Not long after New Year's Day, the Christmas holidays officially came to an end.
A new year arrived, and Hogwarts opened its doors to a new term.
On one of those evenings that couldn't quite decide whether it wanted to be gloomy or clear, the Hogwarts Express cut through fields of white, crossing half of Britain. It delivered the students to Hogsmeade Station, where thestral-drawn carriages carried them up to the castle. Soon enough, the Entrance Hall and the Great Hall were lively again.
Ghosts drifted through the air, enthusiastically greeting returning students. Portraits along the corridors waved and called out. And Peeves—utterly insufferable as ever—had packed dirty snowballs and hung upside down from the ceiling, flinging them everywhere and making young witches shriek.
Once the snowballs melted, muddy slush covered the floor. Filch cleaned it up with a face dark enough to scare first-years senseless.
The welcome-back feast wasn't especially grand. Some of the Christmas decorations had already been taken down, but that did nothing to dampen spirits. Reunited after weeks apart, students chatted excitedly, seemingly unable to run out of things to say.
"My gran withdrew my Hogsmeade permission slip," Neville complained gloomily. "She says Black and the Dementors are still wandering around, and it's not safe to go into the village on weekends."
"Same here!"
"Mine too! My parents have to pass through Hogsmeade for business, but I'm still not allowed to go!" another student sighed.
Gryffindor sat beside Hufflepuff, and several equally unlucky students joined in at once, chattering and venting their frustration.
Near the back of the long tables, Hermione was buried in reading. Thick stacks of trial documents lay in front of her, filled with dense case law and convoluted legal language. Harry and Ron barely made it halfway down the first page before their heads started spinning.
"Neville," Ron said suddenly, looking puzzled, "your parents have been reinstated, right? They're back in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as Aurors?"
"My dad's back at work, yeah. He's been working overtime since Christmas," Neville replied, confused. "Mum's still at home. Why?"
"They didn't tell you?" Ron spread his hands. "Sirius Black's been caught. Everything's been cleared up—he's a good guy, not a Death Eater. The real traitor was Peter Pettigrew."
"The warrant's been lifted," Ron added. "Now it's just waiting on the trial."
"What? What happened? Tell us everything!" people urged.
"It's complicated," Ron said, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. "It involves the Fidelius Charm. You probably don't know this, but it's a powerful defensive spell that hides a secret inside a single person's soul—permanently."
He launched into the story with growing enthusiasm. "Back then, Sirius volunteered to draw the Death Eaters' attention, while Peter secretly became the Secret Keeper. One in the open, one in the shadows—perfectly safe. Except no one realized Peter had already betrayed them. He'd gone over to You-Know-Who."
"Oh Merlin…"
Everyone reacted the same way—stunned silence. The story was too complex, too shocking to process right away. No one quite knew what to say.
After several quiet minutes, Neville's eyes suddenly widened. He jumped up and ran toward the exit, clearly in a hurry.
"Neville, where are you going? The feast is about to start!" Seamus called after him. His own Hogsmeade permission slip had been revoked as well.
"I'm going to write a letter!" Neville shouted back without stopping. "I need my gran to sign a new permission form!"
The others froze for a second—then, without hesitation, they bolted too. They'd never moved this fast even to get out of class early.
…
The lights rose, and the feast began.
Melvin sat at a side seat near the head table, with the diminutive Professor Flitwick beside him. He glanced at Snape's unusually neat hair and felt, strangely, that the Potions professor didn't quite seem real—like someone whose deepest wish had already been fulfilled, just waiting to be released.
Snape had rarely appeared these past few days. Perhaps revealing his doe Patronus—and that painfully vulnerable moment with Lily's spirit—had cracked the cold, isolated mask he wore so carefully. Since then, he'd spent most of his time brewing potions in the dungeons, avoiding everyone else.
Clink, clink, clink.
At the head table, Dumbledore tapped a silver spoon against his goblet. The clear sound cut through the noise, and the Great Hall gradually fell silent.
"Welcome back!"
Dumbledore cleared his throat and stood. "Before your heads grow too foggy from pies and puddings, I'd like to trouble you with a bit of an old man's rambling."
"I'm pleased to announce that a problem which troubled us throughout last term has now been resolved."
Beaming, he continued, "Mr. Sirius Black—apologies, I cannot in good conscience call him a fugitive or a prisoner—has concluded his long and tiresome journey on the run. He is currently cooperating with the Ministry, and I trust that the truth of the matter will soon be made public."
The hall immediately erupted in whispers.
"Why can't he call him a fugitive?"
"You haven't heard? Gryffindor's been talking about it all day."
"What happened?"
"Oh, listen—"
Dumbledore merely smiled, clearly uninterested in launching into a full explanation before dinner.
"If anyone truly can't wait," he said lightly, "you may ask Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger—or Professors Levent, Lupin, and Snape."
"Now that you mention it…" someone muttered, belatedly realizing something. "Every Christmas, it's them causing trouble, isn't it?"
"Every single year!" another voice agreed.
Dumbledore listened to the shouting and laughter with fond amusement. The Weasley twins were already squeezing into the third-years, cheerfully locking Ron in a headlock and demanding answers. Dumbledore looked perfectly content to let the youthful chaos continue.
"Please discuss these matters among yourselves," he said at last, his voice ringing out. "Before we begin the feast, I must remind you that Dementors have not yet fully withdrawn. Remain vigilant and keep your distance."
"Professor!"
A Gryffindor boy raised his hand. "Do they get house points this time?"
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore sighed.
The decision had been made collectively by the professors. While Harry and his friends had once again shown courage and ingenuity, their unauthorized use of a Time-Turner was an undeniable violation—and one with severe consequences.
In the original timeline, Snape had already captured Sirius, extracted the truth, and laid a trap for Pettigrew. The rat had been exposed, waiting only for the final blow. By traveling back in time and allowing Pettigrew to touch the Time-Turner, they had caused a disastrous divergence.
Gryffindor groaned in disappointment. Slytherin thumped the tables in celebration.
After a few minutes of noise, the hall settled again.
Dumbledore glanced at his wrist—despite wearing no watch—then looked up with a twinkle in his eye.
"I believe your stomachs are as eager as your curiosity," he said. "So—let the feast begin!"