The Hufflepuff common room had transformed into a haven of festive warmth, its usual coziness enhanced by garlands of holly and ivy that wound around the circular windows. Enchanted baubles hung from the copper lamps, casting gentle patterns of light across the walls, while the crackling hearth filled the air with the comforting scent of apple wood and cinnamon. Chris sank deeper into his favorite armchair, savoring the quiet contentment of the last evening before most students departed for the Christmas holidays.
"I still can't believe term's already over," Hannah sighed, her blonde plait adorned with a tiny sprig of enchanted mistletoe that occasionally hummed carols in a soft soprano. "It feels like we just got back."
Susan nodded, her stockinged feet propped up on a footstool as she nursed a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream that changed colors every few seconds. "Time flies when you're learning actual defensive magic for once."
Chris smiled, watching the flames dance in the hearth. The past few months had settled into a comfortable rhythm after the dramatic arrest of Lockhart. Classes, study sessions, and his nightly visits to the Room of Requirement had created a structured existence that satisfied both his outward persona and his secret mission.
"Are you sure you won't reconsider and come home with me for Christmas?" Susan asked, turning to Chris. "Aunt Amelia specifically said you'd be welcome. I think she's taken a liking to you since the whole Lockhart thing."
"I appreciate the offer," Chris replied, genuine warmth in his voice. "But I'm looking forward to having access to the library when it's quiet. There are some advanced texts I've been wanting to explore."
Hannah rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Only you would choose dusty books over Christmas pudding and presents."
"I'll have Christmas pudding here," Chris protested with a laugh. "And I expect both of you to remember me when you're opening your presents."
"Speaking of presents," Susan said, leaning forward, "have you seen the latest Prophet? Lockhart got an early Christmas gift from the Wizengamot, five years in Azkaban."
Hannah's eyes widened. "Five years? That seems harsh for writing fake books."
"It wasn't just the books," Chris explained, setting down his own mug of spiced cider. "The memory charms were the serious offense. Apparently, he obliviated some truly accomplished witches and wizards, stealing their achievements and leaving them confused and damaged."
Susan nodded soberly. "Aunt Amelia said one wizard still doesn't remember his own children. Memory magic gone wrong can be permanent."
A thoughtful silence settled over them, broken only by the soft popping of the logs in the fire. Chris considered how differently things might have gone if he hadn't intervened. In the original timeline, Lockhart had remained at Hogwarts until his own memory charm backfired catastrophically. This change was minor in the grand scheme, but it reflected his growing influence on events.
"At least Professor Proudfoot knows what he's doing," Hannah said finally, breaking the silence. "Even if he does look like he'd rather be anywhere else than teaching children."
"Aurors aren't known for their warm personalities," Susan replied with a smirk. "But I'd take grumpy competence over charming incompetence any day."
Chris nodded in agreement. "We've learned more practical defensive magic in the last two months than all of last year. Did you see how Peterson's Shield Charm actually deflected that Stinging Hex yesterday? He couldn't have done that with Quirrell or Lockhart teaching."
"I wonder who we'll have next year," Hannah mused. "The position really does seem cursed."
"Proudfoot's already counting down the days until he can return to the Auror Office," Susan confirmed. "He told a seventh-year that teaching was the worst assignment he'd ever had, and he once spent three weeks undercover in a troll colony."
As Susan and Hannah began debating which Christmas dessert reigned supreme, Hannah championing treacle tart while Susan defended her Aunts traditional yule log, Chris let his mind drift to his actual plans for the holiday break.
The ancient warding texts Cassie had provided were challenging even for his considerable memory and comprehension. The magic the Founders had woven into Hogwarts were complex layering's of intent, blood magic, and runic arrays that worked in harmony to create a sentient castle. After months of study, he was tantalizing close to understanding the full scope of Dumbledore's binding and how to counter it.
Two more weeks of uninterrupted study should be sufficient to master the remaining material. The timing was critical, he would need to wait until the students returned from holiday before attempting to free Cassie from her magical restraints. Any significant working of powerful magic in an empty castle would stand out like a flare to sensitive magical observers, particularly Dumbledore. With hundreds of students performing magic throughout the castle, his own activities, however powerful, would blend into the ambient magical noise.
His hands were warm around his mug, but he felt a coolness in his chest, a calm determination settling into place. The wait would be frustrating, knowing how close he was to freeing Cassie from her binding, but rushing would only endanger everything he'd worked for.
