The Thistle Blooming

by Maelduin

Summary:

Harry Potter's summer before his fifth year isn't easy. Struggling with the memories of Voldemort's return and Cedric's death, and stuck at the Dursleys', he's cut off from the magical world. A sleepless night leads him down the cobblestone paths of Diagon Alley in search of answers, where he unexpectedly bumps into Theodore Nott. He asks him for a small favor, sparking a series of events that deviate from the original storyline.

In this alternate universe, the prophecy linking Harry and Voldemort is different – it's not about Horcruxes anymore. Harry still has to deal with him, while at the same time escaping Dumbledore's manipulative games, in which he drags Harry to ensure the 'Greater Good' for Magical Britain.

Chapter 1: Extracurricular Reading

"Crucio!"

Corbin Yaxley writhes in agony on the floor. His piercing screams echo throughout the stone chamber, filling the air with a sense of terror.

The torture lasts forever. Time seems to stand still as Yaxley's cries grow weaker and weaker. Eventually, his voice gives out, leaving only hoarse gasps to escape his lips.

"The ceremony for the new moon must be flawless," his master declares coldly. "You have two weeks to gather everything you need."

With the last shred of his strength, Yaxley rises to his knees, nods obediently, and kisses the hem of his master's robes before backing away, unsteady on his trembling legs.

...The scene changes to a young girl, dressed in a blue frock and immobilized, lying in the middle of a dimly lit room. Her arms and legs are twisted unnaturally, and her golden locks are stained with blood.

"Dinner is served, Nagini," the Dark Lord announces, as a massive green snake, with venom dripping from her forked tongue, slithers out from the shadows. 

* * *

The sudden jolt and impact on the hard floor brought Harry partially to consciousness.

"Shh, Harry. Relax. You're safe now," a calm and confident voice reassured him. "Mobilecorpus!  Ailee, get the potions!"

Another jolt, and Harry found himself on a soft sofa. His head was pounding with pain, as if it was about to explode into a million pieces. Harry tried to look around, but the blood from his forehead obscured his vision. Finally, he managed to make out the face of a vaguely familiar guy, who was leaning over him with worry in his eyes. The guy had pale skin and disheveled ash-brown hair, with gray-blue eyes looking at Harry concernedly.

"What the hell? Nott?!" Harry exclaimed hoarsely, pulling out his wand and abruptly sitting upright. The sudden movement caused his eyes to darken and added nausea to his already painful head. The room spun around him, as the walls and ceiling switched places endlessly. However, Nott continued to hover over him, unperturbed.

"Here, drink this," Nott said, pulling the cork from a small glass vial filled with a pale green potion and handing it to Potter. The familiar tart scent of bitter wormwood and sage filled Harry's nose.

"What is this?" Harry asked, trying to sound annoyed rather than pathetic. He remembered being given this potion several times by Madam Pomfrey during his four year at Hogwarts, but he wasn't foolish enough to take anything from the Slytherins without question.

"It's a pain relief draught," Nott replied. "Listen, Potter… Hm. Harry, if I wanted to poison you, I would have done it while you were unconscious on the floor.

Harry studied Nott's almost expressionless face for a few seconds, searching for any signs of deceit, before finally lowering his wand. "Where did you take me? And why?" he demanded to know. Nott's anxiety was replaced by palpable irritation, which Harry couldn't stand.

"Why?!  Are you bloody serious, Potter? You're asking me why? Drink this Mordred’s potion first and then we talk. Maybe you'll come to your senses and save me from having to answer at least some of your stupid questions!" Nott replied with evident frustration.

Instead of getting angry, Harry chuckled and lowered his wand. He carefully took the vial from Nott and drank it in a few gulps. A cool wave washed over his body, bringing instant relief. He took a deep breath and sank back into the pillows, his head clearing as memories from the past few hours started to come back to him. It seemed like he shouldn’t have attacked Nott with his wand. After all, he was the one who asked Nott for help…

 

* * * 

 

Harry's day started with a shallow letter from Hermione delivered by Hedwig. The letter conveyed a straightforward message "Everything is fine. We miss you, we're busy, and we can't tell you anything." It was accompanied by a lengthy essay about Hermione's summer homework progress.

While Hermione was at least writing regularly, Ron and Sirius were not. Despite the lack of communication, Harry had a feeling that they were together and working on something significant. He was frustrated by the uncertainty and helplessness he was experiencing in Little Winging. The Dursleys were ignoring him, he was barely sleeping, and the articles in The Prophet portrayed him as fame-hungry and paranoid.

He reread Hermione's letter several times, hoping to find some clues, but to no avail. The lack of answers made him feel even more helpless and close to despair. He couldn't just waste the summer lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He needed something to do.

Determined to take action, Harry put on his least-worn jeans and a plain black T-shirt and headed for Little Winging train station. If all went well, he'd arrive in Diagon Alley in two hours and come up with a plan from there.

* * *

 

Unlike Harry Potter, Theodore Nott had a great start to his morning. After substantial breakfast, he accomplished his essay on Transfiguration and moved on to Ancient Runes. The only thing that slightly disturbed his positive mood was his lack of luck in finding any information on Egyptian runes in his grandmother's library. Theodore pondered going to the Nott estate in search of the literature he required, but the thought of running into his father was a risk he preferred to avoid. Their brief time together at the start of the holidays was sufficient for Theodore and he wished to avoid any further interactions filled with formal conversations about the superiority of pureblood wizards over dinner and attending formal receptions, like the belated celebration of the fifteen birthday of the Malfoy heir.

Theodore was satisfied with fulfilling his filial duties for the summer and decided against visiting the Nott estate. Instead, he opted to purchase a few reference books from Flourish and Blotts. He changed into a summer robe appropriate for the trip and rode through the floo network to Diagon Alley.

It was much hotter in London than in the north of Scotland. So much so that he had to cast a cooling charm twice before he made it from the public fireplace to the bookstore. Fortunately, the inside of Flourish and Blotts was cool and, to Theo's delight, not crowded. He quickly found the necessary books on runes and even grabbed a couple of interesting publications on the protection of magical buildings. Both books described enchantments that he had been wanting to experiment with for a long time.

Satisfied with his finds, Theo made his way back to the store's entrance where the counter was located. As he passed the second-hand section, he noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye. Theodore turned sharply to see none other than Harry Potter wandering between the bookshelves with a look of boredom. In his hands were two tattered but heavy volumes, and he was staring at a rack of seventeenth-century editions with obvious confusion. Potter's lips were moving silently.

Feeling that he was being stared at, he turned around.

"Oh, hi," Potter greeted him with surprising politeness. His expression was amiable. Was he glad to see him?

"Hi," Theodore replied slowly, clutching his wand tightly in the sleeve of his robe just in case.

Potter clearly looked like he was out of his mind. For one thing, he appeared to have not slept or eaten since the holidays started. His face was haggard, with deep shadows under his abnormally green eyes, and his thin collarbones sticking out from under the stretched collar of a Muggle T-shirt. Secondly, the books he held in his hands could hardly be associated with the interests of the Boy-Who-Lived. The first book was called "Legendary Rites and Rituals of the Middle Ages" and was nothing particularly exciting, but Theodore read the second book. 'Anima Magica' was considered a fundamental work on soul magic, and Theo had no idea that such literature could be found in Flourish and Blotts, let alone the second-hand section.

"Listen, Nott..." Potter began and hesitated. Theodore made a cold expression on his face. Harry casually scratched the back of his head, ruffling his unruly hair even more, and finally blurted out, "Do you happen to know where you can buy books that... um... are not particularly approved by the Ministry?"

Blow me, manticore… Saint Harry Potter has a fascination with Dark Magic literature!

Suppressing his surprise, Theodore asked dryly, "What exactly are you interested in?"

“Well…” Harry hesitated. “Blood magic, necromancy, that sort of thing.”

Nott cast a wary glance around them, making sure they were alone. He stepped closer to Harry and whispered, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Potter chuckled, "Nope, I'm not. I get why it's a shock, but I was kind of hoping you'd know something about it. I figured, you know, with your House and all, you guys might talk about these things."

Nott scowled, "Stuff like that? Potter, do you really think we have some sort of Dark Mage in training program or a book club for forbidden literature enthusiasts at Slytherin? Just mentioning that could get you thrown into Azkaban!"

Potter shrugged and smiled slightly, "If the rumors are true, then… maybe. Come on, Nott.  I just want to understand some things."

Nott raised an eyebrow skeptically. Gryffindors and a sudden curiosity for forbidden knowledge, that's a combination.

"Fine, let's say I tell you where to buy these books. What then? You're just going to walk into a store and say, 'Howdy, I'm Harry Potter, sell me the worst books on black magic'?"

Surprisingly Potter laughed, "Well, that's not the best plan, but maybe you can buy the books for me. I don't want to draw too much attention to myself, you know."

Theodore sighed, "Do you even have a clue what you're trying to find?"

Harry pointed to a book on medieval rites and rituals, "The author mentions the book 'Magic in the Blood of Magicians Hidden.' I'd start with that one, and also Ekrizdis."

Theodore's eyes widened in disbelief. Ekrizdis?! What next, a young necromancer's handbook? He was on the brink of cursing Potter and leaving, but he pleaded, "Please, Nott! I'll owe you."

Theodore weighed his options. Harry Potter in debt was something, and honestly, he wasn't exactly busy today. "Alright, Potter, I'll do this for you. But you owe me big time."

"Sure thing. I'm happy to help with any task of comparable difficulty and risk.  Potter beamed.  “Oh, and by the way, would you mind picking up these books for me too? I'd rather not attract too much attention to myself."

Before Theodore could object, Harry handed him the books and placed eight galleons on top of them. He then put on an invisibility cloak that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. It seemed that Malfoy wasn't fibbing after all.

* * *

The two of them arrived at Knockturn Alley without any issues. Theodore instructed Harry to wait for him in a secluded alley near the Spinny Serpent, to which Potter agreed. However, Theodore couldn't shake off the feeling that Potter's obedience was not a good omen.

"Here you are. I could only find a book on blood magic. Ekrizdis was out of stock, but they'll send it to my house and I'll forward it to you," Theodore said, handing Harry a heavy paper bag.

Harry's hand, shaking slightly, reached out from under his invisibility cloak to grab the package. "Thank you," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Potter, are you okay?" Theodore asked, concern etched on his face.

Potter didn’t respond.

Theo reached for where the hood of Potter's Invisibility Cloak should have been and gently pulled it off his head. It was evident that Potter was in bad shape; his face was covered in sweat, and his scar was bleeding. He groaned, dropped the book he was holding, clutched his head with both hands, and fell to his knees, mumbling words that were difficult to make out.

Concerned, Theo leaned over him. "Potter! Hey, Potter! What's wrong with you?" The last thing he needed was to be found with forbidden literature in hand and the Boy-Who-Lived unconscious beside him in the middle of Knockturn Alley. "Should I call for help?"

"No," Harry replied, his voice tight with pain as he grabbed Theo's wrist. "Don't call anyone. Just get me out of here… please…"

Despite the risks involved, Theo couldn't ignore Potter's desperate plea. As he lost consciousness, Theo pulled out a silver pendant from under his shirt and activated the portal to get them out of there.

That’s how they ended up where they are.

 

* * *

 

The ungrateful idiot whom Theo had brought home, finally calmed down and drank the potion. Theo allowed himself to relax a bit.

“Master, the guest needs to be treated for the wound,” Ailee said as she pulled on Theo's elbow. She held a large ceramic bowl filled with the Blue Nettle infusion and a small white towel floating inside. Theo carefully took the bowl from her and removed the towel. Without attempting to wring it out, he slapped it onto Potter's forehead with a sense of satisfaction and pressed down firmly. Potter winced in pain and tried to move away, but Theo didn't let go and kept his head pressed against the pillow. The blue infusion dripped down Potter's neck and hair.

Ailee watched disapprovingly and shook her head in reproach.

“Actually, this stuff stings like hell,” a muffled voice came from under the towel. Potter sounded almost pitiful, and Theo finally released his grip. Potter sat up, removed his open invisibility cloak, and cleaned his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

“Thank you,” Potter said.

“You're welcome,” Theo replied.

They gazed at each other for a moment before Potter took the bowl from Theo, wrung the towel into it without spilling, and reapplied it to the inflamed wound on his forehead.

"Ailee will be serving lunch now," the house elf announced abruptly. "Did Master and his guest want to dine here or in the dining room?"

"Here, Ailee. We'll eat here," Nott said as he settled into a chair and gave Potter an amused look. The situation had become quite absurd.

A few minutes later, a jug of cloudberry juice, two bowls of hot chicken soup, and a stack of cheese and ham sandwiches appeared on the coffee table in front of them.

"Would you like to pick a plate first?" Theo suggested with a touch of irony in his voice.

Potter snorted.

"I'm sure you would have put poison on both plates, having drunk the antidote beforehand, if you wanted to poison me," he said.

"Absolutely," Theo agreed.

Harry took the nearest plate and started eating with impressive enthusiasm. His plate was empty by the time Theo had finished half of his meal.

"Does Sir want more?" Ailee asked immediately.

"Just Harry," Potter said, suddenly looking embarrassed and blushing. "I wouldn't mind another plate... The soup was delicious. Thanks, Ailee."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Harry," Ailee said importantly and snapped her fingers. The plate was refilled, and she disappeared again.

Potter reached for the sandwiches, and upon noticing that the last one was left on the plate, he hesitated.

"Take the damn sandwich," Nott said, frustrated by his hesitation. "Merlin, Potter, what's wrong with you?"

"Oh, many things," Potter replied casually as he took a bite of the sandwich with pleasure. "Were you interested in anything specific?"

"Just eat," Theodore snapped, shaking his head.

The things related to Potter that Theo was now interested in were likely on a list that wouldn't fit on a standard parchment roll.

For dessert, Ailee served Melissa tea and blueberry pie.

"We are at your house, right?" Potter asked a stupid question, finishing off his piece with some effort.

“Obviously.”

"And your father?" he asked again. "He's not at home, is he?"

“This is my house, not his,” Theodore replied dryly, but he explained anyway. “This is not Nott Estate. I got this house from my grandmother, and my father can't get here if I don't want him to.”

"Cool," Potter's eyes looked relieved, but he clarified anyway. "You don't want him to, do you?"

“No.”

Satisfied with the answer, Potter yawned widely and belatedly covered his mouth with his hand. Taranis jumped onto the couch next to him. Potter flinched in surprise and spilled his tea. The black kneazle came closer, put its paw on Potter's knee and meowed demandingly. Harry caressed him gently and scratched behind his ears. Taranis began to purr loudly. What a traitor! 

"How can I get from here to London?" Potter asked again as the kneazle stretched across his lap.

"Through the Floo Network apparently. Do you live in London?” Theodore replied, shaking his head slightly, catching himself looking too closely at Potter.

"In the suburbs," Potter answered. "But I know how to get from there to my relatives' house, where I live."

“Get there?” Theo chuckled and threw an expressive look at the sleepy Potter, who was already reclining on the couch. "I strongly doubt you'll endure the floo passage to London without falling out somewhere along the way."

"And what do you suggest?" Potter's voice held a hint of annoyance, but it remained sluggish.

“Get some sleep. Ailee, show Harry Potter to the guest bedroom," he said and stood up from his chair.

"I'm not going to sleep here!" Potter said stubbornly but continued to scratch Taranis absentmindedly, not trying to get up from his seat.

“As you wish,” Nott agreed with a slight mockery in his voice and left the room. If this idiot wants to die, the fireplace is right in front of him.

Chapter 2: North Ronaldsay

Harry was jolted awake by the sound of rain tapping against the window. He reached for his wand under his pillow and looked out the window at the dreary sky, with the rain being driven by a strong northern wind. Despite the weather, Harry couldn't resist the feeling of a good night's sleep and stretching, as he had finally dreamt of something pleasant for the first time in a long while.

But as he woke up, Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that he had acted recklessly and foolishly the previous day. He got out of bed and took a look around the small, but warm and cozy room. His clothes were neatly folded on a chair and his books were stacked on the desk, next to a vase of wildflowers. A fire was still smoldering in the fireplace, casting a warm glow on the picture above it, which showed fairies dancing around a tree.

As Harry got dressed and made sure to check his invisibility cloak in his backpack, he was interrupted by a pop and a house elf appeared, dressed in a white apron with thistle flowers.

"Good morning, Harry Potter, Sir. Breakfast will be served in the dining room in five minutes," Ailee informed him. "If you would like to freshen up, the bathroom is down the hallway."

With that, Ailee disappeared, leaving Harry to head to the bathroom. Despite his initial urge to take a shower, he couldn't shake the thought that it would be inappropriate and somehow wrong to feel at ease in the home of the son of a Death Eater, even if Nott Sr. never showed up there.

After washing his face, Harry set out to find the dining room, which he discovered without difficulty. As he sat down to have breakfast, he was alone for a few moments before Theodore entered the room. Theodore was dressed in a light blue button-up shirt and dark blue wool trousers, making Harry for some reason wonder if this was his usual attire at home.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Potter," he said with an amused expression. "You have been sleeping for almost eighteen hours."

"Wow," Harry exclaimed, realizing why he felt so well-rested. "Good morning. Thanks for letting me sleep in."

"Anytime," Nott replied with a grin and settled into a high chair in front of Harry. A steaming cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal suddenly appeared on the table. "Let me ask you, Potter, should I expect any consequences for having you here? Will the Aurors come knocking at my door any minute now, searching for you across the entire United Kingdom?"

"Very unlikely," Harry snorted. "I don't think anyone even realized I was gone."

"But you didn't sleep at home," Nott pointed out, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"So what?" Harry replied nonchalantly.

"Well, your relatives might be worried. Especially after what happened in June," Nott said with concern.

"My relatives are Muggles, Nott. They don't pay attention to the wizarding world or my affairs.”

Theodore observed Harry's detached expression, but remained silent. Harry resumed his breakfast. Once he had finished the eggs, he collected himself to express his gratitude to Nott for his help.

"Theodore..." he began, his voice faltering. Nott's name, sounded from his lips, was surprisingly gentle, too gentle for his liking.

"Harry," Nott responded with a small smile playing on the corner of his lips.

Harry felt his face flush. To hide his embarrassment, he lowered his head and spoke almost in one breath, "I wanted to thank you for yesterday. For the books... And for rescuing me from Knockturn Alley."

"My pleasure," Theodore put down his cup and tilted his head to the side. "Care to tell me, why did you need to be rescued?"

Harry remained silent for a while, and Nott didn't pressure him. The room grew quiet, the only sound was the raindrops hitting the window. Eventually, Harry made up his mind.

"I don't really understand what's happening to me..." There was a lull in the conversation once more. Theodore heated up the kettle with a spell and poured tea for both of them.

"Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I'm inside Voldemort's mind," Harry spoke quickly, as if getting a difficult confession off his chest. "I see what he sees. I feel… I feel what he feels."

He looked up at Nott warily, afraid of finding disgust or pity on his face. But Nott looked back at him with an open expression. He held his mug of tea, ready to listen. Harry found a calming sympathy in his gray eyes, and he felt that perhaps Theodore Nott was the one person who could understand him and not judge him. He took a long sip of the hot tea and began his story.

"It all started when he didn't have a full-fledged body yet...”

 

 

* * *

 

Harry arrived at Little Winging late at night. The Dursleys were sitting in front of the TV and ignored his return, a common occurrence for him as he was used to being invisible to them.

He went up to his room, filled Hedwig's feeder with owl food, and fell onto the bed without even taking off his shoes. Exhausted and feeling like his insides had been turned inside out, he couldn't help but think about the conversation he had with Nott earlier that day.

He had told Nott things he had never shared with Ron or Hermione. He wasn't trying to hide anything from them, but he was ashamed or maybe afraid they wouldn't understand and would be disappointed in him. He had never shared the emotions he experienced when Professor Quirrell's face burned under his hands, the regret he felt for not allowing Sirius to kill Pettigrew, or the fear he felt when Voldemort taunted him and forced him to participate in a duel in which he had no chance. The Death Eaters stood in an unbreakable ring and laughed at him.

After two weeks of endless nightmares and no support from his friends, Harry needed someone to talk to and he couldn't keep it all to himself any longer. His inner voice, suspiciously reminiscent of Hermione, scolded him for trusting his secrets to the enemy. But Harry brushed it off and tried to convince himself that Nott had helped him and therefore couldn't be considered an enemy. He also pointed out that Voldemort himself was aware of these experiences, so he hadn't revealed any secrets.

His inner Hermione countered that Voldemort didn't know that Harry was watching him in his mind and suggested that it would have been better to keep such information to himself. Harry lacked a response to that and grumbled irritably into his pillow, "Don't care! It made me feel better!"

Uncle Vernon's rude voice interrupted his thoughts, shouting through the wall, "What are you yelling, freak?!”

Harry rolled his eyes, ignored Vernon, and continued to convince himself that speaking to Theodore Nott wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

* * *

 

 

"Harry hadn't replied to my letter in days," Hermione grumbled. "Do you think I upset him?"

"For sure," Ron agreed, making a move with his rook on the chessboard. "He's not writing to me either..." He let out a sigh before reluctantly continuing, "But what could we have done? Disobey Dumbledore and take Harry away from the Dursleys? If the Headmaster thought Harry was safest with his family, then there was nothing we could do about it."

"But don't you think that Professor Dumbledore might be exaggerating the risks a bit?"

“Then why are you sticking around here instead of going to your parents?” Ron teased her roughly.

"Because I can't put them in danger, Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed. "I love my parents and couldn't bear it if something happened to them because of me! And I'm not just talking about the threat of the Death Eaters. I don't understand why Professor Dumbledore believes that Harry would be in danger at the Order of the Phoenix headquarters."

"It's probably because of the shady people like Snape who are always lurking here," Ron butted in before Hermione could object. "Or have you noticed that weird dude, Mundungus Fletcher? Charlie says he's selling stolen stuff in Knockturn Alley. Who knows what kind of friends he's got."

"Probably," Hermione frowned and pursed her lips, mimicking Professor McGonagall. “But I still worried a lot about him. He always came back so exhausted from the Dursleys. Maybe we should talk to the Headmaster again?"

"Hermione, we've gone over this with him a million times already," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. "Do you honestly think one more time is going to make a difference?"

“Maybe if we presented more convincing arguments…”

"C'mon! This is getting nowhere!" Ron threw up his hands in frustration. "You can't change Dumbledore's mind, so just let it go. And get a move on already! Playing chess with you is impossible, you're always getting sidetracked!"

* * *

On Wednesday, Potter arrived to visit Theo almost at dawn. 

"Potter, if you have insomnia, that doesn’t mean others have to suffer too," Theo greeted him grumpily as he entered the dining room, where Ailee was already serving breakfast.

"You're the one who wrote to come in the morning," Potter pointed out cheerfully.

He appeared to be full of life, but the dark shadows under his eyes that reached almost the middle of his cheeks revealed that he was not getting enough sleep.

"I didn't expect you to show up at seven o’clock!”

"Actually, it's close to eight now."

After bumping into each other at Flourish and Blotts a couple of weeks ago, Theo and Potter began exchanging letters. At first, Theo was answering Potter's questions about the basics of magic, but as time went on, the questions became more and more entertaining, delving into blood magic and not very legal rituals.A few days later, Theo found himself fully engrossed in answering Potter's questions about forbidden magic and the dark arts. It took him a while to realize that their conversations were becoming quite intense, so he decided to invite Potter to his home for further discussions. This seemed like a good idea. Logical one. At least it minimized the possibility of getting an Azkaban sentence. 

But what was absolutely illogical that Theo completely neglected his own research and spent every day helping the sodding Boy-Who-Lived understand his strange connection to the Dark Lord.

Blaise would have thought Theo was out of his mind, but fortunately or unfortunately, Zabini was away visiting relatives in Italy with his mother and sisters for the summer, so he had no idea what his best friend was up to.

From his sullen thoughts, he was interrupted by a cup of tea that appeared in front of him. Theo pushed it away in disgust.

"Why are you serving tea, Ailee? Bring coffee! We'll drink tea when Potter learns to cast Tempus, before declaring himself among decent folks!" Theo grumbled.

"Oh, I know how to cast Tempus," Potter said with a broad grin. "But you know, living with Muggles means no magic allowed."

"I guess I'll have to get you a watch then," Theo mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Just in time, my birthday's next week," Potter quipped, biting into a strawberry pastry with gusto. "Mmm... this is great!"

"Don't your relatives feed you?" Theo inquired nonchalantly, masking his suspicion with a tone of indifference.

"Hardly," Harry answered, his mouth still full. "You always this grumpy in the morning?"

"Always," Ailee chimed in, arriving with more pastries. "Master Theo is not a morning person. Wake him up before noon, and he is as pleasant as a cranky troll."

Theo's usually impassive expression changed, and Harry chuckled in satisfaction.

After breakfast and two and a half cups of coffee, Theo's mood improved and he led Potter into the study. He had Harry take a seat in an armchair at the desk and opened an old, enormous tome in front of him, on the section titled ""Hou to defynne and exorcyse yvel spirytes in the chylde of sowcyours"."

"Read it," he commanded.

Harry stared at the book for a few minutes, trying to make sense of the endless ""eyen", "tho", “wytche”, “thee”, “mayst» and “mote”. He finally covered his face with his hands.

"Nott, what is this?" he asked in awe-inspiring horror, peeking at Theodore through his fingers.

"An Eleventh Century Magician's Consciousness Transfer Manual," Theodore replied matter-of-factly.

Harry looked suspiciously at Theodore, who was sitting on the windowsill with a blank expression.

"I can only make out half of these words, at best," Harry sighed.

"Ah," Theodore said. "In that case, I can offer you a sixteenth-century edition on the same subject. It's in Latin."

The tone of his voice made it unclear if he was being serious or sarcastic.

"But I don't know Latin," Potter said, sounding unhappy.

"I do," Theodore said, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide his amused smile. "I spent three nights reading all of this, at your request, by the way."

Theodore gestured to the pile of books on the table. Harry stood up and threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"I'm really really sorry for waking you up early."

"There you go" Theo replies with a grin, his arms now crossed over his chest in a confident posture.

Harry circles the table and takes a leisurely stance against its opposite side, closing in on the windowsill.

"Did you find anything significant about my... situation?" he asked nervously.

"In a way, yes and no," Theodore answered vaguely. "After much consideration, I am now confident that what you are experiencing has nothing to do with soul magic or mental practices."

"Is that good or bad news?" Potter pressed for clarification.

"It's actually good news. I can assure you that you are not possessed, so the Dark Lord cannot manipulate your thoughts or actions in any way."

"Are you sure?" Potter asked, seeking reassurance.

"Well... I'm fairly certain. If the Dark Lord were able to influence you, it would be the opposite — he would be the one in your mind, not the other way around. And given the level of pain you experience when you see things through his eyes, it's unlikely that he could do so unnoticed."

"That doesn't sound very reassuring," Potter said with a wry smile.

"That’s the best answer I can get," Theodore said with a shrug. "And I'm not exactly an expert on this stuff. But based on what I know, I believe it's highly unlikely that the Dark Lord could slip into your mind without you being aware of it."

“And what if he still gets into my head, I just don’t remember it?”

"Nope, I don't think that's the case," he shook his head. "If the Dark Lord were able to get into your head and you didn't remember it, you would experience memory lapses. You would find yourself doing things without knowing why or end up in places you can't explain how you got to."

Harry looked skeptical, and Theodore continued, "Look, Potter. Magic has rules it follows, so it also has limits. What's happening to you is definitely a one-way connection, and it has nothing to do with soul magic because soul connections can't be one-sided by nature. And it's not connected to any mental practices either, because intention is key in any mental practice and a connection can't be activated without your conscious will.

"Okay, I'm trying to understand," Harry said, pondering. "Do you have any ideas about what this connection might be?"

"Well... I have a theory," Theodore said hesitantly. "Keep in mind, this is just a hypothesis. I think back in 1981, the Dark Lord attempted to take your magic through some sort of ritual, maybe one from the Middle Ages. Something went wrong, apparently…. causing him to be disembodied, and the connection created during the ritual was fixed solely on you. That's what I believe is allowing you to penetrate his mind."

"Did you think he could take my magic, now that he's got a full body?" Harry asked, his voice steady but his eyes betraying fear.

"No," Theo shook his head. "Potter, I think it's you who could take his magic."

"What?" Harry's frown deepened, his face paling. "How can that be?"

"Potter, it's just a theory," Theo reassured. "I don't have all the answers."

"But... How is that even possible?" Harry pressed, confusion etched on his face. "Voldemort tried to kill me with Avada Kedavra."

"Theo sighed, "Avada Kedavra doesn’t leave cursed scars or disincarnate its victims. Even if it somehow backfired. And this isn't just me guessing. In certain circles, many believe that Dumbledore's tale of the reflected killing curse doesn't hold up to scrutiny."

Potter fell silent, sitting down at the table and staring out the window in deep thought. Seeing his discomfort, Theo suggested, "Maybe we should get some fresh air. My head's spinning with all this. How about a walk? I can show you around the farm. Do you like animals?"

* * *

 

"I want you not to be here when my sister arrives," Uncle Vernon said bluntly right in the hallway, as soon as Harry had left his room. "I haven't forgotten what you threw out last time, boy!" he exclaimed. "Why don't your buddies take you back to your freak reservation like they always do?"

Apparently, Uncle Vernon referred to the world of wizards as "the freak reservation." It was a shame that no one seemed to need Harry there either.

"They can't take me now," Harry replied sharply. "Believe me, if I had such an opportunity, I wouldn't spend a single minute in your house!"

Vernon Dursley never forgave such impudence and hit Harry in the face with a backhand. "Don't you dare be rude to me!" he scolded. "I gave you a roof over your head instead of putting you in an orphanage! And you act like you owe it all! You sit in your room or hang around all day long... this is not a hotel for you! Do you understand me?"

"Yes, uncle," Harry suppressed his fury. He stood motionless and with an effort of will, he forced himself not to press his hand to his burning cheek in front of Uncle Vernon. "I got it. I won't be here tomorrow."

Uncle Vernon grumbled with satisfaction and returned to the TV in the living room.

Harry looked after him and went to write a letter to Ron.

 

Hey Ron,

Sorry I haven't been in touch for a while. How's everything with you?

This weekend, Aunt Marge is coming over to stay with the Dursleys. Yep, the very same Aunt Marge I accidentally inflated back in third year. As you might guess, I'm not exactly jumping for joy at the prospect.

I'm really not up for another round with her, and Uncle Vernon is eager to ship me off somewhere. Is there any chance I could crash at your place for a bit? You mentioned a couple of weeks ago that everyone was pretty tied up, but maybe things have eased up a bit? Don't worry about picking me up; I can travel by Floo Network if it's easier.

Could you let me know soon?

Cheers,

Harry.

 

Harry winced slightly as he read over his letter. It sounded more desperate than he intended, and he felt a hint of embarrassment.

Hedwig, just back with a letter from Nott, gave a comforting hoot.

"Oh, girl...  When will we finally have our own place? Could you take this to Ron?" Harry murmured, gently petting her. "And if he doesn't answer quickly, feel free to give him a little peck from me."

Hedwig hooted softly and stretched out her leg for the letter.

After a reassuring brush of her wing, she soared off into the sky. Harry lay back on his bed, opening "Types of Magic" that Theodore had lent him. It was surprisingly engaging and written in modern English. 'Hermione would call it a light read,' he thought with a faint smile.

Ron's reply finally arrived late in the afternoon.

Hi Harry,

Sorry to hear about that Marge woman. It’s pretty shitty news, mate, I really wish you could come visit, but unfortunately, we're not at the Burrow right now. And according to Dumbledore, you should stay put with your family.

I know, I know. It's a bummer. But trust me, our life here isn't exactly a walk in the park either. We're stuck inside most of the time, and Mom has us cleaning up left and right. So, in a way, maybe your time with the Dursleys won't seem so bad.

Hermione wants you to know that she's going to try and talk to Dumbledore the next time she sees him. If anything changes, she'll send an owl your way.

Just hold tight and be careful, okay? Dumbledore thinks you're safe with the Dursleys, but we're still worried about you.

Take care,

Ron

 

Harry crumpled the letter in anger and tossed it aside. He was fuming with frustration.

“Isn't exactly a walk in the park either?! Mom has us cleaning up left and right?! Ron doesn't understand anything!" Harry muttered to himself.

In his anger, Harry tried to vent his frustration onto a piece of parchment and to his shock, it burst into flames and turned to ash in an instant.

FUCK! 

Harry's heart started pounding with fear. Had he lost control of his magic again? If so, he would definitely be expelled from Hogwarts. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

He wrapped his arms around himself and sat on the floor, leaning against the bed. He remembered the time in his second year when the letter from the Ministry arrived about forty minutes after Dobby had exploded the pudding. Maybe he should wait before doing anything drastic?

But then again, he still needed a place to wait for Aunt Marge's arrival. So, Harry tore off a piece of parchment from his notes and wrote a short note with a regular ballpoint pen.

Nott, I know I owe you a lifetime, but I need one more favor.

Can I stay at your place for a few days?

HP

 

When he approached Hedwig with a note, she pecked at his right hand in displeasure. Harry didn't blame her. This was her fourth flight in the last 24 hours and Nott lived on the other side of the country.

"Hedwig, this is the last letter for today, honestly!" Harry coaxed her, running his fingers soothingly over the feathers on top of her head. "If Nott doesn't receive it, I won't write to anyone else! We will go with you to live in the Leaky Cauldron. As we did in the third year. You won't have to fly much there. I am sure that in just a few days the news of my new place of residence will reach Voldemort and someone will quickly find me. I promise, then you will have plenty of time to relax!"

Hedwig glared angrily and pecked him again, but still held out her paw.

"Thank you, my dear," he whispered.

The bird flew away and he tried to sit down to read again. But he was nervous and unable to concentrate, so the words wouldn't form sentences and make sense.

When the owl finally flew through the window again, Harry had been pacing the room thoughtlessly in circles for some time. He turned around and his heart sank. It wasn't Hedwig.

An unfamiliar red barn owl was sitting on the windowsill. So, the news from the Ministry of Magic had finally arrived.

Harry untied the letter with trembling hands and, apparently, accidentally pulled the bird's feathers, because it screamed piercingly and painfully grabbed his index finger with its beak. Harry stuck his bleeding finger into his mouth and finally unrolled the parchment.

Theodore, as always, was deadly concise.


You may.

TN

P.S. I felt compassion for your owl, which you make fly back and forth across the UK multiple times daily, and have taken her under my care.

P.P.S. Freya has a habit of pecking. Please avoid contact.

Chapter 3: Nemo Me Impune Lacessit

Theodore found Potter in the garden, accompanied by a fourth-year Transfiguration textbook and two Kneazles. Harry was lying on his stomach under an apple tree, busily waving his wand to turn stones into small rodents. Ginger tabby Brigitte, energetically chased after them with excitement. Taranis was content to observe the antics lazily from a shady spot.

"Morning, Theodore," Potter greeted him as he sat down next to him on the grass. "Did you get enough sleep?"

"No," Theodore smiled. "But the weather is rarely that nice on North Ronaldsay to sleep in until noon. Care for a walk? I want to show you the island."

"Sure," Harry replied. "Now?"

"If you're free," Theodore said.

"Let me just put this textbook away," Harry said, gesturing to the book in his hand. "I'll be right back."

Harry canceled the transfiguration spell with a flick of his wand, causing Brigitte to look disappointed. He picked up the book and got to his feet.

"And don't forget to put on something warm," Theodore added. "The wind by the sea can get pretty chilly."

"Are we really going to the sea?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up. "I've never seen the sea before!" And with that, he rushed into the house.

As they made their way around the perimeter of the farm, they stumbled upon a thin, winding path that led through a sprawling wheat field. The path was narrow and the wheat was so tall that it almost obscured them from view. The sun was shining bright in the clear blue sky, casting dappled shadows on the path beneath their feet. The air was crisp and fresh, with the sweet scent of the wheat filling their nostrils.

"Actually, wheat wouldn't grow naturally in the Orkney Islands. The climate was too harsh, so relying on magic was necessary."  Nott revealed in a confidential tone, plucking a few unripe spikelets. 

"Theodore, who usually looked after the household?" Harry asked. "You couldn't handle everything by yourself... especially since you spend most of the year at school."

"Elves," Nott replied. "In addition to Ailee, seven other elves lived on the estate and took care of the animals and plants. But, in reality, magic did the bulk of the work. The entire island was covered in a complex enchantment system that controlled everything, from cleaning the barns to watering, fertilizing, and regulating the temperature in the fields or greenhouses."

Harry looked impressed. 

"Is it the same at Hogwarts?"

"Not at all!" Theo replied with a chuckle, his tone carrying a hint of arrogance. But then his expression softened and he continued with genuine admiration"My grandmother was a brilliant witch. Of course, our ancestors accomplished a lot before her. For instance, the main protective spell for the island was cast in the 18th century, and it's not just your average shield and Muggle-repellent magic. Despite a few Muggle families living on North Ronaldsay until the mid-20th century, wizards did not hide from them. The spell worked in such a way that while they were on the island, they were aware of the magic, but once they left, they would forget about its presence until their return. It was a clever way for our ancestors to both abide by and circumvent the Statute at the same time."

"So your family has been living here for several centuries?" Potter asked curiously.

"Yeah," Theo replied. "From around the middle of the 15th century. My many-times-great-great-grandfather Lionel MacGillivray was involved in some questionable manner in the deal to give King James III of Scotland the Orkney Islands as a dowry for the Danish Princess Margaret. In gratitude, the king knighted him and gave this island as a hereditary possession. Not the greatest reward for such a service, of course."

"Why not the greatest?" Potter inquired, fascinated. "I think it's amazing here."

"I like it here too," Theo smiled. "But if you look objectively, North Ronaldsay is a tiny, cold island on the outskirts of the world. Some magicians in the royal service received entire counties. The Burkes, for example, became the Earls of Galway in this way and still live in a real castle."

"Would you like to live in a castle?" Potter asked with undisguised irony in his voice.

"Of course not," Theodore snorted. "And you?"

"Ten months at Hogwarts a year seem enough for me," Harry grinned. "But I would really like to know at least something about the history of my family."

“So what's the problem? The Potters are an old British family, so there must be enough information in the archives of the Ministry," Theo said thoughtfully. "Although the most interesting information is usually kept by old families themselves. If you're willing to extend your tolerance for Slytherins beyond me, you should talk to Millie. The Bulstrodes are obsessed with legacies, bloodlines, heraldry, and other nonsense, and they force their children to memorize the family trees and biographies of prominent purebred families from a young age.

"Do you think she'll want to talk to me about my family?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Why not?" Theo couldn't understand. "She's a normal girl and will be happy to help."

"Well..." Harry struggled to express his thoughts. "Her father is a Death Eater. Do you think she doesn't hate me?"

"My father is a Death Eater too," Theo frownd. "But I'm not like him. Millicent doesn't have any aspirations to be like a zealot and torture Mudbloods either. Our parents may not have had a choice, but I hope we do have one." Theodore sighs heavily and tries to explain his stance to Harry.

Harry's eyes softened and he looked at Theodore with genuine empathy.

"Of course you do," he softened his tone. "Sorry, Theodore. I shouldn't have judged you based on your parents. I’m sorry, really."

"It's fine," Theodore replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. He had no intention of making Potter feel guilty. He just wanted to convey to Potter that not all Slytherins were evil. "In fact, you're not entirely wrong in your opinions. There are certainly bigots in Slytherin, like the Selvins, Montagues, or Puceys."

"What about Malfoy?"

"Huh? Malfoy is a slob and a sissy," Theodore snorted. "I bet he faints at the mere sight of blood."

"I'm sure he wouldn't agree with your assessment," Potter chuckled.

"I have no doubt. He would immediately start screeching, 'No one asked for your opinion, Nott! Just wait! My father will hear about this!'"

Theo's portrayal of Malfoy was so accurate that Potter couldn't help but burst into laughter. The serious conversation was put on hold for the day. They headed to the sea, and Harry found himself completely enchanted by the view. 

They climbed a stone ridge that extended into the sea for several dozens of yards. They could feel the salty sea spray hitting their faces. The waves crashed against the rocks, sending plumes of white foam into the air. Above them, seagulls cried out , their piercing calls echoing across the sea. The sun was casting a warm glow over the rugged coastline. 

Harry reached the end of the spit, jumped over one of the boulders jutting out of the water, and knelt down. He dipped his hands into the clear water, almost to his elbows, then brought his hands up to his face, inhaled the smell of salt, and carefully tasted the drops.

"Salty…" Harry whispered, his eyes filled with delight as he looked up at him.

