It was late, but Harry lay in bed, wide awake.
Snape's cold voice kept echoing in his head: "The person who gave her life for you might regret that decision!"
Would Mum really regret it?
Harry didn't know.
He had never known real family love. He had no idea what a mother's love was supposed to feel like.
At the Dursleys, love had been Dudley's exclusive property—extra fried eggs, new toys, hugs. All Harry ever got was the dust in the cupboard under the stairs, Dudley's fists, and a constant stream of insults from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to piece together the few broken fragments of memory he had left—the only ones that still held his mother's voice.
Her voice had been so gentle. There was fear in it, yes, but underneath that fear was something he had never felt before.
Was that motherly love? Harry had no clue. Aside from those fleeting memories, he had never experienced it. The Dursleys had only ever given him shadows.
If they had lived… if they could see me now… what would they think?
Would they decide their sacrifice wasn't worth it? Would they be disappointed in the son they died for?
The thoughts churned faster and faster. He wanted them to stop, but they wouldn't.
"Hey, Ron…"
Harry whispered toward the next bed, desperate to talk to his best friend, but only steady snores answered. Ron had been through too much today.
They all had. Turning into girls, Snape's bizarre favoritism in Potions, nearly getting cornered by two trolls, losing house points, and then—Draco actually warning them.
Draco. He really wasn't like Dudley at all.
Thinking about it made Harry feel guilty. Their first meeting in Diagon Alley had left a terrible impression, so Harry had lumped Draco straight into the "bully" category with Dudley.
Maybe he wasn't that bad?
Just… ridiculously tsundere. And he fought with Ron constantly.
Harry sighed in the dark.
Still, with Professor McGonagall's extra points, the Slytherins probably wouldn't give Draco too hard a time, right?
Right. Not only had the deducted points been restored, they had actually come out ahead.
Just as they were about to leave the corridor, Professor McGonagall had appeared. Tom and Ariana explained everything and even showed her the second troll—the one still half-buried in the floor.
McGonagall had not been happy about their recklessness (especially Tom's), but since they hadn't broken any rules on purpose and had actually defeated a troll, she awarded five points to each of them—including Draco, who had already left.
So even though Snape had stripped three houses in one go, McGonagall had given every single point right back—and Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had even gained five extra.
If Snape ever finds out, he's going to explode.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, but the smile never formed.
Snape's words were still lodged in his chest like a thorn, making everything feel awful.
He rolled over, buried his face in the pillow. The four-poster curtains seemed to press down on him; the dormitory air felt thick and heavy.
He needed space—any space that wasn't a ceiling.
Just stay inside the common room. That's fine, right?
The thought took root and refused to let go. Something inside him kept whispering, Go. Just go.
He glanced at Ron's sleeping form, hesitated for half a second, then slipped out of bed, pulled on his robes, and crept from the dormitory.
I'll just walk around the common room. Nowhere else.
That was what he told himself.
Down in the Gryffindor common room, staring out at the starry sky through the round windows, Harry finally felt his chest loosen.
The vast night seemed big enough to hold every worry, every injustice, every confused anger he carried. Under starlight, none of it felt quite so heavy.
He was just about to head back upstairs when he noticed something odd.
The Fat Lady's portrait was open—just a crack, as if someone had slipped out moments ago.
Night-walking? At this hour?
Before he could think better of it, Harry drifted to the portrait hole, paused for two heartbeats… and stepped through.
He suddenly wanted to see Hogwarts at night. Just once. Just to know what the castle looked like when the whole world was asleep.
Should've stayed in bed!
Footsteps echoed behind him—getting closer—along with the occasional angry yowl of Mrs. Norris.
Harry regretted every life choice that had led him here.
He was only a first-year. He knew maybe three spells. He definitely didn't know the castle layout better than Filch. So far he had stayed free purely on adrenaline and decent legs.
But the castle was only so big. He was going to get caught eventually. The thought of being dragged to Snape's office for detention alongside that ugly, horrible Parkinson girl gave his legs fresh strength.
Next time I night-walk I'm borrowing Tom's bedsheet. Or renting it. Whatever it takes!
But no amount of running helped. From the opposite end of the corridor came Peeves' shrill, ear-splitting singing.
