A good night's sleep can't always be shared — just as Andrew was happily drifting into dreamland, Professor McGonagall, who had planned to sort through a few last files before bed so she could handle them by urgency the next day, found herself wide awake.
As was her habit, she opened the final document to glance at the last line and decide how urgent it was — but what she saw was only three lines of text. She froze.
She recognized every single word — but together they felt so foreign.
After so many years as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall had a contingency plan for every emergency. Even dealing with Dumbledore — so troublesome a Headmaster — she could handle him just fine. What situation could possibly be too difficult?
Well… this letter told her exactly that.
She herself had helped design the protections around the Philosopher's Stone. She even knew Dumbledore had recently found a strange mirror to hide it in.
But this sort of thing…
She checked the contents again — and was once more stunned.
Less than ten minutes later, a sleepy-eyed Dumbledore, still in his nightclothes, was dragged out of bed.
"Did something happen to the students?"Dumbledore's first question was one of immediate concern.
"As usual — staying up late to lose their own House points," McGonagall snapped.
"Oh." The tension in Dumbledore's face relaxed instantly. "Then what could possibly be important enough to drag an old man out of bed in the middle of the night?"
The letter was thrust into his hands. He glanced at it casually — then his face froze in shock.
"Where did this come from, Minerva?"
"It was slipped in with the staff correspondence. I thought some mischievous student had mixed it up while copying homework in an office — but now I see it was sent using the school's owls, disguised as an internal report."
"Find the sender, Minerva."
"Phineas — alert Severus. I'll need his help."
"The back of his head?"
Snape, called in at once, curled his lip as he read the letter. "What a clever hiding spot — we searched for him for so long, worried Quirrell would slip away once caught, but all along… he was hiding somewhere so obvious?"
"It's possible — but I'm not certain."
"Not certain? He even mentions the mirror — the trap that's not finished yet!"
"Exactly because it's not complete," Dumbledore said calmly. "He has some information, but it's clearly not exact. And — I can't be sure he won't slip away again. The Mirror of Erised is the only stable prison that can hold him."
"No — you, me, Minerva, Flitwick — the four of us together could do it."
"Minerva can't. She can't appear on the battlefield directly. She is… hope — for if we fail entirely."
"Fine — hope." Snape's face twisted into a brief sneer, but he smoothed it away. "Three of us, then."
"You can't, either. You're the final safeguard."
"So this won't work, that won't work — what, we wait for him to die of old age?"
"You're panicking, Severus — you know we need a precise plan, not reckless heroics."
"Then do we do nothing? What's the point of this letter, this intel, if we don't act?"
"It's significant — it explains the inconsistencies we've seen, and tells us we have an unknown ally."
"An ally disappointed in you, and a target who might slip through our fingers."
Finally, Snape calmed down. "Catching him in a trap is just our guess — but what are the odds he'll sense something is wrong and run? Especially if — how did this unknown ally even observe this?"
"That is the question. Minerva is investigating."
The conversation paused — but McGonagall's search quickly produced results.
Only one portrait had glimpsed the person described by the owl — just a vague view of their back — and as far as she knew, no such student existed at Hogwarts at all.
"All right, thank you, Minerva. Get some sleep. It seems our friend doesn't wish to reveal themselves."
Once he'd sent McGonagall back, Dumbledore sat down at his desk again, studying the letter carefully.
"We can't wait any longer — whatever method they used to watch Quirrell will leave traces. Once discovered, it's all lost."
"Go rest, Severus. I'm afraid I'll need to call in a few old friends."
"No." Dumbledore suddenly changed his mind. "You stay at Gryffindor Tower. Take House points — whatever you must. Just don't let anyone slip out."
Thus, the students of Gryffindor found themselves sold out by one of their own alumni.
The usually deep-sleeping Mad-Eye Moody suddenly snapped his eyes open — he could swear he'd heard the faintest of noises, but the wards that should have triggered an alarm didn't react at all.
Without so much as blinking, he reached for his wand, rolled over abruptly, and aimed straight at the window — if anyone tried to come in that way, he'd have no qualms about blasting them to bits.
But instead of an intruder, he heard the doorbell.
That shrill chime felt like the cruelest mockery of his heightened vigilance.
"Who is it?" he barked, instantly shifting position again.
"Your friend Albus, old chap."
A voice that absolutely shouldn't have been heard at this hour floated in — even battle-hardened Moody was caught off guard. That voice. That tone. No mistake.
He flicked his wand, moved position again, and kept it firmly trained on the door.
"Ah, the door's open — shall I assume that's your invitation to come in?"
Dumbledore's cheerful voice rang out — confirming for Moody that yes, only Dumbledore could say something that tasteless at a time like this.
"Look at the time, Albus…" Moody rapped his wooden leg on the floor in irritation."It's — oh, my! Two in the morning!"
"What could possibly be so important at this hour? Azkaban in revolt? If so, you should be standing here with Fudge, not me."
He sneered — as a constantly vigilant ex-Auror, being woken up at this hour was no small thing.
"Help me catch someone, Alastor."
"Me?"
Moody fixed his good eye on Dumbledore while his magical eye spun wildly — then settled into an ugly grin. "All right. You really did call the right man for the job — where's the crime scene? What was stolen? Give me a week, I'll have him gift-wrapped at Hogwarts."
Moody swore this was the most invigorating thing since his retirement — even Dumbledore wanted him for an arrest. He was long tired of the 'honor' of it all — but this was Dumbledore, after all.
"No — tonight, to Hogwarts. And if you can, I'd like you to bring a few friends. Retired ones."
"You're joking."
Moody's magical eye froze mid-spin as he locked eyes with Dumbledore — seeing no hint of humor there, the scars on his face twitched as if freshly stitched together.
"That's just brilliant."
T/N: For twenty chapters ahead on all my fics become a P@tron at [email protected]/LordHipposApostle