Nott's heart skipped a beat.

"It's salty, Theo!" Harry yelled loudly, trying to outshout the wind and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. He was wearing a silly Hungarian Horntail sweater and frayed jeans, with old-fashioned glasses on his nose that reflected the sun's glare. His disheveled hair was being tossed from side to side by the gusty north wind.

Theo forgot how to breathe. All he could see was Harry's radiant smile and bright green eyes.

* * *

 

 

A few days after Harry's birthday, they went on a trip to Diagon Alley. Theodore needed to purchase potion ingredients, and Harry came along for company.

The heat in London was almost unbearable, and the cooling spells they cast provided only temporary relief. By the end of their shopping trip, Harry was so hot and ready to ditch his invisibility cloak, regardless of the risks of being caught by the Death Eaters or worse, Headmaster Dumbledore's associates.

As they passed a café, Harry gazed longingly at it. He was craving something cold, like ice cream from Florean Fortescue or a Coke with ice.

"Theo, how about dining on the Muggles’ side?" Harry suggested. "My treat."

Theodore looked intrigued.

"If we go to the Muggles, will you take off your cloak so we can talk normally?" he asked for clarification.

"Sure.”

"Then let's go," Theodore agreed, turning towards the Leaky Cauldron.

“Hold on, hold on! You can't go like that! Harry grabbed Theodore by the sleeve and pulled him into a narrow alleyway between two shops, where he became visible again.

"First, take off your robes," Harry instructed.

Theodore looked at him with a hint of confusion, but obediently unfastened the clasp, took off his robe, and placed it in his bag.

Harry gave him a critical gaze.

"So, now we need to do something with your pants and shirt. Can you transfigure your pants into something that looks like jeans? Let me see..."

"Will try. Do they have to have holes?"

"No," Harry said with a chuckle. "Only if you want to be the trendiest guy around."

"It's easier then," Theodore said, transfiguring his trousers into jeans in a matter of minutes.

"Perfect," Harry said with a nod. "Now for the shirt. I think it will be enough to remove from the collar. ... hmm... the frill? Not sure, what to call this thing.  Can you make it about 10 inches shorter and a bit less loose? And maybe add some buttons."

"You know, Potter," Theodore grinned wryly, "transfiguring clothes on yourself is not the most convenient thing in the world. Can you fulfill your fantasies for me?”

"Professor McGonagall says I don't have a talent for Transfiguration," Harry replied cautiously, taking a step away from the mischievous Theodore.

"And you try," Theodore teased, quoting the main rule of Transfiguration with a satisfied smirk. "Visualization, intention, focus, and only then wave the wand."

"Alright. If I accidentally turn you into a ghoul, don't come complaining. I warned you."

Despite his reservations, Harry was pleased with the result of his efforts. As a final touch, Harry walked up to Theodore and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, giving him a more casual look.

Theodore's cheeks slightly turned pink, and he looked away, suddenly realizing how close they were to each other. Harry felt his face flush and took a step back.

"You made a great Muggle," Harry said, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Thanks for the so-so compliment," Theodore replied with mock nonchalance.

Harry remained silent, only offering a slight smirk as he draped the invisibility cloak over them both and led the way out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the bustling streets of the Muggle world.

First, they enjoyed a lazy lunch at a quaint bistro on Charing Cross Road, then they strolled the streets until their legs grew weary.

As it turned out, Theodore had never visited the center of London before, but he was well-read on its history. He told Harry about King Edward the Confessor's decision to build Westminster Abbey, which famous wizards had been imprisoned in the Tower of London's dungeons, and what was housed in the British Museum prior to the implementation of the Statute. In return, Harry explained the city's transportation system, the significance of the abundance of telephone booths, who Sherlock Holmes was, and why the launching by the year 2000 London Eye was so important to Muggles.

By the time they arrived at Piccadilly Circus, night had fallen. Theo was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the noise, crowds, and bright neon signs. A passing car honked its horn loudly, causing Theo to jump, but Harry took his hand carefully. Theo looked at him gratefully and gave a barely perceptible squeeze of his hand.

"I'm fine," he said with a slight smile. "Just a bit tired from all the impressions of the day."

"Shall we head home then?" Harry asked, and Theodore nodded in agreement.

They were walking down Charing Cross Road when suddenly the atmosphere shifted. The warm summer evening turned cold and unsettling, street lights flickered and went out, and the sounds of machines became distant and eerie. Harry was overtaken by an irrational fear.

"Dementors," Theodore whispered, drawing his wand, but before he could take action, Dementors appeared from both ends of the street, surrounding them in a dense ring. They had no escape.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry yelled. The shadow of Prongs burst forth from his wand, pushing against the Dementors, but there were too many of them and the Patronus faded away. Theo collapsed onto the pavement, exhausted.

"Again, I can do it!" Harry thought. He focused on happy memories: Christmas at Hogwarts, the third year Quidditch Cup win, Ron and Hermione, saving Sirius.

"Expecto..." he started to say, but a Dementor leaned over Theo and pulled back his hood. The creature's gray, scabby head reached out to him.

No, not Theo! With all his might, Harry tried to remember what joy felt like. He thought of Theo's laughing eyes, the calming support, the sea, and a warm hand in his.

"Expecto Patronum!" he cried again. This time, Prongs appeared as a tangible mass of energy, shielding Harry and Theo from the Dementors and driving the monsters back with its branching antlers. Harry fell to his knees beside Theo. He tried to speak, but Harry couldn't make out the words. Then, Theo reached for Harry's hand and muttered something in Latin, before they were suddenly transported to the carpet in front of the fireplace in their cottage on North Ronaldsay.

Theodore shivered, and Harry wrapped his arms around him tightly to keep him warm. With a soft pop, Ailee appeared.

"Ailee..." Harry muttered. "Ailee, bring something... something hot... or chocolate if you have. We were attacked by Dementors."

The house elf let out a frightened squeak and disappeared, only to return a minute later with two large mugs of hot chocolate. Harry carefully took one mug from the tray and brought it to Theodore's lips.

"Drink this," he whispered into Theodore's ear. "It will make you feel better."

Theodore took a careful sip, and then another. The chocolate seemed to help him, and he took the mug in his hands.

"You too," he said, barely audibly.

"Drink, Mr. Harry," Ailee agreed, alarmed, and handed him the second mug with her free hand. The chocolate tasted strange, but it definitely helped. A warm wave passed through Harry's body. Perhaps there was a potion in there.

Ailee made a fire in the fireplace. They finally warmed up and calmed down enough to disengage from each other. Ailee returned with more. Theodore leaned back against the couch, leaned his head back, took a long sip of his new hot chocolate, and coughed.

"Merlin, Ailee! How much firewhiskey is in here?" his voice sounded almost normal now.

"Firewhiskey?" Oh, that's what it tasted like.

"A third of a portion," the elf immediately responded.

Theodore chuckled and clinked his mug against Harry's.

"Cheers, Potter. Glad we didn't die."

Harry finished his chocolate whiskey and stretched out on the fluffy carpet in front of the fireplace. He stared at the flames until his eyelids began to grow heavy.

"Mr. Harry, there's a letter for you," Ailee shook his shoulder, waking him up from a nap that had lasted for an unknown amount of time. Harry hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep.

He took the envelope and held it up to his eyes, noticing the easily recognizable seal of the Ministry of Magic on it.

"I’ll be damned," Harry muttered.

 

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received information that you used the Patronus Charm at 10:24 pm today in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of several Muggles.

This flagrant violation of the Reasonable Restriction on Underage Magic has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Representatives of the Ministry will soon arrive at your residence to destroy your magic wand.

Given that you have already received a formal warning under section 13 of the Statute of Secrecy of the International Confederation of Magicians for a previous violation, we regret to inform you that you must attend a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic on August 12th at 9:00 am.

Wishing you good health,

Sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic.

 

"What's there?" Theodore asked, alarmed.

"I've been expelled from school. And they want to destroy my wand," Harry replied in a flat voice.

Theodore grabbed the letter from Harry's hands.

"What the hell?! They can't do that... It was self-defense! We were attacked by fucking Dementors!" he exclaimed as he quickly scanned the letter.

"I won't give them my wand... I'd rather run. Do you think they'll find me here?" Harry asked, devoid of emotion.

"Harry, calm down. They can't do anything to you. It's illegal. You have the right to defend your life, no matter if it was in front of Muggles or not. Plus, you have a witness," Theodore said, trying to soothe Harry.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Me," Theodore replied firmly.

"No, I won't get you involved in this," Harry said, shaking his head.

"If necessary, I will," Theodore countered. He sat down next to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder.

"And how will you explain to your father that you were with me in Muggle London?" Harry asked, filled with desperation.

"I'll come up with something... It doesn't matter," Theodore replied, shrugging. "We'll do whatever it takes to keep your wand and keep you in school."

Harry was still unsure, but at this moment, he was extremely grateful for Theodore's support.

There was a tapping on the window and Harry saw two large owls perched on the windowsill from the street side.

"Ailee will get it," Ailee said as she rushed to get the mail.

She returned with two envelopes and Harry opened the one with the Ministry of Magic's seal first.

Dear Mr. Potter,

In addition to the letter we sent you approximately twenty-two minutes ago, we would like to inform you that the Ministry of Magic has changed its decision to immediately destroy your wand. You will be allowed to keep your wand until the disciplinary hearing scheduled for August 12th, at which time a formal decision will be made. After consulting with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed to defer the question of your enrollment in the school until the end of the investigation. You should therefore consider yourself suspended, pending the outcome of the investigation.

Best regards,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic.

 

"Dumbledore intervened, and they changed their mind about taking away my wand," Harry said stiffly, handing the parchment to Theodore.

The second letter was from Mr. Weasley and didn't contain any new or useful information.

 

Harry,

Dumbledore has just arrived at the Ministry and is trying to sort things out.

DO NOT LEAVE YOUR UNCLE AND AUNT'S HOME. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT GIVE UP YOUR MAGIC WAND.

Arthur Weasley.

 

"Don't do any magic... Let the Dementors eat you and your Dursleys alive for all we care," Harry said angrily, tossing the letter into the fire.

Pig flew in through the open window, but instead of a letter from Ron, he brought an insultingly short note from Sirius.

 

Harry,

Arthur just told us what happened. In any case, do not leave the house anymore.

 

"Thanks a lot, Sirius. Great support. What the fuck would I do without you?" Harry muttered as he tossed the note into the fire after the first one.

Harry thought about what would have happened if he had stayed at Little Winging. The idea of facing the Dementors alone was frightening, and the Dursleys would only make things worse. Suddenly he felt a deep hatred for them all: the Dursleys, Dumbledore, his friends, and even Sirius.

Theodore placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, it's okay. You're safe," he said.

Harry turned to Theodore, surprised to see fear in Theodore's eyes, but a calm expression on his face. He then looked down and saw a ball of red and blue flames burning in his own palm.

Startled, Harry jumped back, and the fire dropped to the floor, causing a hole in the carpet. Theodore quickly cast Aguamenti, pouring water on the floor and creating a thick cloud of steam.

"Well, boiling alive may have just moved up on my list of ways I don't want to die," Theodore joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Harry released a nervous chuckle as he apologized for the large burn mark in the center of the carpet. Both boys looked at each other and erupted in laughter, their chuckles filling the room.

Ailee reappeared and immediately began to scold them for the mess, but their laughter only continued. "Ailee shouldn't have given the young gentlemen alcohol!" she grumbled, causing another round of nervous laughter.

After they had calmed down, Theodore asked Harry, "Do you realize what that was?"

Harry was uncertain. "Maybe some accidental magic?" he guessed.

"No, I don't think so," Theodore replied, noticing Harry's discomfort and deciding not to push the subject further. Harry was grateful for Theodore's sensitivity to his feelings. He knew deep down that accidental magic worked differently, in a more unpredictable and unfocused manner.

"Theo, do you have a portkey to your house?" Harry asked after a while. "Or was it an apparition or something like that?"

"Yes, I have an emergency portkey," Theodore confirmed, pulling out a pendant on a silver chain from under his shirt. The pendant was an old coin with slightly jagged edges and an image of a thistle raised on it. "To activate it, you just need to grip it and say 'Nemo me impune lacessit.'"

Potter repeated the phrase, "Nemo me impune lacessit. No one… uh…what?"

"Seriously Harry? Your Latin is that poor?" Theodore teased with a smile. "It means 'No one provokes me with impunity'. It's the motto of the Order of the Thistle, the Kingdom of Scotland, the Stuart dynasty, and the MacGillivray clan."

Chapter 4: Temporary Measures

"Are you sure I shouldn't come with you?" Theo asked for what seemed to be the third time that morning. "I could at least see you off."

"What am I? A damsel in distress?" Harry replied mockingly. "I'm much more likely to reach Little Winging safely on my own, rather than with a wizard who is not familiar with the Muggle world."

The Weasleys were set to take Harry away from his relatives to a "super secret location" that night. Theodore couldn't comprehend how all of Harry's "guards" still hadn't realized that he hadn't been at home for more than two weeks. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Harry might not be safe with these people.

Of course, Theodore would have preferred for Potter to remain on North Ronaldsay until the hearing. However, he understood that this would only escalate their problems. So, he watched Potter's preparations with a stoic expression.

After the fateful day in London, the last remnants of their mutual distrust finally disappeared. Theodore never expected to enjoy someone's company as much as he did with Potter, spending nearly all the time together. During the day, they explored the island, scoured the library, or cozied up by the fireplace on rainy days. In the evenings, they practised spells, played Celtic backgammon, or talked about nothing and everything.

And it was... nice.

"Theo, can you cast a Lightening Charm on my chest?" Harry asked as he entered the living room with his belongings. "I got sick of stuffing the wand buffer yesterday. I don't want to do it again."

"Sure," he nodded and obliged. The chest became so light that Harry could lift it with ease. "Actually, I think you're being overly cautious. It's unlikely that the Ministry will check all of your recent spells. They only do that in cases where the suspect denies using a particular charm. Am I remembering correctly?"

"Yeah, you're right," Harry replied. "But it's better to be safe than sorry. They seem to have it out for me." He walked over to the fireplace and looked at Theodore, who was standing in front of him with a puzzled expression. "Well, I'm ready to go."

"Goodbye, Harry," Theo said in a soft voice. He wanted to embrace Harry, but he convinced himself that it would be inappropriate.

"Bye, Theo," Harry responded with a hint of sadness, and Theodore could sense that Harry didn't want to say farewell either.

Harry turned around and playfully waved at the rest of the cottage who were gathered in the room, pretending not to pay attention.

"See you, Ailee! Bye, cats!" he said.

"Goodbye, Mr. Harry Potter," Ailee said, straightening her snow-white apron and performing a graceful curtsy. Brigitte raised her head and yawned, while Tanaranis opened one eye, then continued to sleep as if nothing was happening. What more could be expected from kneazles?

Harry picked up a handful of Floo powder.

"Will you send me an owl when it's all over? OK?" Theo asked.

"Not so confident that I won't be expelled anymore, right?" Harry teased Theodore.

"You've already been expelled," Theodore reminded him with a wry smile. "But yes, I'm still confident that you'll be reinstated. I'd bet anything that Dumbledore wouldn't want his golden boy studying in America.

"That's all I can hope for. But if you could write to Tracey Davis and find out how difficult it would be to transfer to Ilvermorny, I'd appreciate it," Harry chuckled. "See you soon, Theodore!"

He impulsively hugged Theodore and whispered "thank you" in his ear. Then, without looking back, he tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace, clearly said "Leaky Cauldron," and disappeared in a swirl of green flames.

* * *

 

The door to number four Privet Drive was opened by Aunt Petunia.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in a tone that was a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. She seemed surprised that her nephew was back so soon.

"Hello, Aunt. May I come in?" Harry asked politely.

"I thought we wouldn't see you until next summer," she said haughtily, but she stood there, blocking his entry.

"I won't be staying long," Harry explained patiently. "My friends will pick me up tonight. I can wait in my room, or if you don't want me in the house, I can wait outside."

"Come in," Aunt Petunia finally decided. She didn't want to give the neighbours anything to gossip about. "But watch out, boy! Make sure you're quiet when Vernon returns from work."

"Of course, Aunt," Harry nodded.

It seemed like it was going to be a long day.

And it turned out to be exactly that. Wizards came to pick him up only in the evening, and instead of Mr. Weasley who had warned him of their arrival through a letter the day before, a whole delegation arrived at the Dursleys' house. Out of all those present, Harry only personally knew Lupin and, to a certain extent, Alastor Moody. Unless, of course, their only real encounter, when Harry found him bound inside his own chest, could be considered an acquaintance. Harry couldn't understand why five more people were needed to accompany him. But that was a minor issue compared to everything else.

When he learned that eight of them (including the old creaker, Elphias Doge) were planning to fly from Little Whinging to central London instead of using a portal, apparating, or opening a temporary Floo passage like they did last year, he broke down and wondered, with poorly concealed irony, who came up with this brilliant plan.

Lupin coughed in embarrassment and mumbled something about Mad-Eye's infamous paranoia. The old Auror, upon hearing such accusations against him, grumbled in annoyance.

"I knew it," Harry frowned, thinking that this plan clearly could not have been devised without the involvement of Albus Dumbledore's long white beard, the wizarding world's main lover of the theatrical absurd.

Of course, Harry enjoyed flying. But not at the speed of Elphias Doge's ancient Silver Arrows, and preferably not in inclement weather and without the constant fear of being noticed by Muggles.

One hour of flying in the rain later, they arrived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Good heavens! How you've grown, dear! You'll soon catch up to Ron," Mrs. Weasley immediately enveloped Harry in a warm embrace, along with Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and the twins. The gloomy old house smelled of homemade cakes, and Harry thought that maybe spending the rest of the holidays here wouldn't be too bad.

But then came dinner, and he argued with everyone until his throat was raw. 

He argued with Lupin and Mrs. Weasley about his right to know what was happening in the wizarding world, took offense at Sirius for siding with the adults, scolded Ron and Hermione for not discovering anything substantial in their time with the Order, and got angry with Fred and George for their idiotic  jokes when he fell  into their portable swamp that had spilled onto the bathroom floor.

The two days before the hearing, Harry spent in his shared with Ron bedroom, trying to avoid conversation and hiding behind unfinished homework or claiming to have a headache. He didn't have to lie, as the nightmares and visions he experienced the first night at Grimmauld Place had taken a toll on him.

When all charges against Harry were dropped and he was reinstated as a Hogwarts student, thanks to an Obliviator who cleared the memory of Muggles about his Patronus and recorded evidence of Dementor exposure, Harry's mood improved slightly, but he still remained distant. Despite this, he longed to return to school.

The oppressive atmosphere of Grimmauld Place and Mrs. Weasley's relentless control weighed heavily on Harry. Mrs. Weasley made sure that all the children were kept busy with useful tasks, such as cleaning the house or doing homework, and prohibited them from entering "uncleaned" rooms without supervision. She even placed complex locking spells on the most interesting rooms, such as Sirius's father's study and the library, that Harry was unable to break.  Even though Hermione could probably help him out, Harry didn't want to approach her after they had a fight when she found out that the Dementor attack happened near Diagon Alley instead of the Dursleys' place.Harry felt trapped once again, powerless to do anything about it. The previous night, he had a dream where Voldemort killed a child. The screams of pain and horror, the cold and insane laughter of Voldemort, and the dead face of an unfamiliar dark-haired boy with green eyes still haunted him. The boy looked almost identical to Harry himself.

He had an intense desire to write a letter to Theodore, but he talked himself out of it. He felt guilty for imposing on Theodore's hospitality for so long and didn't want to add to his friend's troubles with his own never-ending problems. If Harry truly wanted to make a difference, he knew he had to talk to Dumbledore first. Dumbledore was the only person who could stand up to Voldemort and protect the wizarding world.

Replaying a possible conversation with the headmaster in his mind, Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. He thought about the countless times he had faced Voldemort and the evil he represented. He thought about the countless lives that had been lost, and the countless more that would be lost if he didn't do something. As the morning arrived and the mansion began to come to life, Harry made up his mind. He was going to talk to Dumbledore and do everything in his power to stop Voldemort once and for all.

"Boys, get up! It's time for breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley knocked on the door, and Harry groggily got out of bed, nudging Ron who was still soundly sleeping and unaffected by Mrs. Weasley's calls.

When Harry entered the kitchen, he found it bustling with activity. Hermione was absorbed in reading the latest issue of Modern Science in the World of Magic, while Ginny was absentmindedly picking at her oatmeal and casting occasional dreamy glances in Harry's direction. Lupin, Sirius, Tonks, and Shacklebolt were having a hushed conversation in the corner, and Harry caught his name being mentioned. He frowned in annoyance, suspecting that they were discussing him again.

"Still feeling out of sorts, Harrykins?" Fred asked, smearing plum jam generously on his toast.

"Who dared to offend the great hero this time?" George chimed in with a wide grin.

"I just didn't get enough sleep," Harry grumbled.

"Well, just give us a hint, and we'll instantly take care of the offender," Fred offered.

"And we'll make sure to avenge your desecrated honor," George added.

"We could fill the offender's pockets with frog caviar," Fred suggested wickedly.

"Or feed them vomit lozenges," George continued.

"Or we could create a swamp right at the door of their bedroom," Fred proposed with a devilish grin.

"Is it Ron again?" George asked, with a knowing look in his eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes, finding the twins' antics to be comical. But he couldn't deny their talent for mischief.

"Listen, guys," Harry whispered, drawing the twins' attention. "I could use your help with something."

"Anything for our favorite sponsor," George replied with a conspiratorial wink.

"Do you know anything about breaking locking spells?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Are you referring to a specific spell?" The twins exchanged a look.

"I think so," Harry replied, glancing in Mrs. Weasley's direction.

"Not another word, our young friend," George said wisely.

"We'll meet you in at HQ after breakfast," Fred added.

"At HQ? What's that?" Harry asked for clarification.

"Our room," they answered in unison, as if it were common knowledge.

"Good morning, everyone!" Mr. Weasley greeted them cheerfully as he entered the kitchen. He had just returned from his night shift.

He sat down at the long table across from Harry and attempted to strike up a friendly conversation with him.

"What an interesting fashion Muggles have," he remarked with admiration, looking down at Harry's overly-wide and well-worn T-shirt. "All those holes and scuffs! Bill had a Muggle-born classmate who always dressed like... I think... punk. Yes, I believe that's what it was called. And what kind of subculture is that?"

Harry was at a loss for words.

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione said cautiously, "I don't think Harry's clothing represents any subculture..."

"Yes?" Mr. Weasley was surprised. "So why…"

He started the question but quickly cut himself off, realizing that he was asking the orphan why he did not have decent clothes.

Harry wanted to sink into the floor with embarrassment or at least hide from the pitying gazes under the table. He realized he should have bought new clothes over the summer but he just didn't think about it. With his school uniform and the limited clothes given to him by the Dursleys, he never gave much thought to his appearance. The Dursleys stopped caring about his wardrobe when he stopped spending time with them, even during holidays. So it was no surprise that by the summer, all that was left of Dudley's old clothes and fit Harry had worn out to the point of holes.

Feeling ashamed, Harry mumbled something unintelligible, the general meaning of which was that he would buy new clothes as soon as he had the chance.

“Oh, my dear…” Mrs. Weasley said with unmistakable pity in her voice. Everyone else looked at him with sympathy too, causing an awkward silence to fill the room.

"Ahem," Lupin caught everyone's attention. And Harry was grateful for a moment, until Remus decided to continue. "Sirius, since we can't take Harry shopping right now, maybe he could use some of your old clothes or Regulus' clothes?"

"Oh, that's a good idea," Sirius agreed, relieved. But his face still looked guilty, and Harry didn't understand why. “My clothes might be a bit too big for you in the shoulders. But Regulus was almost as skinny as you, Harry. No offense. He also had some style, even though it doesn't matter for you. Anyway, I'm sure most of the items in his wardrobe haven't even been worn. Come on, I'll show you where his room was."

"Alright," Harry nodded, grateful for any solution as long as everyone stopped fussing over him.

As they made their way to Regulus' room, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable about the situation. Was Sirius really sure that he wouldn't mind if Harry took his brother's clothes? Harry berated himself for not taking care of his own clothing needs. He realized that by not doing so, he put Sirius in a position to have to intervene because of Harry's lack of self-sufficiency.

When they arrived at the room, Sirius opened the door and gestured for Harry to go inside. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. The room was filled with various pieces of wizarding attire, all in pristine condition.

"Take your pick," Sirius said, with a small smile on his face. "I think Regulus would have wanted someone to wear these clothes and keep them from going to waste."

Harry still felt awkward, but he really needed something to wear. He carefully went through the clothes, picking out a few outfits that caught his eye. As he dressed in his new clothes, he couldn't help but feel like he was a different person. More like a wizard, although he knew that thought was silly.

As a result, Harry found himself with a brand new wardrobe of the latest magical fashion from fifteen years ago. Despite this, he couldn't tell the difference between these clothes and what wizards currently wore. Nevertheless, he was happy to wear anything as long as the constant attention was gone.

Unfortunately, this was not the case. During the rest of the holidays, Sirius and Remus persistently questioned him about his life with the Dursleys, Mrs. Weasley went above and beyond in offering him extra food at every meal, even if he didn't ask, and Mr. Weasley demonstrated how much he saw Harry as his own son.

* * *

 

"Shoot, this is rough. Mordred's incantations are unbreakable."

"Mom did her absolute best this time."

"Don't even bother thinking the counter-charm we use for the candy cabinet is gonna do anything here. It's not gonna happen."

"Do you have any better ideas, man? Because I'm all ears."

"Don't act like you're the smartest one here, dear brother. Just picking the lock isn't gonna cut it this time. I mean, I could try breaking the lock, but let's see if there's another way first."

"Smashing the lock is definitely not the answer. We need to come up with a more epic plan to take down these wicked spells."

"What do you think you're doing here?" A voice filled with anger echoed behind them.

"Fuck," Fred and George swore together. "Merlin beard Hermione! You can't just jump out like that and scare us!"

"Stay focused guys," Harry interjected. "We don't have much time."

He approached Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder.

"We're breaking into the Black Library," he told her honestly. "Imagine all the interesting things we could find in there."

"You're trying to hack it?" Hermione's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I want in on this!"

"Hermione, it's just Mrs. Weasley's locking charms on the door," Harry assured her. "Nothing too complicated, I promise. Just stand on the nix on the landing of the second floor."

"But I've never seen a spell being broken," Hermione protested. "I'm curious. I want to know how it works in theory."

"And why do you need that knowledge, Miss Rule-Follower?" Harry raised eyebrows in amusement.

"You know, Harry, you've become quite cruel and vindictive" Hermione retorted with a smirk.

"And I'll only become more cruel and vindictive if we get caught before Fred and George finish," Harry added with a grin.

"Don't worry, everyone's in a meeting right now. Nobody will catch you," Hermione reassured.

"What if the meeting ends sooner or someone needs something from upstairs?" Harry asked, still cautious.

"Okay, okay," Hermione conceded. "If I see anyone, I'll yell 'Crookshanks'. But remember, Harry Potter, I'm in on this too! I've dreamed of exploring this library since the day I arrived at this house!"

Confident that her interests would not be overlooked, Hermione left to keep watch.

Ten minutes later, the stubborn door finally gave way, and they were inside.

The Black Library was a magnificent structure that extended over two floors, with walls that were lined with towering bookcases filled to overflowing with books of all shapes and sizes, written in a variety of languages, some of which Harry was unable to identify. The heart of the room was dominated by a chic mahogany writing desk, surrounded by several comfortable armchairs upholstered in rich black leather. The atmosphere within the library was one of sophistication and mystery, beckoning Harry to delve deeper into its secrets, even though he wasn't much of a reader.

"Crookshanks! Crookshanks! Where are you, whisker-face?" Hermione yelled at the top of her lungs from the second floor, calling for her pet. "Crookshanks! Kitty, kitty, kitty!"

At the sound of Hermione's cries, the boys quickly bolted out of the library and sealed the door before anyone could appear in the hallway. Fred and George returned to their room, while Harry remembered he wanted to intercept Dumbledore and headed downstairs. On the stairs, he came face to face with Ginny, who was carrying a sleepy Crookshanks to Hermione.

"Hermione, what's going on?" Ginny asked, looking concerned as she handed over the cat. "Crookshanks has been sleeping on the windowsill in our room all day, in the same spot as always. I thought you had seen him."

"You got a little carried away," Harry whispered mischievously into Hermione's ear as he walked past her. In response, she playfully poked him in the ribs and turned to face Ginny with a smile.

"Thank you! I can't believe I didn't see him. I've been searching all over the house for him... Can you imagine?"

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry called out to the headmaster as he caught up to him near the transportation fireplace.

"Good afternoon, Harry. Is there something you needed?" Dumbledore asked, turning towards Harry reluctantly, his expression distant.

"Yes, sir. I'd like to speak with you," Harry replied, determination in his voice.

"Is it urgent, my boy? I must admit, I'm running a bit behind schedule," Dumbledore asked, looking apologetic.

"I think it's important, sir. Please, listen to me. I won't take long," Harry persisted.

"Very well, then," Dumbledore nodded, his demeanor benevolent. "I can spare a few minutes for you."

"If you don't mind, let's step away from the crowd," Harry suggested, wary of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix who were leaving the kitchen after their meeting. He led Dumbledore into the nearby small living room, where they could have some privacy.

They sat across from each other in the armchairs. Harry, aware that Dumbledore was in a hurry and not in the mood for conversation, forced himself to start with the most pressing matter.

"Do you remember last year when my scar would sometimes hurt and I had strange dreams, like I was seeing everything through Voldemort's eyes?" Harry asked, getting straight to the point.

"I do recall something like that," Dumbledore replied. "Sirius mentioned it to me... but you didn't mention that you were able to see through his eyes."

"Last year, I didn't fully understand what was happening," Harry explained. "But now, I'm certain that I'm seeing through his eyes."

"This is very disturbing news, Harry," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. "Are you sure it's not just nightmares?"

"It's not just nightmares," Harry replied. "When I have normal nightmares, my scar doesn't hurt. And it's different... I can't quite explain it, sir. But everything I see in these dreams, where I see the world through Voldemort's eyes, feels real, like I'm actually experiencing it. Last night, I saw Voldemort kill a child in some kind of dark ritual."

"Harry," Dumbledore cut him off abruptly. "I respectfully suggest that you abstain from further examination. The less one recalls of the experience, the more advantageous it will be."

"Why?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought this information might be useful to the Order..."

"Not at all, my boy," Dumbledore said, shaking his head sadly. "We have our own sources and know all we need to know about Voldemort's activities. You need to focus on yourself. I’m afraid his connection can be dangerous.

"But do you believe me?" Harry asked, seeking confirmation.

"Of course I do," Dumbledore replied. "I always knew that you were connected to Tom. But trust me, Harry, this connection will not bring you any good. I think that your desire to know what's happening in the enemy camp will only strengthen this connection. You must make every effort not to think about it. All efforts, Harry. I shall ask Professor Snape to send you a dreamless sleep potion. Make sure to take it every day before bed. I hope that will help you, at least a little. And Harry, I implore you, don't tell anyone what you just told me. It's best not to trust such secrets with anyone."

"But how...?" Harry tried to tell Dumbledore that he now experienced occasional "dreams of Voldemort" that felt all too real but he suddenly realized why Dumbledore was avoiding eye contact and wanted to end the conversation quickly. He must think Voldemort can see through Harry's eyes too! That's the only explanation.

But it's weird... If Dumbledore really thinks Voldemort can see through his mind, why doesn't he tell Harry anything? Does he think Harry is too young to handle it? Doesn't he trust him? And why isn't he asking more questions? Doesn't he want to find out what's really happening?

"Is there anything else, my boy?"

"No, Professor. I got it. I'll drink the potion before bed, I won't think about Voldemort, and I won't tell anyone what I told you."

"Very well then, Harry. I am pleased that you comprehended my advice.” He patted Harry on the shoulder before hastening to bid him farewell and exiting the room without once making eye contact.

Harry is left alone, feeling left out.

Chapter 5: Third Time Is A Charm

"I feel like I'm stealing," Hermione complained to Harry.

The day before they were to leave for school, they made a final foray into the Black Library to select books that might be useful at Hogwarts.

"Why 'feel like'?" Harry chuckled. "In my opinion, the word 'stealing' perfectly describes what we're doing right now. We're secretly penetrating a locked room at night and taking everything we can lay our hands on."

"Not everything! I'm only taking the essentials. And I'll return all the books to Sirius as soon as I've read them," she replied with conviction.

"Oh yeah. Hermione Granger's notorious double standards in action," Harry said as he dumped the selected books on the table to go through them and decide what to take to school and what to leave behind at Grimmauld Place.

She ignored his taunt and instead demanded, "Well, give me a hand. I can't reach the collection of works of Edgar Strugler."

"A reminder, Hermione. You're a witch," Harry replied, not moving and continuing to flip through the guide "117 Ways to Protect Your Property from Ill-Wishers."

"We're not allowed to use magic during the holidays!"

Harry put his head down on the table with a sigh.

"I've told you a thousand times, the Trace doesn't work in wizarding homes," he said.

"Just because it can't record a violation doesn't mean the general rule doesn't apply," she said in a tone reminiscent of Professor McGonagall catching first-years in the corridors after lights-out.

Harry looked up in annoyance and saw that Hermione was trying hard not to smile.

"Are you doing this on purpose to piss me off?" he asked shrewdly.

"Perhaps," Hermione smiled. "Okay, the holidays are almost over. Let's do this. Accio collection of works of Edgar Strugler!"

"That's the Gryffindor spirit," he said approvingly and went back to his books.

He had barely settled back into his reading when a sudden, intense pain in his scar made him groan in agony.

"Harry! Are you okay?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"M'fine," he managed to say before falling into the Dark Lord's sickening throne room.

In front of Voldemort stood his Death Eaters, arranged in a semicircle. The light from the torches on the stone walls illuminated their faces, allowing him to see their expressions clearly. At Inner Circle meetings, his followers were not required to wear masks.

Amicus Carrow lay on the ground, writhing in pain. He had once again failed to meet Voldemort's expectations.

Voldemort lifted the curse of torture and, with a flick of his wrist, commanded Carrow to leave his presence. Carrow crawled away, muttering his thanks.

"Alecto," Voldemort said to the stout, square-jawed woman with mousy hair. "See to it that your brother does his job this time. Find Fenrir Greyback and secure his cooperation. I do not have time to be distracted by these creatures after Samhain."

"Yes, my Lord," Alecto nodded.

Voldemort turned to the rest of his followers. "Do any of you have good news for me?"

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward and bowed low to his master. "Our informant has successfully infiltrated the Ministry of Magic. He has been appointed acting senior deputy minister and will continue to manipulate Fudge against Dumbledore. He will also provide us with information from the higher levels of the ministry."

"Excellent," Voldemort replied, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Keep up the good work, Lucius. You will be rewarded."

He then turned to Yaxley. "Are you ready to tell us who ordered the Dementors to attack Harry Potter?"

Yaxley's voice trembled as he replied. "Not yet, my Lord. But I have contacted a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She has promised to provide me with a list of everyone who has access to the Dementor Control artifact by the end of the week. This will at least allow me to narrow down the suspects."

"Very well," Voldemort said graciously, waving his hand. "But do not disappoint me again, Corbin."

"Yes, my Lord! Thank you, my Lord!" replied Albert Runcorn.

"Runcorn, what news do you have for me?" asked Voldemort.

"I have discovered that the prophecy about you and Harry Potter is still kept in a special vault in the Department of Mysteries," reported Runcorn, his voice firm and confident. "It is dated January 1980 and marked with the initials of the seer and Dumbledore. I believe this is the same prophecy we are seeking."

"Very well," Voldemort nodded benevolently. "What are your next steps?"

"I will attempt to lure Sibyl Trelawney out of Hogwarts, where she remains in hiding. However, there is a risk that as a seer, she may not have retained memories of the prophecy," Runcorn answered clearly. "If we assume that Pettigrew's information is accurate and that members of the Dumbledore's Army only know a fraction of the prophecy, our main focus should be on removing the prophecy from the vault of the Department of Mysteries. I will work on finding a way to approach them.

"I approve of your plan, Runcorn," Voldemort said. "Focus on this task and do not get distracted by anything else. If you need help, you have my permission to bring in other Death Eaters."

"Thank you, my Lord," Runcorn said as he bowed and returned to his duties.

"What do we have next, Rowley?" Voldemort continued. "Any news about...?"

Harry jolted back to consciousness, feeling as if he had been forcibly returned to his body. He was in pain, not only in his head but also in his chest. The library was filled with the smell of ozone.

"Oh my God, Harry, I was so worried! You weren't breathing!" Hermione pulled him towards her and embraced him, tears streaming down her face. "I thought you were dead..."

Sirius was standing beside them, holding a wand in his hand. The relief on his pale face was evident.

"I had to use a spell to restart your heart," he muttered as he crouched down beside them. "What happened, Harry? A vision?"

"Yes," Harry acknowledged, seeing no reason to deny the obvious. He also had a few questions for his godfather. "Hermione, let me go. I'm fine, honestly. Sorry for making you worry."

"Didn't Dumbledore give you a potion for dreamless sleep?" Sirius asked.

"That potion only helps with sleep. I haven’t slept," Harry explained as he stood up, feeling a little dizzy but otherwise okay. He sat down at the table and conjured a glass of water. "Now, Sirius, tell me. What do you know about the prophecy?"

"What prophecy?" Sirius tried to pretend he didn't understand.

"You know exactly what I mean," Harry replied harshly, taking a few sips of water.

Sirius was quiet. Hermione also hesitated to ask questions and looked nervously from one to the other.

"I'm asking about the prophecy that Trelawney made six months before I was born. That prophecy, Sirius! About Voldemort and me," Harry pressed.

"You weren't supposed to know about that," Sirius said in a barely audible voice, filled with sadness.

"But I do know, Sirius. What was in that prophecy?" Harry continued to question him. "I have a right to know, don't you think?"

"Harry, there are some things that are better left unknown," Sirius started, but Harry cut him off.

"Should I go find Pettigrew and ask him?" Harry nearly yelled.

Hermione shuddered at the thought of all the secrets being kept from them. Sirius' face was a mixture of anger and guilt, as it always was when he thought of Peter.

"Alright," Sirius finally relented, unable to bear the look in Harry's eyes. "I'll tell you."

He sat across from Harry at the library desk, snapped his fingers, and commanded Kreacher to bring him a bottle of firewhiskey. A glass and bottle of Old Ogden appeared in front of him a few seconds later. Sirius filled his glass halfway, drank it in one gulp, and hesitated before looking at Harry.

"Keep in mind, Harry, I only know the beginning of the prophecy. Like everyone else, except for Dumbledore," he warned.

Harry nodded silently.

"As you already understand, it was because of the prophecy that Voldemort wanted to kill you. And because of it, James and Lily were killed," Sirius continued, refilling his glass. "The prophecy says that 'the one who will defeat the Dark Lord will be born at the end of the seventh month,' and that the parents of this child have already challenged him three times. At the end of July, only two magical children were born in England that fit this criterion: you and..."

"Neville Longbottom," Hermione said before quickly covering her mouth in fear.

"Yes, that's right," Sirius confirmed. "But your birthday was a day later. So, either Mordred knows for another reason or Voldemort must have decided that you were the child of the prophecy, Harry. James and Lily could have fled the country, but they chose to hide under Fidelius protection. You already know what happened next."

"What else did the prophecy say?" Harry asked in an unnaturally calm voice.

Hermione squeezed his arm sympathetically.

"Not much to draw any conclusions from," Sirius replied bitterly. "It doesn't even hint at what you need to be prepared for..."

"I still want to know, Sirius. Please," Harry insisted.

"Alright, listen," Sirius said. "The prophecy says, 'The one who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord is coming, born of those who thrice defied him, born at the end of the seventh month. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but will not know all his power. One of them must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live in peace while the other is alive...'"

"Is that all?" Harry asked.

"That's all I know," Sirius said, looking at Harry with sadness. "And as far as I know, the second part of the prophecy doesn't introduce any specific details. To answer your question, no one knows what kind of power we're talking about..."

* * *

"I miss Tracy already," Blaise said as they walked up to platform nine and three-quarters from the transport fireplace. "I liked her. She was fun and cheerful."

"She still is," Theodore corrected him. "Her parents just sent her to study in America, not killed her."

"Do you think she'll come back if the political situation changes?" Blaise asked.

"How do you imagine that happening?" Nott asked in surprise, almost touched by Blaise's innocence.