"What time are you heading down to the station tomorrow?" Chris asked, bringing his attention back to his friends as their dessert debate reached an impasse.
"Nine o'clock sharp," Susan replied. "Aunt Amelia sent a letter reminding me not to be late. Apparently punctuality is a 'fundamental expression of respect for others' time.'" Her impression of her aunt's crisp diction was spot-on, drawing another round of laughter.
"I'll walk down with you," Chris offered. "I can help with your trunks."
"You're a good friend, Chris," Hannah said, stifling a yawn as she glanced at the clock on the wall. "We should probably finish packing."
They rose from their comfortable positions, stretching and gathering empty mugs. The common room had gradually emptied as other students retired to prepare for their journeys home, leaving only a few upper-years playing a quiet game of Wizards Chess in the corner.
"Happy Christmas, if we don't see you before we leave," Susan said, giving Chris a quick hug. "Don't spend the whole holiday with your nose in a book."
"I'll try to remember to eat occasionally," Chris promised with a smile. "Have a good holiday, both of you. Give my best to your families."
As his friends disappeared toward their dormitories, Chris remained by the fire for a moment longer, watching the flames dance. Freedom for Cassie was within reach.
The Great Hall on Christmas Day barely resembled its usual self. The four long house tables had been replaced by a single table in the center, dwarfed by the cavernous space around it. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling, vanishing before it reached the heads of the few students who remained at Hogwarts for the holidays. Evergreen garlands festooned with golden ornaments draped along the walls, while twelve towering Christmas trees, decorated by Professor Flitwick, stood sentinel around the perimeter. Despite the lavish decorations, the hall felt hollowed out, the absence of hundreds of chattering voices more noticeable than the presence of the few who remained.
Chris entered, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor in a way they never did during term time. The teachers' table was sparsely populated, Dumbledore in his seat of honour wearing a hat shaped like a Christmas pudding, McGonagall looking slightly more relaxed than usual in dark green robes, Flitwick charming baubles to dance in mid-air. A handful of students were scattered along the single table, leaving generous gaps between small groups.
At the far end sat Harry Potter, alone, picking at a plate of turkey and roast potatoes. His usual shadow, Ron Weasley, was noticeably absent.
Chris hesitated only briefly before making his decision. He approached with a friendly smile, pitching his voice to casual warmth. "Mind if I join you? It seems a bit silly to sit alone when there are so few of us."
Harry looked up, surprise momentarily replacing the pensive expression he'd been wearing. "Oh, er, sure. Ron's still asleep upstairs. Too much Christmas pudding at breakfast."
"A true Weasley tradition, I imagine," Chris said lightly, settling onto the bench opposite Harry and helping himself to food from the platters that appeared before him. "Happy Christmas, by the way."
"Happy Christmas," Harry replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Didn't expect many Hufflepuffs to stay over the break."
"Just me, actually," Chris said, serving himself a portion of roast potatoes. "I wanted some quiet time in the library. How about you? I thought you might have gone with the Weasleys."
Harry shrugged, pushing Brussels sprouts around his plate. "Mrs. Weasley invited me, but they're visiting Ron's brother Charlie in Romania this year. I didn't want to intrude. Plus, you know, I'm still not sure what to think about them."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of cutlery against plates and distant professor conversations filling the void. Chris watched Harry from behind his goblet of pumpkin juice, noting the tension in the boy's shoulders and the distracted way he ate, clearly lost in thought.
"I've been meaning to ask," Chris said finally, "did you ever follow up on those issues we discussed at Gringotts? About your vault?"
The change in Harry was immediate and striking. His shoulders stiffened, his knuckles whitened around his fork, and a flash of something hard and unfamiliar crossed his face, anger, but of a colder sort than the impulsive temper he usually displayed.
"Yeah," Harry said after a moment, his voice low and controlled in a way that seemed unpractised, as though he was discovering this new emotion for the first time. "I did."
When he didn't elaborate, Chris prompted gently, "And?"
"Money's been taken," Harry said flatly. "Regular withdrawals, for years. The goblins showed me the records, purchases of school supplies, but also other things. Books I never received. Clothing I never wore." His voice grew quieter still. "Payments to my aunt and uncle that they clearly never spent on me."
Chris nodded, his expression carefully modulated to show appropriate concern without revealing his lack of surprise. "That's serious. Have you spoken to Professor Dumbledore about it?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "No. And I'm not going to, not yet."
