asked, she told him truthfully that she was new to Scotland and had been living in the United States, and that she had met Professor Dumbledore traveling, and after conversing, he offered her the position. She admitted for the first time that it felt like he had been saving her from a very dreary crossroads in her life.

"Great man, Dumbledore," Hagrid said to this reverently. "Come, you'll need to be heading up to the castle. Professors are expected at the High Table for the Welcome Feast. I need to go fetch the Firs' Years."

Jo wandered up the path to the school, straightening her robes as she went. She entered the Great Hall, where she marveled at its beautifully decorated interior. A few professors were already seated. She looked nervously at the chairs and wondered if there were assigned seats.

"You may sit next to me, Professor Harper," called a silky voice. She was surprised at Severus' kindness until she realized that he had probably read her mind just then, which felt like an invasion of privacy.

"Thank you, but please refrain from doing that," Jo remarked as she sat down next to him.

"Doing what?" He inquired almost innocently.

"Poking around my head." She answered directly. "I'm starving. Will it be much longer?"

"In the future, I would recommend not skipping meals to prevent that. The students are only just now disembarking the train. You have a while." He drolled.

Her stomach gurgled. They didn't speak much as the older students filed in. Her eyes gazed eagerly at their faces, trying to recognize some based on their descriptions. The Weasleys were easy to spot at the Gryffindor table, but she knew so few of the students above Harry's year. When the first years entered, she could feel Severus stiffen next to her. She knew that this must be a trying moment for him. Minerva brought out the stool with the Sorting Hat and took her place to the side, and waited patiently. With a booming voice, a song filled the hall.

Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!

One by one, students were called up to put the hat on their heads and be sorted. Her heart leapt when Hermione, Neville, Harry, and Ron were sorted. These weren’t just names on a page anymore. They were real. Laughing, fidgeting, whispering to one another, just children. And she knew what the world would throw at them. She looked pensively at the Slytherin table where Draco sat. Jo wondered if she could help him. She never believed him to be an evil child, just one who was a product of his environment.

She smiled when Dumbledore said his few words, "Oddment, Nitwit, Blubber, Tweak!" Moments later, when the food appeared, she dug in happily. Surveying the students as she ate, she could pinpoint the moment when Harry's scar bothered him. Watching Harry rub at his scar, surrounded by magic and friends he hadn’t yet realized were family, Jo felt her nerves fade. This world was still on course for now. Her job wasn’t to rewrite it. Just to guide it. Gently.

Chapter Text

After the meal, the Headmaster reviewed the start-of-term announcements. Jo smiled meekly and gave a small wave when her name was announced. After the school song, the headmaster dismissed the hall, and Jo found herself nervously meandering the halls. She knew she should head to bed, but her feet carried her to the Muggle Studies classroom instead. She walked to the front of the small room. There were only enough seats for a handful of students. She wondered how many she would be teaching. She stood at the podium and looked out over the desks standing neatly in rows before her, and jumped back a bit. Her heart was pounding as her eyes fell on Severus Snape seated in the back row.

"Oh, you startled me!" Her hand instinctively patted her chest to try and steady the beating.

"Just saw you slip in here. Nervous for your first day?" He asked sardonically.

"I am actually. No need for any tone," she said, and gave him a half-smile. "Any advice?"

Severus raised one eyebrow, and she felt her breath catch as she felt the movement was so quintessentially his.

"Each professor adopts a persona with their class. However, you act on the first day sets the tone for the rest of the year. Some professors are encouraging, like Professor Flitwick. Some allow their classes to be completely off-task, like Professors Trelawney and Binns. Minerva and I prefer a stricter method. You are young enough that students might try and take advantage of your kindness. I think telling you to act overbearing will prove impossible,” he said dryly. “So instead, aim to elicit questions and be firm with anyone who tries to hijack your class. It's late, though. You'll want to be well-rested to deal with the dunderheads."

She smiled genuinely at Severus and nodded her thanks. As she moved toward the door, she half expected him to vanish into the shadows without another word. Instead, he followed her out and stopped just beside her in the hallway.

“Good luck tomorrow,” he said quietly, voice unreadable. “You’ll need it.”

She turned to look at him, surprised—but before she could reply, he gave a brief nod, almost imperceptible, and turned sharply on his heel. His cloak billowed behind him as he disappeared down the corridor."

Goodnight, Professor Snape." She called after him.

When Jo awoke the next morning, she bolted upright in bed and nervously searched for the time. Her bleary eyes fell upon a clock; the clock's hands read 7 AM. She leapt out of bed and began throwing on her robes. She wasn't late per se, but she needed to get a move on if she wanted breakfast and to be there to greet her first students. She pulled on a pair of sneakers and dashed into the hall. No sooner had she got into the corridor, she found herself in a heap on the floor. Examining her surroundings, she realized she had knocked down two red-haired students with short, stocky builds and an abundance of freckles.

"Sorry, Professor!" Exclaimed one of the twins.

"Didn't see you there." The other added apologetically.

"No, my apologies. I was hurrying out and didn't look where I was going." She stood first and offered a hand out to each of the boys so they could stand up. "I'm Professor Harper. I teach Muggle Studies. What are your names?"

"Fred Weasley!" He exclaimed, holding out his hand. "And this is my twin."

"George Weasley." He took her outstretched hand and planted a kiss on it instead. "Enchanté Professor Harper."

She shook her head part-exacerbated, part-charmed. "You boys best be off to the Great Hall. Hope to see you in class."

They headed off, and she thought she could hear them asking one another if it was too late to switch to Muggle Studies as their elective or if Professor McGonagall would let them.

She sat in the same seat she had taken the night previous and was nervously chewing on a bit of toast when Professor Snape took the place next to her. She made to reach for the coffee, but he snatched it out of her reach. Her hand moved instead to grab a second slice of toast, and he pulled the whole plate over to him. She gave him a quizzical look and instead tried for the fruit basket. Once again, he thwarted her attempts.

"Professor Snape, really. I would like to finish breakfast." She smiled at him jovially, but her smile fell when she saw his stern face.

"I thought you were sincerely asking my advice last night." He spat accusatorially. "If I knew you were merely trying to ply into my good graces..."

"Professor Snape, I was grateful and appreciative of your advice. What is wrong?"

"And now you cut me off." His voice was steely.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I really didn't mean to offend you, but I'm lost as to how I've done so.

“I gave you advice so you wouldn’t be walked over in your classes, and at the first opportunity, you throw it out the window and have the Weasley brats fawning over you.”

“Professor, I literally tackled them in the hallway. That’s hardly fawning.” Jo’s voice was quiet, but steady.

"They've switched their schedules. So, you've made quite an impression. Though not one any serious professor would like. Do you think I'd allow a student to kiss my hand?" His eyes bore into hers. He grabbed a croissant and stormed away from the high table, leaving Jo to wonder if her reputation would take a hit.

Dismayed, she checked the clock and grabbed an apple to take to class. She rather wished her first day was off to a better start. When she got to her classroom, she was the only one there. She opened her syllabus. She would have her third-year class today, which meant more of Fred and George. She thought of Professor Snape's last words to her and reminded herself that she could be a good teacher and not be terrifying, too.

She decided not to stand at the podium and instead sat up on top of her desk in the front of the room as students filed in. When the students stopped trickling in, she took a breath and looked at her roll.

"Good morning, class," she had barely started when the twins loudly exclaimed. "GOOD MORNING, PROFESSOR!" Waving flamboyantly in the back. She smiled good-naturedly and continued.

"All right. I'm going to do a quick roll call, and then we'll jump in shall we? Just raise your hand when I get to your name. Elanor Branstone. Roger Davies. Angelina Johnson. Lee Jordan. Patricia Stimpson. Kenneth Towler. Fred Weasley. George Weasley." As she read the twins names, they offered her two, too-formal bows.

"Alright. As this is your first class and first time taking Muggle Studies, I thought that we could start with any questions that you might have about muggles. No question is too silly. It doesn't have to be related to what we're studying this year. Just anything that confuses you or interests you about muggles. Nothing is off limits. "

The class was quiet, but Fred and George exchanged excited glances at the words "Nothing is off limits." However, they didn't have an opportunity to ask before Patricia's hand went up.

"Yes, Miss Stimpson." Jo confirmed, glancing at her roster.

“How do Muggles travel if they don’t have Portkeys or Floo Powder?” one student blurted.

Jo smiled. “Excellent question. Muggles rely on technology and infrastructure. They use cars, trains, airplanes, big metal vessels that fly through the air using engines and wings. There’s even public transportation systems like underground rail networks. It may not be instantaneous like Apparition, but Muggles have created systems that allow millions of people to travel every day. In fact, some Muggles travel more widely than most witches or wizards do in their entire lives.”

Why don’t Muggles wear cloaks?” someone else asked.

“That’s a cultural difference. Muggles tend to follow clothing trends based on practicality and fashion. Cloaks haven’t been popular in the Muggle world for over a century, except as costume or weather gear. They wear coats, jackets, and other layers depending on the season.”

“Why do Muggle students live with their parents during school?” asked Roger Davies.

“Because most Muggle schools are local. Children go home at the end of the day, sort of like if Hogwarts were only a day school in Hogsmeade. But there are boarding schools too, especially for older students or in different countries. It varies. Just like it does in the magical world.”

“How can Muggles live without Quidditch?”

That one made Jo laugh. “They have other sports. Football, or ‘soccer’ if you’re American, is massively popular around the world. Some Muggles are as obsessed with it as you are with Quidditch. The passion is just as strong, even if the broomsticks are missing.”

She let them laugh before continuing. “In fact, it’s one of the many examples where Muggles and wizards are more alike than different.”

The room was still buzzing with laughter when Jo raised a hand to gently call them back. “These are great questions—fun, thoughtful, and curious. And that’s exactly what I want from you this year. But,” she said, her tone softening slightly, “not every question has an easy answer. Some things about the Muggle and magical worlds, about how they see each other, are harder to talk about. That’s okay. We’re going to talk about them anyway.”

She paused, letting her eyes sweep the room. “Any other questions about Muggles? Anything you’ve heard or wondered about that you’ve never had the chance to ask?”

“What’s wrong with Muggles that they can’t do magic?” someone asked, genuinely curious.

Jo smiled gently. “There’s nothing wrong with them,” she said. “It’s simply a different biology. Magic is something you’re born with. It’s not a choice or a skill you can pick up like playing the piano. Muggles just don’t have that spark. But that doesn’t mean they’re broken or less than. They’ve accomplished incredible things without it.”

“If they can’t do magic,” another student chimed in, “how do they protect themselves? I mean, really protect themselves?”

“A great question. Muggles have developed all kinds of protections; legal systems, police, even entire branches of their governments dedicated to keeping people safe. They also use technology: locks, cameras, alarms. It’s not as flashy as a protective enchantment, but it works because they’ve learned to be clever, resourceful, and cooperative.”

“Do Muggles ever find out about us?” asked someone else. “And if they do… what happens to them?”

Jo nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes, yes. But the Ministry of Magic has protocols in place to modify memories when needed. It’s not something taken lightly. In many cases, if a Muggle is close to someone magical, like a parent or spouse, they’re allowed to know. But secrecy is a big part of keeping the magical world safe, too.”

"Why do muggles hate us?" asked Elanor.

"Why do you think they hate wizard kind?" asked Jo back.

"In History of Magic, we've had summer reading. They tried to burn witches at the stake in America." Some of the students looked shocked at this revelation. Clearly, not everyone had paid as much attention to their summer revisions as this astute Ravenclaw.

"That’s tough to say," Jo began, folding her hands on the desk. "But I don’t think you can judge a whole group of people by the worst of their kind. The Salem witch trials are a good example. From a magical perspective, no real witches or wizards were harmed as those accused were Muggles. But to Muggles, it was one of the darkest moments in their history."

She glanced around the room, noting how quiet it had become.

"Most historians believe the trials weren’t really about witchcraft. They were about fear. There were deep economic divides in the colonies at the time. Poor farmers blaming wealthier merchants, personal rivalries turning into accusations, even arguments over land and inheritance. Add in harsh winters, political instability, and a strict Puritan culture that distrusted anything unusual, and you had a recipe for hysteria."

Jo’s voice softened. "They targeted people who didn’t fit the mold… widows, healers, the outspoken or strange. Anyone who stood out. And once the fear caught fire, it didn’t matter whether there was evidence. Twenty people were executed, dozens more were imprisoned, and the damage to that community lasted for generations."

She looked out at the class. "This pattern repeats itself in history. A society wants someone to blame for its problems. So it finds a scapegoat. That happened in Salem. It happened during the Goblin rebellions. With Grindelwald. With Hitler. And with Voldemort."The class took a collective breath at the last word.

"It is not my experience that muggles hate wizard kind. They are ignorant of it, which can be dangerous. Any time there is ignorance, there is the possibility of grossly misunderstanding facts and drawing nonsensical conclusions. It snowballs into biases and, at its ugliest, turns to hate. Which is an excellent way to conclude this lesson, I think. You are all here to rid yourself of ignorance of muggles so you can form your own informed opinions of them."

A quiet settled over the room, heavier than before. No one laughed or whispered. A few students exchanged glances, uncertain, thoughtful, maybe even a little uncomfortable. Jo could see it in their faces: something had landed. The idea that ignorance could be dangerous. That hate didn’t always wear a dark cloak and carry a wand.

One of the Weasley twins gave a soft, surprised “huh,” under his breath, not mocking, just contemplative. Even the more restless students had gone still.

Jo let the silence hang for a moment longer, then gave a small nod, as if to acknowledge their reaction.

"For homework, please write at least one sheet of parchment on what you would like to learn in this class and what we should focus on. Include one question you'd like to explore deeply. Something that challenges your assumptions about Muggles or magic. That question will shape your year-long project. Thank you all."

As the last students filed out, Jo sat back on her desk and let the quiet settle in. It hadn’t been perfect, but it had been honest. And maybe that was enough. She had no illusions about changing hearts overnight, but if even one of them started to see Muggles differently by year’s end, she’d count that a win.

Chapter Text

The start of the term fell into a comfortable pattern. Each morning, Jo would have breakfast with Minerva and Severus in the great hall. After breakfast, she would head to her first-floor office, and she would teach Muggle Studies to either her Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, or Seventh-year students. She tried to hold office hours every day in the students' off hours so she would be available for their projects. After this, she would usually eat lunch in the Great Hall, peruse the library, and go for a run on the grounds. She found that her favorite trail went right by the lake. If Hagrid were around, she would stop in for tea after. Dinner with Minerva and Severus would follow. She liked her routine but still wished for something more to do. She cursed herself for finding herself in a rut here of all places, just shy of her second month.

She was pretty pleased with herself for assigning them all a semester-long project to research anything they wanted. At the end of the fall term, they were to turn in a research paper, lecture to their peers, and create a proposal for how wizardkind would benefit by incorporating what they had learned in their day-to-day lives.

So far, only the Ravenclaws had started the project. But she was interested in everything that the students had chosen. She smiled when Fred and George selected fireworks and muggle pranks as their topics, respectively. Percy Weasley was interested in muggle social interactions. She thought to herself that it would likely help him with his career in the Ministry. Other students chose topics like airplanes, medicine, and computers. She was delighted in each of her classes and was quickly becoming known as one of the more fun professors. Each day, she would try to bring in a new Muggle artifact and describe its purpose to them. She was frustrated when every Muggle electronic she attempted to bring in died once it got to the castle. She wanted to show her students the internet, cell phones, smart watches, a car that would parallel park itself. She found that most students came to the class with the idea that Muggles were stupid and was trying to show them that while they had no magic, that they were ingenious at advancing science and technology to make up for each alleged shortcoming.

Her favorite homework assignment had been creating a list of common spells and instruments a witch or wizard might use in their day-to-day and having the students write in how a muggle would approach the same problem that the magical object or spell would solve. Even her more biased students were astounded to find that there was a tool for everything, even if it might not be as fast.

There was not much for her to do yet to accomplish changing the books she knew. Professor Dumbledore was absent from the school frequently to look for Horcruxes, but this went largely unquestioned by the Ministry of Magic and the school, as Fudge was still very dependent on Dumbledore's advice. She decided that much of the year would have to go on like normal. A full-grown mountain troll had to be allowed in for the Trio's friendship to flourish. Harry would have to suspect Professor Snape for him to be on the lookout for any wrongdoing that would push him into confronting Quirrell at the end of the year. He'd need to see the Mirror of Erised. Norbert needed to hatch and be rescued by Charlie, and the children would have to serve their detention in the Forbidden Forest. But she could help in little ways to make the castle's inhabitants more comfortable. After checking her calendar, she made her way to Professor Snape's office.

It was the early evening just after dinner, and she rapped at his door twice. "Enter." He drawled simply, not even looking up from his markings. "Miss Spinnet, you are early for detention, but if you think that will earn my leniency, you are quite wrong."

"Ah, well, in that case, I am very relieved not to be that student." she said, smiling at him and plopping herself into a chair by his desk.

"Professor Harper!" He exclaimed in a surprised tone.

"Hi, Professor Snape. I was wondering if I could steal a moment of your - YELCH. What's that?" She asked, pointing to the corner of his desk where some creature, or maybe some parts of a beast, was bottled.

"Bat spleens." He answered bemusedly. "I do not think that you would make an accomplished potions mistress with reactions like that. They are used in the Second Year's Swelling potions tomorrow."

"Oh well, they do look quite disgusting. Actually, a little off topic, I suppose. What would happen if I tried to brew a potion? Could it work?" Jo asked inquisitively with a note of hopefulness in her query. Severus surveyed her for a moment, trying to discern why she asked the question. Was it merely pure curiosity?

"Peculiar question. You would be unable because there is always a magical component to potion-making. While I inform my students that there is no foolish wand-waving in my class, there comes a point in every potion where the maker's magic is infused into the mixture. The course is more than just a cooking class. If a Muggle picked up a magic wand and attempted on their own, the answer would probably be something accidental... possibly quite violent. Because wands are merely a vehicle, a vessel for what lies inside the person."

Jo looked pensive and nodded, feeling a bit let down. "Of course, that makes sense."

"What prompted you to ask?"

"I don't know, really. Just wanted to be more a part of this world, I suppose. I've planned my lectures for the year. When the Headmaster gets back, I'd like to ask permission for a field trip. There's not too much to do this year on the other front, you know? Guess I should talk to Hagrid or Professor Sprout for more muggle-friendly studies to occupy my time. Potions just seemed the closest to what I did in the muggle world. I worked in a research lab," she added quietly, shoulders sagging. He watched her for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

"If you would like, you may assist me when I brew potions for the infirmary." Severus said, his tone suggesting that the offer had surprised him.

"I would love to! Professor Snape, that is very generous-" before she could continue showering him in praise, he cut her off.

"Meet in my office, Friday the 1st at 7 pm. Now, what was the reason you originally came to my office?"

"Oh! Of course. Tomorrow, you will be going to the third-floor corridor to run Quirrell off from trying to get in. He's going to let a mountain troll into the castle as a diversion. In the books, you are injured by Fluffy. Not gravely or anything," She said, seeing Severus' face. "It's mildly important to the plot, so I will need you to act injured, but I don't see any reason why you actually need to get hurt. Can you magic some armor on your leg or something?"

Severus paused and considered this information. "It is odd to hear that with so little emotion. You just told me of a plot by one of the teachers to try and steal the Sorcerer's Stone. That a mountain troll would be let into the castle with hundreds of students and knowledge that a three-headed dog would harm me somehow, as if this was a common occurrence."

"Not common, but for me, it's not surprising. Besides, it shouldn't be that surprising to you. I told you in Dumbledore's office that Quirrell would attempt to steal the stone. It needs to happen. It's too important to change."

"You did tell me." Severus acknowledged. "It's just different to hear it now so cavalierly."

"Well, sorry about that. I've never been particularly good with words and like to cut to the chase."

"I shudder to think what house you would be sorted into."

Jo smiled.

"Supposedly Ravenclaw... there was one website written by the author that sorted us muggles." Severus looked incredulous. "It would be pretty neat to try it, but I think with Angus Buchanon's disaster trying to be sorted as a Squib, I would rather not try."

Getting back on track, she looked at him thoughtfully. "During the feast, you're going to head Quirrell off and go into the room on the third-floor corridor. Please be careful." As she said this, she put her hand on his, and Severus stiffened considerably but did not react otherwise. "Last time the dog injured your leg, and it seemed bad. When you go to the girl's bathroom afterward, fake a limp. Try and fake it for at least a week."

There was a knock at the door to Snape's office. Jo smiled, released his hand, and rose from her chair to leave. "Enjoy your detention, Professor Snape."