"Well, my mother says there won't be a war this time. The power will just be redistributed, that's all," Blaise replied.

"If, as you so eloquently put it, power is redistributed…” Nott said.

"Not me, my mother," Blaise corrected him.

"Okay, if, as Lady Zabini put it, 'power is redistributed,' then Tracy still is unlikely to return to Britain. Let me remind you, my naive friend, that her father is a Muggle-born..." Nott pointed out.

"I know. But being a Muggle-born is better than being a Muggle, right?" Blaise asked.

"It depends on who you ask," Theodore said philosophically. "Tracy and her brother Roger don't seem to care, I think."

"Good morning, boys," Daphne Greengrass greeted them formally, standing outside their regular carriage along with Astoria, Pansy, and Millicent. "How were your holidays?"

"Oh, they were amazing," Blaise replied with a bright smile. "I went to visit my family and relatives in Emilia-Romagna. We spent a lot of time exploring the countryside and trying..."

"Sweet Salazar," Astoria interrupted, her gaze fixed on Harry. "Just look at Potter! He's dressed like a wizard today."

Theodore followed her gaze and saw Harry standing on the platform next to the next carriage, surrounded by a diverse group of people. He was engaged in a deep conversation with the tall girl with pink hair, who was dressed in an Auror robe.

From Theodore's point of view, Harry appeared to be unwell or, at the very least, tired. He was alarmingly pale and had deep shadows under his eyes, but Theodore couldn't help but notice that he was surprisingly well-dressed. Harry was sporting tailored pants, a pristine pearl gray shirt, and an open navy blue summer robe made of premium fabric. These clothes were clearly wizarding attire, demonstrating Harry's newfound fashion sense.

"I think his robe looks old-fashioned," Pansy said with a sneer. "My uncle Percy wears the same style with loose sleeves, and he's forty!"

"Maybe it is a little outdated," Astoria admitted with a chuckle. "But you have to admit, Harry looks good in classic styles. It's nice to see him embrace his wizard heritage."

The group of girls continued to observe Harry from a distance, admiring his newfound sense of style.

"Did you hear that Potter was expelled from Hogwarts over the summer?" Millie asked, changing the subject from fashion. "Tiberius Ogden came to dinner with us last week. He's one of the Wizengamot elders, you know. Anyway, Potter was attacked by Dementors in the middle of Muggle London and he was able to drive them away with his Patronus. There were Muggle witnesses who saw it, but their memories were later erased. It's very impressive that he was able to summon a corporeal Patronus!"

"But why was he expelled?" Blaise asked, confused.

"Apparently, because he used magic among the muggles," Millie explained. "At first, the authorities didn't understand and expelled him, but then there was a hearing where everything became clear. The entire Wizengamot was involved in considering his case. Can you imagine? It was as if he had killed someone."

Theo glanced at Harry once more and realized that this is how the next year would go. He would have to endure endless gossip about Harry and pretend that they hardly knew each other. 

As if reading Theo's mind, Harry caught his eyes and offered a shy smile.

Daphne's frustrated voice brought Theo back to reality. "Can we please go to our compartment now or are we waiting for someone?" she asked. "We haven't even arrived at Hogwarts yet, and all people can talk about is Potter. And it's not even Malfoy yet..."

Her sister chimed in, "You are no fun. I'm going with my classmates."

"No, you're coming with me," Daphne declared. "And I'll be keeping a close eye on you to make sure you don't cause any trouble."

Parkinson proudly proclaimed, "I was just appointed as Prefect. So you all go ahead, and I'll wait for Draco. We'll be traveling in a separate carriage."

Daphne gave a fake smile and said, "Good luck with Malfoy on your first patrol. I hope none of the first-years get sick on the way this time. Bye, Pans."

Parkinson was indignant, "Don't call me that!" But Daphne simply shrugged and boarded the train, followed by Millicent and Astoria.

Blaise grabbed Theo's arm and said, "We'll come too. See you later, Pansy"

In the compartment, Theodore took a seat near the door and buried himself in a thick book with a dull cover, hoping to avoid interacting with his classmates. Meanwhile, Blaise resumed his tale of his trip to Italy, capturing the attention of the others in the compartment. This allowed Theodore to read in peace.

The last letter from Harry was unsettling, but it had sparked an idea in Theodore's mind that he needed to investigate. However, he first needed to finish reading his current book.

As the Hogwarts Express chugged out of London, Blaise, Millie, and Astoria decided to play cards, while Daphne, like Theodore, became engrossed in her own reading.

Suddenly, Theodore felt a touch on his hand and the edge of his robe being pulled gently towards the exit. At first, he flinched, but then he realized that he knew only one person who had a habit of moving around unnoticed. He excused himself to his classmates, saying that he needed to take a walk, and allowed Harry to lead him away.

Harry led Theodore to the next car and found an empty compartment, which he locked from the inside using the spell "Colloportus". He then removed his cloak.

"I've missed you," Harry said suddenly, clasping his hands behind his back.

Theodore was momentarily stunned.

Before Theodore could return the embrace, Harry stepped back.

"How was the rest of your holiday? You barely wrote about yourself in your letters," Harry asked.

"Less exciting than yours, I suppose," Theodore replied, shaking his head as he took a seat on the bench. "But first, tell me, what did you mean in your last letter when you wrote that you were 'stuck in Tom's head and seemed to stop breathing'?"

"Oh, that... Maybe we can talk about it later?" Harry said with a sly smile as he sat down next to Theodore, their shoulders and knees lightly touching. "I don't want to think about all that right now. I need a break from Voldemort's thoughts."

"Fine, then I won't tell you what I found and how it could help you," Theodore said in a serious tone, trying not to focus on the fact that Harry was sitting so close to him.

"Hey, that's not fair," Harry protested, nudging Theodore with his elbow. "Tell me!"

"When you sent me an owl yesterday about being 'stuck' in Voldemort's head, I thought maybe you need to learn how to control your magic while you're unconscious or not in full control of your own consciousness," Theodore said.

"Yes," Harry replied seriously. "And how, in your opinion, is this possible?"

Theodore placed a thick book on the table in front of them. "Here," he said.

Harry read the title aloud, "Basic Principles of Transfiguration Changes in Large Mammals? What does this have to do with magic and mind control?"

"Hold on," Theodore replied. He pointed his wand at the book and the title changed to "Ojibwe Magic".

"The Ojibwe are an Indian tribe whose shamans could perform magic in their sleep," Theodore explained. "They were the first to invent dream catchers. Do you know what they are?"

"Something that protects people in their sleep from evil spirits?" Harry asked. "I thought they were just good luck charms, like the ones they sell in shops in Hogsmeade to help you do well on exams."

"I think there are plenty of fake dream catchers with that name, but there are also real ones. And there are also real dreamwalkers – wizards who can enter someone else's consciousness in a dream and retain some of their abilities while in this state. For example, they can kill a person by entering their dreams," Theodore said.

"Muggles have a movie about that," Harry chuckled.

"As far as I know, Muggles also have movies about wizards and dragons. That doesn't make them any less real," Theodore countered.

"I can't argue with that," Harry admitted, acknowledging the validity of Theodore's argument.

"I haven't read everything yet. It was really hard to find this book. I still can't remember where I saw it... Anyway, it seems to me that there are several practices described here that could be useful for your situation."

Theodore began to explain the knowledge he had gained on the subject of magic and mind control. Harry listened with great interest at first, but soon began to struggle to stay awake.

"Is my story that boring?" Theodore asked with a hint of irony as Harry stifled a yawn.

"I'm sorry, Theo. I'm truly interested," Harry replied, removing his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. "I just haven't been getting much sleep since the day I left you..."

"So, would you like to take a nap right now?" Theodore asked softly as he closed the book and placed it on the table. "We have four more hours on the train."

Harry seemed to consider Theodore's offer, but hesitation appeared on his face.

"Can I really?" he asked hesitantly, looking slightly abashed for some reason.

Theodore nodded, unsure of what was causing Harry's hesitation.

A small smile appeared on Harry's face.
With a sense of awe, Theodore watched as Harry turned away from him, lifted his legs onto the seat, and snuggled his head into Theodore's lap.

"I think this mind manipulation thing in other people's dreams and magic flow control could work in theory," Harry said drowsily, looking up at Theodore with trust and settling himself comfortably.

Then, Harry closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, and Theodore wasn't sure where to place his hand. Eventually, he gently placed it on Harry's stomach, feeling a sense of comfort and warmth wash over him as he watched Harry sleep peacefully.

 

* * * 

 

 

The first thing Harry saw when he woke up was Theodore's blue-grey eyes, the same color as the northern sea on a cloudy day. Theodore's hand was gently nudging his shoulder, while his other hand rested across Harry's chest. Harry smiled peacefully before blushing as he realized that his head was in Theodore's lap and that he was hugging him.

"Sorry to wake you up," Theodore said softly. "Your friends are looking for you all over the Hogwarts Express. They seem to be worried."

Harry reluctantly sat up, feeling the cozy warmth that had enveloped him as he slept immediately dissipate. The air in the compartment felt uncomfortably cold.

He heard someone knocking on the compartment next to theirs and a voice asking, "Hi Cho, Marietta, have you seen Harry by any chance? I can't seem to find him, but we'll be there pretty soon..."

The Ravenclaws answered, but their words were muffled by the wall.

"Oh, that Hermione," Harry sighed heavily. "How long did I sleep?"

"A couple of hours," Theodore replied.

"Wow! It's strange that Hermione hasn't called the Aurors yet," Harry joked awkwardly.

Just then, there was a knock at their door.

"Open up!" Hermione demanded, pulling at the handle. "This is Hermione Granger, Prefect of Gryffindor. Compartment doors are not allowed to be blocked with spells! Open the door or I'll use magic."

"Do you have a search warrant?" Harry yelled back through the wall, trying to buy some time. He never expected that he would fall asleep and not be back in the compartment before Hermione and Ron finished their rounds.

"Very funny, Harry!" Hermione immediately recognized his voice and her tone softened.

Theodore remained silent, but after Harry's response, a look of obvious bewilderment appeared on his face.

"It's just muggle humor," Harry whispered to Theodore and then shouted to Hermione. "I'm sleeping!"

"Harry, please come out. I want to talk to you," Hermione said.

"About what?" Harry asked.

"Come out and find out.”

"Give me a minute."

Harry got up from his seat, spread out the invisibility cloak in his hands, and wrapped Theodore in it.

"I don't think she'll leave," Harry said apologetically to Theodore before walking out into the hallway. "I'll see you at school, okay?"

 

* * *

 

 

As the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station, Harry was taken aback by the unusual sight before him. The carriages that normally ferried students to the castle were being pulled by creatures he'd never seen before. They were gaunt and bony, with dragon-like snouts and wings that appeared to be made of a translucent, ethereal substance.

"What are those?" Harry asked in amazement, staring at the creatures in wonder. "Thestrals?"

Although he'd heard of Thestrals before, this was the first time he was actually seeing them, despite the fact that he obviously was supposed to notice them earlier. He hesitantly reached out and stroked the soft, warm skin of one of the creatures.

“What a handsome lad you are" he whispered, admiring the Thestral.

Ron looked at Harry with confusion. "Who are you talking to, mate?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Myself, of course. I must be going crazy from lack of sleep on the train. Can you believe it? Thestrals are here, pulling the carriages. Did you even know they have them at school?"

Hermione joined Ron, both of them looking at Harry with concern. Other students started to gather around, curious about what was going on. Harry couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, as he was the only one who could see the Thestrals.

"Impossible!" Hermione exclaimed. "There's no mention of them in Hogwarts History!"

Harry took hold of her wrist and placed her hand on the side of the thestral. She gasped in surprise as she felt the rough, hot skin under her hand.

"But how did you know about them, Harry?" she asked. "I've only heard of them."

"I came across their information over the summer," Harry replied.

"I wish I could see them too," Hermione said wistfully.

Harry looked at her doubtfully. Hermione quickly realized her mistake and corrected herself.

"That's not what I meant," she said.

"Hey, Gryffindors," Cassius Warrington, the school's new prefect, called out to them. "If you're done with your extracurricular activities, could you please join the others in the carriages? You're holding up the line."

"I've heard that thestrals are bad luck," Ron said uneasily as they quickly climbed into the carriage and it started to pull away.

"It's just a superstition," Luna said calmly, her gaze slightly distant and dreamy. "People are often afraid of what they don't see or understand."

"Like Wrackspurts, for instance?" Ginny asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"I don't think anyone is afraid of Wrackspurts," Luna said in a sing-song voice. "Most people don't even believe they exist. But they should be afraid. They fly into the ears of some wizards and cause mental damage. Thestrals, on the other hand, are adorable. I sometimes go to the Forbidden Forest to feed them. They love raw meat, you know..."

"Let me know next time you go," Harry said abruptly.

"Of course, Harry Potter. I'll be sure to call you," Luna said seriously, while Hermione, Ron, and Ginny looked at them with confusion.

 

* * * 

 

 

"Mr. Potter, may I have a moment of your time?" Professor McGonagall requested as he entered the Great Hall.

"Yes, of course, Professor," Harry replied and walked over to her.

"Mr. Potter," she began, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Unfortunately, when you were mistakenly expelled from school this summer, the Ministry of Magic didn't just send you a letter. They also removed your entry from the Hogwarts Student Book."

Harry felt his heart drop. He didn't fully understand what McGonagall was saying, but he didn't like the sound of it.

"The Hogwarts Student Book is a special artifact that is linked to the magic of the castle and, as a result, the Sorting Hat," she explained, noticing his confusion. "So you are no longer considered a student at Hogwarts and you need to be sorted again."

"What?" Harry's mind struggled to process the information.

"You need to be sorted again, Mr. Potter," McGonagall repeated, her lips set in a tight line.

"What if the Hat assigns me to another house?" Harry asked, his mouth feeling dry.

"You'll be studying in a different house," she answered in her usual stoic manner. "But I wouldn't worry, Mr. Potter. I have known you for many years and I am confident that you are a true Gryffindor. Now go join your classmates. I'll call for you after the first years' sorting is finished."

With unsteady legs, Harry walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Ron.

"What did McGonagall want from you?" he asked.

"She was warning me that I'm going to be sorted again," Harry replied, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

"What? Why?" Ron frowned.

"Because I was expelled from school over the summer, and some records disappeared from some book..." Harry explained, feeling overwhelmed.

"Oh, don't worry about it, mate!" Ron said, as if he understood the situation. "Where else would the Hat put you if not in Gryffindor?"

Harry felt a growing sense of unease, which soon turned into a mild panic attack. His friends were talking about Hagrid's absence from Hogwarts and speculating on his whereabouts, but it all sounded distant to Harry.

What would happen if the Hat put him in another house?

No, he couldn't even think about it. He would convince the Hat to put him in Gryffindor. He could be a hero, honest and brave, just like everyone wanted. And he would stop dreaming about escaping from Voldemort, the damned prophecy and finally having his own life...

At least he could pretend.

Throughout the sorting ceremony, Harry continued to build up arguments in his head for the Hat, trying to convince it to keep him in Gryffindor. And then, when Professor McGonagall called his name, the Sorting Hat's voice echoed in his head.

"Long time no see, Harry Potter," the Hat said. "I see you have put a lot of thought into how you can convince me to do what you want. That's a truly Slytherin act!" it laughed. "I think you know where you truly belong..."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Chapter 6: The Boy Everyone Hates

Cassius Warrington escorted Potter to his fifth-year dormitory just before lights out. Theodore couldn't help but wonder if Harry had been with Dumbledore the entire time.

"So, Potter, your bunk is the one closest to the door," Cassius said, pointing to a four-poster bed against the wall. "And the boys' showers are down the corridor to the left. Everything else should be familiar to you, but if you need anything, just ask."

"Thanks, Warrington," Harry replied, sounding a bit grim but still polite.

Cassius then turned to the rest of the fifth-year students. "I have a special order from the Head of House for you all. No hair on Potter's head is to be harmed by any Slytherin student. If it does, Snape will be held responsible, and he won't hesitate to take action against offenders. So consider yourselves warned."

Malfoy snorted, "And what if it does happen? What then, Cas?"

"Then Professor Snape will be in trouble," Warrington said wearily. "And he doesn't take kindly to those who cause problems for him. Malfoy, you can try if you're brave enough. My job is to deliver the message."

With one last warning look, Cassius left the room, promising severe consequences for anyone who disobeyed Snape's orders.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed and began searching through his trunk for something.

"Potter," Draco approached him immediately. "If you think we're all thrilled to have you here, you're clearly mistaken."

Harry shot him an annoyed look of disbelief but didn't respond. His expression made it clear that he believed the exact opposite.

"And don't even think about playing Quidditch ever again!" Malfoy sneered. "You may be a star in Gryffindor, but you have no place on the Slytherin team. Got it?"

"Malfoy, honestly, I don’t give a fuck about Quidditch right now," Harry snapped.

He stood up slowly, turned to his bed, and cast a protective spell around it.

"Anyone who comes near me at night risks spending a week in the Hospital Wing," Harry warned in a menacing tone. His voice was so icy and intense that it elicited fear even from Theo, not to mention Malfoy.

For a moment, Malfoy looked taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure and retreated to his corner with a haughty expression. Blaise couldn't help but smirk.

Harry disappeared behind his bed curtains, but Malfoy complained for a long time about how fate was unjust and that they now had to endure the presence of the "Golden Boy" in their dormitory. In the end, even Crabbe stopped responding to him and pretended to be asleep.

As the dormitory grew quiet, with only Goyle's snores breaking the peace, Theodore approached Harry's bed. The rustling of pages indicated that Harry was still awake.

"Harry," Theodore whispered.

Harry pulled back the bed curtains and looked at Theodore with a neutral expression.

"Get in," he said quietly.

"What about your protective spells?" Theodore asked.

"You won't be affected," Harry assured him and moved aside to let Theodore in.

Theodore climbed into the bed and cast a spell to create a soundproof barrier around them.

"How are you doing?" Theodore asked, leaning back against the wall.

Harry was still in his trousers and partially unbuttoned shirt, sitting cross-legged on the bed. A crumpled Slytherin tie was lying near his pillow.

"It's like my worst nightmare has come true," Harry said in a mournful tone, pulling his knees to his chest and holding them tight. "Snape is furious, McGonagall is grieving, and Dumbledore is disappointed. I didn't have a chance to talk to Ron and Hermione before Snape took me to the Headmaster's office, but perhaps that's for the best. I'm afraid to imagine their reactions... And to make matters worse, our new DADA professor is a nasty toad who tried to convince the Wizengamot to take away my wand and isolate me from others. And that's not even taking into account the fact that I now have to spend most of my day among people who would happily turn me over to Voldemort or kill me themselves... Do you think I'll even make it to the end of the year?"

"You will make it," Theodore replied firmly, leaving no room for doubt. "Harry, I've already told you, not everyone in our school wants to harm you. And even fewer support the Dark Lord... Furthermore, you're not alone. I'll have your back."

"No," Harry firmly shook his head. "Covering my back will only draw attention to you and put a target on your own."

"So what? Do you think I'll just stand by and watch as someone tries to curse you or do something even worse?" 

"It would be easier for me," Harry said, looking up at Theo with a sad smile. "They will only use you to get to me. I don't want to put you in danger. I couldn't forgive myself if you were hurt because of me. I don't want anyone to know how much you mean to me."

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at his words. Theo swallowed hard.

"Okay, Harry. If that's what you want, no one has to know."

He could go for it. Harry didn’t ask him to let no one know how much he did mean to Theo.

 

* * *

The next morning, before breakfast, Harry stood at the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, waiting for someone to emerge so he could ask them to summon Ron and Hermione.

After about ten minutes, the portrait of the Fat Lady finally swung open, and two second-year students stepped out into the hallway.

"Hello Demelza, Karin," Harry greeted them, hoping he had remembered their names correctly.

Both girls stared at him warily.

"Could you please ask Hermione to see me?" Harry continued, ignoring their suspicious looks. "She might still be asleep, but I really need to see her."

"Ok, we'll call her," Demelza nodded with some hesitation, and the two girls promptly disappeared behind the portrait.

A few minutes later, Hermione emerged. Her pajama pants poked out from under her hastily buttoned robes, and her hair was in a wild tangle, reminiscent of her younger years.

"Harry! Oh, thank goodness you're here!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "Are you okay?"

"I'm straight out of the serpentarium, but safe and sound," Harry tried to joke, relieved that Hermione wasn't mad at him.

"We were going to meet you for breakfast. Let me wake Ron up and tidy up a bit, and then we can talk properly. Will you wait for us?" Hermione chattered as she led him inside the Gryffindor common room.

"Hermione, wait, I don't think I should be going in there..." Harry tried to stop her.

"Nonsense! You shouldn't be standing in the corridor." Hermione protested, dismissing his objections. “Come. I’ll be quickly!”

Harry took a seat on the couch closest to the tower exit. The usually bustling common room was now quiet and nearly empty, with only a few undergrads waiting for their friends to join them for breakfast.

But trouble was not going to wait.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Cormac McLaggen barked, his face contorted with anger. It was as if he had just caught Harry red-handed over a fresh corpse.

"I'm waiting for Ron and Hermione," Harry replied, trying to keep his tone calm.

"You're not a Gryffindor anymore, and you have no business being here!" McLaggen practically screamed. "Get out of here, you slime!"

"I'll be where I please," Harry retorted, his voice steady and unruffled.

"Cormac is right. You don't belong here and we don’t want you here," Seamus Finnigan's familiar voice interjected from above.

Harry looked up to see Seamus descending the spiral staircase from the bedrooms. He looked tense and ready for a fight.

"Come on, guys, is this really bothering you so much?  Why can't you just sleep in this morning?" Harry asked wearily, making one final attempt to diffuse the situation peacefully. "I'll wait for my friends and then leave."

"Get out now!" McLaggen growled, brandishing his wand.

"Don't make me laugh, Cormac," Harry replied coolly, his eyes fixed skeptically on McLaggen. "You wouldn't last a minute against me."

Thanks to the Triwizard Tournament, Harry had been practicing a wide range of defensive and offensive spells for the past year. He had even gone head-to-head with Ron and Hermione at the same time, and McLaggen was no match for him.

"But even you can't handle both of us, Potter!" Seamus shouted.

It felt like a gut-punch to Harry.

"Really, Seamus?" Harry narrowed his eyes. "We got along just fine in the same dorm for four years, but as soon as I switch houses, you're ready to fight me?"

"Do you think that all there is to it?" Seamus spat, his voice filled with animosity. "The Sorting Hat just confirmed what I already knew about you. You're a liar who craves attention! That's why my mother didn't want me to come to school this year."

"I see," Harry said, standing up. "It's not surprising, I guess. Should I be insulted? Probably not. Not my fault you and your mother just read the Daily Prophet and believe every rubbish you find there!"

"Oh, don't even try to deny it," Seamus sneered. "I figured you out a long time ago."

"Funny, Finnigan," Harry drawled. "Turns out you're not just a jerk, but dumb as fuck too."

Seamus's face turned red with rage.

"So what are you waiting for? Curse me," Harry said, spreading his arms wide. Adrenaline surged through his veins. He wanted this fight.

Seamus didn't hesitate. Two curses flew at Harry at once. He managed to deflect Seamus's Furunculus with Protego and dodge McLaggen's unknown curse by diving behind the couch.

Seamus followed up with a Stinging Curse, and McLaggen sent Reducto. Harry's reflexes saved him, and he shouted:

"Protego Maxima!"

The beams collided with the shield and were reflected into one of the common room windows, causing an explosion and the sound of shattering glass. The third-year girls, who had been watching the fight, screamed and covered their heads to avoid the fragments.

"What the hell is going on here?" Ron barked. "Are you wankers out of your minds?! Did you want to murder him?"

With the explosion and screams, half of the House rushed to the scene.

"What happened?" Hermione asked worriedly as she approached.

"McLaggen and Finnigan attacked Harry," Ron replied, still holding them at wand-point.

"What makes you think we attacked your buddy and not the other way around?" McLaggen sounded genuinely indignant.

Seamus remained silent.

"Because I know Harry," Ron answered. "And because I'm not blind and I saw you both send stinging and exploding curses at him at the same time!"

"Seamus, why?" Neville Longbottom asked with sadness as if he was struggling to understand. "Harry is still our friend, no matter what house he's in."

Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards Neville for his support. At least someone still believed in him.

"Why can't you see that?" Finnigan yelled, pushing past the crowd. "He's a slug now! Slime and filthy liar! He's not one of us anymore!" And with that, he stormed up the stairs towards the bedrooms.

"McLaggen, you'll be fixing that window," Hermione stated in a threatening tone. "As soon as we have rubies, I'll deduct twenty points from both of you for your unacceptable behavior as Gryffindors. And make no mistake, I will be informing Professor McGonagall about the whole situation."

"Granger, you're not the only prefect here," Jeffrey Hooper, a seventh-year, retorted angrily. "Don't you think you're overstepping your bounds?"

"Oh, you want to take care of it yourself, Hooper?" Hermione shot back. "Fine, go ahead. I hope you can explain yourself to Professor McGonagall, because I have better things to do. And don't forget to share the schedule with everyone."

Hermione took Harry's hand and led the way out of the Gryffindor Tower, with Ron following close behind.

"Harry," she began tentatively as they stepped out onto the open terrace between the third and fourth floors in the west wing of the castle.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry assured her, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm used to it by now. Remember last year?"

"But it's never been like this," she replied, looking upset. "Ron, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know, Hermione," Ron said, his eyes fixed on the green tie around Harry's neck with disdain. "This isn't just some tournament or rumours about who opened the Chamber of Secrets. The Sorting Hat has actually put him in Slytherin. That's never happened before... How come, Harry? Why did it happen? I really don't get it... It must be just a sodding  mistake, right?"

Harry leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on the distant landscape. The Forbidden Forest was a sea of green, lush and abundant from the summer's warmth. But as the leaves began to change and fall, the colors would transform into a kaleidoscope of yellows and crimsons. Harry's gaze shifted to the skies above the forest, where several Thestrals could be seen soaring among the clouds. Their wings were slender and ethereal, shimmering in the sunlight like gossamer threads. The graceful movements of these creatures made them seem almost weightless and so free.

"I never told you this, but the Sorting Hat wanted to put me to Slytherin in my first year," Harry finally confessed. "This time, it just didn't give me a choice. I guess it's because I don't have much Gryffindor in me anymore."

"Don't you dare say that, Harry," Hermione said firmly. "You are the bravest and most honest person I know."

Harry's defenses crumbled. He couldn't keep it inside any longer.

"How can you say that, Hermione?" he asked, his voice filled with frustration. "Can't you see that I lie to everyone all the time? To you and Ron, to Sirius, to Dumbledore… Seamus saw this…  I'm not brave at all. I pretend to be, but I'm scared all the time. I was scared to death when I went to the Forbidden Forest, when I climbed into the Chamber of Secrets, when we saved Sirius... It was you who were always brave, not me. I would be nothing without you. I wake up almost every night from my own screams when I see how Voldemort tortures and kills people, but I do nothing... Nothing at all. When Sirius told me about the prophecy, do you know what I wanted more than anything in the world? To run away! You see… Not to go kill Voldemort like I should, but to run… I guess, I can't be what you want me to be."

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione walked over to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her voice was soft, with a hint of pain, making Harry feel guilty. "We're your friends. We want you to be happy and safe, not to go on some insane crusade against Voldemort. We love you, and no piece of old felt will ever change that."

Harry gratefully squeezed her shoulder. 

"Ron," Harry called out cautiously when he noticed Ron still standing behind them. He was well aware that for Ron, House rivalry was a serious matter. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Harry turned to face Ron, who was looking down at his feet.

"We're friends, yes," Ron said in a low voice. "We've been friends for four years, and I always thought I knew you, Harry... But your words and actions… All this summer. It’s like  I don't understand who you are anymore. Maybe… Maybe I never really understood you, but I thought I did."

Harry felt a painful twisting in his gut and a lump in his throat. He couldn't say a word, so he simply nodded.

"I'm going," Ron said finally, struggling to speak. "I need to think. It's all too much... I don’t know what you’ve expected after all."

With that, Ron turned and left.

Harry and Hermione remained on the terrace, looking silently at the Forbidden Forest for a long time until they finally shivered in the cold wind.

By the time Harry and Hermione reached the Great Hall, breakfast was almost over. Harry grabbed the cold toast from his plate and received the timetable from Malfoy, who handed it over cautiously. Like he expected to catch dragon pox or at least the bubonic plague from him.

The schedule for the fifth-year Slytherins showed double Transfiguration and Herbology classes in the morning, followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon. Care of Magical Creatures and Potions were not until the day after tomorrow, meaning there were no joint lessons with Gryffindor for another two days. This thought brought Harry both annoyance and relief.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Blaise Zabini sat next to Harry in Transfiguration.

"Hello, Potter," Blaise said with a broad smile. "I used to always have Transfiguration with Tracey Davis, but she transferred to Ilvermorny. Did you hear about it?"

Harry nodded, feeling a little confused.

"That's very unfortunate," Blaise continued. "Now I don't even know how I'll pass my OWLs. Tracey always helped me with complex multi-step transformations. How are you with them?

"Not very good," Harry admitted, still half expecting some kind of trick.

"That's okay," Blaise replied cheerfully. "So, we'll figure it out together. I need to pass Transfiguration with at least an 'Exceed Expectations' grade. I hope you're serious about your studies. Oh, I almost forgot to ask, do you mind if we sit together and practice as partners?"

McGonagall strode into the classroom, her stern gaze scanning the room as she took her place at the front of the room. Harry didn't have a chance to answer Blaise's question before McGonagall started the lesson.

For the next three hours, Harry and his classmates were kept busy with a comprehensive test that covered the material they would encounter on future OWL exams. The test was designed to assess what knowledge they had retained from their previous courses and to determine their strengths and weaknesses. McGonagall kept the students on their toes during the entire test. Harry found himself working hard to keep up with the pace, scribbling furiously on his parchment as he attempted to answer each question to the best of his abilities.

When the test was over, McGonagall asked Harry to stay behind. She walked over to him, her expression softening as she spoke.

"Mr. Potter," she said, "I want you to remember that my office door is always open to you, regardless of the color of your tie."

Harry nodded, a sense of gratitude washing over him. "Thank you, Professor," he replied. "I won't forget."

As Harry walked to the greenhouses, he was accompanied by Blaise Zabini. Despite the test being over, Blaise was still fixated on it and kept questioning Harry about his specific answers and reasoning. Although Harry was skeptical of Blaise's sudden show of friendliness, he chose to be polite and not cause any offense. After all, he knew very well that Zabini was a close friend of Theo.

When they reached the greenhouse, they were approached by Daphne Greengrass. This was the first time Harry had heard her speak.

"I used to have Herbology with Tracey Davis, but her parents took her to America. You may have heard," she informed Harry. "Since I don't have a partner now, I'll work with you."

When all the fifth-year students from Slytherin and Ravenclaw gathered in greenhouse number eight, Professor Sprout started the lesson.

"Today we're going to learn how to quickly increase the population of plants propagated by cuttings using the Accelerato Incrementum spell," she said. "Break into pairs and take a pot of toothy geraniums. Your task is to get at least five or six healthy new specimens instead of just one plant. But be careful! It's important to transplant the new cutting before it drinks all the water in the soil. Also, remember to fertilize the soil in a timely manner, or the toothy geraniums won't have enough energy to grow, and your plants will wither no matter how much magic you put into them. The whole process of growing toothy geraniums is described in detail on page twenty-four in your textbooks. Get started!"

Harry and Daphne turned out to be a great team. Daphne did the magic and directed the process, while Harry did all the physical work. By the end of the session, they had nine pots of young and healthy toothy geraniums in front of them. Professor Sprout even praised them for the best result in the class and even awarded them ten bonus points for their excellent work.

At lunchtime, Harry was seated with his new classmates, much to his surprise. With the exception of Blaise, who never seemed to stop talking, no one tried to engage him in conversation. And to Harry's relief, no one clung to him, not even Malfoy. Pansy Parkinson and Malfoy would occasionally whisper and shoot him hateful glances, but they refrained from speaking to him out loud.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry took a seat at the farthest desk from the teacher's table, with Theodore sitting beside him.

"Let me guess, you used to be in DADA with Tracey Davis?" Harry whispered to Theodore.

"With Blaise, as a matter of fact. So it took a little rearranging this time," Theodore replied with a smile. "Lucky for us, no one wants to sit with Goyle. Do you mind?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "But I don't understand how you managed it all."

"It's actually not that complicated," Theodore explained. "I simply persuaded my classmates that it's better to have you as an ally than a foe.  Slytherins value profitable alliances."

"And they agreed?" Harry asked, a mixture of bewilderment and genuine surprise in his eyes.

"Not everyone," Theodore admitted. "Malfoy, for one, was vehemently opposed. But Daphne agreed, and since Malfoy has been afraid of her since their first year, he tries to avoid any trouble.”

"I can relate," Harry said with a little smirk. "I'm a little bit afraid of her too."

"That's perfectly fine," Theodore reassured him. "Everyone is afraid of Daphne, except for Astoria. But that could be because Astoria is Daphne's sister and she generally lacks a sense of self-preservation. She's completely fearless. I think you'll get along with her."

Chapter 7: What Do Snakes Like?

"Mr. Potter, I apologize for interrupting your breakfast…

Harry lifted his gaze from his bowl of oatmeal and met the gaze of the two children sitting across from him at the Slytherin table. They appeared to be first-year students. Both a blond-haired boy with a round face and a skinny girl with curly, fiery red hair were staring at him with curious eyes.

"Mr. Potter... My name is Ulick Gump, and this is my classmate Meab... Me.. Med." the boy stuttered and blushed.

"Meadhbh!" she corrected indignantly. "Meadhbh Filitiarn-Diarmuid! What's so difficult?"

"Nice to meet you, Ulick and Meab…" Harry stammered at her name, casting a sympathetic look at the boy.

"Ugh, this is frustrating!" Meadhbh exclaimed as she impatiently shook her fiery, curly locks. "Okay, fine! Call me Maeve."

"Pleasure, Maeve," Harry smiled. Funny kids, how come they ended up in Slytherin… "You can call me Harry, no need for any 'misters,' okay?"

The children obediently nodded.

"Do you want something?" Harry asked.

"Yes..." Ulick was obviously very shy. "If you don't mind... We wanted to ask you something. Could we? If you don't mind..."

Harry nodded, but Ulick still seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Can you really talk to snakes?" Maeve blurted out, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

"Yes, I can," Harry said with a slight frown, unsure of what they were getting at.

"And you can talk to them like you do with people?" Maeve asked for clarification.

"I suppose so," Harry replied uncertainly. "I mean, how else would you talk to someone? I'm not sure I understand your question."

"Well... Can you ask a snake what it likes to eat, for example?" Maeve asked.

"Maybe," Harry said thoughtfully. "I don't have a lot of experience talking to snakes."

"Why? Don't you like them?" Ulick asked anxiously.

"No, it's not that... I just don't come across them very often."

"Oh, good," he breathed a sigh of relief for some reason. "Could I ask you to talk to my snake?"

"Uh..." 

"Gump's parents gave him a snake after he was sorted into Slytherin," Maeve explained, sensing Harry's confusion. "He tried feeding her mice, but she wouldn't eat them and just crawled away. We've tried different things and even asked others for help... Then Malcolm Baddock told us that he heard from someone that you can talk to snakes, and maybe you could ask her what she likes to eat."

"No problem then," Harry grinned, looking relieved. "If all it takes is having a chat with a snake and finding out what it likes to eat, I'm all for it. I may not be a snake expert, but I'll definitely pass along what I learn from her."

"Thank you!" Ulick beamed. Maeve also looked pleased and proud of herself.

Malfoy strode into the Great Hall, accompanied by Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"What, Potter, did you grow your fan club?" he sneered as he approached the Slytherin table. "Are you trying to win over the Slytherins now?"

"Draco, it's Gamp with him..." Pansy tried to warn him, rolling her eyes discreetly, but Malfoy didn't pay any attention to her.

"Oh, you've found yourself some intellectually stimulating friends," he added snidely, disregarding Parkinson's words.

"Thankfully, yes. I have. Spending three days with you in the same dorm has almost made me forget what it's like to have a good conversation. Thanks guys, you've been a great help," Harry retorted and returned his attention to the first-years. "I have to go to class now. Malfoy's face has ruined my appetite. I'll see you guys later, okay?"

* * *

 

The entire first year of Slytherin, along with second-year Michael Baddock and a few of his noisy friends, had gathered for Potter's Snake Communication session that afternoon.

Ulick brought a small snake from the first-year dormitory. Harry had never seen anything like it before. The snake had a very unusual coloring, with scales that appeared to be iridescent and shimmered with red, yellow, green, and even purple. Perhaps she was magical?

"Her name is Wanambi," Ulick said, handing the snake over to Harry. "I named her after one of the names of the Australian Rainbow Serpent."

"Hi Wanambi," Harry greeted the snake in Parseltongue as he took her from Ulick's hands.

"Speaker! Have you come to save me from these foolish people?" the snake immediately responded, and Harry thought he detected a note of genuine delight in her hiss.

"I'm afraid not," Harry quickly replied, trying to disappoint her. "You are now Ulick's familiar."

"What is a familiar?" the snake asked, intrigued.

"A familiar is an animal that helps and protects a wizard. Your wizard is Ulick. He brought you here," Harry explained.

"He smells delicious," the snake said with a touch of humor. "Okay."

"Will you protect him?" Harry asked, just to be sure, clarifying what the snake's "okay" referred to.

"If he takes good care of me," Wanambi replied with a regal air.

Eleven pairs of eyes followed Harry's every move as he turned to the kids.

"What did she say?" Ulick asked.

"I'm just explaining the situation to her right now," Harry said diplomatically, now speaking in English.

"Ask her what she likes!" Maeve reminded him.

"Is she poisonous?"

"Does she hibernate in winter?"

"Can I hold her later?"

The children bombarded Harry with questions, interrupting each other. Harry raised his hand to calm them down and asked them to take turns asking questions so he could translate.

Twenty minutes later, Harry and the young Slytherins were proud owners of Wanambi's full list of food choices. It turned out that she did like to eat mice, but the one Ulick offered her was dead and, according to Wanambi, "stunk." She also enjoyed eating tadpoles and some insects, and even graciously agreed to try quail eggs.

Ulick seemed pleased that he could feed his snake something that didn't squeak pitifully while it was being eaten.

"Wow, I forgot he could speak Parseltongue," Ferg, a seventh-year student, exclaimed as he saw Harry and the group of Slytherin students gathered by the fire.

"So what?" Adrian Pucey sneered. "It's still just Potter."

"Oh, come on, Adrian," Ferg dismissed him. "I've never seen a real parselmouth in my life! This is so awesome! Have you ever wondered what snakes are saying?"

Ferg approached them and politely asked, "Potter, would you mind if I sat with you and listened to you talk to the snake?"

"It's Ulick's snake, not mine," Harry shrugged. "If he doesn't mind, then be my guest."

"I don't mind at all," Ulick eagerly agreed.

"Thank you, little man," Ferg said respectfully, bowing slightly towards Ulick. "Let's get to know each other. I'm Fergus Hilliard."

"So, where were we?" Harry asked, turning back to the snake.

"You were asking Wanambi if she remembered her mother," Helga Monkley reminded him.

* * *

 

By the third week of September, Potter appeared to have finally settled into his role in Slytherin.

Theo was studying Ancient Runes in the living room and looked up to see Harry instructing a first-year girl with curly red hair on how to perform color-changing spells. He was using items from his backpack to practice the charm, and the coffee table in front of them was now covered with stationery and textbooks in every color of the rainbow.

However, the girl put too much magic into her spell, and suddenly everything on the table, including the table itself and the carpet beneath it, turned bright purple.

"Potter, don't forget to put everything back in order when you're finished," Warrington grumbled as he walked by. "And when the first years start learning Levitation, could you kindly move your tutoring sessions out of the common room into an empty classroom? I don't want anyone getting hurt by a flying chair."

"Of course, Mr. Prefect," Harry replied with a playful tone. With a wave of his wand, he restored all the objects to their original colors without even saying the spell aloud.

Heir Gump approached them and asked something quietly. Harry started laughing and quickly explained something to him.

"Ask him out," Astoria Greengrass whispered in Theo's ear as she perched on the arm of his chair and looked at him with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Theo flinched in surprise and dropped the dictionary, having not heard Astoria approach. "Pardon?" he exclaimed, caught off guard.

"Ask Potter on a date," Astoria repeated, her voice calm. "I think he's lonely. Why else would he spend so much time with the first years?"