"What about the Weasleys?" Chris asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear Harry's reasoning.
"Definitely not," Harry said, with sudden vehemence. "They'd be horrified, think I was accusing them or something. They've been nothing but kind to me."
Chris nodded thoughtfully, taking a bite of turkey to give Harry space to continue if he wished. After a moment, Harry did.
"I keep thinking about what you said, about how wizarding orphans usually have guardians to look after their interests. About how my godfather was never given a trial." Harry's voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. "I looked into that too. The records are sealed, but I found old newspapers in the library. Nothing about a trial, just that he was arrested and sent straight to Azkaban."
"Have you heard from him?" Chris asked, already knowing the answer from Harry's dejected posture.
Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I don't even know if the goblins were able to contact him like they said they would. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with me."
"Or maybe," Chris suggested carefully, "he is still healing and doesn't want you to see him in his current state."
Harry looked up, a flicker of hope crossing his face before he tamped it down. "Maybe."
"I think you're right to keep quiet about the money for now," he said, voice low enough that even the nearest student, three seats away, couldn't overhear. "If Dumbledore really has been accessing your vault illegally, you need to remember that he has significant authority in the wizarding world. It would be better to have an adult guardian on your side before making any accusations."
"Like Sirius," Harry said, his eyes brightening slightly. "Since he's innocent, and if he was appointed by my parents..."
"Exactly," Chris confirmed. "But you might not want to wait for him to contact you." He leaned forward slightly. "Have you considered writing to him yourself?"
Harry blinked, clearly surprised by the suggestion. "Write to him? But he's in St Mungo's."
"That can hardly prevent you from writing to your own godfather," Chris pointed out. "The worst they can do is refuse to deliver it. But at least you'll have tried."
Something shifted in Harry's expression, a spark of determination replacing the helplessness that had shadowed his features. "I could send Hedwig. She can find anyone."
"Owls are remarkably intelligent," Chris agreed. "And St Mungo's staff might think twice about interfering with the Boy Who Lived's correspondence."
Harry almost smiled at that, the first genuine expression Chris had seen from him during their conversation. "Thanks. I think I will write to him. Tonight, even."
They finished their meal discussing lighter topics, the impressive haul of sweets Harry had received from his friends, the spectacular enchantments on the Christmas trees, speculation about whether the house-elves made different puddings for each holiday or if Christmas pudding was simply their specialty.
As they parted ways in the entrance hall, Harry heading back to Gryffindor Tower with renewed purpose in his step, Chris allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.
Hogwarts in the heart of winter holidays transformed into a different entity altogether, its vast corridors and soaring halls fallen into a hushed reverence that the school never experienced during term time. Sunlight streamed through frosted windows, catching dust motes that danced undisturbed in empty classrooms. Suits of armour hummed Christmas carols in absent-minded harmonies that echoed down deserted passages. Even the portraits seemed to move more slowly, their painted figures lounging lazily in their frames or visiting distant gallery friends for long, uninterrupted conversations. For Chris, this tranquillity represented not just peace, but opportunity.
The day after Christmas, he began his systematic exploration of the castle, rising early and returning late, taking full advantage of the relaxed holiday supervision. With most professors either away or preoccupied with their own projects, and Filch seemingly less motivated to patrol empty corridors, Chris moved through Hogwarts with unprecedented freedom.
He started with the known passageways, activating his silver bracelet's HUD to map each corridor, staircase, and hidden door with meticulous precision. The magical display projected faint blue lines visible only to him, recording the castle's layout in three-dimensional detail that would have impressed even the Marauders. When he encountered areas with stronger magical signatures, he marked them for later investigation, noting how certain walls resonated differently when touched or how specific flagstones seemed to shift slightly underfoot.
"Behind the tapestry of hopping frogs," he muttered to himself, making a note as he discovered a narrow passage on the fourth floor that connected directly to the Charms corridor. "Useful for avoiding the main staircase during class changes."
By the third day, he had moved beyond the commonly used areas into the more neglected wings of the castle. Here, portraits hung that few students ever encountered, their frames dusty and their occupants startled by the rare visitor.
"Young man," called an elderly witch from a portrait near an abandoned classroom, her painted face lighting up at the sight of him. "It's been years since anyone came this way! Are you lost?"
"Not lost," Chris replied with a respectful smile. "Just exploring. This castle has so many stories I haven't heard yet."