To not arouse suspicions as to why a teacher would not help catch a mountain troll, Jo decided it was best to skip the Halloween Feast. She passed a group of first-year students goofing off and noticed Draco Malfoy sitting outside working on his homework. She knew that he must be a studious child since his marks were always excellent, if not quite up to Hermione's work. A pair of Gryffindor's knocked into the small blond boy and got ink to spill all over his bag and the homework he had been working on. He looked too shocked to say anything.

"15 points from Gryffindor. No roughhousing in the halls. You two are 6th year's are you not?"

"Yes Professor Harper." They answered demurely.

"To earn 5 points back, please vanish the excess ink on Mr. Malfoys' homework. If you vanish anything he's written, you will serve your detention, recovering it for him. Do you agree?"

The students seemed stunned to be offered a way to earn points back after losing them, and eagerly charmed the page so the extra ink was lifted from the page and the inkwell was restored. She gave 5 points back to Gryffindor and turned to the young Slytherin.

"5 points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for being so studious and keeping calm." She smiled at him. Draco looked up at her, stunned. He was used to earning points from Professor Snape, but most other teachers seemed to play favorites with their own house.

"Thank you. Were you in Slytherin, Professor Harper?" Draco asked.

She shook her head and smiled. "I was not. I didn't actually go to Hogwarts. I studied in the United States. Why do you ask?"

"It just that most professors stick to awarding points to their houses." He answered, honestly.

"Oh well. I hope that's not the case. I try to be fair about how I hand them out. Keeping a cool head in a trying situation is definitely worthy of points. And I was impressed that you are so dedicated to your coursework on such a nice day. Hopefully, you'll be taking my class when you're offered in a couple of years."

"What class do you teach?"

"Muggle Studies." She supplied.

"I can't take that!" He exclaimed.

"Why on earth not? If more Slytherins did, I would be able to award you all more points."

"Look, it must be different in America, but here, we value our traditions. We don't waste time learning about an inferior species just because they look like us."

She looked at him thoughtfully and pulled a pen from her robe.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am very sorry you feel that way. I think that there is much we can learn from others. For instance, did you know that muggles would think that your quill and inkwell are archaic? They've invented this tool instead. You can refill it if you like, but many are disposable; it does not spill; it writes just as nicely as a quill. Why don't you take it and try it for a week, and then find me in my office? It's on the first floor. If you show me notes from a lecture or homework you've completed in pen, I will award you more points for openness to new ideas. If you hate it, I encourage you to tell me why and convince me that quills are superior. Deal?" She handed Draco a beautiful fountain pen. Draco looked at the pen curiously. His drive to win points for his house and prove himself right was strong. He nodded, "Deal," he said, and left.

To avoid the feast, Jo sat in her quarters with Gandhi and Godzilla, curled up on a small couch in front of the fire, reading Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger. She was very touched that Professor Snape had offered to let her help with her potion making. She hadn't found that she had made friends with her colleagues as readily as she had hoped. Minerva would always speak to her during mealtimes, but she was very professional and tended to only talk about the school, classes, and now that Quidditch season was approaching, Gryffindor's chances at winning the cup. Hagrid proved a natural friendship to make, but his varying schedule meant that she did not see him very frequently. Though she would not call her relationship with Severus a friendship, they were indeed friendly. She found herself eager to spend more time with him and was worryingly looking at the clock from time to time. Wondering if the feast had been interrupted yet if the troll had cornered Hermione if Severus had stopped Quirrell.

Three hours after the Feast's start, she decided to set out into the deserted corridor to the dungeons. She found her way to Severus' office and rapped at the door quietly. She felt a little foolish for coming. It was well after lessons, and she heard no sound from the other side of the door. She was worried that he might have been hurt. Maybe she should check the infirmary. She turned and began walking in the hall once more. The only sound was her hurried steps as she tried to race to the third floor. In her rush up the stairs, her foot caught unexpectedly, completely stuck in what had to be a trick step.

She was at a complete loss for what to do. Her foot was thoroughly stuck, and no effort she made to get unstuck freed her. A group of Slytherins approached.

"You there!" She called out to them. "Isn't it after hours? Why are you lot roaming the corridors?"

A haughty 7th year stared at her with disdain. "What's it to you?"

"What's it to me, Professor Harper. And your name?" She corrected.

At this, the boy laughed airly to his friends. "Rowe. Of course. And what an excellent example of Hogwarts Professors you must be to be stuck on a staircase. Is your class so immersive in that filth that you don't even take your wand with you?"

The group of Slytherins sneered menacingly. Jo spotted a young Draco Malfoy in the group, trying to look important and intimidating among his older classmates. Jo retrieved her fake wand and held it up.

"Let's see, that will be 20 points from Slytherin for being out after curfew and another 10 points from Slytherin for lack of respect. Back to your house at once."

A girl mocked her now. "You know, I don't think she can get out. Marcus this could be fun."

For the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Jo felt nervous. She wiggled her foot furiously, trying to free it, but to no avail. In the books, someone always helped Neville or Harry if they got stuck, but she doubted the Slytherins approaching her wanted to help. Trying to sound as stern as possible, she tried once more to get them back to their dorms.

I have already instructed you to return to your house. Failure to do so will result in 5 points from each of you for every minute you don't follow this direction… Each."

The sneering 7th-year boy was to her now, and he pushed her so that she fell painfully down to the stairs, her stuck foot still unmoving, and a crack pierced the quiet as her leg broke. Jo let out a painful cry and dropped her wand, so it fell out of reach. The other Slytherins now looked nervous and uncomfortable, many backing up and beginning to disperse. The antagonistic 7th-year boy, the younger pig-snouted girl, remained. Twenty feet from the action, Draco stood with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. His posture was stiff, uncertain. Jo met his eyes briefly, wondering – hoping - that maybe this was the moment he’d step forward. The other two just stood there, dumbly. The commotion got the attention of Peeves.

"Naughty snakes out of bed. What are the Slyvies up to?" Peeves let out a roar. “ATTACK ON A TEACHER!” he howled, echoing through the corridors. He zipped off, shouting the news into every empty stairwell. Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed in the hall.

"Detention Mr. Rowe" She managed to say between steadying breaths. The commotion seems to attract more footsteps. Rowe's wand was pointed at her face when he was blown backward off the staircase with a bolt of red light. The girl next to him, screamed. The Slytherin first-year boys stayed motionless.

"What is going on here?" Hissed Severus in a rage. "Miss Newton, explain."

"Umm. We were just going for a walk. We saw Professor Harper stuck and tried to help, but she fell down." She finished lamely.

Snape's black eyes darted around, his wand still raised, as Mr. Rowe remained still.

"You are lying. Take him," he pointed to the lump at the bottom of the stairs, "to the hospital wing. You both will serve detention once a week until the end of the term."

"Professor, it was an accident," she protested.

"Every week till the end of next term. NOW GO." He bellowed, and she scampered off, dragging the boy along with her as best she could.

"Professor Snape, I can't get up," Jo said quietly. He hurried to her side and freed her leg. At that moment, Draco finally left his vigil by the wall. He was walking towards her now with his hand held out.

"Professor, your wand." He held the fake wand out to her nervously.

"Were you just watching? Didn't think to summon your head of house or help?" Snape bit at him.

"Professor Snape, that's enough. I already docked points for the group being out past curfew. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Crabbe, and Mr. Goyle, I'm sure, were just unsure what to do. It can be intimidating to know something is wrong but not know how to help." She accepted the wand from Draco. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You'd best be getting back to your house. Don't forget about our deal. I'm looking forward to hearing your insight."

The boys left quickly, not wanting to be around Snape, and she left out a shudder of pain. She had been trying so hard to look unaffected by the situation in front of the children, but tears were now threatening to fall.

"I don't know what you think you were doing walking the halls so late." Snape started to lecture her with venom in his voice.

"Stop." She said forcefully. "It has been a hard night. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Can you fix my leg? It really hurts." At this admission, she began to cry in earnest now. The adrenaline had stopped pulsing through her veins, leaving her with sharp, shooting pains.

Severus looked at her and pointed his wand at her. He conjured a floating magical stretcher beneath her and levitated it, beginning to walk with her as she floated back towards the dungeons.

"Where are we going? The infirmary is upstairs, isn't it?" She asked between sobs.

"My quarters are closer, and I have the potions on hand." When they got to the door of his office, he performed a spell to remove the ward on the door and floated her inside. He grabbed a few vials and then stood before a blank wall, muttering an incantation. A door appeared, and he directed her inside. He lowered the stretcher beside the fireplace and began opening bottles. Jo sat up expectantly.

"Roll your robe up so I can see the fracture." Severus directed her emotionless. Jo did as she was told with silent tears still falling down her cheeks. A huff escaped his lips, and he took a small squat black bottle and unscrewed the topper. Inside was a salve. His long fingers scooped up a sizeable portion, and he rubbed it carefully on her leg. Immediately, the pain subsided. He examined her leg further in a very clinical manner. Jo chastised herself for being grateful that she remembered to shave her legs that morning. Not the time to be vain, she thought.

He stood silently and went back to the table, grabbing three other potions. He busied himself, putting a kettle on the fire as well.

"Drink these in succession." He said, handing her two small vials. She took them readily. "A bone-mending potion and a strengthening potion," He said, answering her unasked question.

"Thank you," Jo said, meekly, the shock of being attacked was dawning on her now that the physical pain had lessened. Severus nodded.

"I will add a calming draught to the tea." He pointed at the teapot in the fireplace. "You should not have been out so late."

"I know that now. I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't think this would happen. They're kids. I don't understand. This never happened in the books." She added. This wasn't supposed to happen. In the books, students got pranked, not assaulted. This world was supposed to be magical, not cruel. He looked deep into her eyes, and she stared back unblinking, trusting him. He looked away, poured her tea when the kettle hissed, and added the calming draught.

"Drink this." He directed. "In my experience, Muggle Studies Professors have never been well-respected. Quirrell, before he left for Albania, was the Muggle Studies professor, and he was abysmal. The students did not respect him and began to act out. I had hoped that with a new professor, they would not try anything. I will think about ways to keep you safe within the castle. We cannot have you attacked again. It's a miracle they did not realize you are not a witch."

She sipped her tea and did not say anything.

"What were you talking with Malfoy about earlier? What deal?" Snape asked.

She explained that his homework was ruined when the Gryffindor boys bumped him. Told him about the points she gave Malfoy and asked him to join her class, and his response. How she thought that he was a brilliant student who didn't need to be marred by bias and bigotry that she felt the way to reach him was intellectual curiosity and frankly bribery with points.

"That is an interesting approach. I doubt the boy would take your class. He is from a very rigid pureblood family who would regard his attendance as nearly blasphemous."

"Just because he won't take the class doesn't mean he can't learn from me. I know him from the books. He has a heart. He just needs some help finding his way."

"Trying to save all the lost causes?" He asked wryly.

"Of course." She replied, smiling wanly. For a flicker of a moment, emotion swept his eyes, but they quickly turned back to their black, impenetrable state. She sipped more tea and moved her injured leg stiffly. A twinge of pain coursed through her.

"What are you doing, you silly woman? Keep still. You need to give it time to heal." He scolded her gently with no heat in his tone.

"How am I to know how fast magic works?" Jo laughed pleasantly and stifled a yawn. "I'm just getting tired. It was late when I went looking for you. How did it go by the way?"

"I headed Quirrell off without any trouble. I wore dragon-hide boots so the bite could not break through. Thank you for that tip. He paused, thinking. "I think it would be best if you stayed here this evening. I would rather not levitate you through the castle in case someone is out of bed."

With a flick of his wand, the couch by his fireplace was transformed into a twin bed, complete with a simple black quilt.

He walked over to her spot on the floor and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"May I assist you to bed. You'll be more comfortable." He said stiffly, awkwardly holding out his arm.

Jo smiled at his discomfort, nodded, and held her arms up towards him. "Thank you."

He slipped an arm beneath her and gently lifted her, setting her carefully on the bed.

"Yes. Well. Okay then. I will be in the connected room. Just call out if you need anything."

"Thank you so much, Professor Snape. I am glad that you are okay. I wouldn't fancy being that close to Fluffy." She said, trying to break the tension in the room.

"I am also glad that you will be okay, Professor Harper." He nodded and left the room.

Jo blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice. She nodded once, words suddenly harder to find.

Chapter Text

Jo woke slowly, stretching on the unfamiliar bed. She let out a small yelp of pain. Wincing, her body reflexively curled into a ball. Moments later, a loud clatter echoed from the other room. Jo instinctively tensed before the events of the prior night, slowly returned to her. Severus, more unkempt than she had ever seen him, entered the room. His shoulder length hair tousled from sleep, his black nightshirt off by one button, but his eyes were piercing and alert.

"Are you well? What happened? I heard a cry of pain." He interrogated her intensely.

A small smile formed on her lips. "I'm sorry for the concern I caused. I'm fine; I just woke up and moved without remembering I needed to be gentle."

"Foolish woman." He chided, but without any real muster. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted with a loud CRACK.

"Missus. I has been searching all over the castle for you." Tibby's doe-like eyes fell on Jo's leg. "Yous hurt! I've failed my task. Tibby will iron her ears for this."

"No! Tibby, I forbid you from ever punishing yourself. This was not your fault at all. You can't be by my side all the time. Don't blame yourself. You know what would be just the biggest help, though? Maybe you could get me a spot of coffee and some toast. That would make me feel a lot better. Professor Snape, would you like some?"

His face was inscrutable, but he nodded to the house-elf, who agreed emphatically to the task and exited with a pop. "Not many interact with elves the way you do," he said.

"Perhaps more should?" Jo responded as Tibby was back with their small breakfast, bowed low, and disappeared once more.

"Indeed." His eyes shifted to her leg. "Your injury seems to be mended, but you yelped this morning. Does it still hurt? The potion dosage may need to be altered. Perhaps muggle blood requires more salamander blood in the first stage of brewing."

Jo looked at him, perplexed. He seemed to have been asking her a question, but then began talking to himself as if she were an exciting potions conundrum.

"No clue about the blood, but it is a bit twingey still if I move too quickly." She slowly sat up and gingerly put her injured on the floor. To her great relief, she felt no pain. Severus was surveying her carefully and then instructed, "Attempt to stand."

She cautiously stood and found that she was able. "My leg feels sore, but it's bearable." He nodded and abruptly left the room. She stood in his living room, bemused. She was more alert now than she had been last night and took in her surroundings. The room looked greyscale. The walls were dark, the floor was black quartz, and even outside seemed to match the dreary interior with ominous storm clouds just outside. The only color in the room came from the spines of the many books that lined the shelves on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that spanned one wall. She shuffled ever so carefully to get a peek at the titles. They were organized meticulously by genre. Shelves and shelves dedicated to potions and ingredients. Books on charms, transfiguration, arithmancy, and other subjects taught at Hogwarts. She was surprised to see classical Muggle fiction. Books with grizzly names like Magical Means of Torture graced a section entirely dedicated to what looked like the Dark Arts. She walked over to these books, enraptured by her own curiosity.

Severus reentered the room and looked at her accusatorily. "I did not bring you here to invade my privacy." He said with a deadly calm. "Drink this a get out of my sight." He thrust a small vial into her hands and cast a nonverbal spell to throw open the door leading to the corridor.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything-" She tried. She knew she’d crossed a line. But something in his anger felt less like betrayal and more like fear.

"OUT!" He roared.

The next few days were hard for Jo. Severus was refusing to speak with her. Dumbledore had overruled Severus' punishment for Rowe and had expelled the boy. Despite this, however, he deemed it necessary for Jo's safety to restrict her movements around the castle. She was no longer allowed to walk on the grounds alone, wander the castle after dinner, or before breakfast. She was encouraged to be accompanied during the day. But Jo couldn't be such an imposition to her only friends in the castle. Her classroom and quarters were now warded such that if a threat were directed at her, the headmaster would be immediately alerted. As a result, she hardly ventured out from these rooms.

Jo was sitting at her desk in her empty classroom. Her red fountain pen scratched at the students' homework, making corrections and praising insights the students had made on their assignment on mobile phones. She smiled bemusedly as she corrected the spelling of "Eyefone" on Angelina's work. A knock on the door startled her slightly, and she looked up to the source of the interruption.

"Professor Harper?" Draco Malfoy was standing at the entrance, uncertain.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Come in, please." She said with a reassuring smile. He walked into the room and sat in the chair by her desk that she was motioning him to.

"Would you like a cookie? I baked them myself." She offered, pointing to the plate on her desk. Draco took one politely.

"Why did you not ask the house-elves?" He inquired curiously.

"I needed something to do, and my grandmother taught me this recipe. It's relaxing."

"Was she a mudbl-gleborn." Draco fumbled the sentence, and Jo looked at him seriously but did not comment on his word choice.

My family was not wealthy enough to have a house elf, but we managed to get by making our own food just fine. She dodged the question with a true, if misleading, answer. "What brings you by this afternoon, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco rummaged through his bookbag and produced the fountain pen she had given him the prior week and a long piece of parchment. "I finished your assignment."

Jo beamed at him. "Would you mind if I read this with you here? I would love to discuss your experience."

Draco shrugged. "Sure." and started to eat his cookie while she read.

The start of his essay was heavily biased against the writing instrument. He took issue with everything from the inferior tip, the quality of the ink, and the wood used for the shaft. The essay was a stream of consciousness, and she felt a bubble of success as she noted a switch in his thinking as he continued using the pen. He noted that it wrote smoothly, and it was rather nice not to have to dip it in an ink well. He wondered how it was refilled. He appreciated the cap on the pen. He found it useful when his fellow Slytherins entered the common room, and he went to quickly put away the parchment and implement. In his concluding statement, he was torn. The pen did not have the elegance of the quill, but it appeared more practical.

"You bring up excellent points Mr. Malfoy. I am curious about what improvements you would suggest if you were tasked with the responsibility.

He pondered the question. "I think the feather is timeless and sophisticated. That should be incorporated into the design. The cap should be smaller and nearly unnoticeable."

"It sounds like you are describing a pen that imitates the beauty of the quill but keeps its function unchanged."

"That sounds about right."

"Am I going to be able to pry a compliment out of you for the muggles' ingenuity to invent this writing implement?" She chortled at him. He returned the smile.

"Aww, come on, Professor." He tried, but she just smiled. "Fine, they did well here, but they're rubbish when it comes to refinement."

"That's a pity," she said, opening the top drawer of her desk and withdrawing a golden eagle feather fountain pen with a cap. "I suppose you'd have no interest in this pen then?"

Draco went slightly slack-jawed at the pen. Jo felt victorious. She had custom-ordered the pen the day she set the assignment, hoping for this moment.

"I mean. It would be rude not to accept a gracious gift." He supplied.

"Well, we can't have that." She handed over the pen. "My only condition is that if your classmates inquire about the pen, you tell them what you've learned about quills and fountain pens." He hesitated for just a moment and nodded, taking the gift.

"Oh! And I nearly forgot. Twenty points to Slytherin for keeping an open mind and basing your opinions on first-hand experience instead of bias."

Draco nodded gratefully and made his way towards the door. "Thank you, Professor Harper. I also wanted to apologize for the other night." He did not meet her eyes as he said the last sentence.

"I meant what I said. I know it is hard to do the right thing, especially when your peers and role models aren't. I hope that with age and this experience, you'll be better prepared for the next time you're tested."

He seemed to ponder this and nodded thoughtfully before exiting her office.

Jo's spirits were lifted after this encounter with Draco, and she felt much less sullen. Sure, her movements were very limited, and Severus was extremely upset with her, but at least she could still make a difference. She chided herself for feeling self-pity that week. Her eyes landed on her desk calendar, and the first Quidditch game of the season was in just two days. Determined to put herself in a better mood, she began a letter to Hagrid asking if she could join him in watching the game. Excitement bubbled in her stomach as she thought that this would be her first time interacting with Hermione and Ron, too, if everything worked out.

Chapter Text

Jo woke up to a chilly, ice-gray November day where frost covered the school grounds. Peering out her window, she saw Hagrid defrosting frozen broomsticks in his moleskine coat. It was the day of the Quidditch match, and Jo found herself excited. She had never much enjoyed reading about the Quidditch matches in the series, and she wasn't a big sports fan overall, but the excitement among the students was infectious.