Theo turned away from her and rubbed his face with his hands, hoping that when he opened his eyes again, Astoria would have disappeared.

"It seems to me like there's some kind of attraction between you two," Astoria persisted, not giving up. "I've noticed the way you look at each other sometimes..."

"There is nothing between us," Theodore snapped. He wasn't lying to her. In order for there to be something "between" them, there would need to be mutual interaction. Meanwhile Harry had been ignoring Theodore. No, he greeted him each morning, chatted in class, and sometimes even conversed with him and Blaise during meals in the Great Hall. However, they had not been alone since the first night of the term, and Harry did not show any signs that Theodore was more to him than just a classmate. It was like Harry never told Theodore that he meant a lot to him. Or maybe Theodore was just having wishful thinking and Harry never felt the way Theodore imagined.

"Since you insist so..." Astoria said in disbelief and quickly offered an alternative. "Then ask Daphne! We're finally allowed to go to Hogsmeade this weekend, have you heard? I think this is a perfect opportunity for a first date. You could go to Madame Puddifoot's tea room. I've heard they have delicious cakes..."

"No, my dear Astoria," Theodore guessed what she was getting at. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of your beloved sister's company on your first trip to Hogsmeade."

Astoria pouted in frustration.

"I'll slip away from her anyway," she stated with eagerness. "Vazy, Loughington, and I are going to sneak into Boar's Head and try some firewhiskey! I've heard that for a small fee, the bartender won't check our age. I just need to find a way to keep Daphne occupied."

"I see you have decided to confide in me with your plans," Nott said with a smirk. "But why exactly shouldn't I inform your sister?"

"Oh, Theodore," Astoria smiled charmingly and ran her fingers through his hair. "You know... Your little secret is safe with me as long as my secrets remain between us. Be grateful I'm not asking you to cover for me. I could, though."

Astoria must have been sent to the Greengrass family by demons from the depths of hell.

* * *

 

Harry was walking back to the dungeons after a frustrating Divination class, feeling disgruntled. Umbridge had come to inspect Professor Trelawney and it was a terrible experience. Despite not being a fan of Trelawney, Harry found himself feeling sorry for her multiple times. It also irritated him that Ron kept acting as if Harry had become some kind of monster. Sure, he would talk to Harry when Hermione made them spend time together, and sit at the same table in class, but he kept such a distance that Harry couldn't help but feel hurt.

As he walked down a deserted fifth-floor hallway, Harry stumbled upon Maeve, who was sitting on the windowsill and crying.

Harry approached her and sat down on the windowsill beside her in silence. Maeve tried to hide her tear-stained face behind her red curls.

"What do you want, Potter?" she asked rudely, between sobs.

"Me? Nothing," Harry replied, transfiguring a snow-white handkerchief from a piece of parchment and offering it to her.

"Thanks," Maeve muttered, looking at him disapprovingly but accepting the handkerchief nonetheless. She blew her nose noisily and then gave Harry a stern look. "Now leave."

"Nah," Harry replied nonchalantly. "This windowsill is quite comfortable, and the view is fantastic. Look, the giant squid is trying to catch a crow again."

Maeve turned to the window and watched as the giant squid splashed in the water, trying to grab with its long tentacles one of the crows that was teasing it.

"Helga and Hekate mock me all the time because I don't have nice clothes or accessories, not even normal feathers and a bag like theirs,” Maeve said, still looking out the window with tear-filled eyes. "And today after last class, I tripped on the staircase and my shoes completely broke apart. I don't have any other shoes to wear. I can't go back to the dorms like this. Those stupid cows will just laugh at me even more!"

Harry looked down at her worn-out shoes. The sole on the left was peeling off and there was a large hole on the right, revealing the toe of her knee-high socks. A simple Reparo spell wouldn't be enough. Harry had to put in extra effort and use multiple layers of enchantments and Transfiguration, but ten minutes later, Maeve's shoes looked as good as new.

"How did you do this so perfectly?" Maeve asked in amazement. "Even my mum can't do this so neatly... Do your charms usually last long, Potter?Are you sure my shoes won't fall apart before I reach the dorms?"

"With Muggle clothes, the charms usually last for a week or so. I imagine with wizard-made leather shoes, it would last even longer," Harry reassured her. "If charms start to wear off, just come find me and I'll fix them up again."

"So long?" Maeve was impressed. "Wait, have you tested it?"

"Of course, many times."

"Are you saying that the famous Harry Potter wears mended shoes?" 

"Not this year, but usually yes," Harry said softly. "Let me tell you, Maeve, after the death of my parents, I was sent to live with my Muggle relatives who, to put it mildly, hated me and everything related to magic. So, I spent most of my life wearing my cousin's hand-me-downs and my first set of new clothes was my Hogwarts school uniform."

Maeve looked at him in shock and then started to cry again.

"My sister Clothra has to wear my old clothes all the time," Maeve sobbed. "If our parents can send her to Hogwarts next year too, she'll have to wear my old robes..."

Oh Merlin.

"It's great that we can use magic to make things look almost like new, right?" Harry tried to cheer her up.

"If only that were true," Maeve said with a sigh, blowing her nose loudly. "I mean, things still fall apart eventually, you know?" She then opened up to Harry. "My parents had to leave Ireland for some reason when I was just a baby. They run a small shop in Knockturn alley selling simple magical artifacts. My dad's a talented wizard, but making really cool stuff takes a lot of expensive materials."

Harry didn't know what to say, but Maeve didn't seem to mind.

"The truth is, I probably shouldn't even be here at Hogwarts," Maeve said. "All the books, cauldrons, potion ingredients, uniforms, and telescopes are way too expensive for us. My mom usually taught us at home. But then, over the summer, our neighbor's kid, Nandru Eminescu, went missing... He was a couple years younger than us, but we still hung out a lot together. When they couldn't find him, my parents thought it would be safer to send me here, away from Knockturn alley and all the dangerous people there."

Nandru…

As Maeve spoke, Harry had a sudden memory of the name of the boy. It was a rare name, but it felt familiar to him.

"I was..." Maeve trailed off, but Harry was no longer paying attention.
He remembered where he heard that name. 

"What is your name, child? Nandru? It's a beautiful name for a beautiful boy," Voldemort's icy voice echoed in Harry's mind. "Don't be afraid, Nandru. You will serve a great purpose. Magic will remember you."

"Hey Harry, are you okay?" Maeve asked, tugging on his sleeve. "You look like you're about to faint."

"I'm fine," Harry replied, his voice slightly hoarse and unsettled. "Maeve, can you tell me what your neighbor Nandru looked like? Did he have dark hair and eyes, almost like mine?"

"Yeah, actually" Maeve replied, looking at him in confusion. "Do you know him?"

"Not exactly... Look, Maeve, I think it's actually safer for you to be at Hogwarts," Harry said quickly. "Your neighbor Nandru isn't the first child to go missing. It seems like someone is kidnapping the children of wizards, and it's not clear when it will stop... I can help you with money and even give you all my old textbooks if you need them."

"We don't need other people's money," Maeve replied with pride. "But I'll take your old textbooks. Thanks."

"Okay," Harry nods with approval. He realizes that he needs some alone time to process everything. "Let's go. I'll walk you to the dorm."

He stood up from the windowsill and offered her his hand, but Maeve pulled away.

"I'm not five years old," she said indignantly. "I can go by myself."

* * *

Theodore was abruptly awoken from a peaceful dream by a loud whisper. He saw Harry Potter, who appeared worried, sitting on his bed. Potter was dressed in white shirt and gray pajama pants but wasn't wearing his glasses.

"What's going on?" Theodore asked, feeling nervous.

"Nothing," Harry replied, his voice filled with unease. "Well, something did happen, but not today. I was talking to Maeve tonight," he continued.

Theodore was confused. Why did Harry wake him up in the middle of the night if nothing serious had happened? "Who's Maeve?" 

"Meadhbh Filitiarn-Diarmuid," Harry answered without stumbling. 

 "Oh, your little girlfriend with the unpronounceable name. So, what did she say?"

Harry slightly scowled at Theodore's jest, but he didn't say anything about it.

"The boy that Voldemort killed in the ritual back in mid-August was Maeve's neighbor," Harry said, his voice becoming grave.

 All remnants of Theodore's sleep were now gone, replaced by a sudden alertness. His expression became somber. "Go on," he said, encouraging Harry to continue.

“I'm not totally sure, but the description and name fit. I've got a bad feeling this won't be the last time we see this kind of thing. Since I got back to Hogwarts, I haven't seen anything solid, but what I did see that night was enough to know that this is just the tip of the iceberg…  Remember when you showed me that book about dreamwalking on the train? You said it had methods to help me keep my magic in check while I'm in You-Know-Who's head, and maybe even get into his memories… Right?”

Theodore nodded, still hanging on Harry's every word.

"I want to give it a shot. I can't just sit around while he hurts people. If I can get a handle on his plans, maybe I can do something to stop him."

"Are you sure you want to go deeper into the Dark Lord's mind?" Theodore asked. "You already told Dumbledore about everything you saw, but it’s he who's not doing anything."

"I don't see any other way," Harry replied, his voice resolute. "Dumbledore might not be up for it, but someone's got to do something."

Theodore let out a big sigh.

"Alright, Harry," he said, sounding defeated. "Let's meet tomorrow after class on the third floor. There are a ton of empty classrooms we can use."

"Thanks, Theo," Potter said gratefully. "I'll go then. Goodnight."

"Oh. You're leaving now?" Nott asked, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Is there nothing else you wanted to discuss?"

"No, that was all I wanted to talk about," Potter replied, looking a bit confused.

"Then, can you maybe explain to me why you couldn't talk to me about this during the day, Harry?" Theo asked dryly. 

"I couldn't sleep," Potter explained simply.

Theodore felt a strong urge to strangle him.

"I'm sorry, Theo. I understand that waking you up in the middle of the night is something you don’t like," Potter apologized, noticing Theodore's facial expression.

"Exactly," Theodore said darkly, then quickly wrapped his arms around Potter from behind and pushed him onto the bed next to him, pulling his body to his own. 

"What are you doing?" Potter asked, sounding a bit nervous.

Theodore could feel Potter's muscles tense up, but he didn't try to break free or pull away.

"If you can act however you please, ignore me for two weeks, and then wake me up in the middle of the night like nothing happened, then I'll act however I please," Theodore whispered in Potter's ear, his voice carrying a hint of threat.

"Okay," Harry said, surprising Theodore, and snuggled even closer to him, resting his head on the pillow and pressing his back against Theodore's chest.

Feeling Harry relax in his embrace, Theodore sat up for a moment to pull the blanket over them. He then hugged Harry again and nuzzled the top of his head.

They remained in silence for a while, with Theodore slowly drifting off to sleep, lulled by the sound of Harry’s breathing and heartbeat. The sensation was overwhelmingly warm and cozy.

"You'll help me, right?" obnoxious Potter suddenly asked, breaking the peace.

"Yes, tomorrow," Theodore mumbled. "Now, sleep."

A few minutes later, Harry called out to him again.

"Theo," he said softly.

"Mm?" Theodore replied, still half-asleep.

"I left the invisibility cloak on my bed."

"You can Accio it in the morning."

"Actually, it's only invisible when someone is wearing it," Harry pointed out.

Theodore reached under the pillow, still holding Harry with his left arm, and retrieved his wand.

"Accio damn Potter's cloak," he muttered, casting the spell.

With a low whistle, the invisibility cloak flew from behind the curtains of Harry's bed and landed at the other end of the room in an instant. Theodore caught it with one hand and threw it at their feet.

"Can we sleep now?" he asked grumpily, pulling the curtains closed once more and returning his hand to its place.

"Now we can," Potter said, sounding satisfied.

Theodore could feel Harry smile, even though he couldn't see it.

Harry found Theodore's hand resting on his stomach and gently intertwined their fingers.

"Good night, Theo," he said in a quiet voice.

"Good night, Harry."

After some time, Harry's heartbeat slowed and his breathing became steady. Theodore realized that obnoxious Potter had finally fallen asleep. Theo lifted his head and tenderly brushed his lips against Harry's hair, enveloping him in a warm embrace before eventually surrendering to his own dreams.

 

Chapter 8: The Equinox

In the Forbidden Forest, the scent of firs, spicy-bitter rotting leaves, and autumn dampness hung heavily. Milky-white mist swirled around Harry's feet, spreading in different directions, revealing here and there patches of frost-kissed grass. Night frosts had already begun in northern Scotland.

Harry tried not to fall behind Luna Lovegood, who led the way along a path visible only to her. The crunch of broken branches and the squeak of small stones echoed under his boots. His own footsteps seemed obscenely loud, as if they insulted the morning quiet of the forest and its inhabitants.

They approached a thicket, where the forest grew even denser and darker. The sun barely reached the ground here, dimly filtering through the thick tree canopies. Luna disappeared behind a thicket of prickly bushes. Harry could only catch glimpses of her silvery-white hair somewhere ahead. In some incomprehensible way, Luna managed to glide through the forest like a fairy, while he snagged his cloak on every bush.

Harry was lagging behind, trying to catch up, but he stumbled over a log and sprawled out on a fluffy, damp carpet of pale purple moss. He propped himself up on his scratched palms, rose to his feet and lifted his head.

"Did you decide to take a break?" Luna was squatting in front of him, looking at him curiously. How had she gotten so close so quickly? "Try to gather your strength, Harry Potter. We're almost there."

"Oh, alright… Sure," he got up and brushed himself off casually, running his hands over his trousers and cloak a couple of times. He didn't make much effort to clean himself of all the pieces of wet moss and burdock. He'd have to thoroughly tidy up his clothes once they returned to the castle anyway.

"I just tripped, Luna. These logs keep getting in the way."

"I think they just want to touch your bubbling magic," she said thoughtfully. "It must taste very good to them."

"It must…sorry, what?! Taste?..”

"Your magic, Harry, it's strong and pure. It's like streams of other magic flow into yours, mingling in a magical dance. That's why it feels so alive," she explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But don't worry, Harry Potter. The magical balance is still intact. Lady Magic is on your side."

Harry stared at her, blinking slowly, his brain trying to keep up with her imaginative description.

Luna didn't wait for an answer, though. With a graceful spin, she let her long hair fan out behind her and continued walking.

"Theo said something like that once..." Harry murmured to himself, thinking back to a conversation they had months ago about his connection with Voldemort. Theodore's explanation had been more straightforward, though. Was Luna revealing some deeper truth, or was he just searching for meaning in her whimsical words because he wanted to find it?

"We should keep moving, Harry Potter. The Thestrals are waiting for us," she said, pulling him back from his thoughts.

Before long, they found themselves in a glade that appeared unnaturally circular to Harry. Luna retrieved a parcel of raw meat from her bag and enlarged it back to its original dimensions.

Drawn by the scent of blood, the Thestrals emerged from the tree line and began to cautiously circle them. Harry accepted a small chunk of meat from Luna and offered it to the stallion that had drawn closest. The creature delicately seized the morsel.

Another Thestral approached from behind, gently resting its head on Harry's shoulder. He reached out to timidly scratch its snout and grasped another piece of meat.

As he held out the offering in his open hand, the Thestral hurriedly swallowed it, its sharp fangs unintentionally scraping Harry and leaving two shallow wounds. From the creature's mouth, a distinctly un-horse-like tongue snaked out to lick up the beads of blood. As Harry looked into its glowing white eyes, he thought he saw... was it gratitude?

"That's Tenebrus. He's the leader of the herd... I was certain you'd endear yourself to him," Luna's ethereal voice drifted to him. "You did well in allowing him a taste of your blood."

"Why?" Harry queried, perplexed.

"Now, he can find you wherever you are," Luna cryptically responded, although Harry wasn't entirely comforted by this revelation.

Harry moved away from Tenebrus, assisting Luna in distributing the rest of the meat to the other Thestrals. He made sure not to overlook any of the creatures while trying to maintain the integrity of his hands.

"It's so lovely to venture into the woods on such a special day with a friend," Luna mused as they finished the task.

"What's special about today?" Harry queried, his attention momentarily diverted by the cavorting foals.

"Today is the autumnal equinox," Luna announced with a hint of reverence in her voice. "It's the moment when day and night achieve equilibrium across the globe. From tonight, each succeeding day will become darker. An apt time for dark magic rituals, wouldn't you say?"

In reply, Harry mumbled something unintelligible. Right, the perfect time...

Quite unexpectedly, she furrowed her brow.

"We must head back, Harry Potter. If you're tardy for the next lesson, your boyfriend will fret."

"My what?.. Luna Lovegood, I don't have a boyfriend!" Harry objected. Where on earth did she conjure that notion?!

"Oh, I may have been confused," she admitted, looking somewhat flustered. "You mentioned him earlier, and... Well, never mind. It must have been my imagination..."

Before he could formulate a response, Luna was already vanishing into the treeline. Harry would swear that a faint silvery glow radiated from her hair as she departed.

Luna Lovegood was undeniably eccentric. And, without question, she possessed a truly unique perspective of the world around her.

But no matter what anyone said, Luna Lovegood was not unhinged.

"Hey! Luna, hold up. I'll lose my way here on my own," Potter called out and promptly hastened in her wake.

 

* * *

 

"What were you doing instead of History of Magic?" Theodore asked, feigning indifference as he allowed Harry to pass to the window by their desk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Potter looked somewhat stunned. Perhaps even bewildered. Usually, he had such an expression when Theodore unloaded a mountain of new information on him, and Harry needed time to digest it all.

"Sorry, what?" Potter asked, distractedly. Yes, he was clearly somewhere in the clouds.

"I asked, what were you doing? Instead of Binns," Theo repeated patiently.

"I was feeding the Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest with Luna Lovegood," Harry reported in a completely ordinary tone, as if there was nothing unusual about it. Never mind that the vast majority of Hogwarts students had never been in the Forbidden Forest, couldn't see Thestrals, and carefully avoided batty Lovegood.

Blaise, sitting in front of them, laughed as if he was hearing a good joke.

"Blaise, I think Potter isn't joking," Daphne Greengrass cut him off sternly.

"No way," Blaise dismissed. "The Forbidden Forest, Thestrals, Lovegood? Sounds like the beginning of a joke..."

"I'm not joking," Harry corroborated Daphne's supposition.

"Truly?! You never cease to surprise, Harry Potter!" Zabini had responded, letting out a whistle of astonishment. "And how did it go?"

"I enjoyed it," Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I have a soft spot for Thestrals... They're quite beautiful."

"Beautiful?!" The horror on Blaise's face was palpable. "Your taste is peculiar, Potter!"

"Perhaps," he grumbled, threw a strange look at Theodore, and for some reason blushed. Theo had noticed his ears acquire a distinct bright pink hue.

"No, of course, I've only seen them in pictures... And maybe I don't understand something," Blaise had continued, not paying attention to Potter's odd behavior.

"Pictures don't express everything," Harry replied with authority. "Sometimes it seems to me that they were drawn by someone who has never seen Thestrals with their own eyes... Only heard stories about them."

"That could very well be the case," Blaise didn't argue and turned to Nott. "Theodore, you see Thestrals too, right?"

"Yes, since the first year," he confirmed. "Though, it took me a couple of years to figure out exactly what I was seeing and why everyone calls the carriages from the station to Hogwarts 'horseless'."

"From the first? Sweet Salazar... But your grandmother only died two years ago... Who then?.." Zabini failed to shut up in time.

"My mother, Blaise. I was six. But, apparently, I was still able to comprehend death."

The awkward silence had been shattered when Umbridge stepped into the classroom.

"Good day, children!"

"Good day, Professor Umbridge," they responded in a dispirited chorus, rising from their seats as always demanded by the old toad.

Umbridge commenced her lesson, announced the day's subject, and began questioning students about the material from previous lessons.

"Mr. Potter, could you please enumerate the typology of situations where a wizard is legally authorized to use defensive magic?" she demanded.

Theodore's eyes shifted to Harry. The latter was staring absent-mindedly out of the window, seemingly paying no heed to what was transpiring in the classroom. Naturally, he hadn't registered the toad's question.

Theo gently prodded him under the table with his foot and directed a pointed glance at Umbridge.

"My apologies, Professor, did you ask something?" Harry asked, very politely, albeit forgetting to rise from his seat.

"A deduction of five points from Slytherin for your absolute inability to concentrate in class, Mr. Potter! And do have the courtesy to stand when you're responding during the lesson," on her face was a blend of loathing and indignation, but her voice maintained its sickly sweet tone. "I'll repeat the question. Try not to miss it this time. Under what circumstances is a wizard legally allowed to employ defensive magic?"

"If we consider it logically..." he began.

"Oh, Merlin... Harry, have you even cracked open the textbook?" Theodore sighed to himself.

"...a wizard may use defensive magic in all situations where his life or health, as well as the life or health of his loved ones, is threatened..."

"And what else?" the toad clarified in the same nauseating voice.

"Furthermore..." Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling as if the answer to her question could be written there. "Additionally, when a wizard sees that someone who cannot protect themselves is in danger and needs the protection of an external wizard. For example, a child, a sick or very elderly person, a squib, or a muggle. In the latter case, if intervention does not risk violating the Statute... If it does risk it, the wizard mustn't take any action."

"And?" Umbridge looked at him expectantly. "Mr. Potter, don't make me think you haven't prepared for the lesson..."

Harry fell silent, desperately trying to either remember or invent the correct answer. A minute passed.

"When a wizard encounters a dark creature!" Umbridge couldn't stand it. "Whether it's a werewolf, vampire, veela, or any other beast!"

"Even if they aren't attacking anyone?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised. "What do you mean by 'encounters'?"

"Why, Godric?.. Why didn't you add a drop of common sense to your children..."

"Mr. Potter!" Umbridge's voice jumped an octave. "What do you even listen to during the lessons?! Dark creatures are dangerous by definition! The wizard's job is to anticipate danger and protect themselves and those around them from monsters!"

"But..." Harry began, and Theodore firmly stepped on his foot. He grimaced and fell silent.

"What 'but', Mr. Potter?" she asked again in a thin voice. "Did you decide to add something else?"

"No, Professor."

"Very well. I think your classmates have had their fill of your ignorance for today," Umbridge stretched her lips into a hypocritical smile. "You receive a 'Poor' for this lesson."

She asked a few more questions to the class and rewarded Parkinson with five points for excellent knowledge of the law restricting the rights of werewolves. Then Umbridge returned to her desk and ordered the class to summarize the next chapter of Wilbert Slinkhard's "Fundamentals of Defensive Magic."

"Do you realize that today is the autumn equinox?" Harry whispered, wrapping them in gentle sound-dissipating charms, when Umbridge got distracted by some notes before her.

"Sure," Theodore nodded.

"Does this day hold any special traditions when it comes to performing dark magic rituals?" he asked for clarification.

"Not as much as the days of the summer or winter solstice..." Theo replied thoughtfully. "But yes. Many rituals are tied to lunar or solar cycles in principle. Any kind. Not just dark magic, by the way. Why do you ask? Are you thinking something will happen today?"

He scrutinized Potter with a suspicious look. Why such thoughts all of a sudden? Had he seen something else?...

The previous night before sleep, Harry had finally managed to penetrate the Dark Lord's consciousness, maintaining sufficient awareness to dive into his memories for a while. After a few minutes, his scar had begun to bleed profusely, Harry had started to groan from pain and, much to Theodore's relief, he had come back to himself.

"Yes, I believe Voldemort won't overlook this day... I want to try to access his memories again."

"I thought we decided to take a break..."

Harry's infamous Gryffindor stubbornness flashed across his face. Theo rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Alright. But don't you believe it would be more sensible to continue on some other day? When there's far less likelihood that the Dark Lord would start torturing and killing people? If I recall correctly, you get sucked into his mind when he's engaged in dark magic-related actions..."

"That's precisely why I want to try today, Theo," Harry tried to convince him. "I think this is a chance to understand what he ultimately aims for... instead of just watching this hell. Again."

 

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, minus ten points for chattering!" Umbridge hadn't picked up on the charm and couldn't hear them, but she saw that they were talking. "Bring me your notes for review at the end of the lesson."

For the poor summary, the toad deducted another ten points from their house.

"Because of you, we're going to miss out on the House Cup again!" Pansy Parkinson hissed at him.

"For the record, I earn quite enough points in other classes," Harry shrugged nonchalantly and exited the classroom.

"Just look at him!" Parkinson spat venomously after him. "This Potter couldn't care less about the honour of our house! He doesn't even make an effort!"

"He does make an effort," Millicent suddenly stood up for Harry. "He indeed gets lost in the clouds quite often... But he does try, Pansy."

* * *

After lights out, they snuck into one of the abandoned classrooms on the third floor in the eastern wing of the castle. Potter transfigured several broken chairs into cushions and sat down on the floor.

"Are you ready?" Nott asked, settling on one of the fluffier cushions across from Harry.

"Almost. Theo, can I ask you something?" he started tentatively. "Don't pull me out before it's time, okay? Even if I start screaming in pain, convulsing, and all that... I want to try to go all the way this time."

Nott frowned.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean by 'pulling out.' Should I not shout to bring you back? Should I refrain from shaking you? What exactly?"

"Don't shake me," Harry nodded. "Don't touch me at all while I'm... there. This might sound odd..." he hesitated, searching for the right words to express his thoughts without sounding foolish, "but there's a certain kind of magic about you... It's like your house. It seems to affect my connection with Voldemort... It blocks it or whatnot."

Theodore gazed at him thoughtfully.

"You're suggesting that when you stayed at my place, you didn't experience any visions?"

"Not a single one," Harry confirmed, shaking his head. "And when...” he paused as a faint blush crept onto his cheeks, "when I slept in your bed, I only had ordinary dreams. That was the first time since I left your place."

"Hmm... You know, Harry, I believe it's not about me, it's about my grandmother's pendant," he pulled a thistle pendant from under his shirt and took it off. "It, as well as the shields around North Ronaldsay, are all imbued with her magic... Let's test this theory."

Theo placed the pendant on one of the desks, sat down next to Potter, and pulled him closer.

"Do you feel anything now?"

Harry closed his eyes and surrendered to his sensations. He felt the comforting warmth of Theo's hands, a fluttering excitement in his chest, the scent of soap from the school showers intermingled with that unique fragrance that was purely Theodore – a blend of endless green hills, summer wind, and the northern sea.

"Harry?" Nott sought to draw his attention.

"Yes, right now..." Harry refocused.

He concentrated on the dark spot within him, attempting to reach out to the connection with Voldemort. A brief current pulsed through the elastic string extending from him to the outside.

"All's well," Harry opened his eyes. "The connection isn't being blocked."

"Then let's begin," Theodore concluded, adding. "You still need me to help you attune, yes?"

"Right. I think I could manage on my own, but it's easier with you," Potter confirmed, nodding.

They once again arranged themselves facing each other.

"Close your eyes and concentrate on my voice," Nott instructed.

Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to release all thoughts, focusing solely on the sound of Theodore's voice.

"Breath. You're safe... There is nothing here to be afraid of," Theodore said. Harry trusted him, letting himself relax. "Feel your magic. Feel how your magical core floods your blood with energy. Feel it coursing within you... Feel how the tendrils of pure magic entwine your entire body... You are a part of these flows, and they are a part of you."

Harry allowed the magic to surge into his consciousness. He became one with the magic, and the magic became him.

"Peer inside yourself. Amidst the thousands of threads, find the one that doesn't belong... Dedicate all your attention to it."

Harry found the elastic black string and reached towards it. He felt himself being drawn in.

"Follow it."

Harry plunged into an abyss. All around him was an endless void. Void of color, void of sound. A void of nothingness.

The sensation of falling began to slow, and with a searing pain in his forehead, he emerged back into reality.

 

A dark staircase stretched before him, a wand with a lit Lumos spell in his hand. He was ascending to his office. His servants were already waiting for him there. He was approaching a tall, intricately carved cabinet and opened its curse-sealed doors. He needed to fetch a dagger and a chalice.

 

"Harry," he heard. A distant voice echoed. "Harry, remember who you are... Harry, stay focused..."

 

It had been Theo... Theo was calling him. He was right beside him.

 

"Harry, don't get stuck! You must go further," Theo urged.

 

Harry... That was it. Harry was his name. He was at Hogwarts with Theo right now. But he had to venture further.

 

"Look around. Seek out what's hidden."

 

Everything had flipped upside down. He was Harry Potter. He was Lord Voldemort. He was something else. Was he... magic?

 

"Move forward, Harry. You need to find out what he wants."

 

Harry had plunged deeper still. Colors faded. Theo's voice had faded. But he remembered who he was. He was Harry Potter. And he needed to find out what Voldemort wanted.

 

A labyrinth started materializing around him. Grey, infinite walls bore down on him. He ran, transforming into a singular thought: "What does Voldemort want?"

 

And then, a simple truth had come to him, carried on a gust of icy wind.

 

"He desires power that doesn't belong to him," the wind whispered. "He seeks to control magic."

 

"How can I thwart him?" Harry asked.

 

He was falling again. The pain in his head was ebbing. He no longer had a body. He was magic, dissolving into fragments of a thousand images. Pain, blood, flashes of spells, death, darkness, life, flames...

 

"Focus. You have to know."

 

The endless kaleidoscope slowed down.

 

A waxing moon, a revolving sun, a full moon, sunset... A ritual circle. An explosion.

 

Thick darkness swallowed him once more.

 

...He opened his eyes to find himself in the center of the ritual circle. He was leaning over a child. A girl. She was crying, her face smeared with blood. He brought a dagger to her face and carved the rune 'Rad' onto her forehead. The girl choked on her own screams.

 

He straightened up, kindled a fire, and began to recite quatrains in ancient Welsh. The rune on the girl's forehead had begun to glow. Golden threads of magic had started to stream towards him.

 

He leaned over her once more. Tearing her dress, he etched the rune 'Gyfu' onto her chest. A protracted incantation later, she was entirely ensnared in golden threads.

 

He plunged the dagger into her solar plexus.

 

A wave of magic inundated him. Agony cleaved through his skull. His scar seemed ablaze. He struggled to extricate himself, but to no avail. Trapped, he observed the girl's magic seeping into him until her magical core dimmed, ultimately extinguishing completely.

 

Only then his connection to her broke off.

Harry opened his eyes once more.

He was sprawled on the floor of an abandoned classroom. Barely managing to prop himself up, nausea had soon overwhelmed him.

Theo was nearby. He was uttering something, but Harry couldn't decipher the words.

Once the nausea subsided, Theo assisted him to sit and gave him water. The water bore a clear aftertaste of some potion, but Harry obediently drained every last drop.

"Hang on, Harry... Here we go," Theo whispered. Summoning his amulet, he placed it around Harry's neck, his hands trembling from nervous strain.

Harry sensed the connection between him and Voldemort cease to throb. It numbed. Yet, it remained... lingering. It didn't vanish entirely, contrary to his prior belief.

The classroom appeared as though a detonation had occurred. The teacher's desk, which had formerly occupied the corner, was shattered to smithereens, chairs and desks severely battered. Wood and metal fragments were strewn all over. Theodore's cloak was torn, his eyebrow gashed. His shirt was splotched with blood.

"Did I cause this?" Harry inquired tentatively.

Theodore nodded, settling himself beside Harry on the floor.

"You had an outburst. It was akin to a gust of wind. I didn't have time to react."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Where's my wand?" Harry questioned, glancing around. He left it on the table that was no longer there.

Harry extended his hand, and the wand sailed into his open palm. He regarded Theodore with bewilderment. He looked tense and scared. This was not supposed to happen... It was wrong.

A wave of realization overwhelmed Harry, and panic set in. Abruptly, everything became crystal clear.

"Theo, I was there," he mumbled, lips barely moving. "I killed the girl. I didn't just witness it, I killed her. With my own hands… I absorbed her magic. I am a murderer..." Harry stared at his hands, and he thought he saw blood on them. "I killed her…"

Theo tightly held his hands around him, pulling him close.

"It’s okay, Harry," Theo whispered in his ear, gently rocking him side to side, his cheek pressed against Harry's forehead. "Hush... It wasn't you, Harry... It was Voldemort. Don't blame yourself... It was him, it's not you... You'll get through this... We'll get through this."

They stayed seated on the floor until Harry's turmoil had subsided.

When Potter realized he could speak again, he slightly pulled back from Theo, enough to see his face.

"This isn't a lightning bolt. It's a Soulu rune," he articulated with surprising clarity, pointing to his forehead. "Voldemort carved it when he was trying to seize the very power spoken of in the damn prophecy..."

Fear shimmered in Theodore's grey-blue eyes, yet he didn't release Harry from his grasp.

"Tell me what you saw," he uttered in the same steady, calm voice that Harry always found so trustworthy.

And so he began to recount his experience.

Long ago, the wizard Tom Riddle, when he was bent on reshaping the world to his whims but hadn't yet fully transformed into a monster, stumbled upon an ancient Welsh ritual. Warrior-mages used this ritual many centuries ago to seize the powers of their vanquished foes. This allowed them to avoid vengeance without becoming murderers and disturbing the Veil. The ritual wasn't designed for the power to transfer to the victorious wizard, but Voldemort was intent on achieving exactly that. Through numerous experiments, he discovered that if he stripped power from very young wizards with yet unformed magical cores, he could absorb it.

"Voldemort was reborn practically powerless compared to what he had been," Harry stated distantly. "Or at least, he wasn't much stronger than an average wizard that day. Perhaps that's why I was able to escape him... Now he's regaining his former strength. The next ritual will be on the full moon in mid-November, and then the final one — on the winter solstice."

"Will you tell Dumbledore about this?" Theodore inquired as Harry finished his tale.

"About the rituals – yes. Not all of it, of course," he replied, and after a pause, added, "But first, I'll attempt to find some evidence. Descriptions of the rituals, perhaps... and ideally, the potential outcomes. I fear I need strong arguments for Dumbledore to consider intervening. I myself hardly grasp the real threat this all poses to our world..."

"Do you... Did you receive any of his knowledge?" Theo asked cautiously and hesitantly, as if unsure whether he wanted to know the answer.

"No," Harry shook his head decisively. "Just fragments. Some separate memories, some nearly abstract concepts... And... I don't quite know how to explain... They're fading, dissolving... I think by morning, I'll have forgotten even the names of the runes he uses in the rituals. It's all somewhat dream-like. When you first wake up, you remember everything, but then in your mind, only what you've managed to share or write down remains..."

"Alright then. That means we're breaking into the Restricted Section tomorrow night," Nott declared with confidence, placing such an emphatic emphasis on "we" that Harry couldn't ignore it.

"We?" Sadness and a sense of inevitability shadowed his green eyes. "Theo, listen... You've already done so much for me. More than anyone else... Truly. But at this moment, it feels like we're crossing a certain point of no return. Do you understand?" Potter dropped his gaze. "I believe it would be best if you sat this one out. For your own safety."

"No," Theo replied simply. He ran his hand through Harry's hair and stared at him for such a lengthy moment that Harry believed Theo might bridge the scant distance separating their lips and kiss him. But Theo diverted his gaze and instead pulled Harry's head to his shoulder. "I won't let you go."

"You don't grasp it... I must kill him," Harry stepped back and fixed his eyes on Nott again. "I've been inside his head. He shouldn't exist in this world. Not in any world."

"I understand."

"I don't know if I'll make it, or if the people who stick with me will."

"I understand that perfectly well, Harry."

"You wished for a choice... Do you recall, last summer? You told me that your parents no longer had a choice, but you hoped you still did! I don't want to rob you of that!"

"I've made my choices," Theodore maintained his calm and confidence. He had resolved this long ago. "I stand with you, Harry. Regardless of the repercussions... and regardless of how perilous it may become."

Harry's heart constricted painfully. He cradled Theo's face with his palms and gently grazed his lips. They were dry, warm, and slightly coarse. They were perfect.

"You do understand that given the circumstances, our lives will likely be cut short, right?" Harry made his last try, breaking away from the kiss and pressing his forehead to Theo's.

"I don't care."

Theodore weaved his fingers through Harry's hair and sealed his mouth with his own lips. The world around them faded into oblivion.

 

 

* * *

 

Dawn was breaking as the sun ascended over the Black Lake, its mirrored surface shimmering under the reflection of the brilliant orange orb. The first rays of this new day, filled with potent promise and latent warmth, meandered into the room, tracing a luminous path across the cold stone floor. The sunlight was unapologetically bright. Harry winced involuntarily at the dazzling morning light and let out a sneeze.

"Bless you. Dorms?" Theodore asked softly.

Harry simply nodded in response. They both rose to their feet. Potter enveloped them in the invisibility cloak. They strolled leisurely through the drowsy corridors of Hogwarts, making a conscious effort not to ponder the coming day.

Once they reached the basement, in the lounge, standing at the threshold to the bedrooms, Harry recalled:

"Wait a second. I didn’t give you back your amulet."

He attempted to locate the clasp around his neck, but the chain felt continuous. He cast a puzzled glance at Theodore.

"This is a protective amulet, with an emergency portal. It's enchanted to respond to me," Theodore clarified. "That's why only I can remove it."

"Ah," Harry extended the word, his understanding dawning a bit late. He turned his back to Theodore. "You take it off then."

Theodore gently spun him around by the shoulders to face him, and his hand made contact with Harry's chest, feeling through his shirt for the pendant.

"Why don't you keep it for a while?" Nott suggested, and tilting his head with a touch of irony in his voice, he added, "Just make sure you don't accidentally activate the portal. I'm not entirely confident it will work within Hogwarts. But still."

"No reason to worry," Harry reassured him. "I've forgotten the activation phrase anyway."

"Nemo me impune lacessit. It translates..."

"No one harasses me with impunity," Harry responded with a smile. "I remember the translation, Theo. It's the best motto I've ever heard."

Chapter 9: Personal Curse of Theodore Nott

Madam Dolores Umbridge, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, realized by the end of October how challenging it was to juggle inspecting the work of other teachers with her own lessons. She logically concluded that since the children in her classes were only reading the textbook and taking notes, there was no point in separating them by houses. Better for them to come to her classes in full courses. This would not affect the efficiency of the educational process, and it would give her four times as much time for truly important matters. Besides, Minerva would surely choke on her hat when she learned that her schedule had to be rearranged again. Any inconvenience to Minerva brought Dolores a particular, vindictive pleasure.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, spent the entire weekend in her office, trying to arrange the lessons so that the children wouldn't have to wander around the castle in the middle of the day due to inappropriate gaps, and then study until night. The cursed schedule just wouldn't come together. Moreover, she herself did not want to spoil the students' working mood with additional, pointless lessons with that toad. She had heard that this was what the students called Madam Umbridge. That's why, for her beloved fifth years, she postponed their meeting with this terrible woman as far in the schedule as she possibly could. As a result, all four hours of DADA a week for the fifth years were set by Minerva McGonagall on Friday afternoons.

Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, no longer the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot or the President of the International Confederation of Wizards, paid no attention to the squabbles of the teachers, inspections, and schedule revisions. His attention in recent weeks was occupied by Harry Potter. The boy's strange connection with Tom was seen by the Headmaster as a serious threat to his plans. Moreover, the fury with which Harry demanded violence against Voldemort was completely uncharacteristic of him. What would happen if the boy became utterly uncontrollable? Something was definitely happening with Harry Potter... And how quickly the boy had settled in Slytherin was especially troubling to the Headmaster. Unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore never had talents in the field of Divination.

Theodore Nott, a fifth-year student of Slytherin, woke up this Monday with a clear feeling that the day would bring him a lot of trouble. Therefore, everything was already annoying him in advance: from having to wake up early every morning and the unpleasant drizzling rain outside to the noise in the Great Hall and his own classmates.

Unlike Headmaster Dumbledore, Theodore had extraordinary talents in the field of Divination. But, fortunately for the magical world, they remained undiscovered.

***

 

At breakfast in the Great Hall, Potter's hand moved feverishly over a crumpled scroll of parchment. Theodore Nott, sitting at a distance, watched as Potter's brow furrowed in concentration, his lips moving silently as if rehearsing a tricky spell. Although Theodore couldn't discern the contents, he suspected it was a last-minute effort to complete a Charms essay. Potter's neglect of homework for other subjects, especially on a day crammed with lessons, was a routine Theodore had come to notice.

Nearly a month had elapsed since their first kiss, yet Theodore found himself entangled in a web of uncertainty regarding his relationship with Harry. Were they even in a relationship, or was it all a figment of his hopeful imagination? Their interactions, fragmented and sporadic, revolved around poring over semi-forbidden texts or dabbling in the erratic waves of Potter's newfound magic. Ever since the Dark Lord's ritual unwittingly amplified Harry's magical prowess, the boy had occasionally managed wandless spells. A feat that left both of them baffled and curious.

