The afterglow of the revelry still lingered in the small hours.
Since they had already broken the fourth wall, Douglas decided he might as well go big.
He dragged several of the central figures in front of the enormous holographic screen that had just been playing Voldemort's comedy sketch.
"Come on."
Like a variety show director from that world, Douglas directed everyone into position.
"Since we're giving New Year's wishes, let's make them meaningful. Everyone has to say something to the people on the other side of the screen. No stock phrases. Talk like actual people."
"Me first!"
Even drunk, Sirius Black was still the most enthusiastic of the lot.
He threw an arm around a very reluctant-looking Snape beside him and flashed his trademark wicked grin at the camera.
"Hey! Friends over there! It's Padfoot!"
He thumped his chest.
"I know that in the original story, I should have gone to meet Merlin by now.
But here, I'm alive and well! And I'm going to take the Marauders Power Company all the way to the moon!
I want to tell you, no matter how fucked up life gets, don't give up! Things can always turn around!
If you feel like you can't keep going, think of me. If a man who spent twelve years gnawing on rats in Azkaban can become a CEO, what hurdle can't you get over?"
Snape pushed Sirius away in distaste and straightened his rumpled robe collar.
He had intended to walk straight off, but under Douglas's threatening look of "if you don't speak, I'll take a thousand points from Slytherin," he had no choice but to turn stiffly around.
His deep, hollow eyes stared straight ahead as he spoke in his trademark voice, smooth as silk yet laced with venom:
"...If your brains are