The best part about being older than the oldest school of magic in the world, Nilrem had long since decided, was getting to watch history repeat itself in newer and more interesting ways.

It was also the worst part, since the ancient Chinese apparently had good reason for that curse of theirs, but the old hat didn’t really like to think about that.

No. He liked to focus on the good instead. It made things easier when one was his age. And when one was ultimately as powerless as he was. Because the bad doesn’t become easier to bear with age; it becomes... heavier, as it makes you face the truth of how nothing ever really changes.

And that is one truth with a considerable amount of weight.

When Severus Snape had come storming out of the Floo earlier in the day, at a time when he should have been in class, virtually every sentient entity in the office had known exactly why before he’d even uttered a word of his drunken rant.

And it had been quite the rant; a red flush on his pale cheeks, his dark eyes glaring at everything, he had even been frothing at the mouth by the end.

Albus, of course, had let the young man purge it out of his system, a simple and effective action with the twofold reward of helping Severus calm down, and letting them glean the desired information on Harry Potter that they’d all waited this day for.

At the end, panting fiercely and with a half full bottle of fire whiskey still in hand, Severus had slumped into a chair, his blazing fury burnt out to leave a simmering hatred.

It hurt Nilrem, seeing him like that. He still remembered the boy Severus had been; full of potential and eager for companionship and recognition.

And the hat knew that, just as he should have done with Tom Riddle, he should have put Severus in a different house. Perhaps Hufflepuff. A place where both could have made bonds untainted by subterfuge and greed.

But he had put them in Slytherin instead. And would do the same even if he could go back and do it all over again, because when one was as old as he was, they had to make peace with the truth that bad things will always happen. And no matter how much of a bystander you are, some of it will inevitably be your fault, at least in part.

The most you could do was try to also be part of the good.

Severus had left some time after with nary a word, and Albus hadn’t stopped him. Nilrem hadn’t either.

Minerva had been called to the office right after, and Albus had given her the barebones of the situation, then told her to bring Harry to the office.

But neither the boy, nor Granger, had been found; no one had seen them since the event, not even their classmates.

Not until dinner, when he’d walked in with Granger and his much too intelligent owl, looking perfectly unbothered. Much like how he walked into the office right then, the only difference being the absence of the girl who almost always shadowed him.

The boy who might be more than just Harry Potter looked around the office, eyes slipping past the Headmaster at his desk like he wasn’t even there. Much unlike his owl, who’d found a perch on top a bookshelf and had her gaze trained on the old wizard since they walked in.

“Good evening, Harry,” Albus said. “Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand if that’s okay,” Harry said, then his eyes caught the Headmaster’s familiar, and a look of childish awe spread over his face.

For the first time since they walked in, Harry’s owl looked away from Albus, and it was to shoot what was clearly a stink eye to everyone present at the phoenix who had effortlessly grabbed her master’s attention.

Fawkes, perfectly unbothered, stood tall and proud, and may have flared his fiery plumage a bit.

Eventually, Harry looked away from the phoenix, and as he walked over to a steaming, wheezing contraption in a corner, he said, “so, I imagine Snape came crying to you already.”

“Prof. Snape, Harry,” Albus said gently.

“Yeah, we both know I’m not calling him that,” the boy stated without turning.

He sniffed the steam emanating from the device, coughed heavily, then moved to the next one, a compass with a rapidly spinning dial. Which he stopped with a finger.

“Do you think it’s his daddy issues?” Harry asked thoughtfully. “His father treats him like shit, so he latches on to the first man to show him any measure of affection. Although, a better question would be why you keep defending him? He’s clearly undeserving of it. I mean, seriously, what is this? Naruto? Where anybody can get away with anything as long as they have a soppy backstory.”

The room was quiet for some time, within which Harry’s owl returned to his shoulder, and the boy made a visible effort to calm himself as the bird rubbed her head against his.

“Thanks, Hedwig,” Harry said, then moved to yet another object, this one a small, glass globe full of murky smoke that constantly morphed into nonsensical shapes. The globe was sitting on the carving of a hand.

“Who told you about Prof. Snape, Harry?” Albus finally said, and though the man’s voice was calm, Nilrem had known him long enough to know he was not.

Harry scoffed as he picked up the globe, shook it, then held it to his ear, listening for what, Nilrem did not know. “You mean among the literal dozens of people who know all the grisly little details of his life?” Harry asked.

Albus sighed. “Harry, Severus has made some mistakes—”

“Don’t,” the boy said, his tone surprisingly cold. “Just don’t. Don’t preach to me about love and forgiveness. Don’t interfere with my life. Do not try to help me because you are clearly terrible at it. And for the love of God, keep that... man away from me, and away from Hermione, because if he hurts her, I will kill him.”

Harry’s breathing was clearly audible in the silence of the room, and Nilrem realised that this was a mirror of events from just this afternoon.

With less drunk raging true, but a mirror nevertheless.

Harry sighed, and his anger seemed to evaporate, leaving only tiredness. He set the globe down gently on its stand.

“Stay out of my life, Dumbledore,” he said, almost pleading. “You’ve done enough.”

And with a final “goodnight, Headmaster,” Harry Potter walked out, the door closing gently behind him.

The room was quiet for some time. Harry had not acted how anyone had feared or expected. This might have been a good thing, were it not for his obvious, unwarranted dislike of Albus, and the very suspicious depths of his knowledge.

It was Phineas Black who finally broke the quiet. “Noticed how the boy never once looked you in the eyes?” The eternal Slytherin asked, sounding pleased.

Albus sighed, even as a number of previous Heads gave Phineas dirty looks at his tone. “Yes, Phineas, I saw.”

Nilrem spoke. “Nevertheless, I can safely say that was not Tom Riddle.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Albus agreed, then after a few seconds turned to Nilrem and asked him, “could the piece of Tom in him have done this? Could Riddle have affected Harry in this way?”

Nilrem could see the desperate hope in Albus’ eyes, hear it in his voice. But he couldn’t help. “I don’t know, Albus. One could hardly call me an expert on horcruxes.”

The hope in Albus’ eyes dimmed. “No, I suppose not,” he said, before he gathered himself, bid them goodnight, and retreated to his quarters.

Nilrem sighed. The worst part about being older than the oldest school of magic in the world, was getting to watch history repeat itself in newer and more interesting ways.

Somehow though, it was always worse when it was your mistake you watched repeated.

Because making a horcrux has never been anything but a mistake. Nilrem knew that more than anyone else.