However, this increase in power brought its own shadows. Theodore observed how Harry's mood had grown volatile, swinging from intense focus during their clandestine magic sessions to moments of seething frustration. These outbursts were more pronounced after his recent meeting with Dumbledore.

Under the protective cloak of a soundproof shield in Theodore's room, Harry's voice crackled with anger. "Dumbledore practically ordered me to steer clear of Voldemort's affairs. And he's sitting on his hands too!"

Theodore leaned against the bedpost, pondering. "Perhaps Dumbledore knows something we don't, something that's making him wait."

Harry snorted, his gaze fixed on the floor, disappointment etched across his face. "I doubt it. He's lost my trust after today."

Theodore shifted closer, trying to read Harry's expression. "Dumbledore knows the prophecy's end, doesn't he? Did he share anything about it with you?"

Harry's laugh was devoid of humor. "Share? Dumbledore would sooner take his secrets to the grave."

Theodore's voice softened, "Maybe it's for the best, considering the nature of prophecies. They often bring more chaos than clarity."

Harry looked up, a trace of curiosity in his eyes. "Why do you say that?"

"History shows that prophecies create confusion and false hopes. Don't expect it to be a roadmap to defeating Voldemort. It's not going to tell you to stab him in the right eye with a silver dagger, leading to his dramatic demise."

A reluctant chuckle escaped Harry's lips. "Wouldn't that be convenient?"

Theodore sighed, his expression turning serious. "Harry, listen. Whatever that prophecy says, it doesn't obligate you to anything. There's Dumbledore's Order, the Ministry, the Aurors... They should be dealing with the mess they've created. You haven't even taken your OWLs yet. Maybe focus on that for now?"

Harry's response, laced with sarcasm, barely concealed his frustration. "Great, now you're sounding like a mix of Dumbledore and Hermione."

Theodore's smile was gentle, yet teasing. "They are both considered wise, after all." He playfully flicked Harry's nose, drawing a begrudging smile from him.

As Harry rolled his eyes, Theodore's voice was light, teasing. "Your words, not mine."

He pulled Harry into a comforting embrace, planting a soft kiss on his temple. "Give yourself time to grow stronger, okay?"

Harry nodded, his response muted, as their lips met in a brief, tender kiss. But the moment was fleeting; Harry pulled away, a serious glint returning to his eyes.

"Theo, what if we anonymously tip off the Aurors about Voldemort's next ritual?"

Theodore exhaled, the weight of the suggestion hanging heavily in the air. "In theory..."

 

 

***

 

A gray-and-ginger owl descended gracefully onto the table in front of Theodore Nott, its feathers ruffling as it landed. Theodore eyed the bird curiously, wondering who would be writing to him.

Unfolding the letter, his eyes skimmed the formal lines:

Dear son,

I hope you are in good health.

My affairs require me to stay on the continent, at least until the beginning of next year, so it's highly unlikely that I will be able to spend time with you during your winter holidays. Nevertheless, I have an assignment for you that will contribute to the improvement of our family's affairs.

I've heard that Harry Potter was transferred to Slytherin this year. This could be a good opportunity for us. I want you to get close to him.

Dumbledore is probably turning him against all the children of our circle, but boys of your age are usually quite trusting and easily influenced. I'm sure you can take advantage of the fact that he's practically cut off from his usual environment.

By summer, Potter should fully trust you.

Don't disappoint me, Theodore.

Your father,

Lord Sigmar K. Nott

 

The words blurred as a sickening feeling twisted in his stomach. Theodore crumpled the letter with a sudden, furious motion, shoving it deep into his robe pocket.

Blaise Zabini, noticing Theodore's clenched fists and a face contorted with barely concealed rage, leaned over. "Is something wrong?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

"Everything's fine," Theodore replied, his voice flat, masking the turmoil within. "My father's just delayed in Europe until next year."

Blaise eyed Theodore, a hint of skepticism in his gaze, but refrained from further questions.

"How about we head to class?" he suggested, offering an escape from the awkward moment.

"Yeah, let's go. Just let me finish my tea," Theodore replied, quickly sipping his tea, while stealing a glance at Harry Potter. Their eyes met briefly, and Theodore subtly shook his head, signaling to Harry that everything was under control.

Exiting the Great Hall, Theodore found himself unexpectedly trailing behind Potter on the way to Care of Magical Creatures. It was hard not to notice how striking Potter looked today in his black woolen cloak and nonchalantly tied Slytherin scarf. Hermione Granger was animatedly talking to him, with Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom tagging along.

Hermione's voice rose above the chatter, "Harry, just think about it!" she pleaded earnestly. "That's all I'm asking!"

Potter, his expression one of resignation, replied, "I've thought it over, Hermione. My answer is still 'no'. I won't do it."

With that, he quickened his pace, creating a gap between himself and his Gryffindor friends, who exchanged a few words before hurrying after him.

Upon reaching the clearing behind Hagrid's hut, they were greeted by Professor Grubbly-Plank, accompanied by some bizarre-looking lobsters, and Dolores Umbridge, likely there for another inspection.

Grubbly-Plank dove into her lecture as Umbridge meandered through the students, notepad in hand. Theodore noticed, with a tinge of annoyance, that Hermione was whispering closely to Harry, almost brushing his ear with her lips. He forced himself to redirect his attention to the lecture.

The creatures, named Mackled Malaclaw, seemed like something only Newt Scamander or Hagrid would find endearing. Theodore wondered if any of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts were still around, or if they had all met their demise.

When Grubbly-Plank paused her lecture to address Umbridge's inquiries, Theodore's mind unwillingly drifted back to his father's manipulative letter. The indignation at being used as a pawn, the coldness of his father's sporadic correspondence, and the notion of exploiting Harry's vulnerability gnawed at him.

Determined, Theodore resolved to shield Harry from any harm, but he couldn't help questioning whether Harry would even accept his protection.

Lost in thought, Theodore's contemplation about his ambiguous relationship with Harry was interrupted by a sharp pain in his ankle. "What the—?!" he exclaimed, looking down to find a Mordred malaclaw clamped onto him.

He carefully lifted the creature, bringing it to eye level. The malaclaw's large claws clicked in the air, its dull eyes staring back at him.

"Professor Grubbly-Plank," Theodore called out, "I apologize for the interruption, but one of your malaclaws seems to have wandered off."

The professor, halting mid-sentence, turned towards him with a mix of surprise and concern.

"By Merlin's beard! How did it get out?!" she exclaimed, swiftly moving towards Theodore.

The other students cautiously gave Theodore some space, eyeing the malaclaw warily. Was there more to these creatures than meets the eye?

"Mr. Nott, did it bite you?" Grubbly-Plank asked, alarm evident in her voice as she gently retrieved the malaclaw from him and secured it back in the enclosure.

"It just caught my ankle with its claw," Theodore answered, trying to downplay his discomfort.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Nott," she said with a tone of genuine regret, quickly crouching to inspect his ankle and healing the small wound.

"That's alright, Professor," Theodore replied, his unease evident despite his attempt to sound casual. "I could have taken care of it myself or visited the hospital wing."

"Least I could do for you, dear," she responded warmly. "Unfortunately, there's no antidote."

"Antidote? Is the creature poisonous?" Theodore asked, a new wave of concern washing over him.

He noticed Blaise reaching out, as if to offer a comforting pat on the shoulder, but then hesitating.

"Mr. Nott," the professor replied with a stern yet caring tone, "as I mentioned earlier, a Mackled Malaclaw's bite brings a week of bad luck. Nothing deadly, but please be cautious in the coming days."

Theodore sighed inwardly. With the day already off to a rocky start, he couldn't help but wonder, what else could go wrong?

 

 

***

 

 

On the way back to the castle, Theodore twice had to stop to retie his shoelaces and accidentally stepped into a puddle with one foot. To top it off, Daphne Greengrass sternly warned him to stay away from her, threatening an Avada to the forehead if he came too close during the next week.

In Charms class, they were learning a new set of destructive curses capable of destroying nearly any object in such a way that it couldn't be restored, not even by Finite or Reparo.

"The main feature of the Reducio spell," Professor Flitwick explained, "is that, depending on the wizard's effort, the curse can either divide the object into several large pieces or practically turn it into dust. However, remember, Reducio cannot be used on any living beings, not even insects. Additionally, the spell has no effect on most magical plants."

After completing his lecture on the classification of these curses and their varied applications, Flitwick began calling students up one by one to practice Reducio. Each student was tasked with dividing a stone first into eight, then sixty-four parts, and finally turning the pieces into dust with a single incantation.

When Theodore's turn came, Malfoy and Parkinson comically ducked under their desks, Daphne cast a powerful shield around herself and Millicent, and Blaise attempted to discreetly hide behind Crabbe and Goyle's broad backs. It seemed only these two and Potter were unfazed.

Contrary to his classmates' expectations, Theodore performed the task almost flawlessly. Professor Flitwick remarked that ideally, the stone particles should have been finer in the last part of the exercise, but he approved the task nonetheless. Considering half his classmates ended up covered in stone dust in the first two stages, Theodore was pretty satisfied with his performance. Parkinson, for example, struggled to split the stone into sixty-four pieces, ending up with thirty, eighty-eight, and inexplicably seventeen parts instead.

Potter was up next. Charms were always his strong suit, but this time he miscalculated his strength so drastically that the stone exploded, sending its eight shards flying in different directions at high speed. The last thing Theodore remembered was seeing a rock hurtling towards his head and the subsequent hard impact against the wall.

 

 

***

 

 

"Potter, stop beating yourself up over it," Zabini's voice reached his ears. "By evening, our Theodore will be good as new!"

"I'd rather be as old as before," Theodore mumbled, slowly opening his eyes. He found himself in the Hospital Wing, with a slightly worried Blaise sitting nearby, and Potter pacing the room nervously.

"Theo, you're awake," Harry exclaimed, relief evident in his voice as he rushed to the bedside.

"I'll go fetch Madam Pomfrey," Blaise said, quickly exiting the room.

"How are you feeling?" Potter asked, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and guilt.

"Pretty okay, all things considered," Theodore responded, managing a faint smile. "Strength without brains, right, Harry?"

"Sorry, really, I didn't mean for that to happen…"

"Well... If you really want to know, I blame that damned malaclaw," Theodore chuckled.

"Mr. Nott, so good to see you conscious," Madam Pomfrey entered, accompanied by Blaise. "You've got a moderate concussion, but your skull bones are intact. I've treated the hematoma, but you'll need to take this potion," she handed him a glass of a revoltingly scented, gentle raspberry-colored liquid, "and rest for a couple of hours."

"Can I go back to classes after lunch then?" Theodore asked.

"If you don't experience any headaches, weakness, or nausea," the nurse clarified.

Theo downed the potion, grimacing at its bitter, sour taste.

"Here, wash it down with this," she handed him a glass of water.

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

"You're welcome, Mr. Nott," she replied, turning to Harry and Blaise. "Mr. Zabini, Mr. Potter, isn't it time for your next class?"

"Oh, right," Blaise realized. "Thanks for the reminder, ma'am. Theodore, get well soon. I'll make a copy of the Runes notes for you."

"And you, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked as Blaise left and Harry remained seated.

"I've got a free period now," Harry lied smoothly, gazing at the healer with his sincere green eyes. "So I'll stay with Nott. It's my fault he's here, after all."

"Well, alright then," Madam Pomfrey agreed, though still a bit suspicious. "Mr. Nott, you'll need to take another dose of the potion in an hour. If you have a headache or need anything, ask Mr. Potter to call me. Please, stay in bed; it's crucial for your recovery."

"You should be at Divination now," Theodore said once they were alone.

"So what," Harry shrugged. "Trelawney's so stressed with Umbridge's demands, she probably won't even notice I'm gone. I'd rather stay here. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," Theodore assured him, then broached the subject that had been nagging at him all morning. "What was Granger asking you about earlier?"

"She's got this daft idea about setting up a Defense club. And it's not a bad idea, but she wants me to teach," Harry explained. "That's ridiculous. What and whom could I possibly teach?"

"You're pretty good with the first years," Theodore acknowledged his teaching skills. "But given your magic's current instability, it really isn't the best idea. And if Umbridge finds out you're teaching DADA, she'll make your life hell."

"Exactly my thoughts..." Harry agreed, his mood darkening.

"Granger didn't want anything else?" Theodore pressed, a bit more sharply than he intended.

"No," Harry replied, puzzled. "What else would she want with the OWLs coming up and us not learning anything in DADA?"

"I don't know," Theodore said, unable to hide his sarcasm. "A DADA club doesn't seem like the kind of request that requires her to hang off you and practically stick her tongue in your ear."

"Hermione didn't... Wait, are you... jealous?" Harry asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

"Maybe," Theodore admitted, feeling a bit foolish. Was he really going down this path?

"Just so you know, I don't like anyone but you," Harry suddenly confessed, looking down at the floor.

Then, standing up, he moved closer to Theodore, leaned down, and kissed him. On his own. But it was just on the cheek.

Theodore felt a wave of warmth wash over him. Did he really mean something to Harry?

He took Harry's hand and looked at him intently. Harry's cheeks were flushed with a shy blush, and he looked so adorably innocent that Theodore couldn't help but wonder: had Harry ever been with anyone in any sense?

No, that couldn't be... He's Harry Potter, after all. The Boy Who Lived, the champion of Hogwarts, the school Quidditch star... Surely he must have had some experience?

Dismissing his own ridiculous thoughts, Theodore still asked, struggling to keep a straight face, "Harry, have you ever kissed anyone else?"

Potter blushed deeply at the question.

"You mean, besides you?" A mix of uncertainty and annoyance played across his face.

"Yeah," Theodore nodded, already knowing the answer from Harry's reaction.

"No," Harry mumbled, looking away.

His embarrassment was so endearing that Theodore, even with a painful bite on his lip, couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"If you don't stop laughing, I won't kiss you either!" Harry said, wounded, crossing his arms.

"Sorry, Harry," Theodore apologized, almost sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Pulling Harry by the tie, Theodore brought him closer and planted a firm kiss on his cheek.

Alright, Harry. Let's take this at your pace.

"I don't like anyone but you either, just so you know," he said out loud, his lips curling into an unapologetically wide smile.

 

Chapter 10: Breaking the Frost

"Potter! Wait up!"

Harry spun around, his cloak billowing, to find Angelina Johnson hurrying towards him, her braids bouncing with each step. He paused, and so did Theodore Nott, who had been walking alongside him. In that instant, a staircase step beneath Theodore's foot vanished, sending him tumbling knee-deep into the stairwell.

As Theodore unleashed a string of curses at every deity he could think of, Harry tried to assist, grabbing Theodore under the shoulders in an attempt to pull him up. But Theodore's leg was wedged tight between the steps, the gap seemingly tightening the more he struggled.

"Potter, I need to talk to you," Johnson said, catching up to them, slightly out of breath.

"Kind of in the middle of something here, Angelina," Harry replied, his tone laced with irritation. He raised his voice to call out to Blaise Zabini, who, along with Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass, had already moved ahead. "Hey, Zabini! A little help here?"

Blaise, startled, raced back down the stairs. But just as he neared the fourth-floor landing, the staircase carrying Potter and Nott began to ascend abruptly.

""Great, trapped in the middle of Hogwarts' ever-changing staircases again!" Angelina muttered in frustration. "How typical"

"Welcome to my world, Johnson," Theodore remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Tell McGonagall we'll be late!" Harry called out to his classmates, who were quickly disappearing from view. He then turned his attention back to Theodore. "How about a little Diffindo?"

"You're not seriously considering amputation, are you?" Theodore retorted, his tone sharp yet amused.

Harry rolled his eyes. Theodore's humor hadn't improved, even after the Malaclaw curse. "I'll just trim the edge of the next step," Harry assured him.

"Yeah, right. Along with my leg, no doubt," Theodore shot back, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

Meanwhile, the staircase finally ceased its ascent and docked at the eighth-floor landing.

Once the shaking stopped, Harry, without any warning, waved his wand. Half of the step below vanished, causing Theodore to lose his balance. Harry quickly caught him by the elbow, steadying him.

"Gotcha," Harry said, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Relax, Theo. I've got everything under control. Not like that mess yesterday..."

"Potter, can we talk now?" Angelina, still standing a step behind them, asked with a hint of impatience.

"Depends on what it's about, Angelina," Harry replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

"I'd prefer a private conversation," she said, eyeing Theodore, who was now attending to the scratches on his leg and fixing his torn trousers.

"That's not really an answer," Potter responded, his voice cool. Since his re-sorting, Angelina, like many of his former Gryffindor peers, had acted as if he no longer existed. Harry felt little inclination to engage.

"I want to talk about Quidditch," she said, her lips forming a thin line.

"Fine. Let's walk and talk. We're already late for Transfiguration as it is," he said, motioning towards the west wing. Given Theodore's recent luck, avoiding moving staircases seemed wise.

Johnson must have really needed something from him, as she followed despite Harry's evident aloofness.

"You're aware we're playing with Slytherin on Saturday?" she started. "I'm not sure you care about our team anymore, but you're still friends with the Weasleys, right?"

"Right," Harry said, his expression guarded.

"Our new Seeker, Ginny Weasley..."

"I know," Harry cut in, his response terse.

Harry would have known about the Gryffindor Seeker situation even without speaking to anyone from his old house. Throughout September, Hogwarts had been abuzz with speculation and bets, a mini-gambling ring focusing on who would take over his role as Gryffindor's Seeker. Rumor had it the Weasley twins were the masterminds behind this.

Angelina, pacing slightly as she spoke, continued, "Ginny's really good, you know. Quidditch must run in the Weasley blood. She's likely to outplay Summerby, and I'd even bet on her against Chang." She stopped pacing and frowned. "But Malfoy is a different story. He's not just experienced; he's flying a Nimbus 2001. And poor Ginny is stuck with that old Comet."

Harry, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow in impatience. "So what exactly are you suggesting?" he asked, his tone sharp. "You want me to just hand over my broom to her?"

"Yes," she replied, her gaze steady.

Harry let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Oh, I see."

Part of him wanted to dismiss her outright or simply walk away, but years of living up to expectations held him back. He sighed heavily, his gaze shifting to the floor. "Alright, then. Ginny can have the Firebolt. I'll give it to her at dinner."

Angelina's eyes lit up with gratitude, and for a moment, it looked like she might reach out for a hug. But then she hesitated, pulling back at the last second, and instead said with a warm smile, "Thank you, Potter! I knew there was still some of that Gryffindor spirit in you!"

As Angelina finally walked away, Theo nudged Harry's arm, a wry smile on his face. "We should head to Transfiguration before McGonagall docks points or worse, dishes out detention," he said, tugging at Harry's sleeve. "Just a heads-up, though: if you're serious about giving your broom to Ginny, brace yourself for Malfoy's inevitable tantrum."

Theodore's warning was likely an accurate prediction.

 

 

***

 

As Harry barely settled at the Slytherin table, Draco stormed over, his face contorted with anger. "Potter, what in Merlin's name have you done?" he demanded, voice echoing in the Great Hall. Ginny's jubilant reaction to the broom had not gone unnoticed, making the Gryffindor team's recent upgrade the talk of the hall. "You gave your Firebolt to Weasley?"

"Lent it, actually," Harry corrected, his voice weary as he reached for some roasted potatoes.

Draco's face turned a shade redder. "How could you even think to do that? It's a complete betrayal! Don't you get it?" he bellowed, hands clenched into fists.

Harry met Draco's furious gaze with a calm one. "It's just a broom, Malfoy. Not as if I'm coaching Gryffindor or playing in Ginny's place," he said, attempting to downplay the situation.

"Just a broom?!" Draco's voice rose an octave, disbelief etched on his face. "That's the Firebolt, Potter! The best broom since the 'Silver Arrows' of the seventies!"

Graham Montague, the Slytherin Quidditch captain, interjected with a stern look. "Potter, you're a Slytherin now. Handing over such an advantage to our rivals goes against everything our house stands for."

Harry's eyes narrowed, his patience waning. "Really? And where was this house unity when I first arrived?" he shot back, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Are you telling me our captain and seeker are worried about losing to a first-timer, just because she has a slightly better broom?"

Draco, still seething, pressed on. "But it's still your broom, Potter! You can't just hand it over to them!"

"It's my broom, and I'll do what I please with it," Harry retorted sharply, his voice rising. "And why should I care about a broom when I'm not even playing?"

Montague eyed Harry thoughtfully. "So, Potter, are you implying you'd play for Slytherin?"

Harry paused, a hint of defiance in his eyes. "I can't see why not?" he mused aloud, a part of him considering the possibility seriously. His loyalty to Gryffindor had indeed wavered, and his passion for Quidditch remained undiminished.

Montague clapped his hands together, decisively turning to Draco. "Malfoy, if you lose the match, I'm giving your spot to Potter."

Draco's eyes narrowed, a venomous tone creeping into his voice. "You wouldn't dare."

Montague's smirk was self-assured. "Try me. I'm after the House Cup, remember? This is my last chance. Nothing personal, but Potter is a better player. Stay on the team by not losing."

Draco glared at Harry, his voice a low growl. "I hate you all. Especially you, Potter!" With that, he stormed out of the hall, his cloak billowing behind him.

"Poor Draco," Blaise and Millicent sighed almost in unison, a touch of sympathy in their voices.

Astoria Greengrass leaned over, giving Harry a knowing look. "That was quite the Slytherin move, Harry," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Gregory Goyle, usually the quiet one, spoke up unexpectedly. "You know, this might be good for Draco. He always steps up his game when he's got the right push."

 

 

***

 

As the week drew to a close, Theodore felt the Mackled Malaclaw curse finally begin to fade. He was relieved to see an end to the relentless series of misfortunes: inkwells that spilled in his bag, stairs that disappeared under his feet, and obstacles that seemed to spring from nowhere.

On this particular day, nothing untoward had happened yet, which was a small mercy considering they had a double Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Umbridge after lunch. Theodore knew she would likely not miss an opportunity to target Harry, now that they were attending her class en masse.

Harry entered the classroom, surrounded by a group of Gryffindors. The room was buzzing with the usual pre-class chatter, the stone walls echoing the voices of students settling in.

"Harry, do you want to sit with me or Ron?" Hermione asked, her eyes hopeful.

"No, thanks, Hermione," Harry replied with a polite smile, but there was a firmness in his tone. "I always sit with Nott during DADA."

As Harry headed towards his usual seat, Ron muttered under his breath, just loud enough for a few nearby to hear, "Hermione, has he traded us for the Slytherins?"

"Don't be silly, Ronald!" Hermione shot back, her voice tinged with exasperation. She gave Ron a light, admonishing tap on the shoulder and pulled him to a desk near the front, her bushy hair swishing with the movement.

A few moments later, Umbridge entered, her pink cardigan contrasting starkly against the dark stone of the classroom. She clutched a stack of papers, her face set in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I've reviewed your essays from last week," she began in her overly sweet tone, a giggle punctuating her words. "To my great disappointment, almost all of you have demonstrated very poor understanding of dark creature defense strategies. But, of course, it's not surprising! One of your previous teachers was a dark creature himself... A werewolf, teaching at Hogwarts! What will Dumbledore hire next? A troll? Maybe a grindylow?"

Theo noticed Harry's jaw clench from the corner of his eye and subtly placed a hand on his knee under the table, offering silent support. Harry let out a deep breath, visibly trying to maintain his composure.

Then Granger couldn't hold herself back any longer.

"Professor Lupin was our best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" she blurted out, her face flushing with indignation.

"Minus five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, her lips twisting into a smug smile. "And don't start with that nonsense. Your lives were in grave danger! Not to mention, it's completely illegal."

"Our lives were never in danger," Granger insisted, her voice steady but her hands gripping the edge of her desk. "You can't discriminate against someone just for being a werewolf!"

"A person?!" Umbridge's voice reached a high pitch. "Let me remind you, dear, a werewolf is not a person! But given your background, it's no wonder you're so misinformed. You need to listen to your teachers, dear, not act like an insufferable know-it-all!" She added, "Another minus five points for arguing and ten more for the nonsense you're spouting."

Granger's cheeks reddened further, and she slumped back in her chair, her frustration evident. Harry exchanged a quick, sympathetic glance with Theodore before slowly standing up, his chair scraping against the stone floor.

"Madam Umbridge, it almost sounded like you were berating Hermione for her blood status..." Harry's voice was cold, cutting through the tension in the room.

"Professor Umbridge!" she corrected sharply. "And I did not give you permission to speak, Potter!"

"My apologies, Professor Umbridge," Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm as he deliberately emphasized her title. "I must have missed the announcement of your academic credentials. Unlike Professor Lupin, whom you seem to despise, he actually held a legitimate degree."

"How dare you lie, you insolent boy?!" Umbridge's face turned a mottled red, her composure slipping as the students began to murmur among themselves.

"Lie?" Harry's tone was cool, almost detached. "Have I said anything untrue?"

Umbridge seemed to shrink, her usual bravado faltering under Harry's unwavering gaze.

"Everything you say is a lie!" she shrieked, trying to regain control. "Everyone knows you claim that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned from the dead!"

"I never said he 'returned from the dead.' I don’t think he ever died," Harry responded calmly. "But yes, Voldemort is back. I saw him with my own eyes, just as clearly as I see you now."

The whispers in the classroom grew louder, and someone let out a stifled snort of laughter.

"Silence!" Umbridge bellowed, struggling to maintain authority. "No more talking! And you, Mr. Potter, will face severe consequences! Since deducting points doesn’t affect you, I’ll find something that does… Be in my office after dinner! And sit down!"

Harry returned to his seat, his expression stoic, but Theodore could feel the tremor of rage coursing through him. He took Harry's hand under the table, offering a silent anchor, and Harry gripped it tightly in response.

Potter might have gone too far. Umbridge would have been sufficiently infuriated with just half of what he had said to her. And the slightly tarnished honor of Granger and Lupin hardly seemed worth the trouble he would now have to face. But, by Merlin, Harry was irresistibly attractive in his anger... Theodore would have given anything at that moment to drag Potter into the nearest closet and kiss him senseless. Until Harry relaxed in his arms, becoming tender and sweet. His Harry.

 

***

 

 

Potter returned just before lights-out, his face pale and hinting at illness. The common room, lively with nearly the entire house present for a Friday evening, buzzed with chatter and laughter.

"Harry, is that blood?" Millicent asked, her eyes widening in concern as she caught sight of him. "What happened to your hand?"

Looking for an escape, Potter scanned the room anxiously, but his classmates quickly encircled him.

"Just Umbridge and her blood quill," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of distress.

"Blood quill? Show me," Daphne commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. She carefully took his injured hand, examining it closely. "Hey, Pans! Aren't physical punishments banned at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, they are," Pansy responded, her voice laced with disdain. She shot a glare at Daphne and added, "And stop calling me 'Pans,' Daphne. I've asked you before!"

Malfoy approached, his expression one of disgust as he glanced at the 'I must not tell lies' scarred into Harry's hand.

"This is sickening," he remarked, looking nauseated. "I'll inform our head of house. Don't treat it yet. Snape should see this."

"Malfoy, wait. Please don't tell Snape," Harry pleaded, a note of desperation in his voice.

"Why should I do anything for you, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, looking down at him before strutting out of the common room.

"I don't understand," Harry said, sounding lost as he collapsed into Malfoy's recently vacated chair. "He hates me. Why go to Snape?"

Blaise let out a wry laugh from his corner, while Pansy, arms crossed, said condescendingly, "Draco's a prefect. He cares more about enforcing rules than your petty fights."

"My petty fights?" Harry echoed, clearly baffled, but Pansy appeared to ignore him.

"And what's the big deal anyway? If Draco tells Snape about the blood quill, they'll just stop Umbridge from using it... Trust me, she'll find another way to satisfy what she thinks are your masochistic tendencies."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then seemed to reconsider and closed it, opting to stay silent rather than spar with Pansy.

Malfoy returned with a triumphant grin, announcing Snape's immediate summons.

"Potter, are you an idiot?" Snape inquired sharply as he stepped into the room, his robes swishing behind him. "If Umbridge told you to jump off the Astronomy Tower as punishment, would you comply?"

"No, sir," Harry answered, his tone marked with a mix of respect and irritation.

What choice did he have? Disobey Umbridge and seek out Snape? He doubted Snape would have been inclined to help, had Malfoy not intervened first. Since his transfer to Slytherin, Snape had largely ignored Potter, except for a stern talk about expectations.

"You don't act like it," Snape observed skeptically, handing Harry a small jar. "This is for your hand. A salve to prevent scarring, unless you want a permanent reminder of such 'wisdom.'"

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, taking the jar and gently applying the salve to his palm.

"Now, let's address the matter at hand. You'll serve the remainder of your punishment with me. I don't have the luxury of time to babysit you, but Dumbledore has insisted that I teach you Occlumency basics…"

"Why?" Harry asked, surprised. Did Dumbledore think this would help block his connection with Voldemort?

"Don't interrupt, Potter," Snape scolded, his face wrinkling in annoyance, but he confirmed Harry's suspicion. "The headmaster hasn't shared his full plans with me. But it's likely about your mental link with the Dark Lord. Ask Dumbledore if you're so curious."

"I won't learn Occlumency," Harry stated firmly. He couldn't risk someone delving into his mind, uncovering secrets that needed to remain hidden.

"And who's asking for your opinion?" Snape replied wearily, his irritation evident. "The headmaster's orders are clear."

"With all due respect, sir, you can't force Legilimency on me without my consent or a Wizengamot decree," Harry asserted.

Snape's mouth twisted into a cold sneer. "Suddenly the expert on magical law, Potter? Surprising you even comprehend Occlumency and Legilimency."

"I've been reading a lot this summer," Harry shot back, his tone defiant.

"It's a shame none of that reading covered your school subjects," Snape commented dryly, one eyebrow arching. "You don't have a say in this, Potter. It's a direct order from Dumbledore."

"I always have a choice, and I choose not to let you, or anyone, invade my mind for 'training.'"

"So that's what this is about," Snape said icily, stepping menacingly closer. "Afraid I might see something embarrassing? Trust me, Potter, your petty sufferings and adolescent romances are of no interest to me."

"Good. Because you won't see them, sir," Harry said stubbornly, shaking his head.

Snape's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he swiftly raised his wand. "Legilimens!" he hissed sharply.

Harry's reaction was almost instinctive. With a swift motion and barely a second to spare, he conjured a "Protego!" The shimmering shield sprung up just in time, but Snape was relentless. He unleashed a rapid succession of spells. Harry, his movements fueled by adrenaline, managed to deflect several and narrowly dodged others. Despite his best efforts, Snape's precision was unyielding, and eventually, a well-aimed Expelliarmus sent Harry's wand flying.

"You are too slow, boy," Snape sneered, catching the wand deftly. Without missing a beat, he pressed his attack. "Legilimens!"

Harry's mind was a maelstrom of emotions – fear, anger, and a fierce determination not to let Snape pry into his deepest secrets. The thought of Snape discovering anything about Theo was unbearable. In a desperate response, Harry's magic surged uncontrollably, a raw and powerful force that erupted outward. Snape was thrown back with such force that he crashed against the wall, his body hitting it with a thud that resonated through the room.

Gasping for breath, Harry scrambled to retrieve his wand from the floor, his hands shaking and his heart pounding in his chest. Snape, visibly shaken, pushed himself up, his gaze fixed on Harry with a mixture of shock and incredulity.

"What was that, Potter?" he demanded, his voice unusually steady despite the chaos, but a flicker of something unidentifiable danced in his eyes.

"An accidental magic outburst, sir," Harry responded evenly, showing no regret after Snape's assault. "Your attack startled me."

"You think I'm a fool?" Snape's face now showed a clear flare of anger.

"Not in the slightest, sir," Harry replied, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "May I leave now?"

"Get out!" Snape snapped, his anger palpable. As Harry turned to go, Snape added sharply, "And Potter, if you defy the Occlumency training, you'll spend the next month scrubbing cauldrons! Dumbledore can deal with you then."

"Looks like I'll be scrubbing cauldrons, then," Harry said, almost cheerfully, and added over his shoulder as he exited, "Goodnight, Professor."

 

 

***

 

 

On Saturday, while Harry diligently scrubbed cauldrons, Slytherin triumphed over Gryffindor in their Quidditch match, winning by a decisive score of two hundred eighty to forty.

 

 

***

 

On Sunday, the first snow of the season began to fall, and Harry coaxed Theo into joining him for a walk around the Black Lake, while all their classmates were sleeping off the aftermath of the victory party. The world was white and quiet. Their footsteps crunched softly in the fresh snow, leaving a winding trail behind them. They meandered until they were almost at the edge of Hogwarts' protective charms. It was there.

"I've got something for you," Harry said, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nerves. From his pocket, he retrieved a small box, elegantly wrapped in blue fabric. "Happy birthday, Theo."

Theo's smile was gentle. "I didn't think you knew."

"Of course, I knew!" Harry fumbled slightly with the box, a subtle tremble in his hands betraying his nervousness. "This... it's kind of an amulet. Not as powerful as yours, but I thought, while your amulet is with me, you should have something for protection too..."

Opening the box, Theo discovered a beautiful bracelet of blackened silver, artfully designed as intertwining thistle stems. Embedded within were dark violet stones, their hue deep and mysterious, resembling half-open buds.

"It's designed to withstand at least two medium-strength curses. It's pretty robust, except against the darkest of curses or the Unforgivables. It'll need to recharge after, but it should give you decent protection," Harry explained, his voice laced with a hint of pride but mostly overshadowed by his anxiety. "And it’s also meant to guard against superficial Legilimency. At least, that's what the artificer told me... Do you like it?"

Theo's response was a warm, heartfelt smile. "I love it, Harry. Thank you," he said, his voice soft yet resonant with gratitude.

He slid the bracelet onto his left wrist, its cool metal a stark contrast to his skin. Closing the distance between them, Theo reached out, his fingers brushing gently against Harry's cheek before winding his arms around Harry's back. He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from Harry's, pausing for a moment as if capturing the anticipation.

"May I?" Theo's voice was a whisper, his breath warm against Harry's lips.

In that moment, with the snow falling around them and the stillness of the lake as their backdrop, Harry's response was a soft, affirmative murmur.

With a tenderness that spoke volumes, Theo's lips met Harry's in a gentle kiss. As Harry tentatively opened his mouth, Theo deepened the kiss, his hand cradling the back of Harry's head, fingers entwined in his hair.

Harry's senses were engulfed; the taste of Theo, the feel of him, the softness of the snow around them all melding into something overwhelming. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, cocooned in their shared warmth.

Theo finally pulled back, though he remained close, their foreheads touching.

"I've always loved the first snow," he said hoarsely. His breath was uneven, and his eyes appeared almost black.

"Yes... There's something magical about it," Harry agreed, burying his nose in Theo's neck.

Chapter 11: It's Not All Sunshine And Rainbows

Harry always loved how Hogwarts transformed at Christmas. The halls turned into a winter wonderland, with fluffy fir trees decked out in moving ornaments and shimmering streamers. The windows were covered in fancy frost patterns like magic had just brushed over them. You couldn't walk down a hallway without bumping into holly wreaths or pine garlands, and their lights just made everything feel cozy and warm. Even the suits of armor got into the Christmas mood, belting out carols as you walked past. That whole Hogwarts Christmas vibe? It was something Harry usually couldn't get enough of.

But this year was different. The whole holiday cheer felt a million miles away. It was like Voldemort's dark cloud was hanging over everything, turning even the brightest Christmas lights kind of dull. Harry felt weird trying to enjoy any of it while Voldemort was out there, getting stronger and causing chaos. It was like he had this huge fight on his hands, but no clue how to win it. Even trying to get some advice from Dumbledore turned into a dead end. Harry vividly recalled spending a fruitless afternoon outside the headmaster's office, unable to decipher the password to the gargoyle-guarded entrance.

The grueling routine of detentions with Snape, Umbridge's relentless criticisms during lessons, and the overwhelming workload for their O.W.L. year left Harry drained. Nevertheless, he persisted in his attempts to understand Voldemort's plans, clinging to a sliver of hope that a timely discovery might grant him an opportunity to intervene. But since his brief success at Equinox, his attempts to infiltrate Voldemort's mind had been met with diminishing returns. The connection, once a reliable source of insight, now seemed to weaken with each passing day. After Voldemort's recent ritual during the last full moon, the Dark Lord's strength had increased to a point where Harry could no longer breach his thoughts or memories. Each failed try left Harry reeling in agony, the pain lingering long after the attempt.

Theo, more and more reluctantly assisting Harry, was clearly reaching his breaking point. One evening, after yet another harrowing attempt by Harry, Theodore's patience finally gave way.

"Enough," his voice was strained, his face ghostly pale and lips bitten raw. "You need to stop this. You're just hurting yourself! There's no point in this."

Harry, lying exhausted on the floor, replied weakly, "I can't stop this. I have to find a way to kill him."

Theodore looked down at Harry, a mix of resignation and concern etched on his face. "Have to?" he scoffed, almost hopelessly, repeating a question that had been asked and answered too many times. "Why you? Why can't Dumbledore or the Ministry deal with it?"

"You know why!" Harry forced himself to stand.

"This fucking prophecy doesn't mean you have to ruin your life to kill him!".

"Yeah? And what does it mean in your opinion? That I need to wait until it fulfils itself? Don't you understand he becomes more powerful each month. For fuck's sake, I become more powerful because of this fucking connection! I can't just sit back and do nothing!"

A tense silence filled the room.

"I want to try again. Will you help me or not?" Harry finally broke the silence.

"No," Theodore replied, firmly but with unmistakable pain in his eyes. "I just can't take it anymore. Sorry. It's unbearable…"

As Theo reached out to him, Harry stepped back, a mix of understanding and hurt in his eyes. "Okay, I see," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, before storming out of the room.

Harry understood Theo's stance. Everyone has their limits, and when Nott had promised to be with him through anything, he couldn't have known it would only get worse, that being with Harry meant being dragged into an endless, and possibly doomed, fight.

For Theo, it was too much. Harry didn't blame him. But he struggled with the fact that Nott didn't seem to understand Harry's own inability to turn away. It was his duty. Harry had tried to step back, to detach himself, but it was futile. Perhaps it was true that "neither can live while the other survives."

Damned prophecy had embedded itself deep within his psyche, almost unnoticed.

Each day, Harry felt time slipping through his fingers like grains of sand, yet he was clueless about his next steps. What could he even do? The world had turned upside down, simple answers evading him. He no longer blamed Dumbledore for keeping his distance. In the end, was the old wizard not justified in his reluctance to send his people to their deaths?

But what if, after Voldemort gained full power, he became unstoppable? Was that what the prophecy foretold?

Harry convinced himself that if he could no longer penetrate Voldemort's thoughts, he needed to at least understand the full content of the prophecy. But how? Dumbledore wouldn't disclose it, and he wouldn't drag Theodore further into this mess... Should he ask Hermione for help?

No, he thought, enough. This was a battle he had to face alone. Otherwise, he risked losing everyone.

 

 

***

 

 

On the last day of the semester, Harry and Maeve were perched on the windowsill in the second-floor hall, savoring an assortment of sweets that Potter had picked up from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. The warm sunlight filtered through the glass, casting a cozy glow on their relaxed figures.

"Why are you avoiding your boyfriend?" Maeve inquired, her voice muffled slightly as she popped a Fizzing Whizzbee into her mouth, her legs swinging back and forth in her shiny new shoes.

"I'm not avoiding him," Harry grumbled, his fingers rummaging through a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans for the red ones.

"Really? Then why did we have to sneak out under your invisibility cloak?" she retorted, drawing out her words with a playful smirk.

"You know, when you talk like that, you remind me of Draco Malfoy," Harry shot back, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Maeve puffed up in offense.

"And when you talk like that, you remind me McGonagall!" she retorted, mimicking a stern expression and adjusting imaginary spectacles, imitating both Potter and the stern Professor McGonagall.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle and gently pinched Maeve's cheek, provoking her indignant roar and a sharp slap on the back with her small hand

"Sorry, I'm just not feeling it today," he confessed with a rueful smile, as she stopped hitting him. "I just don't want to run into Theo. It's the last day before holidays, and I can't fake being all cheerful. I don’t want to upset him again... You get it, right?"

Potter glanced at Maeve's puzzled face and reflected on the odd twist of fate that made his most trusted confidant an eleven-year-old girl. It seemed that Maeve was always around when he desperately needed someone to talk to. Besides, she was the only one who knew about him and Nott. Harry appreciated her perceptiveness; she had instantly noticed the bracelet on Theo's wrist, one crafted by her father. So it was easier for Harry to confirm her correct suspicions and ask her not to tell anyone, rather than endure the silly jokes of a red-headed troublemaker or her attempts to draw him out.