She headed to the Great Hall, and it seemed like the house-elves had outdone themselves: fried sausages, heaps of fluffy eggs, verdant greens, and stacks of pancakes. There was a raucous feel to the hall as students were chattering about the game. She had a mission, though. After more than a week of not speaking, she desperately needed to give Severus a heads up for what was to come. She felt a pit in her stomach when she noted that he was not at breakfast. What if she had changed this history already, and he did not show up? Worst case: Harry would fall off his broom. Quirrell might succeed in his quest. Best case: Harry would be okay, but his confidence as a Seeker shaken, and that was such an important part of him. Who knows what would change? It was nearing 11, and she still did not see Severus. She noticed the Headmaster exiting the hall and walked as quickly as she could towards him without causing a scene.

"Professor Dumbledore, might I have a word? It's quite urgent." She called when she was a few feet away. He nodded knowingly, and they walked to a quiet corridor, which was easy with all the students filing out to go to the stands.

Sir, Professor Snape needs to be at this game, but I'm having trouble locating him. I need to have a word with him if possible, too."

"That's peculiar. Certainly, you could have told him before this? I was under the impression that Severus was, if not friendly, then at least tolerant of your existence." Dumbledore pondered aloud.

"He was. I overstepped a boundary, and he is upset with me. Do you know where he is?" She felt that Dumbledore was stalling, and she really wanted to hurry this up.

At that moment, Hagrid walked over.

"Professor Harper! How are ye? Thought we were headin’ to the match together." He called loudly.

"We are, Hagrid. I just need to speak with Professor Snape first. I was asking Professor Dumbledore if he had seen him." She felt like this was an unfortunate turn. She couldn't just stand here and chat; she needed to warn Severus.

"Professor Snape?" Hagrid's voice boomed and filled the corridor. "What do you need to talk to him fer? Last minute Quidditch bet?" Hagrid smiled warmly.

She was about to answer, but a silky voice cut in.

"Is that it, Professor Harper? In addition to your other unsavory habits, do you also have a gambling affliction?"

"No. I just need a word in private." She pointed to an empty classroom. "Headmaster, thank you. Hagrid, I'll meet you in the stands. Save me a seat, huh?" Both tipped their heads, and Severus and Jo walked into the empty classroom.

"So, what exactly is so urgent?" Severus spat caustically.

He is really angry still. She thought to herself.

"Quirrell will try and jinx Harry off his broom in the match. You are pretty successful at keeping him on by muttering a counter-jinx. However, some students will be worried that you are the one jinxing Harry, and they are going to set fire to your robes. This breaks Quirrell's concentration entirely. It must play out like this. I didn't want you to miss the match, and I wanted to give you a heads up so you could cast a flame freezing charm. Please yell when you feel the sensation when you're on fire. It'll help. I didn't want you to be injured." Jo said all of this really quickly. Her cheeks turned the faintest red as she finished her dialogue. "Come on, we'd better go. You sat opposite Hagrid in the stands and one row in front of Quirrell."

Severus merely nodded. They began to walk together, but his pace was so fast, and since they weren't going to the same place, Jo didn't even attempt to keep up with his long strides. She found all the excitement had waned and felt dejected. She couldn’t quite explain why his approval mattered so much. She knew he was a git. She made her way to the stands, and Hagrid waved eagerly to her.

"'Ello, Professor Harper. Have ye met Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley? They're first years, so I wouldn't expect you to have met them in class." Hagrid questioned.

"I haven't had the pleasure. It's nice to meet both of you." Ron merely nodded, intent on the game, but Hermione was excited to make a good impression with a new professor.

"What subject do you teach, Professor Harper?" Hermione asked sweetly.

"Muggle Studies. Won't be an option until your third year, I'm afraid. I hope you both take it. Ron, your brothers are in my class.

At that moment, Madam Hooch announced: "Mount your brooms, please".

The crowd was abuzz as fifteen brooms rose into the air. Lee Jordan was commentating, and Professor McGonagall was chiding him as he complimented Angelina's appearance. Jo had a hard time following all the balls. It was such a fast-moving game. She found herself extremely grateful that Ron was explaining the game to Hermione, and she was able to listen and piece it together.

Suddenly, Harry dived. He had seen the snitch! Marcus Flint seemed to immediately foul him. Slytherins Jo couldn't help but think. Her eyes surveyed the opposite side of the field until her eyes met Severus's. His eyebrow quirked as if he was disapproving of her silent comment. From that far away? No way. He silently mouthed "Way." Flustered, she broke eye contact and stared at her feet, embarrassed. She wondered if that meant he wasn't so angry.

"Professor, you're missing the game. Spinnet is going to take the penalty shot." Ron said, sounding almost indignant that she wasn't watching intently.

"Sorry, just the heights." She lied and watched again. He nodded and returned his focus to the match. Spinnet scored.

Then she saw it. Harry's broom lurched. She gasped. He was zigzagging and lurching all over the pitch.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he lost control of his broom... But he can't have…."

People in the stands had noticed and were pointing worriedly. The whole crowd gasped as Harry was flung off his broom and was dangling by one hand.

Murmurs erupted from the crowd. Hermione looked in her binoculars around the stadium. Jo held her breath.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped. "Snape - Look." She thrust the binoculars into Ron's hands.

Amidst the chaos, Jo couldn't hear the rest of the conversation but began to breathe a little easier when Hermione left and Ron stood on the stands, confused and worried for his friend.

"Come on Hermione." Ron whimpered. Jo's heart was beating hard against her chest, hoping against hope that this first real test of changing just enough about the books would work. Could Severus know, save Harry, and not be burned. Would it be too contrived? Would Hermione still knock over Quirrell? Would Harry be okay and catch the winning snitch?

After what felt like an eternity, Harry climbed on his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron called. Jo sighed a breath of relief. Her eyes looked across the pitch once more. Quirrell was nowhere to be seen, but Severus was searching the stands for the student who caught his robes on fire. She didn't want to give Hermione away should Severus look her way, so she left her spot, whispering to Hagrid as she left.

"Too much excitement for me, Hagrid." As she made her way away from her seat, she heard Lee call out.

"He got the snitch! Nearly swallowed it!"

As Jo made her way back toward the castle, still glowing from the match, she heard a familiar clipped voice behind her.

“It’s not an easy thing, finding your place here so quickly. But you’ve managed it.”

Jo turned to find Professor McGonagall walking alongside her, a rare smile tugging at her usually stern mouth.

“I loved every minute of it,” Jo admitted. “And I was absolutely terrified.”

Minerva chuckled. “That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”

They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, the cold air sharp and invigorating.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” McGonagall said at last, “your approach to the Muggle Studies curriculum, it’s very thoughtful. We’ve had the wrong kind of material in that classroom for too long.”

Jo blinked. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“I don’t flatter lightly.” Minerva looked at her sidelong. “Severus told me you’re a quick study. I’ve seen it myself. You’ve earned your place here.”

Jo felt something twist in her chest; recognition, maybe. Gratitude. She gave a small nod. “Thank you, Minerva. Really.”

McGonagall offered a brisk nod in return, then paused before the castle doors. “If you ever need a second opinion on your syllabus… or just a cup of tea… my office door is open.”

The first test was over. It hadn’t gone perfectly, but it had gone right. As she walked to the castle in the brisk November air, she couldn't help but smile. It worked. Maybe this would all sort out after all. She wondered vaguely if she would always be this anxious and imagined it would be nearly impossible not to be. She loved all the characters. Though she knew that was the wrong word. These were people she felt as if she had known for years and cared for deeply. She had to do this right.

With unsettling thoughts of what would happen should she be unsuccessful; Jo decided to extend her walk and go around the Black Lake to clear her head. She had never been a serious yogi, but she enjoyed the practice. She found a log by the lake, sat, closed her eyes, and started her prana breathing techniques. She took a long, deep breath in. Ten counts. Hold for ten counts. Whoosh. Out her mouth for One. Two. Three. Four. Five….

"Professor Harper." A cool drawl broke her concentration, and she nearly fell off her log, she startled so badly.

"Professor Snape. I didn't expect to see you here. How's the leg?" Her eyes took in the scorch marks on his robes.

"The recommended spell worked adequately." He said. There was an uncomfortable silence. She did not quite meet his gaze.

"How about you don’t use Legilimency so I can stop pretending this rock is interesting?"

"I would like to know who set fire to my person." He said firmly.

"And I would like to win the lottery. But truly, you're not supposed to know. And they weren't doing it with any malice in their heart. Please don't force it from me." She met his gaze at this, trusting that he wouldn't.

He stared at her unblinkingly and then nodded. "Alright."

"Professor Snape?" He looked at her, tacitly agreeing for her to go on. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. You've been very clear that you're a private individual, and I was not right to pry. I am sorry. I deeply regret it, and I miss our friendship."

Severus just stood there and looked towards the castle. He remained silent. Jo stared at the lake, figuring that at least she tried. Many long moments passed. Tears were threatening to fall, but she was successful in blinking them back. She did not want to cry in front of him. She wasn't even sure why she was tearing up. She had always cried easily. Her grandmother often gave her a hard time over it, as it was the one thing they didn't agree on. Her grandmother urged her to grow thicker skin, but she didn't mind being sensitive. Why was it a bad thing anyway? Her thoughts were running away from her as she stared at the waves not daring a glance towards Severus.

Her breath hitched when she felt the log move slightly beneath her and realized that Severus had moved to sit beside her.

"What did you mean by our friendship?" His voice was quiet.

"What did I mean?" Jo was kind of baffled by the question. Had she misread him so badly? "I mean, I thought we were becoming friends. You know my big secret. We eat meals in the hall together. You've helped me settle here. Even saved me when I was attacked. You and I joke. Did I misread it? I'd like to be friends."

"Stop your rambling, you sappy woman," Severus said, but not cruelly.

"You asked," she barked out a laugh. She looked at him with a half-smile, and extended her arm across her for him to shake: "Friends then?"

Severus looked at her hand, expression unreadable. “I’ve made more foolish choices,” he muttered—and shook it.

"My gods, your hands are freezing. Corpselike. We should go in."

"You really know how to compliment a woman, you know that? Every girl dreams of being called corpse-like and having men recoil at their touch."

A faint smile danced on his lips, "I aim to please."

Chapter Text

December’s chill settled in on the castle. While Tibby did her very best to ensure her room always had enough firewood in the hearth, Jo wasn’t used to the Scottish winter. She sat now at the desk in her private quarters. Both cats snuggled in her chair with her so she was awkwardly perched at the very edge of it but with no heart to move them. She kept her charmed shawl wrapped around her at all times and thought longingly of the space heater she used to keep in her research lab.

A small smile crept on her lips. She was going to Professor Snape’s lab this evening after dinner to assist with potions preparation, and she was ecstatic. While she loved being in the castle and found her classes engaging and rewarding, she missed the precision of the lab. She had checked out so many books from the school library to try and come up to speed. She began to chew nervously on her lip. She did not want to be dismissed for being a so-called dunderhead or be told she was just regurgitating books. She wondered how much of her background would be transferable or if this was all just a big mistake.

POP.

“Missus is thinking too much again, thinks Tibby,” the house-elf said gently, appearing with a faint snap beside the hearth. Her large ears twitched as she tilted her head, studying Jo with soft concern.

Jo blinked, then laughed, the sound caught somewhere between surprise and guilt. “You might be right there, Tibby.”

“Tibby hears the sighing and the paper rustling. Missus’s shoulders are up like this” Tibby raised her own tiny ones in an exaggerated hunch, “and Missus has not touched her tea.”

Jo glanced at the untouched cup on her desk and winced. “Caught.”

Tibby nodded solemnly. “Maybe a quick walk before next class? The air is cold, but good for thinking less.”

Jo smiled. “Thinking less. That sounds ideal. You’ll still be around to help later?”

Tibby beamed, nodded enthusiastically, and disappeared with a pop, likely off to restock Jo’s fireplace or straighten her already immaculate shelves. Jo stared at the spot the elf had been, warmth blooming in her chest. The little creature had a gift for knowing exactly when Jo needed grounding and never seemed to expect anything in return.

Jo chuckled at the pushy little elf, stood slowly so as not to disrupt the sleeping felines. She quickly glanced at the clock as she left her quarters, with twenty minutes to spare. She remembered Minerva’s quiet offer to stop by for tea. She made her way to the first-floor corridor and saw that the door was open in a welcoming way. She lifted her hand and knocked twice to alert the older woman to her presence.

The room had a large fireplace and towering windows overlooking the training grounds and Quidditch pitch where the faintest snowflakes were beginning to fall. No wonder she was able to see Harry dive so spectacularly for the Remeberall. Minerva sat behind her large wooden desk, dressed in Tartan robes. She peered through her square spectacles at the noise and perked up when she recognized Jo.

“Jo, come in. I just finished marking my second-years’ essays on transfiguring white rabbits into slippers.” Minerva welcomed.

“Bunny slippers, Minevera?” Jo laughed as she pulled up a chair. Minerva gestured to the tin of biscuits at the corner of her desk as a way of offering.

“A bit too on the nose? Pity more students don’t take your class, I fear the joke is over their heads. How’s your class going? I’ve heard nothing but positive comments from the students.”

“I think it’s going well. They have their year-long project, which I’m really hoping they’re working on instead of procrastinating, and then for lecture, we’re focusing on blending into Muggle society when it’s necessary. I feel like everyone has a story of some uncle who went out in a dress and that raised some eyebrows among Muggles… Although there has been a big push in Muggle society in recent years, especially among the younger population, to be more accepting of those who don’t conform to gender norms.”

“You don’t say? Sometimes I think the wizarding world is decades behind on that front. Traditions are fine, but some of ours… well, they’ve aged poorly. I have no tolerance for anti-Muggle sentiment. That was a big part of why I left the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement to come to Hogwarts. I wish I could say that it’s improved, but I think there is a lot of work to do.”

“I’d be curious about your opinion, but I’ve always believed ignorance is at the heart of hatred. It’s one of the reasons I was drawn to my position. If I can fill even a few gaps in understanding, maybe we can chip away at that fear. One lesson at a time”

Minerva nodded slowly. “That’s a noble aim. The kind we need more of. What about settling into Hogwarts? I imagine it can’t have been easy to leave America and start a new life here.”

The question carried just a hint of intrusion, but Jo didn’t mind. She understood that friendships required vulnerability. Still, the weight of what she couldn’t say pressed gently at the edges of her reply.

“It’s definitely been an adjustment.” She admitted, “I had a small but wonderful friend group back home. I know relationships like that take time to build again, but in the meantime, it’s a little lonely.”

She hesitated and then added. “But I was in the right place for a transition. My grandmother passed at the beginning of the year, and I was feeling a little lost without her. Around the same time, I left a relationship that had turned quite sour.” The word felt like an unfathomable understatement, but she still wasn’t comfortable saying more, even after therapy. “I travelled to Scotland to find my path again. Happened to bump into Professor Dumbledore at just the right time.” She managed a small smile.

Minerva’s lips curved, more gently this time. “Yes, he does that,” she said, her voice colored with something between fondness and knowing. “Always seems to be in the right place at the right moment, especially when someone’s standing at a crossroads.”

She paused, then added, “It was the same for me, actually. I left the Ministry decades ago after a promotion I didn’t want and a heartbreak I never expected. The city, the politics, the casual disdain for Muggles… it wasn’t a world I could thrive in. Albus had me at Hogwarts within the week.”

Jo’s brows lifted slightly, surprised. “And you never looked back?”

“Oh, I did. Once or twice.” Minerva gave a quiet smile. “But not for long. Sometimes, the path we need doesn’t look like a choice at all until after we’ve taken it.”

Jo looked down at her hands. “Yeah. That sounds familiar.”

Minerva offered the biscuit tin again with a little nudge. “Then I suspect you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

The fire crackled gently in the hearth behind Minerva, echoing the warmth Jo was beginning to feel here, not just in the room, but in the company. She stood, brushing biscuit crumbs from her lap.

“Thank you for the tea and the conversation,” she said, meaning it more than she expected.

Minerva gave a small, knowing nod. “My door is always open, Jo.”

With a grateful smile, Jo gathered her things and slipped into the corridor, feeling steadier than when she’d walked in.

~*~*~*

Jo walked into her classroom and took her usual perch on the edge of her desk, facing the neat rows of student chairs. The room was quiet for now, filled only with the low hum of anticipation she always felt before a good lesson. She glanced around, pleased with how the space had come together: equal parts museum, lab, and love letter to the ingenuity of non-magical minds.

The walls were covered with vibrant posters and diagrams: one broke down the elegant chaos of a combustion engine; another showed Bernoulli’s principle in action, with sleek illustrations of lift and drag on airplane wings. Xray slides were taped in one window as a demonstration of muggle healing. A delicate mobile of historical spacecraft models hung from the ceiling, catching the light as it turned. On one side of the room stood a series of carefully labeled artifacts: a combination printer-scanner, an early-model iPhone, a sleek bicycle, a mechanical clock with its gears exposed under glass. In one corner, a simple evaporative cooler, built from terra cotta pots, quietly radiated cool air, its function explained in hand-drawn signage. A small model hot air balloon that she used in a previous lesson to demonstrate an early mode of transportation.

Jo had arranged the displays not just to teach, but to inspire. There was artistry in how Muggles solved problems without magic, an elegance in constraint, a creativity born of necessity. She wanted her students to feel that, to recognize that brilliance didn’t require a wand.

Students began trickling in, chattering to one another at a dull roar that made it impossible to catch anything they were individually saying to one another. As the last student sat down, she raised her hand. It was a testament to their respect for her that the room quieted at once. It wasn’t a respect borne from strictness or fear, but something else.

“Welcome everyone. How 's everyone’s term assignments going?” She asked and noticed some glancing amongst themselves that confirmed her fear that they had stalled a bit with the open and long assignment. “I figured. I was the same way when I was a student. While this may not seem like helping you, I am going to ask everyone to prepare a five minute presentation on your topic when we get back from winter break.”

There was a small eruption of groans. One of the Weasley Twins, Jo would never admit it, but she had no idea how to tell them apart, spoke out. “Professor, we should have spoken up earlier. The research is going positively swimmingly.” The other twin piped up “Yes, Professor, we’ve learned so much it is almost overwhelming.”

She smiled at the boys “That’s the best you’ve got? Really, boys you’re losing your touch. You’re all still on the hook even if your brains are just filled to the brim with Muggle ingenuity.”

Pivoting to our planned lecture. Let’s continue discussing how wizards and witches can blend into the Muggle world.”

She motioned toward the board, and the words Blending In: Cultural Camouflage and Common Mistakes appeared in neat script. No one saw Tibby hiding under the desk performing her own magic to help her mistress.

“Now, this might sound easy. You wear the right clothes. You keep your wand in your pocket. You don’t shout ‘Accio’ in the middle of Tesco, but I promise you, it’s not. Today we’re going to talk about how to move through the Muggle world without raising eyebrows. This includes clothing, language, money, etiquette, and the ever-present danger of asking if their fireplace is connected to the Floo Network.”

A few students chuckled. One Hufflepuff girl raised her hand. “Wait… has that actually happened?”

“More than once,” Jo said, smiling. “And sometimes by wizards who really should’ve known better.”

“Alright, let’s bring it back. Open your lesson guides to page five, the section on Muggle fashion. We’ll pick up with what to wear in public for things like shopping, transportation, and casual restaurants.”

The students busied themselves flipping pages and passing quills between desks. Jo moved between rows, checking in briefly, letting conversation bloom in the margins of the lecture. By the time lecture ended she felt the hum of engagement and that would be enough for today.

As the students packed up, a small Ravenclaw boy lingered behind, his hand shooting up even though half the class had already funneled out the door.

“Professor Harper?”

Jo turned, sliding a stack of parchment into her bag. “Yes, Callum?”

He looked genuinely perplexed. “My uncle said Muggles wear jeans to weddings. Is that… true?”

She blinked. “Only if the wedding’s in a barn and the dress code is ‘very casual.’”

“Oh.” He looked thoughtful. “But they can?”

“They can,” Jo confirmed, grinning. “Whether they should is another matter entirely.”

Callum nodded solemnly, as if she’d just handed him state secrets, then darted out the door, scribbling notes in the margin of his lesson guide.

Jo chuckled to herself and returned to tidying the classroom. By the time the last chair had been pushed in, the room felt still and content, like a deep breath had settled into the walls. She slung her satchel over one shoulder and made her way toward the dungeons, heart ticking a little faster.

She paused briefly at her quarters to brush chalk dust from her sleeves and freshen up. The corridor air was colder now, tinged with damp stone and something faintly metallic. Her footsteps echoed softly as she descended into the dimmer halls of the lower levels.

Snape’s door creaked open just before she raised her hand to knock.

“You’re late,” he drawled without looking up from the cauldron he was inspecting.

“Three minutes,” Jo said, stepping into the familiar chill of the lab. “I didn’t realize punctuality between staff was tracked quite so… militantly.”