Peeves in front, Filch behind. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the end.
At that exact second a door beside him flew open. A hand shot out, grabbed his collar, and yanked him inside.
"Mrs. Norris, have you found that wretched boy yet?"
"Meow?"
"No? But he definitely came this way—wait, Peeves, what are you doing now?!"
Filch's furious footsteps and muttered curses faded down the hall as he chased the poltergeist instead. Harry let out a shaky breath.
He turned to thank his savior—and froze.
"Tom? What are you doing here?! And… what's wrong with your body?!"
It was Tom, all right. But not the solid blue cat Harry knew.
This Tom was semi-transparent, a faint glowing blue. Harry could actually see the faint outline of the wall right through him.
Even weirder: a bright paper tag was stuck to his back with a huge number 1 written on it.
A speech bubble floated above Tom's head.
[I could ask you the same thing. Why are you out here? If I hadn't grabbed you, Filch would have had you five seconds ago!]
Tom stared at Harry in genuine surprise. As far as he remembered, in the original story Harry only started his night-walking habit after he got the Invisibility Cloak. What was the kid doing wandering around with nothing?
"I…"
Harry faltered. He honestly didn't know why he had left the tower. The atmosphere in the dormitory had felt too heavy, his chest too tight, and before he realized it he was already outside. Everything after that was a blur.
After Harry finished explaining the messy spiral of thoughts that had driven him out, Tom's expression turned complicated. Wait—had Harry always been this emotionally tangled? Or was it just because Tom was a Hufflepuff now and everyone else looked twisted by comparison?
He ran a quick mental checklist of the first-years he knew:
Hermione was way too intense, Ron had a permanent inferiority complex, Draco was the king of tsundere… Honestly, aside from Ariana, they all seemed a little off to him.
Is this the Sorting Curse? Terrifying.
Tom gave an involuntary shiver under Harry's puzzled stare.
As for Harry's actual question… Tom rolled his eyes at the expectant face in front of him.
[You're seriously asking a cat to solve deep family-emotion philosophy?]
Come on, he was a cat!
[Instead of asking me, why don't you talk to Dumbledore? Or ask your parents' old friends. They're the ones who actually knew them.]
Like Snape. Or Sirius. Or, y'know, your actual parents someday.
Tom kept that last part to himself.
Seeing Harry's disappointed droop, Tom shook his head. Dealing with babies was way easier than this group.
"Uh… you're right. But my parents' friends…"
Harry's eyes dimmed. "Do any of them even exist anymore?"
If his mum and dad really had friends still alive, why had no one checked on him in ten years?
[Hey, weren't you wondering what I was doing out here?]
Tom sighed and changed the subject before Harry could spiral again.
[I was on my way to mess with Peeves.]
He still hadn't forgotten how the poltergeist had nearly exposed him to that perverted cat on his very first day.
"Peeves?" Harry blinked. "But isn't he a ghost? He doesn't have a body."
[Technically he's a poltergeist, not a regular ghost,] Tom corrected.
[Though you can think of him as a very annoying special ghost.]
"Then how are you—"
[That's why I'm in this form.]
It was only Soul No. 1, but it was still Tom's soul. Peeves was nothing. Even Voldemort's noseless wonder couldn't touch him right now.
Plus, soul form had perks: he could walk through walls, left no scent, and Mrs. Norris would never track him. He was not getting tangled up with that cat again.
"So… I interrupted you?"
[You said it.]
Tom waved a paw.
[But whatever. I can prank Peeves anytime. Wait here—I'll find something to get you back inside safely.]
Soul form was convenient, but it had limits. He couldn't just summon whatever he wanted, and teleportation was restricted. He could still go anywhere, but he couldn't take living people.
More precisely: he could only carry souls. If he tried to take a living person, he'd rip their soul out and leave the body behind.
They wouldn't die—as long as the soul got shoved back in fast enough—but Tom was pretty sure no one wanted to experience that.
So… how to get Harry back?
Tom glanced around. They were in a small, dusty, forgotten room. Empty except for one object in the corner, covered by a white sheet.
That sheet would do nicely~
Floating over, Tom grabbed the cloth and yanked it away.
Underneath stood an ornate, magnificent mirror.