"My sister Clotra does the same thing," Maeve mused thoughtfully, after swallowing her Fizzing Whizzbee. "Harry, could you conjure up some water? My mouth's all sticky from the sweets. Anyway, when Clotra messes up, she hides from our parents till the last minute. She thinks the longer she waits, the less angry they'll be."

"Does that actually work?" he asked, waving his wand to transfigure an empty Chocolate Frog card into a water glass and filling it with a simple charm.

"Of course not," Maeve rolled her eyes, accepting the glass and taking a sip. "They just get more worked up looking for her."

"But I haven't messed up!" Harry suddenly realized, recalling the start of her analogy.

Maeve gave him a look laden with skepticism.

"Then why are you chickening out?" she prodded, unwrapping a bar of Honeydukes' chocolate with a critical eye.

"I am not chickening out!" Potter protested with irritation.

"You're hiding instead of facing things. That's chickening out," Maeve stated matter-of-factly. "You're supposed to be brave. You were a Gryffindor for four years, right? Gryffindors are meant to be brave and... um... noble! Though some of your ex-housemates didn't quite live up to that," she added with a wry grin.

"Are they still picking on you?" Harry preferred to switch to his young friend's problems rather than continue discussing his imagined fear of talking to Theodore.

"All the time! Just yesterday, Linda Johnson convinced Abercrombie to toss a Dungbomb into my cauldron during Potions," she huffed in annoyance. "I managed to jump clear in time, but poor Ulick got drenched from head to toe. He had to spend the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing."

Harry reflected on his own first years, recalling a similar incident where he had blown up Goyle's cauldron to distract Snape. For the first time, he wondered if Greg felt as unfairly targeted as Maeve did now.

Maeve, reading the guilt on his face, exclaimed with a mix of annoyance and revelation, "I knew it! Even you! Why does everyone have it in for Slytherins?"

"Well... We've always had a bit of a bad reputation," Potter ventured cautiously, then added philosophically,  "Besides, people need someone to hate."

 

 

***

 

 

"Hey," Harry muttered as he clambered onto Theo's bed, casually weaving silencing charms around them—a sharp contrast to how he'd been avoiding Theo in the past few days.

"We've already seen each other today," Theo retorted, his tone edged with bitterness.

Potter, noticeably absent for most of the day and couple of days before, clearly hadn't returned just to bid goodnight. Reluctantly, Theo bookmarked his place in "Mistakes of the Great Seers of Our Time: From Nostradamus to Cassandra Trelawney," and turned his attention to Harry with a guarded expression.

"I need you to remove your amulet from me," Harry started earnestly. "We won't be seeing each other over the holidays, and I..."

"No," Theodore interjected sharply, his gaze flicking back to the book.

"Why not?" Potter's frustration was evident in his voice.

Theodore remained silent, deliberately avoiding Harry's gaze.

"You don't get it. I have to get into his head, and time's running out!" Harry's voice crackled with irritation. "You said you're out of this. Fine, I get that. But you can't make my choices for me!"

"I can and I am."

"How can you even say that?!"

"You're asking me how?" Theodore's response was frosty, his eyes flashing dangerously. "For one, you can't take off the amulet yourself."

"Then I'll just find a way to break the chain!"

"Good luck with that."

"What's your problem, Theo? If my life's too much for you, do you expect me to just sit back and watch the world burn?"

"I want you to stop destroying yourself, Harry," Theodore shot back, his words sharp. "I'm sick of watching you chip away at your sanity!"

"I have no choice!" Harry's voice broke into a shout. "You might not want to help, but..."

"Damn it, Harry! Do you really think I don't want to help? Helping you is all I want! But this... what you're doing, it's getting you nowhere! I can't stand by and watch you hurting yourself! Can't you see that? Isn't there a part of you that wants to find a way through this, to survive it?"

"You think I want to die?" Harry hissed, his voice low and sharp.

"Yes, I do! Because otherwise, I can't understand why you'd make your life an endless cycle of pain and torment!"

Theo instantly regretted his harsh words as they hung in the air, seeing the impact they had on Harry. Harry looked as if he'd been struck, his face a mask of pain and resolve.

"I'm doing what must be done," he declared, eerily composed. "Just take off the amulet, Theodore."

"I can't let you do this..."

"Fine. I'll do it without your help then."

Harry stood up abruptly, his movements quick and tense. He draped his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and stormed out, leaving a palpable tension behind.

Theo's heart felt heavy, sinking into an abyss of regret and worry. This is a bloody nightmare...

Time seemed to stand still, and it was only in the early hours of the morning, when the faint creak of the dormitory door broke the silence, that Theo realized Harry had at least returned to the dorms.

Chapter 12: All I Want For Christmas

The next day, Harry left for the holidays without a goodbye to Theodore. Even at breakfast, he chose a spot far away from Theo at the Slytherin table. Theo, not even glancing in Harry's direction, looked as though he hadn't slept a wink all night. Fine. If he doesn't want anything to do with me, I'll just let it be.

On the Hogwarts Express, Harry sat with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, pretending to sleep the entire journey.

The days leading up to Christmas felt like walking through a fog. At Grimmauld Place, Harry made an effort not to let his friends see how down he really was. He didn't want to dampen their holiday spirit with his gloom, his feelings of helplessness, or the fact that his relationship with Theo, which they didn’t even know existed, seemed to be over before it really started. So, he put on a friendly face, smiled a lot, and even cracked a few jokes. Only Hermione looked at him with a hint of suspicion, but, uncharacteristically, she didn't probe further. Everyone else was preoccupied anyway, especially since Mr. Weasley had been injured in some incident and was now recovering in St. Mungo's. Harry didn't delve into the details. Knowing Mr. Weasley was alive and on the mend was enough for him. Maybe they would even let him come home for Christmas.

Harry spent most of his time in Regulus's room, feeling it was the right place to be. He never understood why he and Ron had to share a room in a house with over twenty bedrooms. The silver-green decor, dimness from the thick curtains, and dark wood furniture gave Harry a sense of protection, a feeling of home. It was surprising how quickly he had grown out of the Gryffindor red and gold.

"You know, you could make this room your own if you like it so much," Sirius suggested, dropping by to chat one evening before dinner. "I doubt Reg would mind. Besides, you’re starting to remind me of him... Maybe it’s because you’re turning into a Slytherin now."

"Maybe Regulus Black’s spirit moved into me when I started wearing his clothes," Harry joked weakly, trying to play along with his godfather's teasing gaze.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I knew it. Slytherin-ism is infectious," he sighed dramatically, pulling a face.

Harry managed a laugh. "Thanks, Sirius. Yeah, I might spruce up the room a bit. Or at least take down those newspaper clippings that glorify the Dark Lord."

But Harry changed nothing.

To keep his mind busy, Harry chatted with the twins about their plans for a shop in Diagon Alley, argued with Hermione over how alarm charms worked, played endless games of chess with Ron, and even tried to get through a dull historical novel. It was about some wizard in the Victorian era scheming to get close to the royal court.

Harry used to think that people made too big a deal about heartache. But as each day passed, he couldn't shake off how much he missed Theodore. He kept thinking about how he'd pushed Theo into situations he clearly didn't want to be in. Maybe Theo had a point. Perhaps he deserved a shot at just being happy and carefree, not dragged down by all of Harry's problems.

Clutching a flat, round pendant with an embossed thistle, Harry felt its familiar, faint warmth. Maybe he should apologize.

Merlin, how he longed to see Theo. But did Theodore want to see him?

Harry hoped so. They would reconcile. He'd explain everything and stop causing him so much pain. He would promise that.

"Isn't there a part of you that wants to find a way through this, to survive it?" Theo's words resonated in his head. Now, in his memory, Nott's voice sounded not angry, but desperate and painfully sad.

Harry wanted to live, and he wanted to be with Theo. After the holidays, they would meet, and he would explain everything, shield him from his problems.

Damn, if Theo forgave him, he would do anything in the world. He was even ready to start that silly defense club with Hermione and teach her to conjure a Patronus, as he had promised last year as a sacrifice to the gods. 

Days passed. Harry began redecorating the room. He boxed up Regulus's belongings and stored them in the attic. He repaired the doxy-nibbled curtains and lightened the wallpaper. He took down the old newspaper clippings and photos, replacing them with a snapshot of him, Ron, and Hermione, taken by Colin Creevey just before the third task last June.

They would make up. Harry would find the right words. He'd show Theo how much he meant to him. He just hoped Theo would forgive him.

 

On Christmas Eve, as evening descended on the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters, Dumbledore arrived. Remus let Harry know this, asking him to come down to the small living room near the kitchen, the same place where they had talked with the headmaster last summer.

"I've come to see Arthur, but I couldn't pass up the chance to have a word with you too, my boy," Dumbledore said with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his piercing, cool eyes. "How have you been faring, Harry?"

"I've been alright," he replied, his tone guarded as he eyed the headmaster cautiously. He was puzzled about why the headmaster, who had ignored him all semester, was suddenly showing interest in him. "And how about you, sir? How's your health?"

"Can't complain, Harry, can't complain," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Though I must admit, age doesn't exactly come without its challenges. Just last night, I couldn't sleep a wink till midnight because of a nagging backache. Would you mind transfiguring a cushion for my lower back? This chair is unmercifully stiff."

Taking a delicate doily from the table, Dumbledore handed it to Harry. Did he want to test Harry's magical abilities? Voldemort must have conducted some vile ritual during the winter solstice, and Harry had been oblivious due to Theo's amulet blocking his connection with Voldemort.

If Dumbledore believed his little test was subtle, he might be closer to losing his touch than everyone thought. Taking the doily, Harry transfigured it into something quite unattractive, using his imagination to its fullest. The cushion he created was rather pathetic, thin and lopsided, with a hue of pink reminiscent of Madam Umbridge, and adorned with absurd lettuce-green frills.

Dumbledore, with apparent satisfaction, accepted the makeshift cushion from Harry, placed it behind his back, and settled into the chair, smiling broadly. He seemed in a particularly talkative mood today, inquiring at length about Harry's friends, his adjustment to Slytherin, and any academic challenges he faced.

Throughout the conversation, Harry felt a persistent unease, as if Dumbledore held significant knowledge about him but chose to remain silent. His gut told him not to trust the professor, leading him to keep his discoveries about Voldemort to himself. To deflect attention, he decided to bring up Umbridge.

"Professor, do you think there's any chance Umbridge might head back to the Ministry next term, leaving us with a more... competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Harry asked with a hint of hope.

The headmaster's expression grew somber.

"I'm afraid that's beyond my control, Harry..." Dumbledore responded gravely. "Dolores Umbridge will remain at the school for as long as Cornelius Fudge sees fit. I'm merely the headmaster now, with limited influence in these matters."

Harry sensed the truth in Dumbledore's words. The once powerful wizard was now constrained, forced to tolerate and adapt. Dumbledore might still be a legendary figure in the wizarding world, but his days of direct confrontation seemed to be behind him. Yet, his penchant for secrecy and manipulation continued unabated. If only he focused more on his duties at Hogwarts...

Harry kept these thoughts to himself, managing a polite smile. "We'll manage somehow, Professor. We always do."

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore replied earnestly, nodding in appreciation.

Mrs. Weasley entered the room and casually asked Dumbledore if he could spare some time to join them for the holiday dinner before his return to Hogwarts, suggesting they could start early to accommodate him. Dumbledore warmly agreed. Leaving the headmaster, Harry moved to assist Mrs. Weasley in setting up the dinner table.

Within half an hour, all the residents of Grimmauld Place, both temporary and permanent, had assembled in the kitchen: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, the twins, Remus, Sirius, Moody, Dumbledore, and Hermione. As the festive dinner reached its peak, the Tonkses arrived, and shortly before Dumbledore’s exit, a thoroughly drunk Mundungus Fletcher tumbled into the fireplace. Uninvited yet not turned away, he added to the evening's eclectic mix.

Laughter and animated conversations filled the air around the table. Tonks was passionately debating something with Moody. Fred and George sneakily tried to persuade Sirius to pour them some Firewhisky while their parents were engrossed in a conversation with Andromeda. Ginny, acting the voice of reason, tried to dissuade Sirius, humorously warning that the inebriated twins might just end up demolishing his house. Ted Tonks and Dumbledore were deep in a discussion about the advancements in magical medicine. Old Fletcher, overwhelmed by his state, quickly succumbed to sleep, snoring loudly at the table. Lupin, ever the educator, was briefing Ron and Hermione on what to expect in their O.W.L.s for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry, ostensibly part of the conversation, was nodding along to Remus's words, but his mind was wandering, far from the festivities.

Catching Hermione’s empathetic look, Harry returned a wistful smile. She, too, might have been longing to be with her family. And he, he couldn't help but yearn to be with Theo.

Dumbledore was the first to depart, needing to attend the Hogwarts celebration. Hours later, after the feast had been devoured and Moody's stories began to loop, the guests slowly dispersed.

Harry felt an odd sense of detachment. It was as if he was simultaneously present and yet miles away, playing a role rather than truly partaking in the moment. He pondered whether the others – Hermione, Sirius, Remus – might also be lost in their thoughts, outwardly conforming to the cheerful script of a family Christmas.

As the evening wound down, Harry made his excuses, claiming the richness of the meal had left him tired. Retreating to the solitude of his room, his thoughts inevitably drifted towards Theo. Despite their recent fallout and the understanding that they needed to talk things through in person, Harry found himself considering the idea of reaching out to Theo. The thought of sending even a simple 'Merry Christmas' message lingered in his mind, a delicate balance between the desire to mend fences and the uncertainty of how it might be received.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Six crumpled and scribbled sheets surrounded Harry on the floor. With a sigh, he began his seventh attempt, penning "Merry Christmas, Theo" on the parchment.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Opening it, he found Ginny standing on the threshold.

"Can I come in?" she asked with a mysterious smile.

"Sure, come in," Harry replied, quickly shoving his failed letters under the desk with his foot to hide them from her view.

Ginny gracefully sat down on his bed, crossing her legs. Harry, left with no other choice, took a seat in the chair at his desk.

"It's nice and cozy in here," she commented, glancing around the room. "And quite warm, too."

She shrugged off her robe, revealing a short black dress—or was it a nightgown?—on thin straps. Harry was uncertain.

"It's not that warm," he chuckled awkwardly, unable to ignore how revealing Ginny's attire was.

"You've been looking so down lately," she leaned forward, giving Harry an unintended view down her neckline while resting her hand on his knee. "Thought I could cheer you up a bit?"

Harry stood up abruptly, taking a step back. He was starting to get a clear picture of her intentions. He wondered, half in panic, whether calling for Ron would make the situation better or worse.

What the fuck? Did the twins shared some fire-whisky with her? 

"I'm fine, Ginny, really," he said out-laud, striving for conviction. "No need for distractions. Maybe you should head back? It's getting late, after all."

"You know, I've always had a thing for you, Harry," she stood and began walking towards him with determination.

"Look, Ginny," he said, retreating further, "I'm flattered, but..."

As she moved to kiss him, Harry sidestepped.

"Ginny, no," he said firmly, gently pushing her away.

"Why not? Don't you find me pretty?" she asked, a hint of hurt in her voice.

"You're very pretty," Harry assured her. "But I just can't. I'm sorry."

"There's someone else, isn't there?" she asked, her tone turning sharp.

"Yes."

"It's Cho Chang, right? I knew she'd get her claws into you!" Ginny's voice edged towards hysteria, but she began to pull her robe back on. "I'm such a fool!"

Harry leaned against the wardrobe, feeling conflicted about whether to calm her down or let her vent. Maybe Hermione would be better at this?

"Why aren't you saying anything? It's Cho, isn't it?" Ginny pressed, now fully buttoned up to Harry's great relief. 

"No, Ginny. It's not her. And let's not turn this into a guessing game," he said, his expression uneasy.

"So it's Hermione!" Ginny concluded, surprisingly.

Harry couldn't fathom how she jumped to Hermione. At least with Cho he had fleeting crush on her, though ages ago.

"It's not a girl," he decided to reveal, hoping it might end the guessing.

"Oh," Ginny looked genuinely surprised. "I had no idea you're into guys."

"I didn't either," Harry admitted with a small smile. "But it turns out I do."

"Okay, then," she said, sitting back down on the bed. "Tell me about him."

"No, Ginny. I can't talk about it," Harry said firmly. "I haven't even told Hermione and Ron. And please, keep this to yourself."

"Why should I hide from my own brother that his best friend has a secret boyfriend?" Ginny's face twisted into a sly grin. "And Hermione is my close friend. I tell her everything! She'll figure out who it is in no time."

"If you tell anyone, I'll let Mrs. Weasley know you barged into my room in the middle of the night half-naked and tried to kiss me," Harry said with a heavy sigh, feeling cornered.

"What? You wouldn't dare say that to Mum…"

"Try me" Harry shrugged coolly. "Besides, I'm sire she'd be angry with you, not me."

Ginny glared at him, then stood up abruptly and strode towards the door.

"It's a wonder they didn't put you in Slytherin from the start, Potter!" she spat out, slamming the door behind her.

Left alone, Harry tried to focus on his letter again, but the words eluded him. Everything he wanted to say to Theo needed to be said face-to-face.

With over a week left of the holidays, Harry felt like he was on the brink of madness. But could he really just show up at Nott's house without invitation?

Maybe he could.

Here goes everything.

Pulling out the thistle flower medallion from under his shirt, Harry clenched it in his hand and whispered:

"Nemo me impune lacessit."

 

 

 

***

 

 

Theodore Nott was seated in his study, meticulously checking for the fifth time how the enchantment on Potter's watch functioned. Despite Harry's silence, Theodore had resolved to send him a Christmas gift. Throughout the early days of the holiday, he had half-expected to see Hedwig in the sky, but no letter from Potter ever arrived.

Theodore would give anything to rectify things. Yes, he had panicked then, failed to cope. Later, he struggled to reach out to Harry, to convince him there was another way, and in the process, he had said too much.

Theo felt like he had broken everything beyond repair.

Harry had trusted him, shared his deepest fears and pain. And Theodore, in a foolhardy lapse, demanded things from Harry when he was most vulnerable, rather than offering support. Even Theo was unclear about what he truly sought from Potter. Did he expect him to be a carefree bloke, concerned only about school grades and Quidditch cups? How absurd... What had he been thinking, falling for the damn Harry Potter?

He hadn't planned it... it just happened, and Theodore couldn't pinpoint when. Was it when he first noticed Harry's impossibly green eyes? Or during that night in London, when Potter took his hand for reassurance? Perhaps it was when he watched Harry gleefully dive into the chilly sea? Or during those evenings spent close by the fireplace, talking about everything in the world?

Always?

The soft chime of an alarm spell broke his reverie. Someone had entered his home – but only one person had access.

They met in the corridor, Harry and Theo locking eyes in a silent exchange where words became redundant. Harry approached Theo, hands threading through his hair, and kissed him – gently, cautiously. Theo responded, wrapping his arms around Harry's back. Potter pressed against Nott, backing him into the wall. The kisses deepened, turning passionate, their teeth clashing. When Harry bit his lower lip, Theo lost himself in a surge of sensation, letting out a soft moan.

At that, Potter paused.

"You're not mad at me anymore?" he asked, breathless, eyes alight with intensity, his lips and cheeks flushed.

"I stopped being mad a while ago," Theo replied, his voice distant as if in a daze. His mind was blissfully empty. "And I think I'm no longer an idiot too... Forgive me, Harry. I should never have..."

"Hush," Potter silenced him, placing a finger on Theodore's lips. "There's nothing for you to apologize for. You were right."

"What do mean?" Theodore responded, dazed.

"You were right. I was turning my life into an endless cycle of pain and torment, just like you said," Potter spoke with a wry smile.

"I shouldn't have said that... I'm so sorry."

"I told you, it's fine. So here's the thing. I don't want that life anymore," Harry now smiled genuinely, warmly. "I want to be happy. And with you, Theo. It seems that’s a key part of this being happy thing for me."

Theodore wanted to respond with a torrent of words, but they stuck in his throat.

"For me too," was all he managed to say.

Harry kissed him again, fervently yet tenderly, as if infusing the kiss with all the emotions storming within him.

Brigitte approached, purring and rubbing against Harry's legs. He crouched to pet her, and upon standing, reached into his pockets, pulling out a palm-sized box with a puzzled expression.

"I have two bits of news," he announced. "I seem to have forgotten your gift. That's the bad news. But the good news is, I accidentally brought fireworks instead. They must have been next to it on the table... Have you ever set off fireworks, Theo?"

Nott simply shook his head. Potter grinned mischievously, leading him outside. Theo protested the cold, snowy weather and suggested dressing warmly first, but Harry dismissed it, promising to cast warming charms.

They moved away from the house, and Potter placed the box of fireworks on the ground. Muttering a spell, the box grew exponentially and burst open. Thousands of colorful sparks shot into the sky. They spread to the horizon, then gathered together and turned into dragons, pegasi, and hippogriffs, whistling as they flew over their heads and again turned into huge clusters of shining stars, shimmering in gold, red, blue, green, and purple.

Harry watched the sky in awe, and Theo couldn't take his eyes off Harry.

I love you, Harry Potter.

Later, when the noise subsided and the sky darkened, they returned to the house, freezing because Harry, engrossed in the display, forgot the warming charms. Harry's teeth chattered, and Theodore wrapped him in a woolen plaid blanket, seating him by the fireplace. Ailee fussed around them, serving hot spiced wine with honey.

"Merry Christmas, Theo," Harry said, resting his head on his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Chapter 13: Lines In The Sand

Harry returned to the Grimmauld Place in the early morning, around six. The first thing he saw was the stern, ironically amused face of Sirius Black, seated in a chair opposite the fireplace, twirling a large mug with a steaming drink. Beside him on a coffee table was a half-empty bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhiskey.

"Hello, godson," Sirius greeted him dryly, his eyes scrutinizing Harry’s unkempt hair, wrinkled shirt, and still too-red lips. "Had a good time?"

Harry immediately wished he could disappear or, at the very least, learn to apparate on the spot.

"Uh, hi, Sirius," he replied awkwardly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he examined his godfather. Sirius seemed surprisingly sober, as if he hadn't been drinking at all. "Why are you up so late?"

Sirius ignored the question and motioned towards the chair next to him. Harry sighed and sat down.

"I won't ask where you've been. I think I've already figured that out," Sirius remarked, waving a stack of crumpled parchment sheets in front of Harry, filled with various versions of Potter's thoughts such as 'forgive me, Theo' and 'I miss you so much'.

Taking a large gulp from his mug — which seemed to be a mix of Firewhiskey and coffee — Sirius continued with a sigh:

"I understand, Harry, really. You had a fight before the holidays, and then Christmas came along, and you suddenly needed to see him... It's understandable. I remember being your age. I'm not judging. But a little warning next time, instead of just vanishing in the middle of the night?"

"And who would have let me go?" Harry replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "It's not like this house respects my privacy... I was gone for a few hours, and suddenly my personal letters are not so personal anymore."

"Your 'personal letters' were sprawled on the floor like trash," Sirius pointed out. " I wasn’t snooping, by the way. Besides," his voice held a mix of irritation and concern, "be thankful it was me who noticed your absence. If Molly had checked on you, she'd have assumed the Death Eaters had taken you. Or something worse."

"I'm thankful," Harry muttered, not quite hiding his reluctance.

Sure, Mrs. Weasley would've caused a scene, but Harry didn't even want to think about the possible aftermath of his return in this case.

Eager to wrap up this awkward conversation, Harry hurriedly said, "Don’t worry, Sirius. It won’t happen again. I’ll stay put for the rest of the holidays."

As he started to rise, intent on escaping to bed, Sirius stopped him. "You don’t have to lock yourself up, Harry."

Potter looked at him quizzically. Sirius explained, "You’re not a fugitive like me. There’s no reason for you to stay cooped up here. I just need to know you're safe and who you're with. That's all."

Harry shrugged, only half-convinced. Why should Sirius care who he was with? He could handle himself.

"Who is this Theo?" Black inquired, his gaze intense.

Harry scowled, suppressing a retort about Sirius's long absence from his life. "That's my business, Sirius," he said instead. "Isn’t it enough that I said I won’t go anywhere?"

"No," Black shook his head, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "And now, this secrecy seems even more suspicious..." he noticed a shift in Harry's expression, making him more alert. "Harry, is he at least your age? A Hogwarts student?"

"No, he's over forty, and actually, it’s Professor Snape," Harry suddenly snorted, amused by Sirius's bizarre suspicions.

Sirius's face twitched, and he quickly drained the rest of his mug.

"Ha-ha, you almost gave your old godfather a heart attack there," he said sarcastically. "For the record, Snape's only thirty-five. I should know; we were classmates. And just so you know, I'm not over forty either."

"No, Sirius, of course not. I know you're still young," Harry replied, rolling his eyes but smiling at Black nonetheless.

It was still dark outside, and the room was lit only by the flickering flames in the fireplace. Sirius had stopped asking questions. They sat in silence for a while, both watching the fiery dance of orange and red flames. Harry occasionally glanced at his godfather's weary face, reflecting on his own fatigue from the constant lies and never-ending secrets. And he felt a bit worn out by the fact that the only person he could talk about his relationships with was just eleven years old.

"Theo is Theodore Nott," Harry finally said, closing his eyes, not wanting to see his godfather's reaction. "He's a Slytherin, my classmate, and the son of a Death Eater from Voldemort's Inner Circle... Yes, I'm aware. And before you say something I don't want to hear, you should know: I trust him more than anyone else."

Sirius was silent, the crackling of the dry wood and the distant hum of the London streets filling the quiet.

"My parents spent their lives telling me who to associate with, taking into consideration the typical beliefs of pureblood fanatics," Sirius spoke thoughtfully, a hint of sadness in his voice. "When I was in my fifth year at Hogwarts, just like you are now, they got to me so much that I eventually ran away from home."

Harry's eyes widened, not expecting this revelation. Catching his gaze, Sirius turned back to the fireplace, the restless flames reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Unfortunately, I'm not your father, Harry. I'm just a godfather who was absent for most of your life... But I do want you to consider my home as yours too... And I certainly wouldn't want you to hate me and run away forever."

Harry swallowed hard.

"I don’t think I could ever hate you, Sirius," he managed to say, despite the difficulty. "You're the only family I have... But I wish you'd accept my choice."

"I'll try to accept it," said Sirius earnestly, but then his serious expression gave way to a mischievous grin as he playfully nudged Harry. "Though, I must admit, I had a feeling something like this was bound to happen the moment I heard you were sorted into Slytherin."

"My sorting has little to do with it. Or almost little," Harry responded. His expression softened, becoming slightly dreamy. "Theo and I accidentally  met at the beginning of last summer..."

Harry went on to tell about their first encounter in Diagon Alley,about the Dementors, how Theo helped him adapt to Slytherin, his house and the kneazles, the apple orchard, the sheep on green hills, and the vast wheat field. He shared how they had set off fireworks a few hours ago, and how Ailee had scolded them while serving mulled wine. He told Sirius almost everything about Theo, carefully avoiding anything related to Voldemort or their magical experiments. Sirius didn’t pry into topics Potter preferred to avoid. His questions focused on Theodore, as if he truly wanted to understand his importance to Harry.

As dawn finally broke and the fireplace embers dimmed, Mrs. Weasley descended the stairs. She hummed "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" on her way to the kitchen to start the festive breakfast. Spotting Black and Potter, she stopped singing.

"My goodness... Sirius, Harry, are you up already?" she inquired suspiciously, eyeing the bottle on the coffee table between them.

"We haven't been to bed yet, Molly," Black replied, standing and stretching. "We were just about to."

"Sirius Black, have you lost your senses?!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Harry's still a child! He needs his sleep, not to be up all night and drink in your questionable company!"

"I didn’t give him any alcohol," Sirius replied, a playful note in his voice, winking at Harry. "And I didn't drink much either... Molly, don't worry, it's Christmas! What’s a little lost sleep? It's no big deal."

"Exactly, it's Christmas! In half an hour, everyone will be around the table for gifts... And you both will be at breakfast too!" she said firmly, hands on her hips, raising her voice. "Go and freshen up now! You both look like a pair of alcoholics!"

Harry wanted to protest that he was definitely not an alcoholic and hadn't really drunk much, but then he remembered he had, albeit a little and long ago!

"Let's go, Pronglet. We're clearly not wanted here," Sirius said, putting an arm around Harry and leading him towards the stairs.

"Why Pronglet?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, your dad, James, was Prongs. So, you're Pronglet," Black explained, seeming surprised at the question.

"Just make sure you don’t fall asleep in your rooms!" Mrs. Weasley called out sternly. "Shower, get dressed, and come straight down to the kitchen!"

As Potter walked down the third-floor corridor, Black called out to him.

"Harry, share what you told me with your friends. Matters of the heart shouldn't be kept secret from our nearest and dearest," Sirius said seriously, smiling encouragingly. "Besides, this Theo seems like a decent guy from your stories. Hermione and Ron will come around."

Harry wished he could share his godfather's certainty...

 

 

***

 

In the days following Christmas, time seemed to slip by almost imperceptibly. Harry found Mrs. Weasley's constant vigilance somewhat exhausting, yet aside from that, life was agreeable. Even Ginny, after a few days, softened her demeanor and started interacting with him normally again. At last getting enough rest, Harry felt nearly content with life — he was alive, surrounded by friends, and despite Voldemort's machinations, the world hadn't come crashing down.

Harry spent the remainder of the holidays in a state of relaxed and slightly frivolous ease. Their return to Hogwarts was aboard the Knight Bus, accompanied by Tonks, Lupin, and of course, Mad-Eye Moody.

Once back at school, Harry seamlessly rejoined the rhythm of classes and homework. Thoughts of Voldemort's future plans no longer occupied his mind. Instead, his thoughts constantly circled around Theo: his gray-blue eyes, his soft, slightly plump lips, the strength in his arms when they were alone, the firm yet comforting embrace. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he had never met anyone as perfect as Theodore Nott. Occasionally, Harry found himself embarrassingly fixated on Theo without any particular reason. Whenever Theo caught his gaze, he didn't respond with irritation but rather with a slight smile and a look that made everything else fade into insignificance. Harry’s world seemed to narrow down to just this one person. In fact, Harry got so lost in observation once that he earned detention in Defense Against the Dark Arts for “appalling inattentiveness,” simply because he was so absorbed in watching Theodore during a quiz. Luckily, since Umbridge had been banned from meting out punishments, she delegated the task to either Filch or Snape, depending on her mood.

Ten days into the term, The Daily Prophet's front page announced a breakout from Azkaban. Ten Death Eaters had escaped, including all three Lestranges, Dolohov, Rookwood, Travers, and Mulciber. While Harry didn't recognize the others, Theo informed him that they were also part of Voldemort’s Inner Circle.

The reaction at Hogwarts was varied. Some students huddled in frightened whispers, while others looked as if they were ready to join the Auror Office and capture the dark wizards themselves. Ernie Macmillan, for example, approached Harry during lunch and declared his belief in the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry simply nodded, somewhat bemused. He had long stopped caring about who believed what, except for those who were convinced that his godfather was behind the Azkaban breakout, which nearly made him want to cast a curse or two.

As evening fell, the tension was even palpable in the Slytherin common room. Nobody openly addressed it – after all, subtlety was a hallmark of Slytherins. Daphne, who usually didn’t miss an opportunity to pester Pansy Parkinson, now deliberately avoided her. Adrian Pucey, typically inseparable from Fergus Hilliard of a distinctly neutral family, was seen whispering with fourth-year Neil Selwyn in a secluded corner.

Harry Potter's presence became a striking barometer of the division within Slytherin. While some students completely disregarded him, muttering insults as they had done just after his re-sorting, others became noticeably friendlier, eager to display their approval. Montague casually inquired if Harry was interested in training with them for the upcoming spring semester and perhaps trying out for the team the following year. Warrington loudly commended Harry for his assistance to the first years, audible to the entire common room. Hilliard expressed interest in borrowing the adventure novel Harry had recently been seen with, and sixth-year Clarissa Baddock approached him for advice on whether her younger brother Malcolm should opt for Divination as an elective. By nightfall, it was clear to Potter that Slytherin House had splintered into two distinct political factions.

"How are you really feeling, Harry?" Theodore asked him after lights out, sitting cross-legged on Potter's bed, facing him.

"Well, we always knew Voldemort was gathering strength. Something was inevitably going to happen," Potter responded with a philosophical air. "I don’t think ten more Death Eaters will drastically worsen things... The situation was pretty grim to begin with."

"What do you think he's planning next?" Theo looked visibly concerned, yet his voice remained as steady as ever, a constant in this shifting world.

"He'll take control of the Ministry," Harry stated as if it were obvious, "but I can't even begin to imagine the methods he'll use for that, let alone what comes after. He’s after power, Theo. That’s all he wants... And he doesn’t care about the number of lives it costs."

"Does that mean we're heading towards another war?" Nott asked thoughtfully.

"It means we're heading towards another war," Potter echoed, his voice laden with a sense of inevitability.

Theodore lay back, stretching out on the bed. He slid his hands under his head, lost in contemplation. Harry lay beside him, resting his cheek against Theo's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat. Nott gently played with Harry's hair, twirling the overgrown curls around his fingers. Harry focused on the comforting sensation, gradually relaxing, and drifting into a peaceful doze.

"Nox," Theo whispered, and the space under the bed canopy sank into complete darkness.

"You're planning to sleep... here?" Harry inquired, surprised. Theodore usually didn't do this. They had only shared a bed once, what felt like a lifetime ago, back in September.

"Yeah, I’m sleeping here tonight," Theo replied casually, wrapping his arm around Harry to pull him closer. Then, almost brushing his lips against his ear, he added with a smirk, "Don’t worry, Harry Potter, your honor is completely safe with me."

"Just for tonight, or in general?" Harry inquired with an indistinct tone.

"For tonight," Theo concluded after a brief pause.

 

 

 

* * *

As weeks went by filled with lessons and training, there were no further reports of attacks or missing people. The atmosphere at Hogwarts gradually shifted from anxiety to normalcy as students and staff refocused on their daily routines.

Harry had the option to delve into Voldemort's mind again, but he lacked the inclination and, to some extent, saw little point in it. After all, what good was more knowledge if he was powerless to act on it, at least until he became stronger?

Meanwhile, Umbridge continued her reign of terror, issuing absurd educational decrees, firing Trelawney, and increasingly targeting Hagrid. Hermione, in an effort to help, meticulously prepared lesson plans for Hagrid and assisted him daily with his burdensome, nonsensical reports. With his friends preoccupied, Ron seemed to have struck up a friendship with Neville Longbottom, as Harry had often seen them together in the corridors.

Harry, for his part, spent all his spare time with Theodore, unconcerned about how it might appear to others. Blaise definitely seemed to suspect something, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Potter wasn’t overly worried about what Zabini might deduce, knowing that he wouldn’t harm Theo, considering their friendship.

On Valentine's Day, the older students were permitted their first visit to Hogsmeade for the year. Hermione was adamant that they spend the day together like they used to, leaving Harry and Ron no choice but to agree.

On the chilly morning of February 14th, Potter joined his friends in the Great Hall after breakfast to head to the village. Instead of making a beeline for The Three Broomsticks, they chose to wander and work up an appetite, occasionally stepping into various shops to warm up. Harry browsed the storefronts somewhat distractedly, contemplating whether he should buy Theodore something for Valentine’s Day or if that was unnecessary and maybe pure-blood wizards didn’t celebrate it at all.

"Harry, just out of curiosity, who are we looking for a gift for?" Hermione asked perceptively as they stepped into a haberdashery.

"For Ronald," Potter quipped. "His birthday’s in two weeks, remember?"

"If you're wondering, Ronald would appreciate a new broom care kit or quality goalkeeper gloves," Ron chimed in with a smirk. "He can do without a new hat."

"Oh, look at this scarf, Harry. It’s just right," Hermione presented a cashmere blue scarf she had picked from the shelf. "It’s so soft and it matches his eyes."

"My eyes are light blue, not dark blue, almost grey!" Ron objected. "You really need glasses, Hermione!"

Harry caught Hermione’s eye and took the scarf. It felt incredibly soft in his hands, and Hermione's eyes lit up with victory.

"Great," she said. "Go ahead and pay for it, we'll wait for you outside."

"Hermione, seriously, why do I need this scarf? I don’t get it... I already have one!" Ron continued to argue as they left. "And isn’t a birthday gift supposed to be a surprise?"

"It’ll be a surprise, trust me. Don't be so dense, Ronald," Hermione insisted, pulling him outside with her.

"Will you be taking the scarf, Mr. Potter?" the young saleswoman asked politely, curiously watching his friends leave the shop. "Or should I find a light blue one instead?"

"No, thank you, this one is perfect…"

"Can we finally head to The Three Broomsticks, Hermione?" Ron grumbled as Potter emerged from the shop.

"Harry?" Hermione redirected the query to Potter, who hadn't seen her this content in a long while.

"Yeah, we can go," Harry responded, nodding somberly, bracing himself for whatever Hermione might bring up.

"About time!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up in relief and leading the way.

Potter followed, avoiding eye contact with Hermione, but she quickly caught up to him and latched onto his arm.

"What’s new with you, Harry?" she inquired, her tone heavy with implication. "We've hardly spoken lately. I feel like I'm totally out of touch with your life..."

"Nothing you’d find interesting," Harry replied with a forced smile. Seizing the offensive, he asked, "How about you? How’s Viktor? Still in touch with him?"

"Viktor? Viktor Krum?" Ron immediately turned their way, intrigued.

"You know any other Viktors?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No, but I'm puzzled why we're suddenly discussing Viktor Krum," Ron said, frowning slightly.

"Come on, Ron," Harry continued casually. "Hermione had a thing with him last year. I was just wondering if they're still communicating..."

"Just occasionally," Hermione answered dryly. "Let's change the subject. Maybe to Harry's personal life?"

"Harry has a personal life?" Ron asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Exactly, Ron, and that's what I'm trying to find out!" Hermione said, eyeing Harry. "I noticed recently that Harry..."

"Hermione, it just occurred to me, you never shared how Viktor kisses," Harry interjected hastily, his voice edged with panic, cutting her off before she could reveal too much. "Did you enjoy it? Why are you giving me that look? Friends share these things, right?"

"I see you point, Harry Potter!" Hermione declared and yanked open the door to The Three Broomsticks they had just reached. "I'll get the drinks; you two grab a table!"

The pub was crowded, but Harry and Ron managed to snag a table just vacated by four Hufflepuffs.

"You really think Hermione kissed Krum?" Ron whispered to him as they settled down.

"Yeah," Harry nodded cautiously. "Don’t you?"

"I don’t know... Why would she?"

"Well, he invited her to the ball, rescued her in the second task, even asked her to visit him in Bulgaria."

"But she didn’t go!"

"I'm not saying she still has feelings for him..."

"What are you guys talking about?" Hermione asked sharply, placing down three butterbeers on the table with a heavy thud.

"To be honest, the same topic," Harry confessed, then quickly tried to smooth things over, "But I'd really like to hear how Hagrid’s doing with his lesson plans."

"Well, Harry, not great, if I'm honest," Hermione said, switching focus. "We reworked his entire syllabus, but I think Umbridge is determined to fire him. And to be frank, much as I adore Hagrid, his qualifications do fall short... He never finished his O.W.L.s. I'm afraid the outcome is looking bleak…"

"Is this some weird triple date?" Seamus Finnigan jeered, sauntering over with a butterbeer in hand. "I heard rumors, Potter, but really, you and Weasley sharing Granger?"

Ron jerked up, ready to react, but Harry and Hermione quickly held him back.

"And what's your story, Seamus? Alone on a day like this?" Potter retorted sharply, his wand slipping into his hand unnoticed. "Heard Dean ditched you for a girl. Tough luck… But why not ask McLaggen out? You’d make a perfect match. Both blockheads and ugly!"

Seamus's smirk vanished. Yelling, "I'll get you for this, Potter!" he brandished his wand. Harry prepared for a counterattack, but Madam Rosmerta intervened promptly, having a keen eye for trouble in her establishment.

"No fights in my pub!" Rosmerta commanded, her gaze sharp on the disruptors. "Now, young lady," she addressed Hermione, "take your boys and sort this out elsewhere. I don't need teenage brawls here!"

Hermione, murmuring apologies, hurriedly escorted them outside. Finnigan bolted at the first chance, while Ron stubbornly tried to explain to Rosmerta they were just Hermione's friends, not admirers.

"He’s become worse than a ferret! Always picking on you," Ron grumbled as they stepped into the cold air.