Snape lifted one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been amusement. “You’ll find most of my standards are militant.”

Jo moved to the workstation across from him, already rolling up her sleeves. “And here I was thinking you invited me for the conversation.”

He handed her a vial of shrivelfig pulp. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But his tone lacked bite, and Jo, relieved, let herself settle into the quiet rhythm of the lab.

Snape handed her a fresh mortar and a jar labeled comfrey root without looking up.

“We’ll start with Dittany infusion, blood-replenishing potion, and salves for magical burns and venoms,” he said, his voice clipped but focused. “Madam Pomfrey requested a full shelf of high-level wound treatments. Evidently, someone has been teaching the first-years how to fall off broomsticks more dramatically than usual.”

Jo smirked as she began crushing the root. “What a surprise. Children being reckless in a castle full of monsters and fire hazards.”

Snape made a faint, unamused sound in his throat. “There’s also a request for bruise paste. If we have time.”

Jo nodded, then hesitated. “The standard formulation?”

He paused, just long enough for her to notice.

“Is there another?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, keeping her tone light as she scraped the pulverized root into a small pewter bowl, “what would happen if you added powdered horseradish to stimulate circulation? Or maybe doxy eggs, to help break up the hematoma if it's magical in origin? Would it... worsen things?”

Snape narrowed his eyes and turned toward her fully, arms folding. “Powdered horseradish would risk inflammatory response if not neutralized properly, and doxy eggs is unstable unless counterbalanced. But,” he added, with grudging interest, “if you used essence of belladonna to thin the base and infused the mixture with murtlap, it might hold.”

Jo nodded, thinking it through. “Could be useful. Especially if the bruising comes with internal tearing from, say... teeth. Or claws.”

His stare sharpened. “Harper,” he said slowly, “are you expecting a mauling anytime soon?”

She kept her eyes fixed on the cauldron. “No.”

He crossed the space between them in two long strides, fixing her with a look halfway between suspicion and weary disbelief. “Then perhaps you’d like to explain why you’re modifying bruise paste to handle dragon-class wounds.”

Jo bit her lip, thinking fast. “It’s just a feeling. I can’t explain it. But it might be useful around... early May?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You know something.”

Jo didn’t look up. “I know quite a lot of things.”

His tone turned flat. “Vague. Comforting.”

She scraped the edge of her pestle against the bowl. “It’s not for you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His gaze sharpened. “A student, then.”

She gave a small nod. “Possibly. Around early May.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “dunderheads” and reached for a vial. “Better them than me.”

Jo smirked. “That your official stance on student safety?”

“It is when they provoke dragons.”

He handed her a cutting board and a cluster of spiny doxy eggs. “Slice lengthwise. Do not rupture the yolk.”

Jo took the knife without hesitation, anchoring the board with one hand as she angled her first cut. The membrane resisted at first, but she adjusted, letting muscle memory take over. Her years in the lab came flooding back, not the sterile, fluorescent haze of paperwork and meetings, but the tactile precision of real bench work.

She’d worked with hydrofluoric acid often, a substance so corrosive it could eat through bone before you’d feel the burn. Doxy eggs were practically quaint by comparison.

Snape moved to the other side of the table, inspecting a rack of phials with a critical eye, but glanced over as Jo arranged the halved eggs on a silver tray, yolks intact and glistening faintly.

He said nothing.

But he didn’t correct her.

They fell into a rhythm. Jo crushed dried nettles, Snape stirred the infusion clockwise, slow and methodical. The copper cauldron bubbled gently, giving off the faint scent of stewed herbs and ash bark. The only other sounds were the scrape of knives, the hiss of flame under the cauldron, and the occasional soft clink of glass against wood.

Snape walked her through each step with clipped efficiency. How to steep the murtlap tentacles just long enough to draw out the regenerative compound. How to temper the base with salamander blood without clouding the solution. He spoke in low tones, precise and spare, like someone who did not suffer wasted words.

Jo followed each instruction with quiet care, double-checking measurements, adjusting heat with practiced ease. This was familiar in a way few things were anymore; not navigating shifting staircases or watching portraits gossip in the corridors, not seeing children casually summon books with a flick of their wands. But this, the measured rhythm of preparation, the grounded focus, the quiet precision of hands and tools, this she understood implicitly.

At one point, she glanced up and caught him watching her work. Not critically, not with that usual tight-lipped disdain he reserved for incompetence, but something quieter. Assessing.

She didn’t expect praise. She certainly didn’t get it.

But he didn’t take the knife from her hand. He didn’t correct her grip. He just returned to his own task.

And that, from Severus Snape, was praise enough.

At least two hours had passed.

The cauldron was cooling, the final phial labeled and placed carefully on the rack. The air smelled of crushed bark and something faintly metallic, the way hospitals sometimes did. Jo wiped her hands on a cloth and flexed her fingers, surprised by how steady they still felt. Focus had a way of doing that. Making time vanish.

Snape corked the last bottle with a soft pop, then turned to her. “If you find this work agreeable,” he said, tone even but not cold, “I work in the labs two evenings a week. Provided you don’t disrupt the order of things, you may return.”

Jo raised a brow. “I’ll try not to clutter your dungeon with enthusiasm.”

He didn’t smile, but she caught the faint flicker of something in his eyes. Curiosity, maybe. Or tolerance.

He reached for a cloth and began wiping down the table, his voice almost casual. “Where did you learn the effects of horseradish powder? Or the interaction between doxy eggs and the muscular system?”

Jo blinked. That had been bothering him.

“I’ve been reading,” she admitted, “mostly Potioneering texts from the school library. It reminds me of my old job, the lab work. I did a lot of reaction kinetics work.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, then returned to arranging vials on the shelf. “Most people read potion texts like cookbooks. They follow instructions and marvel at the result. Few consider altering formulations. Fewer still understand why doing so is even possible.”

She waited, sensing more, and he added, almost reluctantly, “It is refreshing to speak with someone who isn’t afraid of the theory. Potions are not,” he curled his lip, “a matter of silly incantations and flourishes. They require discipline. Precision. Intellect.”

Jo inclined her head slightly. Coming from him, that was practically effusive.

He didn’t offer anything else, just reached for his cloak and extinguished the lanterns with a flick of his wand.

“It’s late,” he said, already striding toward the door. “Come.”

They walked together in silence, the stone corridors quiet this deep into the evening. She matched his pace easily, neither of them speaking until they reached the threshold of her quarters.

He did not step closer. Did not linger.

Jo turned to him, warmth softening her tired expression. “Thank you. For letting me work with you. I really enjoyed it.”

Snape’s brow twitched faintly. “I see.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t put it in writing or sing it in the corridors.”

He made a slight movement, barely perceptible, as if restraining himself from rolling his eyes, then gave a brief nod, the closest thing to acceptance she expected, and turned to leave.

The silence he left behind didn’t feel empty. It felt earned.

Chapter Text

The holiday break at Hogwarts was somehow more festive and magical than Jo could have ever imagined, reading the books.  A fluffy layer of snow blanketed the grounds; the trees of the Forbidden Forest were dusted in white, and a delicate frost rimmed the edges of the Black Lake. Inside the castle, enormous Christmas trees stood proudly in the Great Hall, garlands twisted around the banisters of the grand staircase, and several suits of armor wore stockings jauntily over their helmets. It was hard not to feel enchanted. The halls were quieter than usual, with many students having gone home for the holidays, and Jo welcomed the stillness. She needed time to plan her Christmas shopping. Most of her gifts were already decided; the only question that remained was how, exactly, she could get to the Muggle world to buy them.

Jo tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the windowsill, eyes drifting over the snow-covered grounds. Eventually, she turned and called out, “Tibby?”

POP.

The little elf appeared mid-spin with a tiny puff of warm air and the scent of cinnamon. “Missus is needing something?”

“Yeah,” Jo said, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Do you know the best way for me to get to Muggle London? I’ve got some shopping to do.”

Tibby’s ears perked. “Missus wishes to go to London? Yes, yes, that is simple. Madam Rosmerta’s fireplace in Hogsmeade is connected to the Floo Network. She has an arrangement, she does, with Mister Tom at the Leaky Cauldron.”

Jo blinked. “Rosmerta? She runs a pub in the village.”

“Yes, yes,” Tibby nodded eagerly, “but her Floo is also for emergencies. Sometimes wizards and witches get too tipsy and need a safe place to land.” She nodded matter-of-factly, as if this were standard policy for pub management.

Jo let out a small laugh. “And how, exactly, do you know that?”

Tibby looked positively delighted. “Some house-elves gossip,” she whispered, eyes twinkling. “Especially about the kitchens and the fireplaces.”

Jo grinned, the corners of her tension softening. “Remind me to never underestimate the house-elf information network.”

Tibby beamed, bowed deeply, and disappeared again with a pop, leaving Jo shaking her head with amusement.

Jo stepped out of her quarters and into the quieter-than-usual corridor, the echo of her boots faint on the stone floor. The warmth of the castle wrapped around her like a second shawl, the lingering scent of pine and baked apples drifting through the air from the kitchens below. Holiday break had stripped Hogwarts of its usual roar, leaving only pockets of quiet conversation and the occasional burst of enchanted snow drifting from the ceiling of the Great Hall.

She made her way through the winding corridors, past a suit of armor that attempted a warbled rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs,” and down the broad steps that led to the Entrance Hall. Just as she reached the landing, a pair of voices carried up the staircase.

“I’m telling you, it has to be Nicholas Flamel,” one boy whispered.

Jo had nearly reached the entrance hall when she turned a corner and came face to face with two students deep in hushed conversation.

“…so maybe he made the Stone,” one of them was saying. It was Ron Weasley, his distinctive red hair impossible to miss.

The boy beside him, Harry, Jo recognized instantly, caught sight of her and immediately went quiet. They both straightened slightly.

“Morning,” Jo said casually, pretending not to have heard the end of their conversation. “Enjoying holiday break so far?”

Ron gave a quick nod. “Er…yeah. Just stretching our legs.”

Harry added, “We were heading to the library.”

She smiled. “How studious. It’s practically hibernation season for most of the castle.”

The boys exchanged a glance and murmured quick goodbyes before continuing down the corridor.

Jo gave a cheerful little wave and stepped past them toward the massive oak front doors, choosing to pretend she hadn’t heard a single word about the legendary alchemist. The boys’ hushed voices picked up again behind her, more cautious this time, as they slipped off toward the library. Jo watched them go with a faint smile tugging at her lips. Flamel, she thought. That piece of the puzzle had surfaced. Just on schedule.

At the threshold, she paused. The Entrance Hall was drafty but grand, and as she pushed open one of the heavy doors, a blast of cold air greeted her like a challenge.

The snow crunched under Jo’s boots as she made her way into Hogsmeade, tugging her charmed shawl tighter against the wind. The village was quiet but festively adorned, windows glowing with candlelight and storefronts dressed in enchanted garlands that shimmered faintly with snowfall. When she reached the Three Broomsticks, warmth and laughter spilled into the street as she pushed the door open.

Madam Rosmerta glanced up from behind the bar, where she was polishing a row of butterbeer mugs with a flick of her wand. “Evening, Professor,” she said with a wink. “Bit of last-minute shopping?”

“You could say that,” Jo replied with a smile. “I heard your fireplace is connected to the Floo Network?”

Rosmerta nodded. “Straight through to the Leaky Cauldron. Comes in handy, especially for the rowdier crowd who can’t make it home on foot. Tom and I have an arrangement.”

Jo chuckled. “Convenient.”

“If you’re headed to Muggle London,” Rosmerta added, gesturing toward the hearth, “you’ll want to use the public Floo in the Cauldron and step out the back. Diagon Alley’ll be swamped.”

“Thanks,” Jo said. She moved toward the fireplace, brushing soot from the stone lip of the hearth. She took a pinch of Floo powder from the ornate dish on the mantle, stepped into the flames, and called clearly, “The Leaky Cauldron, London!”

Green fire whooshed up around her, and the world spun away. Jo arrive brushing soot from her coat and blinking into the dim light of the pub. Surveying the pub around her, she thought that Rosmerta had greatly underexaggerated the chaos.  With a nod to Tom, who gave her only a mildly curious glance, she slipped through the front door and into Muggle London to escape the throngs of wizards and witches.

The moment she stepped into the swirl of London’s winter, it hit her: this was her world. The one with honking taxis and wet pavement, glittering shop windows, and people rushing past with shopping bags and takeaway cups. Muggle London in December was all bustle and motion and breathless cheer. After weeks of living in a castle full of ghosts and suits of armor that sang off-key carols, the noise was oddly grounding.

She hadn’t spent much time in London and was uncertain where to do her shopping. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone and turned it on for the first time in months. Approximately ten million missed notifications blared at her. She quickly dismissed them not caring to check in on her old life and pulled up the maps app instead. After some quick searching, she determined

Her first stop was Fortnum & Mason. She climbed the polished stairs and wandered past towers of shortbread and tins of tea stacked in glittering holiday displays. The scent of cinnamon and bergamot curled through the air as she browsed the shelves.

For Hagrid, she picked out a sturdy tin of loose-leaf English breakfast tea. It wasbold and slightly smoky, perfect for pairing with his... unique baking. But it wasn’t until she reached the kitchen section that she spotted it: a giant green Stanley mug so enormous it looked cartoonish in her hands. She grinned. It was absurd and there was a chance that it might actually be Hagrid-sized.

Outside again, she tightened her scarf against the wind and headed toward Burlington Arcade, ducking into smaller, quieter shops where time seemed to slow. In one vintage boutique, nestled behind a case of silver cigarette holders and delicate cufflinks, she found it: a gold locket with a pressed forget-me-not sealed behind glass. Simple, elegant, quietly sentimental.

Minerva’s voice echoed in her memory, soft with nostalgia as she’d told Jo about the love she left behind. Jo thumbed the edge of the locket gently and nodded to herself. It was the kind of piece you didn’t wear every day, but that still lived close to the heart.

From there, she made her way to Selfridges. The ground floor was chaos, brightly lit, crowded, festive. She moved with practiced speed, navigating to the confectionery. She chose a handful of things she imagined Dumbledore might appreciate or at least raise an amused eyebrow at: ring pops, sour patch kids, jelly babies, fizzy sherbet, and a few sherbet lemons for old time’s sake. She found a small wooden box to place them in, elegant enough to make the chaos inside feel curated.

Then came Fred and George. For them, she needed mischief. Hamleys was a riot of shrieking children and jingling music, but she braved the madness to reach the prank aisle. She took her time: joy buzzers, snapping gum, invisible ink, a classic whoopee cushion, and a fake spider that leapt when a drawer was opened. She bundled it all into a little metal lunchbox with a holographic alien on the lid. Perfect. She slipped in a note on Hogwarts parchment:

"Your mission, should you choose to accept: determine whether magic improves or ruins this device. Bonus points for creativity."

It would confuse them at first. Then, she figured, they’d be obsessed.

Jo crossed the city on foot, ducking in and out of shops, letting the cold flush her cheeks. In Bloomsbury, she stopped at a quiet shop called Choosing Keeping. The walls were lined with art supplies, handmade paper, and notebooks that begged to be filled. For Draco, she found a beautiful embossed notebook with dark emerald snakes pressed into the leather. The pages were thick high quality paper and bound so that each page would lie flat when writing. She added a mechanical pencil, the kind that clicked open with a satisfying snap and had a hidden eraser in the cap.

For Severus, she passed by the fancier leather-bound ones, too conspicuous, and chose a smooth, graphite-colored spiral notebook. It was thick, durable, and understated. She noodled on what else to get him but was unhappy with everything else she had seen in the shops so far.

Before returning to the Leaky Cauldron, Jo made one last stop at Liberty London. Its creaky wood floors and moody lighting felt like something suspended between time periods, much like Hogwarts itself. She wandered through the maze of departments until she found herself in the home goods section, drawn by instinct more than intent.

At a display near the back, she paused. There, nestled in a velvet-lined box, was a delicate crystal trinket dish, shaped like a flower in bloom. It shimmered faintly in the low light, all iridescent glass and soft curves. It felt gentle. Thoughtful. Like something meant to hold a few small, precious things, buttons, sweets, or maybe a snippet of ribbon saved for its color.

Next to it, she picked out a tin of rose petal pastilles, the kind that melted on the tongue with just a hint of floral sweetness. And a tiny embroidered tea towel with a scalloped edge, covered in cheerful bees and clover.

Together, the gifts formed a little collection: something pretty, something sweet, something soft. Nothing close to clothing, but everything about them said, You’re cherished. You belong. Jo wrapped them carefully in tissue and tucked a note into the corner of the box:

“For someone who makes every room warmer just by being in it.”It somehow still didn’t feel like it was enough for the little elf who made her feel so welcomed.

Finally, she stepped into Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. The windows were frosted, the inside golden with candlelight. She picked out a ribbon-wrapped sampler of magical sweets for her parents: acid pops, sugar quills, chocolate frogs. Things they’d never be able to explain but would enjoy all the same.

The snow had deepened while she was away. Jo stood at the edge of the grounds, boots sinking slightly into the untouched powder as she looked up at the castle. Its turrets cut sharply into the winter sky, windows aglow with flickering torchlight. It looked timeless, ancient and alive, as if it had been waiting for her.

She exhaled slowly, her breath curling in the cold air. London had been loud and bright and familiar in all the old ways. But this place… this was where she’d chosen to be. Where she was building something new.

With her satchel slung heavier than before, she crossed the threshold into the quiet warmth of Hogwarts. And didn’t look back.

By the time she returned to the castle, Jo was wind-chapped and exhausted, her satchel heavy with strange shapes and wrapped bundles. But her heart felt full. For the first time in a long time, she was surrounded by people she wanted to give something to, not because she had to, but because she could. Because they mattered.

Note quite done yet with her Christmas preparation, she stowed the gifts in her rooms and sighed as she stepped through her own Floo to her old flat. It had been a long day, but she had one last errand.

The moment she stumbled out of the fireplace, coughing in the familiar haze of soot, a strange quiet greeted her. The place was just as she’d left it, tidy, dim, untouched. No one had been here. It didn’t feel like coming home.

She padded across the hardwood floor, rubbing warmth back into her arms. Her wand lit the lamps with a quiet flick, and she crossed to the low bookshelf by her desk. Her reaction kinetics textbook sat where she expected it would, worn and well-loved, with little sticky flags poking out the top.

The next few days passed in soft, solitary rhythm. Mornings, she spent curled in the window seat of her flat, highlighter in hand, scribbling ideas into the margins: substitutions, magical equivalents, theoretical brew times. She pored over reaction rates and diffusion curves and asked herself how ingredients like boomslang skin might alter threshold energies. Sometimes she laughed at herself for thinking Severus would be remotely interested. Other times she got so caught up in a line of thinking, she forgot to eat lunch.

But even in her focus, a weight tugged at her.

The other gifts had come so easily, so intuitively. Each one a symbol of connection, of understanding. But when she’d passed through Honeydukes and grabbed a pair of truffle boxes for her parents, she hadn’t stopped to choose more thoughtfully. She hadn’t even left a note. It hadn’t occurred to her until now, and the realization sat heavy.

She picked up the small enchanted notebook she carried everywhere. the one which was charmed before leaving, so her parents could send back replies.

She flipped through the pages.

Her own writing filled most of it: updates, reassurances, memories written like postcards. The rest was blank. No replies. Not even an accidental inkblot. She didn’t know whether to feel angry or guilty or just resigned.

She leaned back against the window frame and watched the soft gray winter light spread across the floor. But then she thought, when she arrived in London, her phone had blared with notifications. Group chats lighting up with holiday gifs, missed calls, and a few heartfelt texts asking how she was. She’d silenced it with a swipe. Told herself she was busy, that she’d check later.

But the truth sat like a stone in her gut: she hadn’t wanted to.

Maybe this was what it meant to live between two worlds. One she’d stepped into fully, and one she was slowly letting go.

The silence in her quarters wasn’t peaceful. It echoed. Her eyes drifted from the blank pages of the charmed notebook to the untouched phone still face-down on the nightstand. Too many questions, too few answers. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to wallow. She just… needed air.

Jo grabbed her shawl and slipped out the door, the cold castle stone grounding underfoot. She wasn’t technically allowed to wander without an escort, but most the Slytherins had gone home over the holiday break and she just couldn’t stand to be in her room a moment longer with her thoughts.

She walked without a destination at first, letting the corridors guide her. The castle air was cooler now, the kind of chill that made her fingertips sting and her breath fog in the torchlight. She had no destination, no real intention, just the urge to move, to put distance between herself and all the things she couldn’t quite name.