Her eyes brightened at his interest. "Oh, indeed! I was painted in 1743, you know, and even then Hogwarts had secrets old beyond reckoning."
These conversations proved unexpectedly valuable. The portraits, lonely and eager to talk, shared centuries of observations, gossip, and historical tidbits that had never made it into Hogwarts: A History. A particularly verbose knight on the fifth floor described hidden chambers that had been sealed during the renovations of 1762. A former headmistress, dozing in a rarely-visited corridor, mumbled about pressure points in the castle's foundations that could "shift the very stones if one knew how to ask properly."
Chris absorbed it all, his mental map of Hogwarts growing more detailed and nuanced with each passing day. What had started as a practical exercise in familiarizing himself with the castle and it's hidden passages evolved into a deeper understanding of the castle as a living entity, a body whose pulse he was learning to feel beneath his fingertips.
As dusk fell each evening, he would make his way to the seventh floor, invisible beneath his cloak. The Room of Requirement welcomed him with increasing familiarity, the door materialising more quickly at his approach, as though Cassie herself was eagerly anticipating his visits.
Inside, the space had evolved to better serve his needs. What had begun as a simple study had transformed into something resembling an ancient magical laboratory. Runic circles were etched into the floor, allowing him to practice the ward-breaking techniques described in the texts without affecting the castle's actual wards. A workbench held delicate silver instruments that measured magical resonance, and the walls were covered in complex diagrams that shifted and rearranged themselves as his understanding deepened.
"Finite nexus incantatum," he murmured, tracing his wand through a complicated pattern above a miniature model of what the books described as a ward anchor point. The model glowed, threads of magic visibly unwinding from its core before dissipating into the air. "Not quite right," he muttered, consulting the ancient text again. "The connection needs to be severed before the energy is released, not simultaneously."
The work was exhausting but exhilarating. Each night he pushed himself further, absorbing theoretical concepts that would have challenged mastery-level curse breakers, then putting them into practice on the room's simulations. Sometimes he felt Cassie's presence more strongly, the lights brightening when he made a breakthrough or the fire warming when fatigue began to slow his progress.
On New Year's Eve, while the few remaining students and staff celebrated in the Great Hall, Chris sequestered himself in the Room of Requirement for a marathon study session. The final book in the sequence, bound in dragon hide so ancient it had petrified to stone-like hardness, contained the most crucial information: how to identify and counter binding spells specifically designed to control sentient magical constructs.
"The binding must be unwoven rather than broken," he read, the archaic language requiring careful translation. "For a violent severing will cause backlash proportional to the power of the bound entity, potentially destroying both the bound and the un-binder."
Dawn was breaking on the first day of the new year when Chris finally closed the book, his eyes burning with fatigue but his mind humming with newfound knowledge. He had done it, mastered every text Cassie had provided, absorbed their ancient wisdom, and practiced the practical applications until his magical reserves were nearly depleted.
He stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of sitting, and approached the simulation model of Hogwarts that hovered at the center of the room. With a precise flick of his wand, he illuminated what he now understood to be the magical binding points Dumbledore had created to control Cassie, glowing purple nodes at strategic locations throughout the ward stones structure.
"I know how to free you now," he said softly to the air around him, sensing rather than seeing the way the room seemed to hold its breath at his words. "But we must be patient a little longer."
The timing would be critical. The magical backlash from releasing bindings of this magnitude would be impossible to hide in an empty castle. Even with his growing skill, such a disturbance would immediately alert Dumbledore. But once the students returned, once hundreds of young witches and wizards were casting spells throughout the castle again, the ambient magical noise would provide cover for his work.
In the two days before term resumed, Chris prepared meticulously. He refined his understanding of the most complex counter-spells, committed the binding points' locations to memory, and rested to ensure his magical reserves would be at full capacity. Each step was calculated, each possibility considered and planned for.
On the evening before the Hogwarts Express was due to return, Chris stood at the window of the Astronomy Tower, watching snow fall gently over the grounds. Behind him, the castle slumbered in its final night of holiday peace. Tomorrow, the halls would fill with students, their voices and magic bringing Hogwarts back to bustling life.
And shortly after, if all went according to plan, the castle would truly awaken for the first time in decades, freed from the bindings that had held its consciousness captive for so long. Chris smiled into the darkness, anticipation coursing through him like a warming charm.
"Soon, Cassie," he whispered to the stone beneath his palm. "Very soon."