"Just ignore him!" Hermione chided before turning to Harry. "And you could have kept quiet! Why did you have to provoke him? A silly ménage à trois joke can't be the worst thing you've heard from him!"

"What's that?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"A threesome," Harry helpfully clarified.

"Ugh," Ron grimaced, visibly repulsed.

"I think it was more about me," Potter reassured Hermione with a supportive pat on the shoulder. "I get that Finnigan isn't worth it, but he's irritating. You're right, Ron; he's even more unbearable than Malfoy. At least Malfoy's disdain was straightforward."

"By the way, how's Malfoy been?" Hermione interjected. "He's been rather quiet recently."

"Same old, but he seems to have switched tactics. Acts like I don't exist..." Harry shrugged. Draco had indeed backed off a bit. "Plus, Montague keeps threatening to replace him with me as Seeker if he screws up a game, so he's training non-stop."

"You're not really going to play for Slytherin, are you?" At Harry's hesitation, Hermione, eager to avoid further tension, loudly complained to change the subject.

"I'm totally freezing. Why are we standing out here?"

"Should we check out the Hog's Head?" Ron suggested. "I’ve heard it's quite the spot."

Harry and Hermione merely shrugged.

All the way there, Ron kept ranting about Seamus and the Slytherins.

"The Hog's Head," located off the main streets, soon brought the friends to the village outskirts. Instead of quaint shops and polished homes, they were now surrounded by shabby huts.

Hermione was about to suggest turning back to a more inviting location, but before she could speak, they were abruptly interrupted.

With a loud crack, four figures in black, their faces masked, materialized before them. Before Harry could fully grasp the situation, they were under attack. Spells were flying at them. Potter managed to dodge one, reflexively deflected two more, but the last one struck Ron, who collapsed, his eyes losing focus.

"BOMBARDA!" Hermione cried out, blasting the ground in front of the Death Eaters with a mixture of snow and frozen dirt.

Harry rushed to Ron's side, creating a protective shield against the onslaught of spells. A thought flashed through his mind: the Death Eaters were aiming to capture, not kill.

"Get the girl, Bella!" The distinct voice of Lucius Malfoy rang out.

As Potter neared Ron, Bellatrix's deranged laughter filled the air. Her mask had fallen, revealing her unmistakable, madness-riddled face.

"Oh, such a sprightly little Gryffindor," she crooned, her voice laced with a disturbing, manic glee. Her crazed eyes fixed on Harry. "Drop your wand, Potter, or I'll add a lovely red to your girlfriend's face!"

She pressed a knife to Hermione's throat, her anticipation palpable, her lips quivering in sinister eagerness. Lucius Malfoy and two other wizards aimed at them, giving Harry no room to maneuver.

"Better heed the advice, Potter," Malfoy added icily.

With a heavy heart, Harry stood, surrendering his wand to the ground.

"Stupefy!" a voice shouted from behind.

At that moment, a stun spell struck Harry from behind, engulfing him in darkness.

Chapter 14: Counting Down

A persistent sense of unease had shadowed Nott since dawn. The previous evening, he had planned to skip breakfast and only head to Hogsmeade with his friends around lunchtime. Yet, for reasons unknown, Theo found himself waking up at an ungodly hour along with Harry, and despite his attempts, he couldn't fall back to sleep, though he lay in bed for several more hours.

"Where's Potter?" Daphne inquired as they gathered in the lounge. "Isn't he joining us?"

"No, he's spending today with his Gryffindors," Theodore shook his head. "He left before breakfast."

"Mm," Blaise uttered with an odd tone. "That explains your glumness…"

"What do you mean?" Nott asked, his tone edged with unease, uncertain if he really wanted to delve into Zabini's thoughts.

"It means you're probably sleep-deprived, having woken up early enough on a Saturday to witness Potter leaving before breakfast," he said with a sly smile, sharing knowing looks with Daphne and Millicent.

Theodore rolled his eyes in irritation and pondered over how he might convince Potter that it was high time to at least tell their friends about them. The entire scenario, with its endless hide-and-seek and denial of the obvious, was on the brink of becoming even more ludicrous. Recently, Theo frequently found himself questioning what exactly he and Harry were hiding and from whom. While Potter had at least attempted to maintain a semblance of distance between them in public before Christmas, after the holidays Harry had been consistently by his side. Just the other day, Harry had even dozed off on Theo's shoulder in the lounge, oblivious to the onlookers and their suggestive stares.

A gentle frost had settled outside, with snow gently descending. Nott tried to immerse himself in the walk and conversation with his friends, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Potter. Time stretched on, feeling intolerably slow.

In the village, the four of them – Theodore, Blaise, Daphne, and Millicent – first dined at the Three Broomsticks, then retrieved Astoria from a somewhat dubious establishment. After browsing a few shops on their return journey, they got back to Hogwarts just before dinner. Potter was nowhere to be seen in the common room, seemingly still out somewhere. The thought that neither his friends nor Harry had been spotted in Hogsmeade the entire day nagged at Theo.

As dinner came and went without an appearance from Harry, Weasley, or Granger, Theodore’s concern deepened into worry.

Where on earth could he be wandering?

And what if something had happened…?

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry regained consciousness for the first time, someone was rummaging through the inner pockets of his robe. His vision was blurred and unfocused, unable to discern who it was. The room was dimly lit and reeked of musty dampness. He was lying on a cold stone floor, with a throbbing pain in his back and head, and he couldn't move an inch. His hands were tightly bound behind his back.

"Look here... Potter seems to be coming around," a raspy voice sounded above his ear. "After three Stupefys? How does such a runt have so much strength?"

"Knock him out," Lucius Malfoy commanded coldly.

 

 

* * *

 

Curfew was drawing near, yet Potter still hadn't returned to the dormitory. After some hesitation, Theodore Nott took the Marauder's Map from Harry's bedside table, revealing that Potter was nowhere within the castle. Theodore sat in the lounge with an expression so stern that no one dared approach. But Meadhbh Filitiarn-Diarmuid,  who definitely meant to be a Gryffindor, since her first day at Hogwarts, came to him.

"Nott, where's Harry?" she demanded, with Ulick Gamp looming behind her.

"I don't know," Theo replied in a muted tone, seeing no point in lying. "He should have been back by now..."

Maeve worry intensified.

"Ulick and I saw McGonagall taking the Weasley twins and their sister to the Hospital Wing," she shared in a hushed whisper. "I might not have heard everything, but... it looks like their brother Ronald is in the Hospital Wing, and apparently, he was attacked. Found unconscious in Hogsmeade."

Nott felt an icy chill spread through him.

"Wait here," he told first years, rising abruptly from his chair and heading to the bedroom. Reaching Harry's bed, he felt under the mattress where Harry usually hid his invisibility cloak under various charms.

"Theodore, are you snooping through Potter's belongings?" Draco Malfoy's haughty voice rang out from behind. "What are you searching for?"

"It's none of your concern, Draco," Nott retorted, just as his hand found the smooth fabric of the cloak.

Malfoy attempted to step closer but was repelled by Harry's protective charms, getting thrown onto Blaise's bed. Blaise, presumably already in bed, began to loudly protest.

Ignoring the commotion, Theo stuffed the invisibility cloak under his robe and returned to the younger students.

"We're heading to the Hospital Wing," he declared as they stepped into the corridor. "Your job is to extract as much information as possible from Weasley. I'll be nearby, under the cloak. Weasley won't speak freely if he knows I'm there. Any objections?"

Maeve immediately nodded in agreement with Nott's plan.

"What if we're caught? Curfew is in ten minutes..." Ulick voiced his concern.

"We won't be," Theodore assured, enveloping himself and the first-years in the cloak.

Their encounter with Weasley revealed his deep-rooted bias against Slytherins, even towards first years. Maeve had to fabricate an elaborate story and even burst into theatrical tears to coax information out of him.

"Did the Death Eaters take him?..." she asked, her voice trembling as if truly hoping Weasley would deny it.

"Yes," Ronald nodded grimly, wincing. "Stop crying! Harry will be alright. He'll find a way out, and he and Hermione will return to Hogwarts."

"How do you know?" Genuine tears filled the redhead girl's eyes.

"Because it's Harry... He always finds a way. No matter what... And he won't let anything happen to Hermione," Weasley declared with a heartfelt conviction, sinking back onto his pillow.

"What do we do now?" Maeve asked as they left the Hospital Wing, looking at Nott with such hopeful eyes that he felt unsettled.

Weasley had just confirmed his worst fears, and Theodore was at a loss for what to do next, though he had a few ideas...

"You'll head back to the dormitory, keep a close watch, and send me an owl if there's any news," Nott instructed firmly, handing the first-years the invisibility cloak.

"And you?" Maeve asked, sniffing suspiciously.

"I need to be where Harry might be, should he manage to escape."

With these words, he left the first-years and quickly made his way to the castle's secret exit.

He planned to cross the protective dome's boundary of Hogwarts and summon Ailee to transport him home. He could only hope Potter had managed to use the portal...

And that Harry was still alive.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next time Potter's consciousness snapped back, it did so sharply and abruptly. It seemed he had been seated in a chair. Inches from his face were two wands. One was tightly gripped in the hand of a man, presumably the one who had searched him. The other was held by a woman with a rough, unattractive face. Harry recognized her. Yes, definitely. It was Alecto Carrow. And the wizard beside her must be her brother, Amicus.

"The moment we untie your hands, you'll remove this trinket," Alecto said, nudging Theo's amulet with her wand. 

For a split second, Harry's heart leaped with joy. This was his chance to escape. He would touch the amulet, fend off the Death Eaters with magic before they could interfere, and disappear. He could do it... Lately, his simple wandless spells had been almost unfailingly successful.

But what if Ron and Hermione had also been captured?

"Why so quiet? Cat got your tongue?" Amicus struck him across the face, splitting his lips and drawing blood. Harry tasted metal in his mouth.

"Where are my friends?" Potter demanded.

"We're the ones asking questions here," Amicus growled, kicking him hard in the shin. The chair rocked but didn't topple. "My sister told you to remove that thing from your neck, you little brat!"

Harry remained still.

"Imperio!" Alecto moved to decisive action, freeing his hands. "Remove the amulet!"

Harry shook off the curse even as she spoke. She was far from being her master's equal...

"What the fuck?! Why isn't it working?" she said, confused, and shouted louder, "Imperio! Remove the amulet!"

"Unfortunately, Potter is immune to the Imperius," Lucius Malfoy said languidly. He sat in a chair across the room, legs crossed, twirling his wand. The only Death Eater still masked, he was unmistakable.

"Maybe this trinket shields him from Imperio?" Amicus speculated, yanking at the chain around Potter's neck, attempting to break it. The chain dug painfully into Harry's skin but held firm.

"No, it's definitely something else," Rookwood mused. "Some kind of protective spells, yes. But I can't discern how they work."

"Let's find out," Amicus said eagerly, flicking his wand sharply. "Crucio!"

Harry was engulfed in a wave of excruciating pain. His bones seemed to dissolve, his skin flayed alive. His body felt pierced by hundreds of scorching needles.

The pain ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Harry found himself lying on his side on the cold floor, as Amicus kicked him hard under the ribs. Off to the side, Bellatrix Lestrange cackled maniacally.

"Remove the amulet!" Alecto demanded once more.

"I can't. Physically, I can't," Harry rasped. His throat was raw, his voice hoarse from screaming. "It's enchanted so that only he can remove it."

"Who does this amulet protect you from?" Rookwood inquired, presumably.

Harry stayed silent. He needed to come up with a convincing lie, but they struck him again before he could formulate one. Another onslaught of Crucio nearly paralyzed his mind. The pain was unbearable. He was ready to die just to end it.

"Stop coddling him!" Lestrange interjected. "Bring the girl in, he'll talk quickly then!"

They've got Hermione...

"Don't touch her! I'll tell everything!" Harry wanted to scream, but only hoarse wheezes escaped his throat. Mustering his last strength, he lifted his head, trying to rise from the floor, feverishly concocting a believable lie. If he told them it was a portal, they'd be doomed...

"Bring the girl, Amicus," Malfoy commanded, ignoring Potter's attempts to speak.

Carrow hurried out of the room.

"It's an amulet against Legilimency!" Potter gasped out. "Dumbledore gave it to me! It's enchanted so only he can remove it!"

Malfoy turned questioningly toward Augustus.

"That's... possible," Rookwood said, sounding unsure. "We should verify... Does anyone here know Legilimency?"

"I'll try," Lestrange volunteered eagerly, a twisted gleam in her eyes, advancing toward Potter.

"No," Malfoy stopped her firmly. "You won't use Legilimency on the boy. Our master would be displeased if you fried Potter's brain prematurely."

Bellatrix clicked her tongue in disappointment but followed the order. Rudolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, along with Amicus Carrow, entered the room, escorting Hermione. They held her firmly by the shoulders from both sides. Terror was etched on her face, yet she appeared relatively unharmed, just extremely pale, with several curly strands escaping her braid. Harry noticed dried blood on her earlobes – those bustards had ripped out her simple Muggle earrings, a gift from her parents.

Upon seeing Potter, Hermione's terror morphed into panic.

"Harry! No matter what they demand from you…" she began, but Rudolphus crudely silenced her with his hand.

Potter twitched, only to be immediately hit by Alecto's stinging curse. He was then lifted, reseated on the chair, and restrained.

"Don't harm her!" Harry pleaded desperately. "I've told the truth!"

"Amicus, do the honors," Lucius commanded.

"Why should Carrow have all the fun?!" Bellatrix protested petulantly. "I'll be the first to torture the Mudblood! Crucio!"

Hermione's piercing scream filled the room, igniting a fierce wave of magic within Harry.

Maybe he could overpower them all…

"Bella, stop!" Malfoy commanded, his voice metallic. "If you kill the girl, we lose our leverage over Potter!"

Bellatrix sulkily lowered her wand, her lips pursed in displeasure. Hermione hung limply between the Lestrange brothers.

Malfoy rose smoothly from his chair and approached Harry.

"Well, Potter?" he drawled. "Anything to add, or should I invite Lady Lestrange for an encore?"

"I spoke the truth," Potter insisted, his voice laden with all the bitterness and despair he felt. He needed to sound convincing to be believed. "If it were any other kind of protection, wouldn't it have activated by now?"

Blood collected in his mouth, and Harry spat it onto the floor.

"How…revolting," Malfoy remarked on his action. "Can you swear there are no tracking spells on you?"

Without hesitation, Potter recalled a phrase from a book he had read.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic, to the best of my knowledge, there are no tracking spells on me. Let magic be my witness!"

A white flash of magic affirmed his words.

"Responded… And wandless! That's remarkable!" Rookwood whistled in awe.

Harry didn't fully grasp Rookwood's enthusiasm, having never sworn by his magic before. His only hope was that his compliance might lower the Death Eaters' guard. Just so they wouldn't hurt Hermione again…

Malfoy dismissively waved off Augustus and sneered, lifting Harry's chin to scrutinize his eyes.

"Your phrasing wasn't perfect," he finally said.

"If you insist, I'll repeat any wording you prefer," Potter retorted. "But I thought you needed me alive."

This was a bluff from Harry, but fortunately, Malfoy also seemed reluctant to risk. He didn't want Potter to trap himself and die heroically at an inopportune time.

"We'll settle for this," Malfoy decided. "You indeed are needed alive, Potter. Your Mudblood friend, however, is not."

Harry shuddered.

Seeing the fear he wanted in the boy's eyes, Malfoy nodded in satisfaction and continued:

"If you want your friend to remain unharmed, listen closely. In a few hours, we're heading to the Ministry, where you'll perform a task for us. If you comply, I'll release her. The Dark Lord wished to see only you."

He spoke so convincingly that Harry might have believed him, had he not known whom he was dealing with.

"Swear you'll release Hermione, and I'll do as you say," Potter said, with little hope.

"I don't think you're in any position to set conditions," Malfoy replied coldly. "Acknowledge you understand me."

Harry remained silent. If they needed him to do something, perhaps he could still negotiate something…

"You're such a goody two-shoes, dear brother-in-law!" Bellatrix, unable to bear the silence, pushed her husband aside and brought a dagger to Hermione's face.

"Don't!" Harry yelled, but Bellatrix only twisted into a savage smile.

"Too late, little Potter," she cackled, running the dagger's tip across Hermione's cheek. Blood immediately welled in the cut.

Hermione grimaced in pain but remained silent.

"I'll do everything," Harry tried to struggle free but was instantly met with a slap.

"Stay still," Alecto ordered.

Harry quieted down and submissively dropped his head.

Seven of them. He needed to free his hands, pull Hermione towards him, repel the Death Eaters, and have a few seconds before the portal activated.

He had only one chance.

Just waiting for the right moment…

"Now that's the right kind of motivation!" Bellatrix, seeing Potter's surrender, was ecstatic. She brought her face close to Hermione's and licked the blood streak on her cheek. "Mmm… Sweet! Pity she's a Mudblood…"

Disgust flashed in the girl's eyes, but she remained motionless.

"Stun them and ensure Potter doesn't wake up too soon," Malfoy ordered, stepping away from Harry. "I don't trust his trinket. Nor how the Magic was suspiciously responsive to his words."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The cottage on North Ronaldsay seemed empty and lifeless, a stark contrast to its usual warmth. Harry wasn't there, and Theodore Nott knew how foolish it was to have hoped otherwise. If Potter had managed to activate the portal, he most certainly would have returned to Hogwarts by now. The house, after all, was equipped with a Floo-connected fireplace. And Ailee would have surely assisted and transported him anywhere if he were injured. Last summer, Theodore had specifically instructed Ailee to obey Harry if he needed anything.

The growing sense of his own helplessness and uselessness, compounded by his anxiety for Harry, was slowly driving Theodore to the brink. The only glimmer of hope he clung to was the fact that the Death Eaters had used stunners, not Avada Kedavra, indicating they needed Potter alive. This meant Theodore still had some time.

"Ailee, bring me parchment, a quill, and ink," Theodore instructed.

The house-elf appeared promptly, arranging all he requested on the coffee table.

"Dear father," Theodore began, his writing neat and almost calligraphic on the parchment. "I have fulfilled your command."

After completing the letter, Theodore read it several times. Considering all possibilities once more, he handed the parchment to Ailee for owl delivery. He wasn't entirely sure what he hoped to achieve, but even a one-in-a-million chance was worth pursuing, provided time was on their side.

The grandfather clock chimed one in the morning.

"Master Theo should rest," Ailee reappeared before him. "Ailee can bring Master a Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"No, thank you," he responded tersely, not turning to face her.

"Perhaps Master would like some tea or hot chocolate?"

"Ailee, just leave, please," Theodore requested, exhaustion evident in his voice.

He stayed seated in the armchair by the fireplace, gaze fixed almost unblinkingly out the window. Occasionally, he thought he spotted an approaching owl, but each fleeting shadow in the sky turned out to be mere figments of his imagination.

His father remained silent. Theodore hadn't really expected a swift response... There was also no news from Hogwarts. He tried to convince himself that Harry might already be safe at school, possibly rescued by Dumbledore and the Order, and that all was well, just unreported to Slytherin.

Though his thoughts were logical, they brought Theodore no solace. His anxiety intensified with each passing hour, edging closer to desperation.

Deciding to wait until morning, Theodore resolved that if Harry didn't appear, he would return to Hogwarts, leaving Ailee with comprehensive instructions. If he learned nothing new at Hogwarts, then he would begin searching for his father, unless his father responded in the meantime.

He could no longer sit idle, relying on others.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry regained consciousness for the third time, he was abruptly pulled to his feet. Darkness blurred his vision. His body ached from sitting motionless for what felt like hours, and he struggled to keep upright. His hands remained tied.

Rabastan Lestrange and Amicus Carrow gripped his shoulders tightly, eliciting a sharp burst of pain throughout his body. Potter couldn't help but cry out.

As his vision cleared, Harry saw Hermione in front of him, held captive by the mad witch Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and hope still shone in hers.

We'll make it out of this, Potter silently vowed to her.

"Ready on three," Malfoy commanded, starting the count.

The portal whisked them into a dark hall with towering ceilings, filled with nothing but endless rows of shelves laden with dusty glass orbs and scattered tall candelabras, emitting a faint bluish light.

Where are we? Malfoy mentioned the Ministry of Magic… But is this hall really in the Ministry?

"Move!" Amicus Carrow prodded him forward, and they followed Lucius Malfoy and Augustus Rookwood.

Their walk felt endlessly long. Harry glanced back at Hermione several times. Bellatrix, knife in hand, pressed it against Hermione's throat, causing thin lines of blood to trickle down.

"Keep looking forward!" Amicus barked, giving Potter a sharp smack to the back of his head.

The vast hall was unnaturally cold. Despite his winter cloak and pounding heart, Harry felt chilled to the bone, his breath visible in the air.

They passed rows of glimmering spheres, each marked with a silver numeral. Ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven…

"We're here," Malfoy announced, coming to a halt. "Bella, Rudolphus, stay here. Mr. Potter, follow me."

Grabbing Harry by the scruff, Malfoy led him down a narrow path between the towering shelves. They stopped midway down a row. Harry's name was on a yellowed label under one of the orbs. The faded ink read: "S.P.T. and A.P.W.B.D. The Dark Lord and Harry Potter (?)."

"Now, take the prophecy and carefully hand it to me," Malfoy instructed, keeping an eye on him, and undid the spell binding Harry's hands.

The prophecy... That very prophecy...

About a hundred feet to Hermione. The other Death Eaters close by. The aisles too narrow for easy access. Just Malfoy and Rookwood, wand poised, near him.

Harry grimaced and massaged his numb wrists.

"Potter, I’m waiting," Malfoy pressed.

Focus. Feel the magic within...

A flame began to burn inside him. Potter reached out, his fingers enclosing the dusty orb. It was slightly larger than a Snitch and surprisingly warm, almost hot. The magic within the sphere resonated with Harry’s own. The prophecy felt almost sentient.

"Good, Potter. Now, turn around slowly and hand the orb to me."

Obediently, Harry turned, extending his hand with the prophecy towards Malfoy.

Now!

Potter suddenly flung his arms wide, shattering thousands of glass orbs. Countless milky-white spectral prophets erupted, speaking all at once. The hall drowned in the cacophony of their voices.

A wave of raw magic repelled Malfoy as Harry dodged Rookwood’s grasp. He spun towards Hermione, reaching out to her with his magic. Rudolphus failed to react in time, and Bellatrix couldn't keep hold of her alone. Hermione broke free, the knife grazing her neck, leaving a slender cut. In a last-ditch effort, Bellatrix grabbed Hermione’s sleeve, but Potter was stronger. The cloak tore, leaving Bellatrix with just a shred of fabric.

"Nemo me impune lacessit!" Harry clenched the amulet and rushed towards Hermione.

Everything seemed to slow down. Ghostly prophets swarmed the hall, creating a dense, semi-translucent mist. Glass dust still whirled in the air, stinging their skin. He and Hermione were mere fingertips apart. Malfoy was getting up. Rookwood raised his wand once more. Bellatrix threw a dagger at them. Spells shot down the narrow aisle. An orange stunner struck Hermione in the back, but Harry had already seized her wrist.

At last, the portal activated. With a sharp jerk, Harry and Hermione plunged into the void of subspace.

Chapter 15: Secrets and Sacrifices

The soft fuzz of the carpet brushed against Harry's cheek. They were safe now. Propping himself up on his elbows, Harry locked his green eyes with Theodore's worried grey-blue ones.

"Harry... you're alive," Theodore breathed out, a wave of relief in his voice. He was sitting on his heels next to Harry, reaching out to gently touch Harry's uninjured cheek.

"Theo..." Harry sat up, pressing his face into Theodore's chest. "You're here. I so wanted you to be here."

Theodore carefully wrapped his arms around Harry, mindful not to hurt him.

"Hold on, Harry," said Nott, his voice laced with concern. He was about to call for the house-elf, but Ailee was already there, a hefty metal first-aid box in her hands.

"Ailee brought the first-aid kit!" she chirped cheerfully. "Mister Harry, Ailee is so happy to see you again!"

"Hello, Ailee," Harry replied, mustering a weak smile. He turned to Theodore. "Theo, please help Hermione first." Seeing Theodore hesitate, he quickly added, "I'm okay, really. It's nothing serious."

With reluctance, Theodore released Harry and turned to Hermione. She was unconscious but clearly breathing, her face and neck marred with a few cuts, though none seemed too grave.

"I think she was stunned," Harry explained. "The last thing I remember before we apparated was an orange beam hitting her."

Theo nodded, understanding. Healing the wounds seemed like the first step, but he wasn't confident enough in his healing spells to try them on someone unconscious. So, he pointed his wand at Hermione's heart and uttered, "Enervate."

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She sat up quickly, instinctively shielding herself from Nott with her hands.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry soothed. "Theo won't hurt you."

Reassured by Harry's confident look, Hermione lowered her hands.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice shaky, her eyes moving from Harry to Theodore.

"In safety, at my house," Nott replied, his tone calm and steady to avoid alarming her further. "I'll try to patch up you and Harry, and then we'll all return to Hogwarts. Is that okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, though uncertainly.

"Great," Nott said, offering a reassuring smile. "Can you stand, Gra… Hermione?"

Nodding, Hermione allowed Nott to help her to her feet and guided her to a chair.

"Let's start with your neck. I'll just move your hair, okay?" he said gently, carefully sweeping her stray locks back. The majority of the cuts seemed superficial, but one appeared worryingly deep, dangerously close to the carotid artery. He aimed his wand at it and intoned, "Vulnera Sanentur!"

Nothing happened. Baffled, he targeted a shallower cut on her neck and repeated the spell, to no avail.

"I don't get it," he mumbled, frustrated by the lack of effect.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked concerned.

"They're not healing... Alright, let's try a different approach. Ailee, could you dilute some dittany and bring towels and bandages?"

Once Ailee had disappeared to fetch the supplies, Nott tried the spell once more on a deep cut on Hermione's cheek. This time, the wound closed, leaving behind a thin, almost invisible scar. The minor scrapes vanished without a trace.

"Odd... Hermione, were your neck wounds inflicted by a curse?"

"No, a knife," she replied, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Ailee returned with the necessary supplies.

"I can't heal these like the ones on your face," Nott explained. "I'll clean and bandage them for now. Madam Pomfrey can take a closer look when we're back at school. Is that okay?"

"Of course. Thank you…"

Harry, realizing he was not needed, lay back down on the carpet, inching closer to the fireplace. The chill was setting in, and the fire's warmth was comforting. He closed his eyes, seeking solace in its gentle heat.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

After finishing the cleaning and bandaging of Hermione Granger's neck wounds, Theodore tended to the small nicks on her ears and healed a few scratches on her arms.

"That should be it," he said. "Are you feeling alright otherwise?"

"Yes, thank you... Theodore," Hermione thanked him again. She appeared less pale and her voice sounded steadier.

Both turned their attention to Potter, who appeared to have dozed off. Harry lay close to the fire, eyes closed, with kneazels snuggled comfortably by his side. When had they crept in?

"Do you have cats?" Hermione asked, a trace of a smile on her lips.

"Kneazels," Theodore corrected her. "The ginger one is Brigitta, and the one that resembles Potter is Taranis."

"Why would Taranis resemble me?" Potter complained, still with his eyes closed.

So, he wasn't asleep.

"He eats a lot," teased Theodore, before adding, "Harry, he's got green eyes and black fur. Plus, he's always as unruly as you. Hence the resemblance."

Hermione chuckled at the comment.

Theodore sat down beside Potter, whose face bore the marks of pain. Swollen lips, a scraped chin, a prominent bruise on his cheek, and a twice-split eyebrow.

Suppressing his own emotions, Theodore gently brushed Harry's hair with his fingertips and asked softly, "Where should we start, Harry? What hurts the most?"

"Everywhere," Harry responded, his mouth twisting into a grim smile. "My ribs, I think..."

Helped by Theodore, Potter shifted onto the couch. He struggled to unbutton his winter cloak, his fingers unsteady and uncooperative. Theodore gently pushed his hands aside and took over the task. As he carefully removed the cloak, Harry let out an involuntary cry of pain. Nott held back a sigh and just glanced at Harry's green jumper.

"Cut it off," Harry said, a look of discomfort on his face. "I think I injured my shoulder."

A few flicks of Theodore's wand freed Harry from the jumper, and he proceeded to unbutton the shirt.

"Merlin, Harry, what did they do to you…"

Wounds on Harry's face was just the tip of the iceberg. His body was a map of bruises: large, ugly ones on his stomach and sides, a swollen and reddened right chest area, a clearly dislocated left shoulder, several deep scratches on his neck, and rope marks on his wrists.

"It looks worse than it is," Harry managed a smile, trying to appear nonchalant. "These aren't curses. Carrow just kicked me a few times. They couldn't work out your amulet and wanted it off. Obviously, I couldn't comply."

"I'm so sorry," Theodore blurted out.

Potter's eyes widened in surprise, as if seeing something unexpected in Nott.

"But Theo, why? If not for your amulet, Hermione most likely would be dead, and I would be in Voldemort's hands. You think that's something to apologize for?"

"It was a portal, right?" Hermione interjected. "I've been wondering how we managed to escape. You can't apparate out of the Ministry of Magic..."

"Actually, I don't even know how to apparate," Potter added.

"Actually, today I saw a lot of things I didn't know you could do..."

"Let's talk about that later, okay?" Theodore cut her off quickly. "Harry, you've got broken ribs. I've never treated fractures... We might need professional help. Should we contact the school or St. Mungo's?"

"No," Harry said firmly, his gaze turning steely. "I'm not ready to talk to anyone right now. We still don't have a story for our escape... Theo, just heal what you can, okay? I can handle it. It's not too painful..."

Nott was about to argue, but Hermione stepped in.

"I can mend bones," she offered. "I haven't treated broken ribs before, but I've fixed a collarbone and a wrist. I can try. But I don't have a wand."

Theodore handed her his wand.

"Take mine. It's dragon heartstring core and yew. It's quite adaptable."

"Mine was dragon heartstring too, but vine wood," she said, smiling as she gently took Theodore's wand. "Well, it was..."

Together, Hermione and Theodore managed to mend Potter back to a relatively better state.

"Theodore, do you have by any chance any news about Ron?" Hermione asked as Nott gently probed Harry's back to check for any additional fractures.

"Yes. He's in the hospital wing. From what I can tell, he seems fine, healthy enough at least."

"You saw him?" Harry asked, sounding surprised.

"In a manner of speaking. Maeve and Gump were interrogating him about what happened to you. I was hidden under your cloak," Theodore clarified, as he tended to another bruise on Harry's back. "I wasn't sure if Weasley would be willing to talk to me."

"But did Ron tell Maeve and Ulick everything?" Potter asked, a hint of skepticism in his tone, knowing his friend's usual disdain for Slytherins.

"Not right away," Nott smirked. "Maeve put on quite a show for him. She cried and wailed, claiming you were like the beloved older brother she never had but always dreamed about… Okay, Harry, I don’t see any other injuries. Are you in pain anywhere else?"

"No, I think I'm good. We can dress me back up now."

Potter extended his arms somewhat awkwardly, and Theodore carefully put his shirt back on, buttoning it from bottom to top. While Nott was repairing his jumper, Harry caught Hermione Granger's intensely curious gaze, and his cheeks flushed with color.

Nott noted with relief that if Harry was embarrassed by such trivialities, he was probably really not in pain anymore.

After mending the green woolen jumper, Theodore slipped it over Harry's head and smoothed out his tousled hair. The quick fix wouldn't last long, but it would serve until they got to Hogwarts. Theodore felt a strong urge to kiss Harry but refrained, given Granger's presence.

Clearing his mind of these thoughts, Theodore retrieved two glass flasks containing a pale pink potion from the first-aid kit.

"These are restorative potions," he explained as he set the flasks on the table. "I think you both could benefit from them. Just a heads up, it's best to take them after eating…"

Before he could call Ailee for food, she anticipated his needs. Three plates of thick, creamy fish soup with potatoes and onions, a pot of tea, and a basket of fresh bread appeared on the table.

"Ailee made your favorite soup, Mister Harry," the house-elf beamed at Potter.

Hermione began eating with a stoic expression, and Harry and Theodore joined her.

"How will we get back to Hogwarts from here?" she asked, cupping her mug of tea for warmth after they had finished their late dinner or early breakfast.

"If you know an address of any of the school's fireplaces and password we could use…" Theodore began, but upon seeing Harry and Hermione's negative head shakes, he sighed, "Well, if not by fireplace, Ailee could transport us to one of the tunnels just outside the castle's protective spells."

Potter let out a long, discontented groan, seemingly dreading the idea of a lengthy trek through chilly underground passages. He stretched out on the couch, swinging his legs onto an armrest and resting his head on Nott's lap.

"Alternatively, we could sleep here and head back to Hogwarts in the morning," Theodore suggested, adjusting a pillow under Harry's head and laying a hand on his chest. "However, I don't think that's wise. Maeve, Ulick, and Weasley must be worried sick about you. And Hermione, I'm really concerned about those wounds on your neck… If Vulnera Sanentur didn't work, it could be some serious curse… But if you both feel it's better to wait till morning, then you could use Harry's room, and he and I..."

"Harry's room?!" Hermione cut in sharply, her expression shifting to one of incredulity and alarm. It was as if a lightbulb had gone off in her head, signaling danger. Potter cringed and quickly turned onto his side, pressing his face into Theo's stomach. "Harry James Potter, you have your own room in Theodore Nott's house?! Really?! It's not enough that his house-elf knows your food preferences, and you're wielding some extraordinary magic and keeping very serious relationships a secret from us, but you also have your own room here?! What exactly is happening, Harry?! And what else am I unaware of?"

"That's exactly why I don't want to go back to Hogwarts," Potter's voice emerged, tinged with misery. "Can you imagine how many questions I'll be bombarded with…"

Theo looked at Hermione apologetically and continued to comfortingly stroke Harry's back. He sympathized with both of them: Harry, who was doing everything he could to postpone facing the inevitable, and Hermione, who clearly needed some answers. Whether Harry liked it or not, she deserved some clarity amidst all this madness.

"To be fair, it's not strictly Harry's room. It's a guest room, but Harry stayed here for a few weeks last summer, so I started calling it his," Nott explained.

"You're not making this any better," muttered Potter, his voice muffled against Theo's stomach.

"Then you explain it."

"Alright," Potter straightened up, shivering a bit, and effortlessly summoned a checkered blanket from the dresser with a casual gesture. "I'm sorry, Hermione. For keeping you in the dark and for what you had to endure today because of me…"

"Oh, please, cut to the chase," Hermione rolled her eyes. "What's going on, Harry?"

Over the next half hour, Potter succinctly recounted the last seven months' events to Hermione, beginning with their unexpected meeting at Flourish and Blotts and culminating with his significantly enhanced magical abilities. He shared almost everything with Hermione, deliberately skipping only certain details of his visions and things that were strictly between him and Theo. To give a complete picture, Potter briefly caught Nott up on the aftermath of the Death Eaters' attack.

"The thing is, before we return to Hogwarts, we need a believable cover story for our escape from the Ministry, without spilling all this to Dumbledore. And I don't want him to know about Theo."

"You know, it's quite obvious to anyone who observes you for a while," Hermione remarked with a mischievous smile. "For instance, on Friday, you two were practically holding hands under the desk throughout the Defense Against the Dark Arts class..."

"I'm not talking about that, Hermione," Harry replied, unflustered this time. "I doubt Dumbledore cares who I fancy or even who I'm dating. The real issue is how deeply Theodore is involved in all my affairs. You see that, don't you?"

"I guess so," Hermione conceded, adding with a serious tone, "Alright, I understand. I'm not sure why you're so wary of the headmaster, but if it's really important for you to keep him in the dark about your wandless magic and about Theodore, then the simplest solution is to claim we remember nothing."

"Remember nothing at all?" Harry queried, puzzled.

"No, just the ending. We'll say the Death Eaters kidnapped us and took us to the Ministry. After the explosion, our memories are blank. We woke up in Hogsmeade with no recollection of our rescuer," she elaborated and yawned, covering her mouth politely. "The headmaster might waste time trying to uncover our mysterious savior, but I can't think of a better plan."

"That actually might be fine," Theodore chimed in. "It might even help Dumbledore gauge his potential allies. It's never a wasted effort," he observed Potter and Granger, both nearly asleep. Harry was almost lying down again, clutching a pillow, while Hermione had snuggled into a chair, wrapped in a blanket up to her chin. "So, are we heading to Hogwarts?"

"Can we wait just another half hour, please?" Harry asked, seeking a bit more respite.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Theo felt like he had just closed his eyes for a moment when Ailee's shaking on his shoulder woke him. Perhaps only a short while had passed. It was still dark outside, and he felt like someone who had been awake for at least twenty-four hours.

"Master, Lord Nott has sent a reply," whispered Ailee, holding a restless ginger owl that writhed and tried to escape. Theodore carefully untied a small piece of parchment from its leg. The note was unsealed, containing just a single word from his father: "Proceed."

That wasn't the response he was looking for, but Theo set the note aside, took the fidgety owl from Ailee, and stepped into the next room. The bird was on the verge of causing a ruckus that would surely wake Harry and Granger.

"Freya, calm down!" he hissed at the owl as it managed to bite his hand in its struggle, starting to flap more wildly. "Dreadful bird! If you don't stop, I'll immobilize you!"

"Need a hand?"

Potter appeared in the doorway, fiddling with his father's note. Theo hadn't even noticed Harry waking up and following him. His own lack of sleep was showing.

"Can you hold the owl?" sighed Theo, handing over the still-clicking Freya.

With Potter's assistance, Theo finally subdued her. He extracted a hidden artifact from under the owl's wing and detached it. In his hand was a slightly misshapen ring with a purple stone.

"What's this?" Potter inquired, instantly intrigued.

"A tracking artifact," Theodore replied with a hint of defeat. "You can let go of Freya now."

She hooted in protest and flew out, brushing Theodore's head with her wing on her way out.

"Really, it's pretty much useless," Nott continued, resigned to explaining. "You can only track movements after the fact with this ring. It's mainly used for catching cheating spouses."

"I see. So where did you send it?"

A chill of suspicion crept into Harry's eyes.

Why does Potter have to be dense only when it comes to himself... and so shrewd when it doesn't?

Theodore paused for a moment.

"Your father wasn't there, if that's what you're thinking," Potter said, reading his silence.

"But he could have been there. Or with Voldemort, where they might have eventually taken you," Theodore admitted. "Or at least, he could have known where you were..."

"And what grand plan did you have in mind?" Potter's tone was icy cold. "Go in solo and take down a bunch of Death Eaters? Alert Dumbledore and hope he'd do something different for once? Call the Aurors and create an even bigger mess? I'm all ears, Theodore. What. Was. Your. Plan."

Now that Potter was out of harm's way, Theodore's own plan seemed rather half-baked to him. He had mainly planned to play it by ear.

"I don't know, Harry," he replied, a touch of frustration in his voice. "What did you expect me to do? Just sit around and wait for news? Go to bed as if it was just another day? Maybe pray?"

"Don't put yourself in unnecessary danger!" Potter retorted sharply. "How would you even explain to your father that you knew about the kidnapping before it was public knowledge? And this 'proceed' business, what does that mean? Proceed with what, Theodore?"

"You're not going to like the answer," Nott warned, his tone turning somber.

"I have no doubts I won't! Just tell me!" demanded Potter.

Their eyes locked in a heated stare, and Theodore felt his own anger rising. The nerve of Potter lecturing him! If he wanted someone to just silently wait by the fireplace no matter what befell him, then he might as well keep a kneazle!

"My father sent a letter in late October, ordering me to win your trust. I agreed. And tonight, I asked him for further instructions since they had taken you," Theodore replied, no longer hesitating. Perhaps he hadn't had an elaborate plan for what came next, but in this situation, he was sure he had made the right call and he wasn't about to apologize for it!

Potter stayed silent, boring into him with a gaze so intense Theodore felt like he might spontaneously combust.

"Have you lost your mind, Theo? Seriously?" Potter exploded. "Don't you get it? They're totally going to use you against me now! Wasn't it clear when I said to stay out of danger?! Did you not see what they did to Hermione, just because she's my friend?! Voldemort's going to make you take his mark, I guarantee it! He'll get into your head! And when he figures out you've been playing him… He'll destroy you, Theo! Flay you alive, then finish you off!"

"You think I don't realize that!" Theodore's voice grew louder. "They abducted you, Harry! They didn't just attack - they took you away to who knows where, for who knows what, and I was powerless to stop it! Damn it, Harry… If you're so smart, tell me, what would you have done if you were me?!"