Jo walked. Past silent suits of armor. Past sleeping portraits who barely stirred in their frames. Past classrooms and staircases that shifted in the dark.

She took a turn she didn’t remember choosing. Then another. And then…there it was.

A long, empty chamber. A forgotten alcove with frost-lined windows.

And at the end of it, tall and gold and utterly still, stood the Mirror of Erised.

Her heart pounded.

Not fast exactly, just loud, like each beat was echoing down the stone corridor. She stepped closer, the soles of her boots whispering against the worn floor. There was a shimmer in the air here, a kind of quiet that was different from the rest of the castle. As though the room itself were holding its breath.

Jo swallowed.

Did she want to look?

She remembered what Dumbledore had said to Harry. That men had wasted away in front of the Mirror. That some had gone mad, chasing shadows of a life that could never be.

But wasn’t that the point of being here? Of knowing? Of choosing?

She took another step. Then another. Her reflection grew clearer with each pace—her wavy hair slightly mussed, her shawl drawn tight, her eyes searching even before they met what lay beyond the glass.

She stopped, square in front of the mirror, and let herself see.

Her breath caught.

In the glass, she was standing in the middle of a sun-drenched field. It looked like Scotland, but softer, golden. Rolling hills and wildflowers swaying in a wind she couldn’t feel. Her reflection had no shawl. No boots. Just bare feet in the grass and laughter curling at the corners of her mouth. She was surrounded—people she couldn’t quite name, but felt a sense of found family.

A child darted through the tall grass, giggling. Not running toward Jo, but toward an older woman with a kind smile and wise eyes. Jo’s breath hitched as the woman knelt and opened her arms wide. The child launched into them and was scooped up effortlessly, wrapped in a hug that radiated love so fierce it hurt to look at. Her grandmother.

Jo raised a hand to her own lips.

In the mirror, her other hand was held gently by someone just barely out of frame. She couldn’t see his face. But his fingers were long, sure. His skin, pale and sallow. Familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

And behind them, at the edge of the field, stood a greenhouse. Weathered, beautiful. Hers. A place for teaching and healing, where potions and plants and knowledge crossed every boundary between Muggle and magical. A place built from purpose, not pain.

She wasn’t powerful in the reflection. Not chosen. Not heroic.

But she looked whole.

Jo’s throat tightened. Her reflection shimmered like a memory she’d never owned. The sight cracked something deep inside her, not just longing, but grief. Grief for the version of herself who had once mistaken control for care. Who learned to measure her words, her footsteps, her silence. Who tiptoed through conversations as if each one might trigger landmines. Who flinched at slammed doors and swallowed apologies she never owed.

She had stayed too long.

Stayed when her laughter became a liability. When her opinions were weapons used against her. When love came laced with cruelty, subtle enough to dismiss, sharp enough to scar.

And the worst part. The part that made her stomach twist now. Was knowing that the woman she had been then would never have imagined this scene in the mirror. Not because it was unrealistic, but because it would never have occurred to her to want it. To believe it was something she could have. Safety. Belonging. A love that didn’t hurt.

Tears welled, unbidden. She pressed her palm lightly to the glass.

Her grandmother was now tickling the small child who giggled. Her mirror-self stood with a sad, but knowing smile on her lips. Her fingers laced with someone waiting just out of frame, someone whose sallow hand held hers without fear or force, gently caressing her hand reassuringly instead.

Jo stood in silence, her breath shallow.

It was just a spell. Just a mirror.

And still…it was everything she hadn’t known she was allowed to want.

A long pause. Then a voice behind her, low, skeptical, but not unkind.

“You’re not supposed to be roaming the halls at night without an escort.”

Jo startled, spinning halfway, but she already knew who it was.

Snape stepped out from the shadowed archway, arms crossed, dark gaze flicking between her and the mirror.

She felt the mirror shift. The magic almost seemed to retreat in the presence of Severus Snape, or perhaps it simply froze, unsure how to behave.

“I imagine,” he said quietly from the shadows, “that whatever it showed… wasn’t painless.”

Jo blinked hard and turned, brushing at her cheek with the sleeve of her jumper. “Didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“You didn’t. You’re not meant to be wandering the castle alone, even on holiday,” he said, though there was no heat in his voice. “Dumbledore will be delighted to hear I found you loitering with cursed artifacts.”

She huffed a small breath, shaky but real. “Not cursed. Just… honest.”

Snape’s gaze slid past her to the mirror. “That may be worse.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, almost involuntarily, she said, “It showed me a life I don’t think I could have imagined a few years ago. I was with someone who…” She faltered, fingers knotting at her side. “Who made me feel small. All the time. And I stayed. For too long.”

He said nothing, but something in the lines of his posture shifted, less sharp, less composed.

“I used to think that version of me was weak,” she said, voice quieter now, not quite looking at him. “But I know better. She was just… trying to survive.”

Snape’s eyes were unreadable, but his voice had dropped low. “Survival shapes us. Whether we want it to or not.”

Jo looked up. “Did it show you anything?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, his gaze lingered on the mirror for a moment longer, then returned to her. “The Mirror of Erised is dangerous for precisely that reason. It offers not just what we want… but what we never believed we were allowed to want.”

Jo’s throat ached.

Jo swallowed hard. “The worst part is… mine feels like something that could almost still happen. If the world bent just a little. If things had gone differently.”

She blinked quickly, her voice unsteady but measured. “But it won’t. My grandmother is gone. And the rest…” She trailed off, watching the figures in the mirror, her throat tightening. “It’s a mix of what maybe could be… and what can’t. And all of it, every part, is something I don’t think the person I used to be could’ve even imagined wanting, because I didn’t think I deserved it.”

There was a silence. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Snape's eyes stayed fixed on the mirror. “Mine is simpler,” he said at last, his voice low. “It never could have happened.”

Jo turned toward him, but he didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. There was something in the way he held his posture, rigid and closed, that made her ache.

They stood like that for a long moment, neither filling the silence with empty words. Just two people marked by the lives they’d lived, looking into a mirror that showed what might have been.

“You’re not the only one,” he said, softer than she’d ever heard him. “To stand here and mourn what they might have been.”

Their eyes met, and the silence between them deepened, not empty, but full. A quiet truce. Shared understanding. Two people who had both come through something and carried the marks of it. Not healed, not whole, but walking forward anyway.

He gestured toward the door.

“Come. You’ve seen enough for one night.”

She followed him without protest, their footsteps echoing in the long, quiet hall.

And when they reached the stairwell, she realized: he hadn’t answered her question. But somehow, he had.

Chapter Text

Jo woke to the muffled quiet of Christmas morning, the thick stone walls of the castle softening even the wildest weather outside. A pale glow filtered through the frosted windowpanes, and her breath fogged the air as she sat up, brushing sleep from her eyes.

At the foot of her bed, a small pile of gifts waited, neatly arranged. A few had already begun to unfurl themselves, as if impatient to be discovered.

The first package was unmistakably from Minerva. It had precise handwriting on a cream tag, the paper folded with surgical neatness. Inside was a sleek pair of dragonhide gloves, stitched in a shade of deep green that matched Jo’s winter coat. They were warm, water-resistant, and tailored to fit her hands exactly. Tucked inside one of the gloves was a note, written in Minerva’s sharp but graceful hand:

I know your shawl does its best, but your fingers still look frozen half the time. These should help. Dragonhide conducts heat well and resists most potion spills. I thought they might come in handy, especially in the dungeons where the drafts are just as frigid as Severus.  

I hope you’re staying warm and making room to rest. You’ve more than earned it.

Happy Christmas, dear.

-Minerva

Next was a deep violet box tied with a shimmering gold ribbon. It exhaled a faint scent of lemongrass and old books as she lifted the lid. Nestled inside, on a bed of velvet, was a silver pendant the size of a knut, suspended on a fine, unbreakable chain. The surface was dark as obsidian, but as she touched it, a starry sky unfurled across the metal—constellations wheeling slowly, as if alive. At the center, the North Star shown brightly with silver light.

A parchment note lay beneath it in Dumbledore’s familiar script:

This pendant contains a bit of very old sky and a bit of very new magic. It will not point north, nor toward any one person, place, or thing. Instead, it reveals your orientation to yourself. The brighter the North Star, the more closely your actions align with your truest path, your goals, your hopes, the quiet truths you do not speak aloud. If the star dims, do not despair. It is only a reminder to pause and consider whether you’ve wandered too far from your own light.

You may find, in time, that it is not a compass that guides you, but rather one that listens.

Happy Christmas, Miss Harper.

A.D.

Jo swallowed, the chain slipping coolly between her fingers. She fastened it around her neck and watched as the sky shimmered again, the North Star glowing with quiet steadiness.

A third gift, wrapped clumsily in reused parchment and tied with a fraying bit of twine, gave off a very different scent, like scorched flour and overbaked fruit. She didn’t have to open it to know it was from Hagrid, but she did anyway, revealing a tin of rock cakes so solid they might double as defense tools. She chuckled and set them aside carefully.

Jo,

Happee Christmas! Made these meself. Might be a bit firm but they keep for ages. The jam’s from the bramble patch down by the Forest.

Hope yer settlin’ in alright. You’re doin’ a grand job here, y’know. Real proud o’ you. If you ever want some fresh air or tea or just to say hello, you know where me hut is.

H.

Last was a small, rectangular parcel wrapped in black cloth and sealed with green wax. The handwriting was unmistakable, sharp, elegant, no-nonsense. Inside was a polished brass stirrer, double-ended and etched with conversion markings in both Muggle and wizard units.

Jo,

This tool should serve you well in our continued work. I’ve made a few modifications to the material; it should resist most corrosive reagents and maintain conductivity under heat. Treat it with care, and it will outlast us both.

For the record, I do not make a habit of giving gifts. Consider this one… a practical investment in quality control.

-S.

She was still smiling when a gentle POP broke her reverie.

Tibby peeked in, her ears wrapped in a festive red ribbon. She stepped inside wearing a brand-new tea towel embroidered with tiny cheerful bees and clover, cinched neatly at the waist like a proud uniform. “Good morning, Miss Jo,” she said brightly. “Happy Christmas.”

Jo motioned her inside. “Tibby, how am I supposed to deliver the gifts I got for everyone? I meant to ask you yesterday, but…”

Tibby giggled, her whole body bouncing with the sound. “You has already been doing that, miss. Tibby made sure of it.”

Jo blinked. “Wait. You…?”

The elf’s ears flushed a deep magenta. “Tibby thought it would be a kindness. And… thank you, miss, for the pretty things.” She shuffled her feet. “You didn’t need to.”

Jo stood and knelt to meet her eyes. “Of course I did. I should be doing that. You’re part of my life now. One of my closest friends.”

Tibby’s eyes welled immediately, wide and glassy. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again as if trying to find the right words, but none came.

Instead, she nodded furiously, gave a hiccup of a laugh, and threw her arms around Jo’s neck in a fierce, unexpected hug. Tibby looked away, blinking quickly. “Tibby will go warm your tea.”

“Oh Tibby! It’s Christmas. Do you have friends or family in the castle?”

“Yes, Miss. Tibby has eight brothers and sisters, all serving the castle, and twenty-seven nieces and nephews.” Tibby said proudly.

“Then you should take the rest of the day off and spend it with them, Tibby.” She smiled warmly. “You’ve already done so much for me. Happy Christmas and tell your family too for me.”

Tibby again looked a little overwhelmed. “Thank you Miss Jo.” And she disappeared with a POP.

Jo pulled on her coat and gloves and wandered out into the grounds. The air was crisp and filled with the joyful noise of children at play. Near the courtyard, she spotted students weaving in and out of snowy cover, shrieking and laughing. She was making her way to the greenhouses to check for ingredients, when movement to the side caught her attention. Two familiar figures were crouched low behind a stone balustrade, Fred and George, whispering excitedly, wands pointed at something in the distance.

Curious, Jo edged closer, keeping behind a snow-laden hedge. She followed their line of sight and saw a bundled figure with a peculiar, awkward gait trudging across the lawn.

Professor Quirrell.

But the snowballs, Jo’s eyes widened, weren’t aimed at his back. They were hovering for a moment before zipping forward and smacking him in the back of the head. Again. And again. The twins were bewitching snowballs to hit him in the head.

The back of his head.

Jo’s heart stopped.

She crept forward slowly, boots crunching softly in the snow, careful not to draw attention from the professor or, more chillingly, the piece of Voldemort’s soul lurking beneath his turban.

When she was close enough, she crouched beside them and said, barely above a whisper, “Maybe… just maybe… It’s not the best idea to harass professors...”

Fred jumped a little. “Blimey, where did you come from?”

George added, “If we say we were aiming for the scarf and not the head, do we lose fewer points?”

“We should lose points,” Fred said, putting on an exaggerated pout. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, Christmas!” George echoed. “There should be a holiday truce.”

Jo raised an eyebrow. “You two rehearsed this bit?”

“More or less,” they said in unison.

She gave them a long look, then sighed. “I’m not a Scrooge.”

They blinked. “What’s a Scrooge?”

Jo smiled. “A character from A Christmas Carol. Muggle story. He hated Christmas. Hated people, really. Lived alone, kept to himself, thought kindness was weakness. Then, on Christmas Eve, he is visited by three ghosts. They show him who he used to be, how his choices have hurt others, and what’ll happen if he doesn’t change. She paused for a moment, her breath misting in the cold air. “It’s one of the greatest stories we have, honestly. Not just about Christmas. It’s about regret and redemption. About realizing it’s not too late to be someone better than you were.”

Fred looked intrigued. “Are the ghosts available for freelance haunting?”

“No points will be taken,” Jo said firmly. “But please stop hexing snowballs at other professors.”

The twins exchanged a glance, their mischievous energy quieted for a beat.

She stood and turned to walk away, shaking her head—but just as she stepped past the edge of the hedge, a snowball smacked squarely into her back.

She froze.

Mouth open, she turned slowly on her heel.

Fred stood up and grinned. “You said other professors.”

George popped up beside him. “And we did it the Muggle way.”

Fred gave a mock-scholarly nod. “That should be extra credit, really.”

Jo stared at them for a long beat, then broke into laughter and kept walking, brushing snow off her coat as she went. “Five points to Gryffindor for cheek,” she called over her shoulder.

Their laughter echoed behind her as she crossed the lawn, but something gnawed at the edge of her thoughts. She glanced once more at the bundled figure of Professor Quirrell, now disappearing awkwardly through a side door of the castle, brushing snow from his shoulders. Had she changed history? She didn’t remember them ever doing such a thing in the books. And surely she would remember?

She turned and bolted back to her room, the cold forgotten. She turned and started back toward the castle at a brisk pace. By the time she reached her quarters, she was nearly jogging.

She closed the door behind her, hands fumbling for the battered paperback she kept under her pillow. The spine cracked open to the familiar chapter about Harry’s first Chrsimas break.

Fred and George bewitched snowballs to follow Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.And there it was.

Fred and George bewitched snowballs to follow Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.

Jo sank onto her bed and stared at the page.

They hit Voldemort in the face. With snowballs.

She let out a stunned breath, then a single, disbelieving laugh. It was so absurd, so surreal, that it looped around into comedy again. She pressed a hand over her mouth, grinning like an idiot.

She hadn’t seen it before. Not really. But it had always been there, hidden in plain sight, like so many things.

She shook her head, carefully tucked the book back under her pillow, and stood. The quiet of the room wrapped around her again, but the stillness no longer felt uneasy. Just… curious. Like the castle had its head tilted.

There was still daylight left, and she had promised Severus she’d pick up a few fresh ingredients from the greenhouse. Better to go now, before evening’s chill made it too cold to venture out.

She bundled back into her coat, pulled on Minerva’s gloves, and stepped back into the snow, the cold biting at her cheeks. Her boots crunched rhythmically along the path as she made her way to Greenhouse Three, her breath puffing in soft clouds.

The door creaked as she slipped inside. It was warmer here, humid and sharp with the scents of damp soil and herbal oils. She moved from bench to bench, clipping the stems they’d agreed on: chopped scarab root, a few leaves of feverfew, a pale green sprig of wrinkler’s moss.

Bundling the herbs into a cloth pouch, she stepped back outside, blinking in the afternoon light. Just ahead, past the slope and trees, she saw the curl of chimney smoke from Hagrid’s hut.

She hesitated, then turned that way instead.

The walk was quiet, peaceful, her thoughts drifting like snowflakes. She thought again of A Christmas Carol. Of how it wasn’t just about kindness, it was about change. Scrooge hadn’t been evil, just wounded. Hardened. Shut off. Until someone forced him to look.

And maybe, just maybe, Severus was a little like that.

She didn’t doubt he had his ghosts. She could almost name them. But there was more to him now than sharp words and stormy silence. He noticed things. He gave her that stirrer not to impress, but because he thought she could use it. Because he wanted her in his lab.

She smiled faintly, tugging her shawl a little higher.

Maybe people didn’t need to be haunted by the past to change. Maybe they just needed someone to notice they already had.

The scent of woodsmoke grew stronger as she reached Hagrid’s steps. Fang’s bark sounded from inside, followed by the thump of heavy boots. The door opened before she could knock.

“Jo!” Hagrid beamed. “I was just puttin’ the kettle on.”

She held up her pouch. “Merry Christmas Hagrid. Mind if I pop in?”

“’Course not,” he said, stepping aside. “C’mon in. Tea’s just ready and I got plenty o’ jam left for those cakes.”

Jo laughed and stepped into the warm, firelit room, letting the door swing shut behind her.

Jo stepped into the warm, firelit room, brushing snow from her shoulders. The smell of pine logs and overboiled tea filled the air. Fang immediately flopped onto her feet with a contented grunt.

“Tea’s ready,” Hagrid said, bustling to the stove. “Still hot enough, I reckon. Sit down, sit down.”

She took the offered mug, the chipped handle warm against her fingers. “Thanks. This is exactly what I needed.”

They sat for a few quiet moments, sipping tea, the wind gently tapping at the windows.

“Yeh know,” Hagrid said at last, settling his bulk into a creaky chair, “not many folk come ‘round here just to visit. Mostly it’s lost first-years or the odd professor wantin’ somethin’ out the Forest.”

Jo smiled. “Well, I’m glad I came. Honestly, you’ve been one of the warmest welcomes I’ve had.”

Hagrid blushed under his beard. “Aw, well. You’re easy ter like.”

Jo took another sip, then asked, “Do you get many students dropping by?”

“Only a few,” Hagrid said. “Harry, Ron, and Hermione come by now and then. They’re good kids, really. Bright. Brave. But... well. They’ve got a knack for pokin’ their noses where they don’t belong.”

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Hagrid looked suddenly like he regretted opening his mouth. “Nothin’ serious,” he said quickly. “Just... you know. Always runnin’ about the castle, whisperin’, sneakin’ into things. And I told ‘em…well, I told ‘em not to ask about certain things, but that lot don’t always listen.”

Jo chuckled. “I haven’t had the chance to teach them yet, but I’ve heard a lot. McGonagall says Hermione’s one of the sharpest she’s had in years. They seem very studious. I actually bumped into Harry and Ron in the library the other week. They were trying to look up Nicolas Flamel on their holiday break. I didn’t realize that was part of the curriculum first year.”

Hagrid choked on his tea. “What?!”

Jo looked innocently into her mug. “It’s not exactly a common name. Hard not to notice.”

Hagrid grumbled into his beard. “Trouble, those three. Good-hearted, but trouble.”

Jo gave him a knowing look. “Sounds familiar.”

He barked a laugh. “Alright, fair. Still…wish they’d stop goin’ on about Snape all the time.”

Jo leaned forward a little. “They don’t like him?”

Hagrid grimaced. “They think he’s out to get Harry. Always watchin’ him in class, takin’ points... and yeh know how kids are. Once they’ve got a story in their heads, they won’t let it go.”

Jo nodded slowly. “I’ve definitely seen his prickly side,” she admitted. “But I’ve actually really enjoyed getting to know him. He’s sharp. Exacting. But his heart’s in the right place.”

Hagrid’s brows lifted slightly. “Glad to hear someone else say it. Dumbledore trusts him, yeh know.”

Jo nodded. “That’s enough for me.”

“And more’n that,” Hagrid added, reaching down to scratch Fang behind the ears. “When Fang caught that nasty bout o’ Firetongue last spring, Snape brewed all his healing potions. Spent two days straight down in the dungeons, didn’t even ask me for a thing.”

Jo glanced down at Fang, who looked up with sleepy dog devotion. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“Wouldn’t,” Hagrid said. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinkin’ he’s soft.”

They shared a look and both laughed.

Jo leaned back, warming her hands on her mug. “He’s not soft. But I don’t think he’s nearly as cold as he wants people to believe.”

Hagrid nodded, beard rustling. “Yeh might be right.”

They lingered over their mugs until the fire began to crackle low. Fang snored at Jo’s feet, his belly rising and falling in contented rhythm. Outside, the light was beginning to dim, the snow taking on a soft lavender hue.

Hagrid glanced at the old cuckoo clock on the wall, then sat up straighter. “Blimey. It’s almost time for the feast! You plannin’ on headin’ up?”

Jo blinked, surprised at how quickly the afternoon had passed. “I suppose I should. Can’t miss Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.”

Hagrid grinned as he stood, brushing crumbs off his coat. “No, yeh really can’t. Best meal o’ the year.”

They stepped out into the cold together, Fang reluctantly staying behind. The walk up to the castle was brisk but companionable, the two of them leaving deep footprints in the fresh snow. The castle glowed with golden light, beckoning like something out of a storybook.

At the steps, Hagrid gave her a warm pat on the shoulder, nearly knocking her sideways. “Better grab my seat. Don’t let Sprout eat all the cranberry sauce before yeh get there.”

“I’ll defend my plate,” Jo promised.

He chuckled and disappeared through the staff entrance.

Jo made her way into the Great Hall, pausing for a moment in the entryway. The sight took her breath away.

Twelve towering Christmas trees lined the walls, their branches glittering with enchanted icicles, glowing baubles, and gently drifting snowflakes that never melted. Garlands of holly and mistletoe twined along the banisters. Above her, the enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky sky, now streaked with stars.

The four House tables had been replaced by one long table, set with glittering gold plates and goblets. Roaring fires blazed in the hearths, and the smells, roast turkey, spiced pudding, buttery rolls, and treacle tart were enough to make her knees weak.

She found her seat between Minerva and Severus at the staff table. Dumbledore gave her a wink as she sat, and Flitwick offered her a cheery nod.

Minerva turned, smiling warmly. “Merry Christmas, Jo. The locket was lovely.”

“And to you,” Jo said. “Thank you again for the gloves, they’re perfect.”

“I’m glad,” Minerva said, her eyes crinkling. “You’ll need them if you keep spending evenings in those dungeons.”

“I like the quiet,” Jo said with a glance toward Severus. “And the company.”

Severus didn’t look at her directly, but after a pause, he said, “Your margin notes on reaction kinetics were… thought-provoking. I’ve set them aside to review properly.”

Jo tried not to smile too obviously. “Let me know what you think once you’ve had time.”

“I will,” he said, then returned his attention to the roast parsnips as if the subject were closed.

Jo smiled, soft but genuine. “Thank you. And for the stirring rod. It’s beautifully made. I'll use it well.”

He gave a small nod, eyes still fixed on his plate. “It’s a tool, not a trophy. Don’t let Flitwick charm it into glowing every time you get a result.”

Jo huffed a quiet laugh. “No promises.”

Across the table, Dumbledore leaned forward, the candlelight catching on something brilliantly red and translucent adorning his hand.

Jo blinked.

He was wearing a cherry Ring Pop, gleaming like a gaudy ruby on his little finger, and absolutely unbothered by it.

“And how is the sky, Miss Harper?” he asked, eyes twinkling over the rim of his goblet.

Jo touched the pendant at her neck. “Still shining.”

“Then I am content,” he said, taking a long, theatrical lick of the candy jewel before settling back into his chair.

Laughter echoed through the hall as students passed platters back and forth. Jo watched them, taking it all in, the warmth, the light, the sheer abundance of it. It was magic in the purest sense.

As the plates cleared and plum puddings appeared, bursting into blue flames, Jo caught Hagrid’s eye at the far end of the high table. He raised his goblet to her, and she returned the gesture.

Severus cleared his throat beside her. “I trust you found everything in the greenhouse.”

“I did,” she said. “Though I was briefly waylaid by snowballs.”

Minerva arched a brow.

Severus muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Gryffindors,” and sipped his wine.

Jo just laughed.

She looked around the table, at the staff, the students, the warm glow of candlelight, and snow drifting peacefully down from the enchanted ceiling, and felt something settle in her chest. Not certainty, exactly. But alignment.

The North Star burned steady against her collarbone.

Chapter Text

Jo sat curled sideways in one of the battered armchairs in the staff lounge, legs tucked beneath her and a mostly full mug of tea cooling beside her elbow. A fire crackled lazily in the hearth. Outside, snow whispered against the tall windows.

The holidays were over, and the castle was slowly filling up again, boots on stone, laughter echoing down stairwells, students dragging trunks behind them with sleepy reluctance. She should be planning her lessons, and in fact, she was… sort of.

Her Muggle Studies planner lay open across her lap, a half-page of scribbled notes and smudged ink. Most of them were crossed out. She tapped her pen against her lip.

She’d spent the autumn laying foundations: Muggle history, inventions, simple comparisons. Some students had taken to it immediately, especially the twins, but others… well, they were polite. Tolerant, even. But not always interested.

They didn’t need more facts. They needed to feel it. Something visceral. Human.

Jo stared at the planner, her thoughts drifting. What had made her fall in love with storytelling? With science? With the idea that something entirely impossible might one day become real?

She thought of her grandmother’s old VHS shelf. Rainy afternoons watching The Princess Bride, Apollo 13, and the Lion King. She thought of huddling with friends at midnight movie premieres, or the hush of a theater before the lights dimmed. Of sitting in a dark room, utterly captivated by something that was almost magic.

Her eyes narrowed. Then widened.

Could she…?

No electricity inside the castle. Technology went haywire at best, melted at worst. But Hogsmeade was just outside the perimeter. If she could get a strong enough battery, one of those chunky portable bricks, maybe two, plus her portable projector and a DVD? 

She was already grinning before she picked up the pen again.

In the corner of the page, she wrote:

Show a Muggle movie.

Then, underneath it:

Hogsmeade. Extra credit. Just stories.

Just as she capped her pen, the staff lounge door creaked open and Minerva McGonagall stepped inside, brushing a few snowflakes from her tartan scarf.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Minerva said, making her way to the sideboard for tea. “You have that plotting look.”

Jo held up her planner like a guilty party. “I’m toying with a mad idea. Would a Muggle projector work in Hogsmeade?”

Minerva poured hot water into her cup and turned. “You mean outside the castle wards?”

Jo nodded. “If I bring a battery and keep everything self-contained? I think it’s far enough from the castle’s magic field to avoid interference, right?”

Minerva considered. “The perimeter weakens near the Forbidden Forest. There are a couple Muggleborns who live in Hogsmeade who also make use of technology, but they have to go elsewhere to power their devices. Hogsmeade is a strictly wizarding town. No muggle electricity lines.”

Jo raised her eyebrows. “This sounds like it could actually work.”

Minerva gave her a look over the rim of her mug. “I think it just might.”

Jo grinned and pulled a sheet of parchment from her bag, already writing.

Rosmerta,
Would you mind terribly if I borrowed the upstairs room for a few hours this weekend? I’d like to show a Muggle film as part of my class. I’ll bring everything and clean up after.
Warmly,
Jo

She blew lightly on the ink, then folded the parchment and sealed it.

“I suppose we’ll see how the village feels about Muggle cinema,” she murmured.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “If you can pull this off, you’ll be the first professor in history to assign extra credit that students clamor to do.”

Jo smiled to herself. “Here’s hoping.”

~*~*~*~

The reply arrived the next morning, just as Jo was straightening the chairs in her classroom.

A soft tap at the window made her glance up. A young tawny owl waited patiently on the sill, a small parchment tied to its leg with twine.

Jo crossed the room and unfastened the note, offering the owl a quick stroke and a corner of her breakfast toast. It hooted once, satisfied, and took off again into the crisp morning air.

She unrolled the parchment, still faintly warm and dusted with flour.

Of course, love. Just tell me when and I’ll have the upstairs room ready. I’ll even warm the hearth for you.

~Rosmerta

Jo smiled, folding the note with care and tucking it into her satchel. It was happening. Just then, a burst of voices echoed in the hallway, her students were arriving.

Time to begin.

Jo clapped her hands once as the first students trickled in, shaking snow from their cloaks and dropping into their seats with varying levels of post-holiday energy.

“Welcome back,” she said warmly, raising her voice just enough to carry over the bustle. “I hope your break was restful, or at least memorable.” She stood in front of her desk as she welcomed them in.

That earned a few grateful chuckles and a stampede toward the kettle.

She waited until the last student settled, then moved to the front of the room, leaning against the front of her desk with her arms lightly crossed.

“Today’s all yours. Before the holidays, each of you picked a topic related to Muggle life. Something you were curious about, confused by, or maybe even skeptical of. Now it’s your turn to share what you found. You’ve got five minutes. Props encouraged. Humor welcome. No pressure, unless you’re trying to explain the London Underground, in which case, good luck.”

A few students laughed. Jo smiled and scanned the room.

“So. Who’s brave enough to go first?”

Fred Weasley’s hand shot into the air before she’d finished speaking.

“Of course,” Jo said dryly. “The floor is yours, Mr. Weasley.”

Fred bounded to the front of the room, positively gleaming with mischief. Jo stepped aside and made her way toward her seat…

…and immediately sat on a perfectly placed whoopee cushion.

A loud, prolonged phhhhbt echoed through the classroom.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then the room exploded in laughter.

Jo froze mid-sit, eyebrows raised, then glanced slowly at Fred, who stood at the front grinning like the cat that stole the canary.

“Ladies and gentlemen: the Muggle whoopee cushion.” Fred Weasley said with a bow.

Jo gave him a long, level look… then burst out laughing.

“Well played,” she said, standing and lifting the whoopee cushion for dramatic effect. “Authentic. Unexpected. Mildly mortifying. Five points to Gryffindor for the prank, and five more for boldness.”

Fred beamed. “My project is on Muggle pranks, obviously. And the whoopee cushion,” he said, holding up another one as a visual aid, “is just the beginning.”

He launched into a rapid-fire summary of classic Muggle joke items, joy buzzers, trick gum. “No magic, no wands, just harmless chaos and impeccable timing.”

Half the class was grinning by the end, especially when he passed around a sealed envelope labeled ‘Do Not Open – Top Secret.’ One brave Hufflepuff peeked inside and shrieked when a spring-loaded paper snake popped out.

Jo clapped with the others, shaking her head. “You’re lucky I like you, Fred. Excellent presentation. Who’s next?”

George followed on cue, holding a small box and a bundle of slim rods. “Fireworks,” he said simply. “But Muggle ones.”

He demonstrated a sparkler, lighting it with a match and holding it safely away as it hissed and sparkled gold.

“Muggles don’t need wands,” he added. “They light up the sky with chemistry. And sometimes poor judgment.”

The class laughed again.

From there, presentations rolled on. Lydia, a Ravenclaw, compared Muggle superstitions to magical charms. “They knock on wood, throw salt, carry rabbits’ feet,” she explained. “It’s not effective, but it makes people feel like they’re doing something.”

A Hufflepuff boy named Ezra presented his hand-crafted glider and talked, nervously but earnestly about the Wright brothers and flight. “They didn’t have brooms,” he said, holding up a photo. “Just courage and math.”

Last came Miles, a tall Ravenclaw with a carefully pressed uniform and an expression like he was doing Jo a favor.

“I researched Muggle education systems,” he said. “Their schools are overcrowded, underfunded, and completely devoid of magic. Some manage to learn anyway. But I think our methods are more… effective.”

There was a beat of silence.

Jo met his gaze evenly. “That depends on the definition of effective. But thank you, Miles. Thorough work.”

He gave a curt nod and returned to his seat.

Jo let the quiet settle for a moment, then brightened.

“You’ve all done good work. I’m impressed, really. And now, for those of you still curious…”

She turned and lifted the small projector box from her desk.

“This weekend, I’ll be showing a Muggle movie in Hogsmeade. Think of it like a moving portrait mixed with a theatrical play. No spells, just light, sound, story.”

Gasps. Murmurs. A dozen hands flew up.

“Will there be snacks?”
“What kind of movie?”

“Do we have to?”
“Can we bring friends?”
“Do they smell?”

Jo laughed. “Rosmerta has some snacks. I’ll see about getting us all butterbeers. A classic movie. No smells. It’s optional, extra credit, and open to anyone third year and up with permission to go to Hogwarts. I’ve arranged to borrow a room at the Three Broomsticks—upstairs, by the fire. No grades. Just come if you’re curious. Movies don’t have smells associated with them.”

More excited chatter followed. Even a few skeptical faces looked intrigued.

As the bell rang and students began to gather their things, Jo glanced down at the still-deflated whoopee cushion on her chair and smiled.

It was going to be a full house.

“All right, that’s time. Thank you again for your work today—your projects were thoughtful, clever, and in at least one case, audibly disruptive.” She gave Fred a pointed look, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re dismissed.”

Chairs scraped and bags shuffled as the students filed out, still buzzing with curiosity and plans to sneak into the extra credit screening.

Once the room had cleared, Jo exhaled, the hum of the class settling into quiet. She lingered a moment, packing away notes and smoothing the parchment with Rosmerta’s reply. Then she crossed to the cupboard near her desk, where a small wrapped package sat tucked behind her field guides and supply basket.

She reached for her potion kit and slid it into her satchel, double-checking that her brass stirrers were nested safely in their cloth roll. They gleamed now in the lantern light, warm-toned and heavy in her hand. Today, they’d be put to proper use.

They’d agreed to brew a fresh batch of Skele-Gro, the notoriously finicky bone-regeneration potion. Stir too quickly, and the marrow would curdle. Stir too slowly, and the calcium base would congeal. It required steady hands and constant attention—exactly the kind of work Jo found strangely calming. Especially when done alongside someone who understood the value of silence.

She pulled on her coat, slung her satchel over her shoulder, and stepped out into the dim corridor, heading down toward the dungeons.

The dungeons were cooler than the upper floors, but Jo didn’t mind. The air was still and dry, scented faintly with stone and crushed herbs. She moved through the corridors with practiced ease now, boots muffled against worn flagstones, one hand curled around the strap of her satchel.

She reached the familiar door near the end of the west corridor, unlabeled, of course, and gave a light knock before easing it open.

Inside, Severus was already at the workbench, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. A heavy copper cauldron sat in front of him, steam curling upward as he measured dried mandrake root onto a square of parchment.

Without looking up, he said, “You’re two minutes late.”

“I stopped to make tea,” Jo replied, letting the door swing closed behind her. “Would you prefer I be on time and unbearable, or late and properly caffeinated?”

A pause. Then, with the faintest trace of amusement, “Tolerable and late, I suppose.”

She smiled and crossed to the far counter, pulling off her coat and unrolling her potion kit. The brass stirrers caught the light, and she saw his gaze flick toward them before returning to the ingredients.

She nodded toward the cauldron. “Still holding temperature?”

“Exactly. It’s stabilized. Those stirrers will serve you better than silver, brass won’t react with the calcium infusion and has lower thermal inertia. You’ll get a smoother consistency through the thickening stage.”

Jo blinked at him. “That’s a very Muggle thing to say.”

“I read the book,” Severus said simply, reaching for the jar of powdered pearl. “Several times.”

Her mouth tugged into a smile. That was as close to praise as he’d get.

They settled into a steady rhythm after that, chopping, weighing, stirring. No need to narrate. The process filled the space with a quiet hum of motion and breath. Every so often, Severus would pass her a vial or hold out a scale; Jo would adjust the flame or monitor the viscosity of the solution.

When the base thickened slightly, Jo switched to the brass stirrer, drawing slow figure-eights just beneath the surface. The resistance was perfect, fluid but heavy, just on the edge of setting. She could feel the potion responding.

“I had an owl from Rosmerta this morning,” she said eventually, not looking up.

“Hm?”

“She’s lending me the upstairs room this weekend. For the movie.”

A pause. “You’re doing it, then.”

Jo nodded. “Extra credit. Voluntary. No spells, just stories.”

Severus added a pinch of crushed bonewort to the mortar, grinding in slow, precise circles. “And if it backfires?”

“Then I’ll have shown half the school a Muggle story and given the other half something new to whisper about. Seems like a fair trade.”

He didn’t reply immediately. The only sound was the steady scrape of pestle on stone, and the quiet plop as she folded in the next ingredient.

Finally: “Some in my House are already whispering.”

Jo set the stirrer down carefully and looked up. “Muggle lover?”

A slow nod. “And worse.”

She took a breath, eyes steady. “You’re not telling me to stop.”

“No,” he said. “I’m telling you to be ready.”

Jo didn’t break eye contact.

“I’m not naïve, Severus.”

“No,” he said. “But you’re visible. That’s more dangerous here than it should be.”

She let that settle for a moment, then gave a slow nod and turned back to the cauldron. The potion had reached the right color, an opaque, soft bone-white. Just shy of final thickening.

She picked up the stirrer again and resumed the motion, steady and even.

“It’s a Muggle story,” she said quietly. “A ridiculous one, really. Sword fights, giants, revenge. But it’s about love. And loyalty. And doing the right thing even when no one expects you to.”

Severus didn’t respond, but she felt the weight of his attention shift toward her again.

“I thought,” she added, keeping her focus on the potion, “it might be nice for them to hear something like that. Especially now.”

A long pause. Then:

“If the story is as absurd as you say,” he murmured, “I expect they’ll love it.”

Jo smiled faintly. “That’s the hope.”

The cauldron gave a soft glurp as the potion thickened just enough to hold shape around the stirrer. Jo lifted it once, checked the tension, and nodded.

“Perfect,” she said.

Severus stepped forward with the decanting funnels. “Bottle it while it’s warm. And leave two vials unsealed for the hospital wing. Madam Pomprey will want it fresh.”

Their hands moved in sync, practiced and deliberate.

Not friends. Not yet.

But something was beginning to hold.

~*~*~*~

Jo checked the charge on the second battery pack for the third time, not because she doubted it, but because she couldn’t help herself.

The portable projector, screen, and speaker were already packed, each wrapped in layers of blankets and tucked neatly into an old canvas satchel. She’d tested everything twice the night before just outside the gates, making sure the magic field didn’t scramble anything. It hadn’t. The image had been a little grainy, but it had worked. And that was all she needed.

The kettle in her quarters whistled sharply. She poured the hot water into a thermos and some loose tea, and gave the room one last sweep.

Just as she was adjusting the strap on her shoulder, a familiar voice chirped from the top of her bookshelf.

“You is carrying too much,” the elf said matter-of-factly, her brow scrunched with disapproval. “You didn’t even ask me.”

Jo glanced up. “I didn’t want to assume.”

Tibby snorted. “Assume I would let you strain your back like an overworked dragon? Foolish.”

Before Jo could argue, Tibby snapped her fingers. The projector and battery pack lifted gently from the satchel and hovered beside her like obedient luggage.

Jo blinked. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Tibby said primly. “I is also making sure the lens won’t fog in the cold, and I put the shortbread you is liking so much in the side pouch. The buttery kind.”

Jo chuckled, touched. “You are too kind Tibby!”

“What is Miss Jo doing anyways?” The elf queried.

“I’m going to Hogsmeade,” Jo said, lifting the bag carefully. “Upstairs at the Three Broomsticks. I’m showing them a film to my Muggle Studies students and their friends.”

Tibby blinked. “That’s the one with moving pictures, right? Not a real story, but a pretend story that feels real?”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds like a lie with extra steps.”

Jo smiled. “That’s storytelling.”

Tibby said, chin up. “Now we go. I’ll walk with you as far as the village, and I’ll be back in time to help clean up. But I draw the line at clapping for Muggle shadow plays.”

Jo grinned. “Duly noted.”

They set off down the castle steps, boots crunching over packed snow, the projector floating steadily at Jo’s side. By the time they passed through the gates, Hogsmeade lay ahead in a haze of firelight and wood smoke. The Three Broomsticks glowed warm and golden against the grey afternoon. Jo slipped through the side entrance and up the narrow staircase Rosmerta had told her about.

The upstairs room was perfect. A sturdy fireplace already crackling, mismatched armchairs pushed to the edges. A large, pale wall on the far side would work beautifully as a screen.

Jo set the bag down and began unpacking, working quickly. Screen first. Then projector. She angled it against a stack of books to tilt the lens upward. Tibby surveyed the handiwork, gave Jo a nod, and disappeared with a POP.

She had just finished adjusting the projector when she heard the first footsteps on the stairs.

Voices followed, quiet at first, then louder as the door creaked open.

A cluster of Gryffindors entered in a burst of cold air and chatter, shaking snow from their cloaks. Fred and George led the way, naturally.

“This the place?” Fred asked, peering around. “Very secret cinema.”

George nodded approvingly. “Cozy. I like it.”

Jo straightened and smiled. “Welcome. Grab a seat. First come, first served.”

That earned a laugh as they scrambled for seats, shuffling mismatched cushions and swapping places more than once before settling.

More students arrived in waves: a few Ravenclaws with notebooks in hand, Hufflepuffs carrying snacks they'd smuggled in from Honeydukes, and even a couple of fourth-year Slytherins who slid into the back without saying a word. They didn’t make eye contact, but they didn’t leave either.

Jo watched as the room filled out, her heart steady but hopeful.

By ten past the hour, nearly every seat was taken. Some students sat cross-legged on the floor with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. A few leaned against the wall near the fire, whispering predictions about what they were about to see.

Jo stepped to the front, just beside the projector, and held up a hand.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. “Tonight’s showing is a Muggle film, one of my favorites growing up. It’s not magical. Not technically. But it tells a story that feels like it is.”

She paused, letting the fire crackle fill the moment.

“It’s about true love, ridiculous villains, sword fights, and a giant. And about doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. I hope you enjoy it.”

She bent over the projector, flipped the switch, and the room dimmed.

The screen flickered, then steadied.

"Hey! How’s the sickie?" crackled a voice from the speaker, drawing a few puzzled looks.

“Does he have dragon pox?” One student whispered loudly upon seeing a sick Fred Savage in bed.

Jo smiled. “Just wait,” she murmured. “It gets good.”

A hush fell across the room.

Jo didn’t watch the screen. She watched the students.

She saw them lean forward. Whisper. Laugh in the right places. She saw one Ravenclaw take notes, and a Hufflepuff clutch a friend’s arm during the Rodents of Unusual Size scene. Even the Slytherins in the back didn’t move.

Near the end, as Westley struggled to stand and Buttercup held the sword, someone actually cheered.

Jo smiled, heart full.

They were seeing it, not just the story, but the magic in the way it was told.

The credits rolled in flickering white letters across a black screen, the last notes of the music soft and wistful. For a moment, no one moved.

Then…

“That. Was. Brilliant,” someone whispered from the floor near the fire.

“Best extra credit ever,” said a Gryffindor, stretching their legs with a groan.

Fred stood and declared, “I shall now be quoting this film daily. You’ve all been warned.”

George nodded solemnly. “Have fun storming the castle!”

Laughter rippled through the room.

Even the Ravenclaws, usually the most restrained, were smiling as they gathered their bags. One of them approached Jo, still clutching a small notebook.

“I didn’t know Muggles could do that,” she said, eyes wide. “Tell a story like that with nothing but light and sound. That’s… that’s magic, isn’t it? Just a different kind.”

Jo smiled. “Exactly.”

The Slytherins slipped out quietly. No comments. No eye contact, but they hadn’t left early. That was something.

Students lingered as long as they could, reluctant to break the spell. Some helped fold blankets, others tossed biscuit wrappers into the bin. One Hufflepuff shyly offered to carry the speaker downstairs.

When the last of them had gone, Jo sat in one of the empty chairs and exhaled. The projector still hummed beside her, warm and faintly glowing. The fire had burned low.

Jo looked up, surprised. “You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Tibby said simply, setting the chairs down with a soft thump. Her large eyes scanned the room. “They stayed the whole time?”

Jo nodded, her voice quiet. “Every single one.”

Tibby’s face softened. She adjusted the blanket, then looked at Jo for a long moment.

“You is crying a little.”

Jo gave a sheepish smile and dabbed at her cheek. “Just a little.”

Tibby didn’t tease. She only nodded. “You is doing a good thing Miss Jo.”

Jo looked at the darkened screen, then at the empty room still full of warmth.

“It really was.”

Jo glanced at the empty room, the flickering screen, the chairs still holding the warmth of students who had seen something Muggle and loved it.

She stood slowly, stretching the stiffness from her shoulders, and crossed to the window. Outside, the snow had begun to fall again, fine and quiet, softening the edges of the village below. The streets were nearly empty now. Hogsmeade shimmered under the glow of lantern light and firelit windows, like something out of a painting.

Jo rested her hand against the glass.

She had spent so much of her life feeling like a visitor. Too ordinary, too different, too late. But tonight… tonight they had come. They had laughed. They had listened. They had stayed.

She hadn’t cast a single spell.

But something had changed.

Behind her, Tibby quietly folded the last of the blankets. The projector had cooled. The fire burned low, but steady.

Jo turned from the window, collected her things, and crossed to the door. She paused on the threshold and looked back once, just for a moment.

Then she stepped into the cold, into the night, into whatever came next.

Chapter Text

The library smelled faintly of parchment and rosemary polish, a scent Jo had come to associate with late afternoons and the quiet rustle of turning pages. She leaned over a heavy tome titled Herbaceous Reagents in Flame-Resistant Drafts, tracing a recipe with her fingertip.

She was supposed to be verifying which fire-retardant ingredients could substitute for salamander blood, part of a side experiment she and Severus were preparing in the dungeons that evening. He hadn’t said why they were revisiting the old formula, only that it was “worth exploring again.” She wasn’t about to complain. It meant time in the lab. And time with him.

She jotted a note in the margin of her parchment.

Ashwinder ash: thermally stable but potentially volatile with fluxweed. Test in small quantity only.

From the corner of her eye, a large shadow moved between shelves. Jo glanced up.

Near the Restricted Section, she spotted them. Harry, Hermione, and Ron, gathered at a table with Hagrid looming beside them like a nervous tree. His beard twitched as he whispered something urgently. Jo paused mid-step. From this distance, it was easy to read the energy: hushed excitement, a poorly disguised secret, the way first-years always looked when something outrageous had just happened and they weren’t supposed to talk about it.

Norbert, Jo thought, heart clenching. They’ve seen him.

She didn’t approach. Didn’t linger. Just turned quietly down the next row and made her way toward the exit.

“Jo!”

She blinked. Hagrid’s voice had that distinct mix of gravel and warmth. She turned as the trio slipped off in the opposite direction, whispering among themselves.

Hagrid jogged awkwardly toward her, clutching a crooked stack of books. One looked suspiciously like Breeding Fire-Breathers for Beginners.

“Didn’t mean to startle yeh,” he said, panting slightly. “Didn’t see yeh back there.”

“You didn’t,” Jo said with a small smile. “You had a rather attentive audience.”

Hagrid chuckled, a bit sheepish. “Ah, well. Y’know how it is. Young minds, full o’ questions.”

Jo chuckled. “Gets to be a lot, doesn’t it?”

He barked a laugh, then glanced down at his books. “Not as easy as I thought, if I’m honest.”

He flushed an odd thing to see in someone with such a thick beard, and nervously tried to cover up the titles of the books in his hands.  

“Everything alright, Hagrid?” Jo inquired warmly.

There was a pause. Hagrid shifted his weight, looking as if he might say more, then seemed to second-guess himself. He looked away, then back again.

“Yeh—uh—you busy now?”

Jo raised an eyebrow. “No. Not until later. Why?”

He gave a hopeful shrug. “Fancy walkin’ back with me? To the hut, I mean. Could use the company, an’… well, I trust yeh.”

Jo smiled, heart tugging. She had no intention of stopping him. But that didn’t mean she’d let him carry the weight of it alone.

“Of course,” she said, falling into step beside him. “Lead the way.”

The path to Hagrid’s hut was quiet this time of day. The sun hung low behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the grass. A breeze stirred the edges of Jo’s cloak, carrying the scent of pine, wet soil, and distant smoke.

They walked in companionable silence at first. Hagrid's boots thudded softly beside her, and Jo matched his stride as best she could, her satchel bumping lightly against her hip.

“You all right?” she asked gently.

Hagrid grunted. “You’ll see. You’ll see.”

“I gathered.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Jo didn’t press. The wind rustled the trees around them, and somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed once before falling silent.

As they approached the hut, Jo saw the chimney puffing thin curls of smoke into the evening sky. Hagrid paused at the door, one massive hand hovering near the latch. He looked at her sidelong, beard twitching.

“Now, er… just keep an open mind, yeah?” he mumbled.

Jo tilted her head. “Should I be worried?”

He hesitated, then said, “Nah,” in the least convincing tone she’d ever heard.

With a deep breath, Hagrid swung open the door.

The warmth hit her first—thick and damp, like the air inside a greenhouse after it’s been left shut all day. It carried the sharp tang of smoke, scorched meat, and something earthy and animal Jo couldn’t quite name. Then came the sounds: soft scraping, a rhythmic huffing, and the unmistakable flutter of leathery wings.

Hagrid pushed aside a threadbare curtain, and Jo stepped forward…

….and stopped dead.

There, curled awkwardly behind a scorched tabletop and surrounded by singed blankets and cracked egg shell fragments, lay a dragon.

It was small, yes, but nothing about it felt safe.

The creature looked like a crumpled black umbrella, just as the books had described. Its jet-black body was unnaturally skinny, its spiny wings massive in proportion and twitching with restless energy. A long snout dominated its narrow face, flared wide with bulging orange eyes and nostrils that hissed with every breath. The stubs of horns jutted from its skull like tiny daggers, and thin wisps of smoke curled from its nostrils with every exhale.

Jo could only stare.

It’s real, her brain whispered. That’s a dragon. That’s a dragon.

Every instinct she had as a Muggle screamed to run, to get behind glass, to check for fire exits. But the rest of her, every curious cell, was rooted to the spot, eyes wide, heart thudding in her ears.

She’d seen dragons in movies. Read about them in fantasy novels. But nothing prepared her for the immediacy of this. The heat of it. The alien way its wings twitched and adjusted themselves, like it was still trying to get comfortable inside its own skin.

Norbert turned his head and stared at her, unblinking.

Jo swallowed.

She had no idea if it could sense fear, but if it could, she was radiating it like a bonfire.

And yet… she wanted to touch it.

“I know I shouldn’t say this,” she murmured, almost to herself, “but I kind of want to pet him.”

Hagrid gave a delighted chuckle behind her. “That’s the spirit. He’s a Ridgeback, yeh know, tough breed, but clever. Go on, just avoid the wings and the horns.”

Jo crouched slowly, hand hovering.

Norbert watched her with unnerving intensity, nostrils flaring.

The heat coming off his body was astonishing. Her hand tingled just from being near him. She extended her fingers another inch. She gently pet his snout. The dragon kind of leaned into her palm. An odd grumbling noise came from the little beast, but Hagrid didn’t seem alarmed.

“Is he purring?” Jo queried.

“Haven’t the foggiest.” Hagrid replied, just beaming at Norbert, unconcerned by this new noise.

Suddenly, Norbert sneezed.

A sudden burst of flame whooshed from his snout, igniting a blanket with alarming speed.

“Damn!”  Jo jumped back, heart leaping to her throat.

Hagrid snatched up a kettle and dumped it with practiced speed, smothering the fire in seconds. A plume of steam hissed toward the ceiling.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, fanning smoke from his beard. “He does that sometimes.”

Jo pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t stop grinning.

“That was insane,” she breathed. “Hagrid, he’s incredible.”

The blanket still sizzled faintly, a damp mess on the floor. Norbert let out a satisfied snuffle and resumed gnawing on what looked like the leg of a chair.

Hagrid gave him an affectionate look, eyes crinkling under his wild eyebrows. “He’s a handful, but worth it. I’ve never” He stopped himself, then tried again. “I’ve never seen anything come outta an egg an’ look at me like that. Like he knew me, y’know?”

Jo smiled softly. “He imprinted on you.”

“Yeah,” Hagrid said, voice gone thick. “That’s what it feels like.”

The fire crackled between them for a moment. Jo’s heartbeat had finally slowed, but her mind was still spinning.

He turned toward her again, clearing his throat. “I didn’t tell nobody else. About him. Well ‘cept Harry and his friends, but... I mean” He broke off, scratching the back of his neck. “I just… I knew yeh wouldn’t judge me.”

Jo blinked. That caught her off guard.

“You’re not afraid to tell me when I’ve done somethin’ daft,” he added quickly, “but you don’t look at me like I’m stupid. Not like some of the professors do.”

Her throat tightened.

“I’m glad you told me,” she said. “I think he’s… extraordinary. And I think you should be careful. But more than that…”

She paused, choosing her words with care.

“Enjoy it, Hagrid. However long it lasts. Really be with him while he’s yours.”

Hagrid studied her, eyes a little glassy. “I know I can’t keep him forever in the hut.”

Jo smiled, but didn’t answer. She reached out and gave his massive forearm a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve got to get going,” she said softly. “Severus is expecting me in the lab.”

“Right. Yeh take care, Jo. Thanks for… for comin’.”

She stepped out into the cooling night, the door swinging shut behind her with a quiet thump. The hut glowed warm behind her, and somewhere inside, Norbert let out a tiny, triumphant belch of smoke.

She stepped out into the cooling night, the door swinging shut behind her with a quiet thump. The hut glowed warm behind her, and somewhere inside, Norbert let out a tiny, triumphant belch of smoke.

By the time she made it back to the castle, Severus was already stalking the corridor like a storm in search of thunder.

“Miss Harper,” he said coolly, coming to a stop. “May I trouble you for a moment of your ever-valuable time?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Of course. Trouble away.”

He held up a scrap of parchment, her handwriting unmistakable, part of the notes she’d provided for their experimental potion draft.

“The burn-stabilizing salve you devised,” he said, voice dry. “Madam Pomfrey used it last night.”

Jo blinked. “Oh. Did she?”

“Yes,” he said, folding the parchment crisply in half. “On a student. One Ronald Weasley.”

“Oh?”

Severus’s gaze sharpened. “He presented with a cauterized puncture wound and ash residue in the tissue margins.”

“Sounds unpleasant.”

“Indeed. Especially since Madam Pomfrey was under the impression he was bitten by a dog.”

Jo kept her tone neutral. “That would be curious. I wasn’t aware that there were many dogs at Hogwarts.”

“There are no dogs allowed at Hogwarts.” He bit at her.

“Oh, Severus, that’s just not true. Fang lives in Hagrid’s hut, and then of course we both know about Fluffy.” She smiled at him, innocent and unbothered, though she was silently cursing Ron’s abysmal lying skills.

He stared at her, unreadable.

Finally, he asked, “Is there a reason a first-year would be bitten by something that requires dragon-fire burn treatment?”

Jo didn’t flinch. “I’ll explain another time. I promise.”

He exhaled slowly, then reached into his robes and pulled out a small, dark-glass vial. “Take this to Madam Pomfrey. In case any other students happen to encounter this phantom dog.”

Jo accepted the vial without comment, tucking it into the pocket of her robes. She met his eyes with pleasant blandness. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

He studied her for a long moment. Fishing. Waiting. But Jo gave him nothing.

Finally, he gave a tight nod and turned on his heel, his robes billowing as he did so.

“Oh, and Severus?” she called after him.

He paused and turned to look back at her.

She swept her robes out in an absurdly theatrical flourish and marched off down the corridor like she was about to take the stage at the Globe Theatre. Behind her, she thought she heard the faintest huff of air, possibly the closest Severus Snape ever came to a chuckle.

The hospital wing was unusually quiet when Jo arrived. She handed off the vial to Madam Pomfrey with a brief, harmless explanation—experimental salve for bite wounds, just in case. Pomfrey took it with a nod, distracted by paperwork and muttering about irresponsible students and "unsanctioned wildlife."

Jo turned to leave and stopped just before the doors.

Draco Malfoy was walking out of the far bay, looking supremely smug. In his hands, he carried a well-worn schoolbook. She knew that folded between its pages was a letter.

She didn’t have to see the name to know it was the one Ron had received from Charlie Weasley.

So this was it. Draco had the evidence. He would tell McGonagall. And the trio would be caught.

Jo didn’t move.

This has to happen.

If they weren’t caught, there would be no detention.

If there was no detention, they wouldn’t be sent to the Forbidden Forest.

If they didn’t go to the Forest, Harry wouldn’t meet the centaurs.

And if he didn’t meet the centaurs… they wouldn’t understand what Voldemort was doing. The warning wouldn’t come.

Her hands tightened slightly at her sides.

This is where it starts to get dangerous.

But it was also where things began to align more clearly. For all the risks ahead, the book's path was still holding steady.

But she didn’t let him pass without a word, either.

“Mister Malfoy,” she said lightly.

He flinched slightly, then recovered, schooling his expression into polite suspicion. “Professor.”

“Just curious,” she said. “How are you liking the pencil?”

His posture shifted ever so slightly. “It’s… useful.” A pause. Then, quieter: “I don’t let anyone see it.”

Jo smiled. “That’s quite all right. And what do you think of the eraser?”

She tilted her head. “The one hidden inside the mechanical pencil.”

Draco frowned, caught between suspicion and curiosity. “I didn’t know there was one.”

“Do you have it with you?”

He hesitated, then set the book and letter aside and dug into his satchel. A moment later, he pulled out the pencil and, after a beat, his notebook.

Jo’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the sight of it. The pages were already worn, ink bleeding faintly through in places. He clearly used the notebook she had gotten him for all of his notes.

Without asking, she gently opened the notebook to a blank page and took the pencil. “Watch.”

She scrawled a simple line across the paper:

This is a mistake

Then, with a faint click, she uncapped the back of the pencil, revealing the hidden eraser. Carefully, she ran it over the text. The graphite lifted cleanly, as if it had never been written.

Draco’s eyes widened.

Jo looked up at him and said quietly, “It’s nice, sometimes, to be able to undo the things we regret. Even muggles can appreciate that.”

He didn’t answer, but he watched her more carefully than before.

After a moment, he picked up the book and the letter again.

He paused at the door, the notebook still tucked under one arm. “Thank you. For the pencil and notebook.”

Jo inclined her head. “You’re welcome.”

And as he disappeared down the corridor, Jo stood in the quiet that remained, torn between guilt and hope.

They’ll be caught. The detention will happen. This has to unfold the way it did.

But maybe, just maybe, not every outcome was fixed.

A few days passed, and one evening the Great Hall buzzed with the low murmur of morning chatter, spoons clinking gently against bowls, owls flapping in with post. The ceiling above shimmered with soft spring sunlight, filtered through drifting clouds.

Jo sat at the staff table, hands wrapped around a glass of wine. Her soup sat untouched beside her as she scanned the sea of student heads below. The usual chaos of dinner, but under it, tension hummed.

At her left, Minerva was buttering a scone with precise irritation.

“And I’m telling you, Severus, if he had come to me directly instead of waiting until after curfew, we might have handled this very differently.”

“Because nothing says fairness like sending four students into the Forbidden Forest,” Severus replied from across the table, voice sharp and clipped. “Especially when one of them, my student, was clearly telling the truth.”

Minerva didn’t look up. “Your student was found wandering the corridors with a letter not addressed to him, Severus, raving about dragons.”

“He was trying to prevent a rule violation,” he countered. “And there is no evidence that there are not dragons involved.”

“Be serious, Severus,” Minerva said firmly and exasperated. “The other students were clearly trying to egg him on to break the rules and he did. And frankly, his motivations are not as pure as you think.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “And yours are?”

Jo sipped her tea, letting the steam obscure the curve of her mouth. She knew better than to get involved in this particular exchange.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Draco at the Slytherin table. He was eating mechanically, gaze fixed on nothing in particular, his usual smugness absent. Not sulking, exactly, just… deflated. And thinking.

Minerva sighed and set her knife down with a quiet clink. “I’ve explained this already. The punishment fit the action. They all were out after curfew. Every student was held accountable.”

“Except for the fact that Potter and his little entourage walked away from it as if it were some grand adventure,” Severus muttered.

Minerva gave him a thin smile. “You’re just upset he survived it.”

Jo nearly choked on her tea.

Severus’s lips thinned, but he said nothing.

After a moment, Minerva turned to Jo. “How’s your batch of fifth-years?”

Jo blinked, adjusting quickly. “More awake than usual. I think someone spiked the porridge with Pepperup.”

That earned her a faint smile and a reluctant snort from Severus, which he promptly disguised behind his own teacup.

Jo glanced back toward the student tables. Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione were laughing over something, heads close together. A few seats down, Draco sat between Crabbe and Goyle, eyes on his plate.

She excused herself and slowly meandered back to her room. The sun had long dipped behind the mountains, casting the castle in deep violet shadow. Jo sat by the window in her quarters, the fire behind her burned low, and the sky outside was darkening fast.

She couldn’t read.

Her book lay open on the armrest, long forgotten. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the spine.

Somewhere below, in the entrance hall, Minerva was likely gathering the students. Four of them. Harry, Hermione, Neville… Draco.

And soon, they would be stepping into the Forbidden Forest.

Jo knew what they’d find there.

Or rather who.

Not just centaurs.

Not just dead unicorns.

Voldemort.

Or what was left of him, barely more than a parasitic spirit hiding beneath Quirrell’s turban. But still, him. The shadow of death and blood and war. The thing that had torn the world apart and would again.

Jo closed her eyes. Her breath shook as she exhaled.

She had let this happen. Had to let this happen.

But that didn’t mean she was ready.

Harry would survive.

He had to.

He always did.
But that didn’t stop her from wanting to run into the Forest and tear fate apart with her bare hands.

Instead, she stayed seated, still and quiet as the night drew in.

Chapter Text

The corridor was quiet, lit only by the late afternoon sun slanting through tall windows. Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden beams, swirling with each of Jo’s footsteps as she walked, her thoughts too heavy to settle.

She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a small, pale figure walking the opposite direction.

“Woah, easy there,” Jo said, steadying herself.

Draco Malfoy looked up at her sharply, eyes rimmed red with exhaustion. His uniform was immaculate as always, but his posture sagged in a way she hadn’t seen before. He looked… defeated. Tired in a way no eleven-year-old should.

“Professor,” he said quickly, backing up half a step. His gaze darted to the floor. “Sorry.”

Jo softened her expression. “Nothing to be sorry for. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He bristled at the question, chin lifting defensively. “Nowhere. I was just walking.”

She studied him for a moment, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the tight line of his mouth. The aftershock of the Forbidden Forest detention still clung to him like damp fog.

“Draco,” she said gently, “would you come with me for a moment? I was on my way back to my office for some hot cocoa. I think you could use a cup, too.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking down the hall as if considering escape. But something in her voice, or perhaps just the bone-deep weariness in his own body, made him nod once, stiffly.

“Fine.”

They walked in silence down the remaining stretch of corridor. Jo unlocked her office with a flick of her wand and gestured for him to come inside. He paused at the threshold, taking in the cluttered bookshelves, Muggle artifacts, and potted herbs crowding the windowsill. The warm smell of chamomile and mint drifted from the kettle she’d left charmed to reheat at this hour.

“Have a seat,” she said softly, moving to pour them each a cup. “Marshmallows? Whipped cream?”

He didn’t answer, just shrugged and dropped into the armchair across from her desk, arms folded tightly over his chest. Jo set his cup down on the low table between them, letting the steam curl into the quiet.

They sat like that for a moment. She was sipping her cocoa, while he staring fixedly at the dark rug, eyes narrowed as if glaring at something only he could see.

Finally, she spoke.

“You know,” she said, “cocoa isn’t a miracle cure. But it does help.”

He didn’t look up. “I don’t need help.”

Jo tilted her head, considering him. “Maybe not. But you look like you could use someone to listen.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. The clock on her shelf ticked steadily. Outside, a raven called once before falling silent.

Then, without looking at her, he muttered, “It wasn’t fair.”

Jo stayed silent, letting the words come without interruption.

“I told them,” he said, voice shaking slightly with anger. “I told McGonagall about the dragon. I tried to stop them. I did the right thing.” His hands curled into fists in his lap. “And I still got punished. Into the Forbidden Forest,” He added extra emphasis on the word glowering.

His chest rose and fell quickly now, anger battling with something smaller, more fragile.

“She didn’t even care,” he whispered, staring at his cocoa. “McGonagall. I told her the truth. And she still sent me in there. None of them care.”

Jo set her cup down quietly and leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“I believe you,” she said softly.

Draco’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide, searching hers with raw disbelief. “You… you do?”

“I do,” Jo said, her voice steady and warm. “You told the truth. I believe you.”

His mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came out. Instead, his shoulders sagged, some of the tension draining from his frame. He looked down at his cocoa, blinking hard.

“No one else does,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Maybe not,” Jo said gently, “but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, his voice rising as anger overtook his exhaustion. “It was dangerous,” he snapped. “There was a dragon. An actual dragon in the castle! What if it escaped? What if it burned someone or bit them or…or worse? It was stupid and reckless and everyone’s treating it like some grand adventure but it wasn’t. It was dangerous. And I was the only one who said so, and they still punished me for it!”

His chest heaved with the force of his words, cheeks flushed pink with frustration. He gripped the edge of his chair so tightly his knuckles whitened.

Jo let him finish. Then, with quiet certainty, she said, “You’re right.”

He blinked at her, startled out of his tirade.

“You’re right,” she repeated. “It was dangerous. There shouldn’t have been a dragon here. You spoke up, and you were right to do so.”

He stared at her, breathing hard, as if waiting for the catch, the scolding, the dismissal that always followed.

But Jo just sat back in her chair and wrapped her hands around her mug again, letting the steam curl up around her face.

“I wish doing the right thing always meant getting treated fairly,” she added softly. “But it doesn’t. Not always.”

For a long moment, Draco said nothing. Then he looked down at his tea, shoulders trembling faintly, and whispered, “It’s not fair.”

“No,” Jo agreed. “It isn’t, but it still matters that you did the right thing anyway.”

Draco’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering behind his eyes.

She held his gaze gently and asked, “If the same situation came up again, and you had all the same information… and you knew you would be punished for speaking up… what would you do?”

He looked down at his tea, staring so intently at the swirling steam that it almost seemed he was trying to disappear into it. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, he muttered,

“…I don’t know.”

Jo nodded softly. “That’s an honest answer.”

She paused, studying him with quiet certainty. “But I think… if it really came down to it… you’d choose to do the right thing again.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled by the certainty in her voice. For a moment, something flickered there—surprise, maybe even a hint of hope. He didn’t speak, but his throat worked as if swallowing down words he couldn’t quite say.

Instead, he looked back down at his cocoa, shoulders drawn in slightly, but not in anger this time. More like… quietness. A stillness she hadn’t seen in him before.

Jo smiled faintly and reached out to lightly tap his mug. “Drink your cocoa before it gets cold.”

Jo let the silence settle between them, warm and heavy with unspoken things. Then she asked, “Have you been writing in your notebook lately?”

Draco blinked, startled by the change in topic. He shifted awkwardly, then pulled the notebook from his satchel and held it out, almost defensively. Jo took it gently and flipped through a few pages. Neat, spiky handwriting filled them: class notes, potion recipes, a few scattered lines that looked more like thoughts than assignments.

“You’re filling it quickly,” she said, handing it back. “That’s good.”

Draco tucked it away, looking slightly self-conscious.

Jo leaned back in her chair, cradling her mug. “You know, in the Muggle world, a lot of people keep journals. They write down what they’re feeling, what happened that day, things they’re worried about. It helps… sort through thoughts that feel too big to keep in your head alone.”

He frowned slightly. “Sounds… pointless.”

She smiled softly. “Maybe. But sometimes, just putting the words somewhere makes them easier to carry.”

Draco looked away, staring at the books lining her office shelves. He didn’t say anything, but his fingers drummed lightly against the arm of his chair, thoughtful.

“And,” Jo added gently, “if writing isn’t enough… my door is always open, Draco. If you ever need to talk. About anything.”

He shifted again, uncomfortable with the offer but not rejecting it outright. His eyes flicked to hers for the briefest moment before dropping back to his lap.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Jo smiled. “Anytime.”

They sat a while longer, drinking their hot cocoa in quiet companionship. Outside, the sun slipped lower behind the mountains, shadows stretching long across the castle grounds. The windowpanes glowed with the last warmth of the day before the long, blue dusk settled in.

Jo’s gaze drifted past Draco to the grounds below. Through the tall windows, she could just make out a large figure trudging slowly across the lawn toward the edge of the Forest. Hagrid.

His shoulders were slumped in a way she rarely saw, his steps heavy as he made his way back to his hut. Even from here, he looked… deflated. Lonely.

Her chest tightened. He lost Norbert. And though it was the right thing, it didn’t make it any easier.

Draco shifted beside her, pulling her back to the present. He set his empty mug down with careful precision and rose, smoothing his robes as if rebuilding his walls brick by brick.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said stiffly, though his voice was quieter than usual. Less guarded. “For the… cocoa.”

She smiled softly. “You’re welcome, Draco. Anytime.”

He gave a short nod before slipping out the door, footsteps fading down the corridor.

Jo stood, gathering their mugs and setting them in the wash basin by her window. She glanced once more at Hagrid’s distant figure, now nearing the edge of the pumpkin patch.

Maybe he could use someone to listen today, too.

She pulled on her cloak, letting its warmth settle around her shoulders, and stepped out into the gathering twilight. The castle door closed quietly behind her as she made her way down the sloping lawns toward Hagrid’s hut, her boots crunching softly in the cold, quiet dusk.

The air grew colder as Jo walked, the chill biting gently at her cheeks and nose. Lantern light spilled in golden pools along the path, casting her shadow long behind her. The sky above was streaked with the last embers of sunset, fading into deep indigo.

When she reached Hagrid’s hut, she paused for a moment at the edge of his pumpkin patch. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and inside she could see his large silhouette moving around the hearth.

She raised her hand and knocked softly.

“Come in,” rumbled his voice from within.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The warmth wrapped around her instantly—rich with the smell of woodsmoke, damp wool, and something that might have once been stew.

Hagrid was seated in his massive chair, shoulders hunched forward, one large hand cradling a mug that looked tiny between his fingers. Fang lay snoring heavily at his feet.

He looked up in surprise when he saw her. “Jo! Didn’ expect yeh.”

“Sorry to barge in,” she said softly, pulling off her cloak and hanging it by the door. “I saw you heading back and… thought you might like some company.”

Hagrid gave a quiet grunt, half laugh, half sigh. “Don’ usually get visitors this late.”

She crossed to the fire and pulled over a small wooden stool, settling down near him. “How are you doing?” she asked gently.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the flames, brow furrowed beneath his tangled hair. When he spoke, his voice was rough.

“He was jus’ a baby,” he murmured. “Didn’ even have a chance to grow proper before they took him away.”

Jo felt her chest tighten. “I know.”

“I knew it’d have to happen,” Hagrid continued, his grip tightening around his mug. “Couldn’ keep ‘im here, not really. Wouldn’ have been safe. But…” His voice caught, and he shook his head. “Still feels like I let ‘im down. Like I failed him.”

Jo reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You didn’t fail him, Hagrid. You gave him a chance to live. A real chance, in the place he belongs. That’s… that’s the kindest thing you could have done.”

He sniffed hard, eyes glistening in the firelight. “Feels lonely now, tha’s all.”

“I know,” Jo said softly. “It’s hard to say goodbye, even when it’s right.”

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and Fang’s slow, rhythmic snoring.

“Tell me about yer pets,” Hagrid rumbled suddenly, breaking the quiet. “You’ve got cats, don’t yeh?”

Jo blinked, then chuckled softly. “Yeah. Two of them. Godzilla and Gandhi.”

Hagrid’s brows shot up under his shaggy hair. “Godzilla an’ Gandhi? Tha’s… quite the pair o’ names.”

She grinned, warming her hands against her mug. “Yeah… they’re Muggle names. Godzilla is a giant monster in Muggle films, a huge lizard creature that stomps through cities, knocking over buildings and roaring at everyone.”

Hagrid’s eyes widened, delighted. “A monster cat, eh?”

Jo laughed. “Exactly. He was tiny, but he thought he was that big. Always knocking things off shelves, wrestling anything that moved, terrorizing the chickens… so we called him Godzilla.”

Hagrid chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like he had a bit o’ Norwegian Ridgeback in ‘im.”

Jo snorted softly. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“And the other one?” Hagrid asked. “Gandhi?”

Her smile softened. “Gandhi was… well, he was a man. In the Muggle world. A real person. He led peaceful protests in India to free them from British rule. Believed in non-violence, in compassion, in being strong without hurting people.”

Hagrid blinked slowly, looking thoughtful. “Peaceful sort then, this Gandhi cat?”

“Yeah,” Jo said, warmth blooming in her chest at the memory. “That was him exactly. Always calm. He’d let the chicks sleep on his back and just purr the whole time. Nothing rattled him.”

“Chaos and calm,” Hagrid said softly. “Good balance, that.”

Jo nodded. “Yeah. Mum said the same.”

They sat for a moment longer, Hagrid smiling faintly into the fire, Jo cradling her mug. Then a sharp rapping broke the quiet. Jo turned to see a tawny owl at the window, feathers fluffed against the cold. She stood and crossed the room, opening the window just enough to untie the small parchment from its leg.

The owl hooted softly and took off into the gathering night.

Jo unrolled the note and read the elegant script:

Miss Harper,

Your presence is requested in my office at your earliest convenience.

– A.D.

She folded the parchment, tucking it into her pocket.

“Everything alright?” Hagrid asked, concern creasing his broad features.

Jo smiled gently. “Just Dumbledore. Wants to see me.”

“Best not keep ‘im waitin’,” Hagrid said, nodding gravely.

She reached out and squeezed his arm lightly. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Thanks fer stoppin’ by, Jo. Means a lot.”

“Of course, Hagrid.”

She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and stepped back out into the cold, the hut door closing softly behind her as she made her way up the darkening path toward the castle and whatever waited in the Headmaster’s office.

The castle was hushed as Jo climbed the familiar spiral staircase, torchlight flickering against stone walls. She paused before the gargoyle, pressing a hand briefly to her North Star pendant under her cloak. Its warmth steadied her.

“Fizzing Whizzbee,” she murmured.

The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the moving staircase. Jo stepped on, the gentle rotation lifting her higher until she stood before the carved oak door. She raised her hand to knock but it swung open before she could.

“Come in, Miss Harper,” came Dumbledore’s calm voice.

She stepped inside. The office glowed with lanternlight, books stacked in improbable towers around the room. Fawkes shifted sleepily on his perch, letting out a low, musical trill.

Severus stood stiffly near the fireplace, arms folded, his expression closed and sharp as always. His gaze flicked to Jo as she entered, dark eyes scanning her face briefly before returning to Dumbledore.

“Thank you both for coming on short notice,” Dumbledore said, folding his hands atop his desk. He looked weary tonight, Jo thought. The lines around his eyes deeper, his posture slightly stooped beneath his purple robes.

“Why have we been summoned, Headmaster?” Severus asked coolly.

Dumbledore regarded them both for a long moment before speaking.

“I have… made progress,” he said quietly. “In my research into Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

The room seemed to still around them. Jo felt her breath catch in her throat.

“I have located what I believe to be one of them,” Dumbledore continued. “A ring. Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, to be precise.”

Severus’s jaw tightened. “You are certain?”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “Quite. Its magic is… foul. Ancient. I have not yet attempted to destroy it, but I believe I can. I will need time to study its protections.”

Jo swallowed hard, her mind racing. The Resurrection Stone. She felt a tremor of unease run through her. He didn’t know yet. And if he does…

She forced herself to keep her voice steady. “What will you do with it?”

“Destroy it, of course,” Dumbledore said, though his gaze flicked briefly to the window, lost in some private thought. “I have no intention of leaving such darkness in this world.”

Jo’s thoughts spun in tight, anxious circles. The Resurrection Stone. She knew what it was. What it could do. What he might do if he discovered it wasn’t just a horcrux. Would it cloud his judgment? Would he become obsessed with the idea of seeing his family again? Or worse… would he think he could wield all three Hallows?

She clenched her hands in her lap, nails biting into her palms. But what if I tell him? What if knowing changes nothing except putting that temptation in his mind sooner? Maybe right now he’s just focused on destroying it. Maybe… maybe it’s safer this way.

Her chest ached with the weight of uncertainty, of silent knowledge that burned like acid behind her ribs.

She was so lost in her frantic thoughts that she barely registered Severus shifting beside her until his voice cut through the room, sharp as a blade.

Severus shifted, his robes whispering against the stone floor. “And you’ve called us here to… congratulate yourself?” he sneered.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled faintly despite the gravity of his words. “No, Severus. I have called you here to discuss the matter of the Stone.”

Dumbledore said. “As you both know, protections have been placed to keep it from Voldemort’s reach. However… I believe it is time to acknowledge that he will attempt to take it soon. Perhaps within days.”

Severus’s hands clenched at his sides. “Then remove it.”

“I cannot,” Dumbledore said softly. “The stone is safest at Hogwarts.”

“That is madness,” Severus snapped, his voice slicing through the quiet like a whip crack. “If you know he will come for it, if you know Quirrell is compromised, then confront him now. Arrest him. Search him. Banish him from the grounds. Why let him remain at all?”

Dumbledore sighed, folding his hands calmly atop his desk. “Because doing so could drive Voldemort to ground, beyond our reach. We must be patient.”

“Patient?” Severus spat. “You would rather gamble the lives of your students, and the safety of the Stone, than act?!”

Jo’s heart was hammering so hard she felt lightheaded. No… no, this isn’t how it happens. Her mouth felt dry as ash.

Severus turned to her, eyes blazing. “And you,” he turned on her angrily. “Are you just going to sit there silently while he plays politics with children’s lives?”

Jo swallowed hard. Her vision blurred for a moment. If they arrest Quirrell now, everything changes. The prophecy… Harry… everything.

She took a shaky breath. “You can’t,” she whispered.

Both men turned to look at her.

Severus’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you say?”

Jo clenched her fists in her lap. She felt her pulse pounding under her skin like a trapped bird. If I lie, they’ll keep pushing. If I tell the truth…

She forced her eyes up to meet theirs. “You can’t confront him now. You can’t remove the Stone. Harry… he has to go through the trapdoor.”

The silence in the room became suffocating.

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened, though his face remained calm. Severus, however, looked like he’d been slapped.

“He has to?” Severus echoed incredulously. “You’re telling me you know this for certain? That you would sit here, knowing the children are in danger, and say nothing to stop it?”

“I’m saying,” Jo said, her voice trembling but firm, “that if you confront Quirrell now, or remove the Stone, or change what’s coming… it will ripple outward in ways you can’t imagine. Harry has to face him. He has to survive it. It sets… it sets everything else in motion.”

Severus was staring at her with undisguised fury. “You knew. You’ve known this whole time.”

Jo nodded, her throat tight. “Yes.”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened, though sadness flickered across them like a passing shadow. “Thank you, Jo,” he said quietly. “I suspected as much.”

Severus shook his head, taking a step back as if physically repelled by the conversation. “This is insanity. Utter insanity.”

Jo blinked back tears. “I know. But it’s the only way.”

Severus shook his head, taking a step back as if physically repelled by the conversation. His dark eyes locked onto hers with a look of such raw disgust that Jo felt her chest cave inward.

“You knew,” he hissed, voice trembling with barely contained fury. “You’ve known this whole time. You would let them walk to their deaths… for what? Fate? Prophecy?”

Jo’s throat burned. She wanted to speak, to explain, but his glare cut straight through her. She dropped her gaze to her lap, blinking hard against the hot sting of tears.

Her eyes fell to the silver North Star pendant resting against her robes. Its glow, always steady and warm against her skin, flickered faintly now, as if dimmed by her doubt.

I’m trying, she thought desperately. I’m trying to do what’s right.

The silence stretched painfully. Severus turned away from her, his robes snapping with the sharpness of his movement. Jo clenched her hands in her lap, feeling her nails bite into her palms.

Finally, she drew a shaky breath and spoke, her voice hoarse but determined.

“Maybe… maybe there’s a way to protect them,” she said softly.

Severus snorted without turning around, the sound bitter and cold.

“No, listen,” Jo insisted, forcing herself to look up at Dumbledore. “In the books, Dumbledore is lured away by an urgent owl from the Ministry. That’s how Quirrell makes his move. But… but maybe you don’t actually have to leave.”

Dumbledore’s brows rose slightly, thoughtful. “Go on.”

Jo swallowed. “Maybe you can pretend to go. Make it appear you’ve left, so Quirrell follows through. But stay hidden. Watch them. Monitor everything.”

Severus turned back, his dark gaze wary now instead of disgusted. “And how do you propose we ‘monitor everything’ without being seen?”

Jo hesitated. “Is there… some kind of magical surveillance? Something discreet? The trio can’t know they’re being watched. It would change their choices. But there has to be a way to keep them safe. To… intervene if needed.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his eyes distant with calculation. “There are methods,” he murmured. “Old magic. Quiet magic. I will consider this deeply.”

Jo nodded quickly, relief and anguish warring in her chest. “Please. I… I just want them to have a chance. Even if it has to happen, I want them to come out of it alive.”

Severus was still watching her, his expression unreadable now. The disgust had faded, but in its place was something almost worse: cold, silent disappointment.

Jo felt the glow of her pendant shine brightly once again against her chest, and she pressed her hand over it, taking comfort in its reassurance.