"What does it matter what I would have done, when you're not me!" Potter yelled back. "You had the chance to stay safe, to stay out of this mess! I didn't! How could you even get involved in all this and not even tell me?! How can you be so... so recklessly self-assured?!"

"Harry..." Theodore tried to speak more calmly, but Potter interrupted him.

"We'll talk at Hogwarts!" Potter snapped, unwilling to listen anymore. "I can't even look at you right now!"

With that, Potter stormed from the dining room to the living room.

"Hermione, wake up! There's no way you're still sleeping through this mayhem..." Theo heard him call. He followed Potter, hoping that by the time they got to school, Harry might have cooled down and be open to reason. Then he could explain why pretending to side with the Dark Lord was the only viable option.

When Theodore entered the living room, he saw Potter leaning over Granger. Hearing Theo's approach, Harry turned, a look of bewilderment in his eyes.

"Theo... Something's wrong with Hermione... She won't wake up," panic was evident in his voice. "What's happened to her?"

He should've known. Of course, he should've known...

Suppressing the urge to hit himself for his oversight, Theodore knelt beside Granger. Her face was ghostly pale, her skin dotted with sweat, her breaths shallow. Gently, he removed the bandage from her neck, revealing inflamed, bluish wounds, even from minor cuts. He felt her forehead - it was alarmingly hot.

"I think the knife was poisoned, Harry... We need to get to St. Mungo's, immediately."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As soon as they arrived at St. Mungo's, chaos erupted. The receptionist, seeing two teenagers emerge from the Floo Network with an unconscious girl, wasted no time in summoning several healers clad in lime-green and yellow robes.

Unfortunately, they recognized Harry Potter immediately. His image had been all too common in the Daily Prophet over the past couple of years. As soon as they ascertained the situation, the healers attempted to examine Harry as well, despite his insistence that only Hermione needed attention. Harry firmly demanded they focus on Hermione, eventually having to raise his voice at the staff to prioritize her care. To Theodore's surprise, they complied, even mentioned that they would summon Senior Healer Smethwyck, known for his expertise in poisons and curses.

Hermione was quickly taken away for treatment, leaving Theodore and Harry in a deserted waiting room at this early hour. The silence between them was palpable. Harry just stared blankly at the door, his expression inscrutable. Theodore wasn't sure if Harry wanted his company or not.

"I'll head to the cafeteria," Theodore decided after a while. "Do you want anything?"

Harry didn't respond.

With a shrug, Theodore left. The corridors were silent. He had never seen St. Mungo's so empty, even though he had spent a fair amount of time here during the final months of his grandmother's life. It was, after all, just past seven in the morning, and the usual visiting hours hadn't started. Most witches and wizards preferred to treat minor ailments themselves.

Luckily, the cafeteria was open. Theodore got a coffee for himself and a strong black tea with a double dose of sugar for Harry.

Returning, he handed Harry the steaming tea in a large cup and sat next to him on the stiff bench.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, his eyes tired and filled with pain. "What will you do when you have to choose between me and your father?" he asked.

Oh.

"Harry, between you and anyone else, I'd always choose you," Theodore said softly. "But believe me, when it comes to my father, it's not even a choice."

Harry looked puzzled, prompting Theodore to explain.

"My father is a very cruel man, Harry," he began, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, avoiding Harry's eyes. "I know you're supposed to love your parents, but I've never felt anything but fear and pain towards my father since I was a child."

Harry remained silent, but Theodore could feel his attentive gaze and continued:

"I often wonder why my mother married him. Maybe he was different back then. Honestly, I don't know. All I remember is him as he is now. I was a late child, the only one. My mother had me in her forties. Maybe that's why she gave me this unusual Muggle name," Theodore smiled ruefully. "Father was very unhappy about it. He was always dissatisfied... He could curse or hit me or my mother for no reason. I remember this one terrible fight they had over me. He cursed her so badly she was bedridden for days. I was only six, but I remember those days vividly... She just lay there crying. Then, one day when Father was out, she took me, and we moved to my grandmother's. A few weeks later, she passed away. Grandma never told me the exact cause... Father only got involved in my life again right before Hogwarts. I dreaded seeing him, but he and my grandmother had an agreement, and I had to play the perfect heir to the Nott family twice a year..."

Harry met his gaze, his green eyes filled with pain and empathy.

Please don't pity me, Harry. You hate it yourself when others pity you...

The waiting room door swung open, and Healer Smethwyck, his name clearly visible on his chest badge, stepped in. Harry immediately jumped to his feet.

“Well, lads,” began without any preamble or introduction, “your friend's going to be alright. She’s asleep now, but she should be waking up before long. We found a rare snake venom in her blood. It’s lucky I had recently treated someone with similar symptoms.”

“Mr. Weasley?” Harry couldn’t help but blurt out.

“I won’t ask how you know, but yes,” Smethwyck replied, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Can we see her?” Harry quickly asked.

“You may,” the healer nodded kindly. “But I need to know who to contact first. She’s underage, so it’s standard procedure to inform her parents or guardians.”

“Hermione’s Muggle-born,” Harry cautiously stated. “It’s not a good idea to contact her parents right now.”

Smethwyck raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we can’t involve her parents then, but we still need to notify Hogwarts.”

“That’s fine,” Harry conceded.

“And the Auror Office as well,” added the healer. “She’s been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. We’re required to report any use of Unforgivable Curses. We should have done it immediately, but I wanted to check with her parents first. I didn’t realize they were Muggles. She’s quite powerful magically... Right, lads, come with me, please.”

They ascended to the fifth floor in the lift and followed a long corridor to a room with an unmarked door. Inside, Hermione lay on a bed, surrounded by a network of health-monitoring charms. She was still pale but showing a slight blush on her cheeks.

“You can sit and talk, just don’t wake her intentionally,” the healer warned them before leaving, probably to contact the Aurors and Hogwarts.

Harry studied Hermione’s face intently, then turned to Theodore.

“Theo,” he began, meeting his eyes.

“You want me to go back to Hogwarts before the Aurors and Dumbledore arrive?” Theodore guessed. “The healers might still tell them about us…”

“I’ll ask them not to mention it.”

“You don’t have your wand,” Theodore noted, hesitant to leave him behind.

“I’ll manage. You know I will,” Harry said confidently. “And I need you to take this back to Hogwarts for me.”

He produced something from his trouser pocket and handed Theodore a glass orb, warm and filled with swirling white mist.

“This is…” Theodore realized.

“Yes, the prophecy. The very one. And yes, I made it look like I destroyed it with the others,” Harry's eyes were slightly apologetic, but he wore a half-smirk. “Thought you were the only one who could be recklessly self-assured?”

Chapter 16: Hidden Agendas and Mythic Swords

In Hogwarts, Hermione and Harry arrived only in the evening. By that time, Harry was yawning almost non-stop, his exhaustion palpable. All he longed for was to crawl into his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, snuggle into Theo's shoulder, and sleep for at least a couple of days. However, Dumbledore insisted that Harry and Hermione recount their ordeal once again, as if he hadn't heard their story told to the Aurors.

The headmaster had indeed arrived late at St. Mungo's, after the Aurors had already deeply questioned Harry, leaving both him and the healers quite agitated.

About half an hour after Theo's departure, Auror Savage, accompanied by two seemingly inept trainees whose names Harry didn't bother to remember, arrived. All three, donned in identical crimson robes, regarded them as if they had been summoned for a triviality, like retrieving a kneazle from a tree or finding stolen silver spoons post a dinner party. However, when the Aurors realized Harry and Hermione's involvement in the destruction of the Hall of Prophecy, their demeanor shifted drastically. They called for backup, and the giving of statements turned into an outright interrogation. Harry even feared at one point that Senior Auror John Dawlish might charge them, pinning all the damage on him and Hermione. Thankfully, Healer Smethwyck and his colleagues managed to convince the Aurors of the authenticity of their injuries, proving the impossibility of the children having caused such level if the chaos at the Ministry.

When everything was finally under control, Dumbledore, accompanied by Alastor Moody, arrived at St. Mungo's. Moody immediately berated Dawlish for his incompetence, igniting a fresh wave of scandal. It was only after a heated exchange of opinions among all present that they remembered their actual purpose in the small hospital room and demanded Harry and Hermione to narrate their entire ordeal, leaving no detail out.

This time, they seemed to be truly listened to. The Aurors dismissed Potter's claim about Lucius Malfoy being the masked Death Eater leading the others, but otherwise, they appeared to believe them, or at least pretended to.

After the Aurors departed, the healers re-examined Hermione, agreeing to arrange for her further treatment and release her under the school Medi-witch's care.

"I know you're both exhausted, but could you spare a few more minutes to talk with me?" Dumbledore asked empathetically as they transported from St. Mungo's to his office via the Floo network. "Afterwards, I'll escort you both to the Hospital Wing. Harry, I gather you're less injured than Miss Granger, but I'd be more comfortable if Madam Pomfrey gave you a check-up."

"Sure. I wouldn't want to leave Hermione alone anyway," Harry replied, his weariness evident as he leaned back in the chair. "What is it you'd like to know, Professor?"

"Start from when you encountered the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. The Aurors' constant interruptions might have led you to overlook some details," Dumbledore prompted.

Suppressing another yawn and shaking off his drowsiness, Harry began recounting their experience.

"And what of the Prophecy? Are you certain it didn't end up with the Death Eaters?" Dumbledore inquired sharply as Potter concluded.

"I don't think so, sir," Harry replied, avoiding Dumbledore's gaze by looking at Fawkes. "I dropped it during the explosion. It probably shattered, like all the others."

"Hermione, did you see the orb break?" Dumbledore turned to her, his focus shifting.

"No, sir," Hermione replied, shaking her head sadly. "As Harry mentioned, the explosion in the Ministry was deafening. The Death Eaters scattered. In that chaos, finding a tiny orb seems unlikely."

"Very well," Dumbledore mused. "And you're certain you remember nothing about your escape or how you ended up at St. Mungo's?"

"Almost nothing... I recall fleeting glimpses of fireplaces and green flames. We must've used the Floo Network to get to St. Mungo's. I remember being carried, by a man, I think. He said, 'Hold on, girl. For Harry's sake.' It seems we were saved by an ally..."

Hermione's voice was filled with sincerity, leading Harry to muse that she might have missed her calling as an actress, given their recent ordeal and the fact they hadn't fully agreed on their story.

However, when Hermione unexpectedly met Dumbledore's gaze, Harry impulsively grabbed her hand, breaking the eye contact. Hermione gave him a puzzled look, but the diversion worked.

"Ah, youth," Dumbledore said with an overly-sweet smile, interpreting Potter's gesture in his own way. "Well, Harry, Hermione, unless there's more you wish to share, I'll take you to the Hospital Wing now."

"I would like to ask something, sir," Harry finally decided to ask. "Your name was on the prophecy. Does that mean you knew what it said?"

"I'm afraid so, my boy," Dumbledore replied, pausing slightly. "Indeed, I was aware of the prophecy's contents."

"Then why haven't you ever mentioned it to me? Didn't I have the right to know why Voldemort tried to kill me when I was just a baby?"

"You certainly had the right, Harry," Dumbledore's eyes reflected deep tiredness. "But my concern for you held me back. I didn't want to burden you with such a heavy truth too early. I hoped you could enjoy a carefree childhood."

"But when would have been the 'right time' in your eyes?" Harry's voice carried a note of bitterness. Hermione gave his hand a warning squeeze. "Don't you think any chance of a carefree childhood was lost when Voldemort returned in front of me last summer?"

"Yes, you're absolutely right again, my boy," regret tinged Dumbledore's tone. "Forgive an old man his frailties. I just couldn't find it in me to burden you with such harsh truths..."

"What exactly did the prophecy say?" Potter persisted.

"Very well, I'll tell you, Harry," Dumbledore consented, somewhat unexpectedly. "Are you certain Miss Granger should hear this too?"

"I'll probably end up telling her anyway," Potter said with a shrug, and he meant it. The secrets were becoming overwhelming. It seemed one had to be as old as Dumbledore to manage such a web of half-truths.

"If you're sure," Dumbledore's expression turned serious. "It was a cold, rainy evening sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn. I went there to meet a prospective Divination teacher. The candidate was a direct descendant of a very renowned seer, and I felt it was my duty to meet her. However, I was left disappointed. It appeared she had none of the prophetic talent herself. I politely told her I didn't think she was right for the job. As I was about to leave, the future Professor Trelawney was suddenly seized by an unusual shiver, her eyes rolling back. I first thought she felt unwell, but then Miss Trelawney spoke in a hoarse, low voice, not her own," Dumbledore took a brief pause and continued. "That evening, she said: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… Only the Chosen One, pure in thought and soul, can understand the true essence of magic and achieve victory. The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'"

"Is that everything?" Potter asked for clarification as Dumbledore finished.

"Yes, Harry. That is all that Sibyll Trelawney said on that night."

It sounded like complete nonsense to Harry... Almost identical to the incomplete version he got from Sirius, except for one additional line that didn't seem to hide anything significant.

"But what does it all mean?" Harry asked, more to himself.

"It signifies that you are fated to defeat the Dark Lord, my boy," Dumbledore responded simply. "There will be time for us to discuss everything in detail, but for now, I think you both need rest. I'll escort you to the Hospital Wing. You've been through a tremendously tough couple of days; a good rest is what you need now. And don't worry about your classes tomorrow."

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione didn't notice exactly when Theodore Nott arrived in the Hospital Wing. It must have been when Madam Pomfrey was serving dinner to her and Harry, or maybe a bit earlier. During the meal, she saw a change in Harry; he shifted from being sullen and listless to smiling and subtly glancing towards an apparently empty space.

"All done. Now, let's move on to the potions," Madam Pomfrey said with satisfaction, placing a series of bottles in front of them as they finished eating.

"Why do I need so many?" Harry grumbled.

"Mr. Potter, you're dealing with severe magical depletion and repeated exposure to the Cruciatus Curse!" Madam Pomfrey explained, her tone tinged with exasperation. "And your injuries were treated evidently by who knows who, not healers. Your body needs extra support to heal properly!"

"Okay, okay," Harry quickly relented, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'll take them all, ma'am. I was just curious."

Under her watchful eye, Harry dutifully drank the potions, with Hermione following suit.

"Time for bed now," Madam Pomfrey instructed firmly.

She summoned a dividing screen, splitting the room in half.

"It's to ensure you both get some rest," she clarified, then left the ward.

Once her footsteps faded away, the screen noiselessly slid open, revealing Harry already seated on his bed.

"So, what happened at St. Mungo's in the end?" Nott inquired as he shed his invisibility cloak and sat next to Potter. Harry instinctively moved closer to him, seemingly unaware of his own actions.

"The Aurors nearly blamed us for the Ministry explosion, but they backed off," Harry recounted, a hint of irony in his voice. "That's not the real kicker, though. Dumbledore finally decided to divulge his version of the prophecy."

"His version?" Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Do you think Dumbledore wasn't entirely truthful?"

"I do," Harry nodded affirmatively. "Let's see what it really says," he turned to Theodore. "You did bring it, right?"

"Of course," Nott confirmed, producing a glass orb from his pocket and handing it to Harry.

Harry examined the orb, his expression one of bewilderment.

Could this be the actual prophecy? He lied not only to Dumbledore and but also to me about breaking it?

"How do we open this?" Potter asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Try channeling your magic into it," Nott suggested, somewhat tentatively. "Like you did with those enchanted watches I gave you last Christmas."

"Which, by the way, the Death Eaters also took," Harry added with a trace of bitterness, then requested, "Could you put up a soundproof dome over us? Just to be safe."

Nott muttered a complex spell Hermione didn't recognize, while Harry placed the orb on his open palm and closed his eyes.

Hermione bit back a flood of questions, sensing the gravity of the moment.

The mist within the orb stirred and thickened. A triangular portal emerged on its surface, releasing a stream of silvery mist that coalesced on the floor into a transparent form of Professor Trelawney. She was almost identical to her current self, albeit slightly younger: the same eccentric hairstyle, layers of necklaces and bracelets, a draped shawl, and familiar glasses. The spectral Trelawney began to rotate and, in a voice far removed from her usual tone, intoned:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who thrice defied him, as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord, seeking to claim a power not his own, will unwittingly empower the Chosen. Their fates intertwined, neither can find peace while the other lives… The balance shall be shattered, the earth itself shall shutter… But the sword of the Silver Hand shall break their bond… A war steeped in blood shall rise… The one to defeat the Dark Lord will approaches as the seventh month dies..."

After delivering her prophecy, the ghostly figure of Trelawney dissolved back into the sphere, which sealed with a faint click. The room fell into a deep silence as all three of them exchanged glances, each lost in their thoughts, hesitant to break the quiet.

Theodore gently took Harry's hand, prompting a long sigh from him.

"This seems like even more rubbish than what Trelawney usually rambles on about in class... And it's not much better than Dumbledore's version," Harry lamented. "Is there any chance this prophecy isn't about me? Or maybe Trelawney just got it wrong?"

"If the prophecy weren’t true, it wouldn't be in the Department of Mysteries," Theodore replied with a hint of sadness. "And now, it's definitely about you."

"Now?" Hermione interjected, confused.

"Originally, Harry matched only the initial criteria. But fifteen years ago, the Dark Lord did something that forged a connection between them," Theodore explained. "That act likely acted as a trigger, making the prophecy relevant to Harry. The Dark Lord could have targeted another child or not acted at all, which might have altered the outcome. He might not have disintegrated. But by fulfilling the prophecy's conditions himself, he inadvertently gave Harry powers he otherwise wouldn't have."

"So prophecies can go unfulfilled?" Hermione's voice was tinged with doubt.

"In theory," Nott wrinkled his nose. "I've found only a few such instances. Unlike typical predictions, which suggest a possible future, prophecies are more like warnings. They're attempts by magic itself to alert or guide us, to nudge probability back on track. But they're often so vague that their true meaning remains elusive until the events actually unfold. Or, in trying to prevent them, people inadvertently fulfill them. That seems to be what happened with Harry."

"But this prophecy... it doesn't really predict anything concrete," Potter furrowed his brow. "It says I have the power to defeat Voldemort, but it doesn't confirm I'll actually kill him."

"It predicts a war, not its outcome."

"Oh, wonderful..." Harry's voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. "Maybe I should just jump off the Astronomy Tower and end any chance of war..."

"Don't say such things," Theodore interjected, his eyes showing the urge to shake some sense into Potter, though his voice remained calm.

"So what do you suggest I do?"

"Nothing."

"What? You're serious?" Harry's irritation was evident.

"The first part of the prophecy is already fulfilled," Theodore maintained his calm demeanor. "The next step is breaking the bond. Until then, there's not much you can do."

"Great," Harry's sarcasm intensified. "Guess I'll join a Gobstones club to kill time until someone severs my bond with Voldemort with some silver sword."

"The Sword of the Silver Hand, not just any silver sword," Hermione automatically corrected, then turned questioningly to Theodore. "It's metaphorical, right? You can't sever a non-physical bond with a sword..."

"Perhaps," Nott shrugged. "There's always a metaphorical element in prophecies. But it's not necessarily the sword that's metaphorical here. It could be a real magical artifact. Prophecies often involve such items. Magic seems to have an affinity for ancient relics..."

"Theodore, how do you know so much about prophecies?" Hermione asked, unable to contain her curiosity. "You don't even take Divination, right?"

"I don't," he acknowledged. "Honestly, I always thought it was nonsense, just a waste of time. But with Harry," he glanced at Potter with a slight smile, "I've had to broaden my interests. I've scoured every book in the Hogwarts library, including the restricted section, about prophecies in the last few months. And I had some relevant books at home..."

A wave of guilt washed over Hermione. She too could have helped Harry make sense of all this. She knew about the prophecy. But instead, what had she done? She'd been busy convincing Harry to help her prepare for OWLs and fussing over Hagrid's lesson plans. No wonder Harry hadn't confided in her.

"I'd appreciate it if you could point me towards some good books on prophecies, Theodore," she said. "I’d like to learn more too."

"Sure, but I think we'll have our hands full trying to figure out this sword and whether it actually exists," Nott responded. 

"I hope Pettigrew has nothing to do with it," Harry remarked darkly, and noting their confused looks, added, "What? He’s the only person I know with a silver hand."

They all paused, contemplating this new angle.

"I have a theory that it might concern the Sword of Nuada... Don't think I'm mad. I'm not entirely sure if it's not just a legend. But then, many legends do turn out to be somewhat historical," Theodore mused.

"The Sword of who, Theodore?" Harry cut in, intrigued.

"Nuada. He was the first king of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He lost his hand in battle for Ireland, and a great healer named Dian Cecht crafted him a silver one. He's known in all the chronicles as 'Silverhand.'"

"But the Tuatha Dé Danann are mythical," Hermione pointed out cautiously. "I read about them before Hogwarts. They were gods, not people."

"Irish wizards would disagree with you, Hermione," Theodore said, smiling gently. "They're quite convinced that the Tuatha Dé Danann are their direct ancestors. Also, if you read these legends before Hogwarts, it was likely from Muggle sources, right?"

"Suppose so," Hermione nodded.

"Then you might have also read about mermaids or centaurs as myths. Isn't that so?"

"You're not saying that all Muggle myths are actually true?" Hermione asked, her skepticism apparent.

"I'm not well-versed in Muggle myths, but I think anything that has been preserved through ancient historical chronicles could hold some truth. Before the Statute of Secrecy, there wasn't a division between Muggle and magical records."

"But how does that work?.." Hermione began, but Harry interrupted her.

"As fascinating as this is," Harry interjected, his tone dry. "But can we get back to the sword?"

"With the sword, it's relatively simple," Theodore transitioned smoothly. "King Nuada Silverhand had a sword, the Claiomh Solais or Sword of Light. No one struck by it could survive, not even immortals. It's one of the four legendary artifacts of the Tuatha Dé Danann, like the Stone of Fal, which has a well-documented history up to the mid-seventeenth century..."

Hermione remained unconvinced.

"If such powerful artifacts really existed, wouldn't they be more widely known?"

"Who these 'everyone' are is the question," Theodore shrugged. "Some know, some don’t. Look, Hermione, the invisibility cloak doesn’t surprise you, does it?"

"But that's not a unique artifact!" she argued immediately.

"One like this," Theodore picked up Harry's cloak, "is unique. It’s nothing like those produced by artifactors. They're mere disillusionment charms that shimmer and wear off. Unfortunately, I know more about these ridiculous cloaks than I'd like, thanks to Malfoy's obsession with getting one like Potter's. I thought he was influenced by The Tales of Beedle the Bard until I saw it in action. It's genuinely undetectable, save for touch. Even Summoning Charms don't work on it."

"You never told me," Harry said, surprised. "I didn’t know my cloak was that special."

"I assumed you knew," Nott confessed and gave Harry a charming smile. "But when I realized the real depth of your educational gaps, I postponed discussing the legend of your cloak until we dealt with more pressing matters, like covering basic wizarding history for starters..."

Harry looked at him skeptically, then turned away, puffing up in a childlike sulk. Hermione couldn’t help but be amused. Harry usually ignored teasing or snapped back, but now he seemed genuinely offended.

"Hey, don't sulk," Theodore said with a mischievous grin, playfully ruffling Harry's already tousled hair. Harry didn't resist, and Theodore gently placed his palms on his cheeks, turned his face towards him, and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. Harry's defenses visibly melted away, and he gazed at Theodore with a mix of trust and vulnerability, his large green eyes reflecting openness and an almost disarming innocence.

Feeling like an intruder, Hermione was tempted to leave them alone. But where could she go from the Hospital Wing at this hour? Besides, their conversation was unfinished.

"Ahem," she coughed, hoping to regain their attention before anything more intimate ensued.

"Yikes," Harry reacted, quickly regaining his usual shields. "You sound like Umbridge, Hermione!"

"Sorry," she said without even a hint of remorse. "I was wondering, how did you know right away that what Dumbledore told us wasn't true?"

"I didn't exactly realize it; I was more concerned," Potter replied. "Dumbledore has this annoying habit of keeping everything hidden from as many people as possible until the last moment, always with the best intentions, of course," Harry added, his smile tinged with irony. "For example, he definitely knows about my magical connection to Voldemort, yet he chose to keep me in the dark."

"What exactly did Dumbledore tell you, by the way?" Theodore asked.

"Pretty much what we already knew from Sirius, plus one more cryptic sentence," Harry looked up at the ceiling, recalling, and quoted: "'Only the Chosen One, pure in thought and soul, can understand the true essence of magic and achieve victory.' That's accurate, isn't it, Hermione?"

She just nodded.

"Pure in thought and soul? Really?" Theodore chuckled skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "Well, at least he didn't say something about maintaining innocence until a great victory."

"Doesn't spiritual purity imply innocence, though?" Hermione interjected, glancing suspiciously at both of them. She pondered if they were already... or not yet. Why was she even interested?

"Oh, who cares what Dumbledore meant," Harry dismissed casually. "It's irrelevant to the actual prophecy."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss it," Hermione argued, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Maybe Dumbledore believes, for some reason, you need to... um... preserve your innocence. There are rituals that only work with physical purity... And it does matter in magic! Like how unicorns only allow virgins to touch them..."

"I thought it was just girls," Harry recalled from a previous Care of Magical Creatures lesson.

"That's what Grubbly-Plank said. But I've read more about unicorns. An adult unicorn won't allow a girl who's no longer a virgin to touch it... Though, it seems they still don't let boys near them," she remembered and realized their conversation had strayed off course.

"Maybe unicorns have their own way of determining virginity?" Theodore suggested, his voice laced with hidden amusement. "One where no fourth-year boy would pass."

"That's ridiculous," Potter rolled his eyes. "Theo, you mean to say, if you – excuse me, Hermione – wanked even once, unicorns consider you not a virgin? I don't get how your own hand could affect someone's innocence... It's not like it's sex."

"To be honest, I have no clue," Theodore continued with a soft chuckle. "I think for those dark magic rituals, they prefer younger boys just to be safe. Speaking of which, Harry, what if it's not your own hand?"

Potter gave him a strange look and blushed.

"I guess that doesn't count either," he mumbled quietly.

"Seems logical," Nott nodded with mock seriousness. "Doesn't matter whose hand it is, right Harry?"

Theodore's shameless grin made Potter blush even more and turn away, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by some diagrams on the opposite wall.

Hermione, much to her dismay, felt her cheeks warming up too.

Clearly, these two weren't going to get back to any sort of productive conversation tonight.

"Alright, I think we're all exhausted and it's high time we all got some sleep," she announced with forced cheer. "Let's continue this prophecy discussion tomorrow, shall we?"

"Good night, Hermione," Theodore said with impeccable politeness, waving his wand to put the screen back in place.

Feeling overwhelmingly awkward, Hermione heard the bed creak just three feets away, indicating Harry and Theodore were about to make out.

"Theo, wait!" Harry's whisper came through with a hint of urgency.

"What is it?" Theodore's voice held a touch of frustration. "Haven't I been forgiven yet?"

"It's not about that," Harry replied with a suppressed laugh. "You need to adjust the scope of the spell."

"Ah, right. Allow me a moment. But let's be clear, we're having that discussion tomorrow. I'm far too exhausted for arguing tonight."

"Today, after we've rested. Or maybe Tuesday, but right after class..."

Theodore let out a soft, exasperated sigh and muttered a spell, plunging the Hospital Wing into complete silence.

Chapter 17: One day

On Thursday, they woke up too late. Again.

Harry lay on his back, listening to their classmates gathering for breakfast somewhere beyond the bed's canopy, feeling utterly helpless. He wanted to dissolve into this warmth and let the sensations completely overtake him.

He tried to muster the last bits of his willpower, but his head was filled with sticky syrup and cotton candy. And, of course, it was all Theodore Nott's fault. After last week's accident, he had started to spend as much time with Harry as humanly possible, spending every night in his bed, holding him tight to chase away the nightmares. It felt like pure warmth and happiness, but it made Harry so weak. And if they continued to behave the way they were, their relationship would soon become evident to everyone. And Harry would never put Theo in such danger.

"We need to get up," Potter decisively threw off the blanket and even moved to the edge of the bed, away from the overly attentive Nott, who had started to fondle him again as soon as they woke up.

"Let's wait until everyone leaves," Theodore pulled him back towards himself and traced a wavy line with his index finger on a strip of bare skin on his stomach.

"Theo…" Harry exhaled and reached out to adjust his lifted pajama top, but his hand hesitated mid-air and then limply dropped.

No! They couldn't afford to skip breakfast for the third time in the row! Now he would grab the invisibility cloak, crawl out from under the canopy, and make his way to the showers. There, the cold — no, let it be icy today — water would surely restore his ability to think clearly.

"Just one more minute, and I'll get up," Potter thought, but he remained lying there, while Theodore continued to draw patterns on his stomach with his fingertips, gradually moving up his pajama top and occasionally lightly touching the waistband of his pants.

"Theodore," Harry tried to sound stern, but his voice betrayed him. Nott's name sounded from his lips in such a way that the last thing one could assume was that Potter wanted to ask him to stop.

Oh Merlin…

Theo hadn't done anything that special with him yet... Why then did he feel so… melted?

"Mm?" responded Nott couple of seconds after. He ran his nose along Harry's neck and gently bit his earlobe.

Before Potter could say anything sensible to him, Theo rose on his arms, leaned over Harry, and kissed him on the lips. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a tender, exploratory meeting that quickly ignited into something more intense. Harry felt that his own response to the kiss was so clumsy and… unskilled. But Theo's lips were soft yet insistent, moving against Harry's with a passion that seemed to draw the very soul from his body. Harry felt a surge of heat flood through him, every nerve ending alight with an electric thrill. Theo's hand gently cuped the back of Harry's neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until there was nothing in the world but the two of them. 

Theo was partially lying on Harry. His hand glided along Harry's side, fingers lingering on a sensitive spot at the bottom of his stomach before sliding under the waistband of his pants.

Harry's eyes flew open, and he looked at Nott, utterly bewildered.

"Too much?" asked Theo softly, a hint of doubt on his attentive face, yet his hand didn’t retreat. Instead, it gripped more firmly.

Harry felt as if he were about to explode.

Too much? Definitely.

No words can describe what's happening inside him right now.

Shaking his head in affirmation and closing his eyes, Harry tried to lie still.

Theo kissed him again. His tongue did something that made Harry stop worrying about what to do with his own. Their breaths mingled, hearts beat in unison, and in that moment, Harry was lost in sensation, drowning in the depth of feeling that Theo evoked.

Theo’s hand began its slow movement. Harry’s legs twitched involuntarily.

Theo slid off his pants and pressed his knee against Harry's thigh. For a brief moment, Potter opened his eyes again and their gazes locked. Theo looked intensely focused and slightly sleepy, yet his smile radiated sheer happiness.

Gods, he’s perfect.

Theo started to stroke him faster. Harry bit his lip to hold back a completely shameful moan that was bursting to come out and tightly shut his eyes again.

How... Oh sweet Salazar.

"Relax, Harry," Theo whispered to him.

Potter threw back his head, releasing a moan he could no longer contain. His hands gripped the sheet tightly.

For a few endless moments, he forgot about everything else...

It all ended quickly.

The room fell silent. Harry's heart pounded fiercely, his body weak.

Theo cast a cleansing charm and returned Harry’s pajamas to him.

And suddenly, Harry felt mortified. Sure, Theo had seen him almost fully undressed before, but never like this. He had become a total… putty in Theo’s hands. Was this even normal? What if Theodore had expected something different from him?

To avoid Theo’s gaze, Harry yanked a pillow from under his head and slapped it over his face. Theo lay beside him, sliding his right arm under Harry’s neck, wrapping it around his shoulders. Nott said nothing, but even through the fabric layers, Harry could feel Theo’s heat.

Maybe Harry should also do something for him? But...

What the "but" was, Potter couldn’t exactly articulate. The mere thought of what he might do for Theo sent his mind into a whirlwind, pressing the pillow tighter against his face as if it could somehow help. Unless he wanted to suffocate...

"You know, we can still make breakfast if we hurry," Nott said nonchalantly minutes later, as though nothing had just happened.

"I need a shower," Potter's voice was muffled under the pillow.

"Okay," Theo agreed easily. "Should I go, then?"

Harry nodded, then grunted in affirmation, realizing his head was barely visible.

As Theodore left to get ready, the bed suddenly felt strangely empty. Potter tossed the pillow towards his feet, only to notice a second pillow that had appeared from nowhere. Harry frowned in puzzlement. It hadn't been there yesterday. Or had it? He couldn't help but laugh.

Had Theo... moved in with him?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Harry spent what felt like an eternity in the shower, alternating between the coldest and hottest water settings. He rushed out of the dormitory, making it just ten minutes before classes began, feeling invigorated and with a clear mind.

Nott was waiting for him in the corridor on the way to Potions class. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his face unreadable. Spotting Potter, Theo's lips curled into a sly smile.

"I was beginning to think you'd drowned in there," Theo quipped, handing Harry a hefty sandwich wrapped in a napkin.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, avoiding eye contact. He still found it hard to look at Nott without blushing. Having someone care for him in such a way was utterly infatuating.

Biting into the sandwich, Harry savored the flavors of chicken, cheese, bacon, and tomatoes. He was surprisingly famished. 

Eventually, Harry looked up to find Theo watching him, a look of unabashed satisfaction on his face. Unable to resist, Harry smiled back and stepped closer. He tiptoed to compensate for their height difference and softly pressed his lips to Theo’s.

Theo had made him feel blissfully happy, a sensation Harry couldn't recall ever experiencing before. Kissing Theo was better than flying on a broom, hanging out with friends, and using magic all rolled into one. With Theo by his side, it seemed like nothing else mattered. Not even the summons to the Auror's office could dampen his spirits now.

Harry was about to express something profoundly important when footsteps echoed around the corner. He instinctively leaped back to the opposite wall.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed as she approached him. "We finally got our new wands! Professor McGonagall meant to give you yours at breakfast, but you weren't there, so I volunteered to deliver it. Hope that's okay."

"Of course," Harry replied, accepting the long wooden box. "Thanks, Hermione. Hi, Ron, Neville," he nodded to the boys trailing behind her. "Can anyone hold my sandwich for a second?"

"Why do you have a sandwich if you missed breakfast?" Ron asked with a hint of suspicion, holding it as though it might be hazardous.

Harry rolled his eyes and started unpacking his new wand. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Theo had discreetly left the scene.

The wand felt warm and comfortable in his hand, emitting a shower of golden sparks.

"Lumos! Nox!" The light flickered on and off at the wand's tip. "Orchideous!" An illusion of a bouquet of orange daisies materialized. "Evanesco!" The flowers vanished.

Each spell was executed flawlessly. Harry thought to himself that he could probably have performed these spells even without the wand.

"It feels just like the old one," he said contentedly, sliding the wand into a loop in his robe's sleeve. Then he stashed the box in his bag, reclaimed his sandwich from Ron, and took another satisfying bite.

"So where did you get this sandwich?" Ron repeated the question. What is he fussing about?

Harry internally sighed. Was for Ron really that important pressing for details? Does Hermione seriously think he should tell him everything? This could turn into a disaster, worse than their fourth year.

"Nott gave it to me," Potter answered with a full mouth, opting for honesty over fabricating a story about elves or helpful first-years. "We've been hanging out a bit lately, if you hadn't noticed."

"I've noticed," Ron replied, his tone laden with disapproval. "But I don't think it's safe eating anything from a Slytherin."

"Ron..." Harry began, under Hermione's piercing glare. She was literally shooting daggers with her eyes. Her entire face screamed "repent!". "I promise you, Nott isn’t trying to poison me. Let's hurry to class, or Snape will dock points from you."

"Oh, right!" Hermione chimed in, glancing at her watch. "We've only got three minutes before the bell rings!"

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Several hours later, during the final lesson before lunch, Theodore was only half-listening to Professor Babbling. He already knew how the Elder Futhark runes were used in protective circuits for various magical properties. More importantly, since Harry received a summons for interrogation at the Auror's office on Tuesday morning, Nott had struggled to focus on anything else. Potter, for his part, had been convincingly acting as if it didn’t bother him, ignoring Theodore's attempts to discuss potential consequences.

Theodore didn’t have any particular premonitions of doom this time, yet he couldn't help feeling anxious. Newspaper reports suggested that in the Hall of Prophecy, Harry hadn't merely caused an explosion; he had seemingly destroyed every prophecy sphere while leaving furniture and walls untouched. This fact alone was enough to cause a stir in the Auror's office and among the Unspeakables. What Harry did was theoretically possible, but it certainly indicated a display of very strong magic. Alternatively, it could mean someone had methodically destroyed each prophecy sphere in the Department of Mysteries over weeks, an even more questionable scenario. For any ordinary wizard, it would have been far easier to blow up the entire hall with a few Bombarda spells or similar. Harry only needed to focus sufficiently to make magic perform any feat he envisioned… Perhaps, if he truly desired, he could have annihilated all the Death Eaters at once.

"Nott, can I talk to you for a minute?" Hermione called out after the lesson.

He nodded to Blaise and Daphne to continue without him and turned to Hermione.

"Is everything alright with Harry?" she asked directly.

"Yes, why?" Nott replied, instantly alert. After Potions, Harry had gone to Divination, while Theodore had headed to the library to finish his essay on runes. Before Ancient Runes, their class had Transfiguration, where Harry seemed healthy and even quite content.

"Ron mentioned he wasn’t at Divination..."

"Oh, that," he sighed in relief. "He's fine. He must have just skipped it. I think he's currently not too keen on anything prophecy-related, even if Trelawney isn't the one teaching."

Harry had planned to attend, but perhaps he changed his mind on the way. This wouldn't have surprised Theodore in the slightest.

"You let him skip classes?!" Hermione looked genuinely scandalized.

Nott snorted:

"You seem to have a misunderstanding about our relationship..."

Did she really think he was supposed to check Harry's homework and drag him to classes he didn’t want to attend?

Besides, as if anyone could forbid Potter anything... Try telling the wind which direction to blow...

If Theodore could, he would forbid Harry from going to the Ministry tomorrow or even thinking about that accursed prophecy that loomed over him like the Sword of Damocles. In fact, he would lock Harry in his estate, surrounding the whole island with so many protective and concealing charms that they would remain forever undiscovered…

"But we have our OWLs this year," Hermione's voice returned Theodore to the topic of Potter's academic concerns.

"So what? Harry isn't planning on continuing Divination anyway."

It struck Theodore how peculiar all of Potter's friends were. Granger had narrowly escaped death less than a week ago, witnessed some extraordinary magic, and yet she was still preoccupied with how Harry would fare in his exams.

"What does he plan to study, then?" Hermione muttered.

"If you're asking," Nott said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "he's aiming for Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Theory of Magical Creatures, assuming Umbridge doesn’t dismantle it by the end of the year, and Potions, if he passes. His electives are Healing Basics and Magical Law."

"That seems rather light," Hermione commented with a hint of skepticism. "Anyway, that's not why I stopped you. I need your help to convince Harry to open up to Ron about you two."

"Why would I want to do that?" Theodore asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Can't you see?" she shook her head. "Until Harry tells Ron about you, he won't share everything else. They'll drift further apart. We need to be united to decipher the prophecy and figure out how Harry can defeat Voldemort."

Her words did have some logic to them. Despite Theodore’s reluctance to do anything that might push Harry towards danger, it seemed they were out of options. The prophecy needed attention.

But what good was Weasley in this situation? Besides, Granger was focusing on the wrong thing. He and Potter first had to deal with the Ministry.

"I don't see the point in that right now," Nott replied with a nonchalant tone.

"Why not?" she asked, clearly dissatisfied.

"Because it's just an added stress for him at the moment," Theodore explained, his voice carrying a slight edge of coolness. "Listen, Granger, you should be more concerned about what you'll tell the Aurors tomorrow to avoid further complications for you and Harry, instead of worrying about making things easier for Weasley."

"Hermione," she corrected him. "We've been on a first-name basis for a while. Let's not go back to surnames."

Had she really listened to what he just said? And wasn't it her who first addressed him formally today?

"Fine, Hermione," Nott acquiesced, his voice softening. "First, let's get past the Ministry issue, okay?"

"Alright. Perhaps you're right," she agreed, albeit reluctantly, her gaze piercing through Theodore. "But you wouldn't object to Harry discussing important matters with his friends?"

"Whatever and whoever he chooses to tell is his decision, not mine," Theodore replied, looking at her tiredly. "Regarding our relationship, I wouldn’t have hidden it from anyone if it weren't for Harry’s insistence. You know, I was actually relieved he didn’t pretend we were "just friends" or worse — merely political allies or something similar when you visited my house..."

Hermione's gaze was so intense it was almost tangible.

"You do love him, don't you?" she asked abruptly, her eyes conveying an emotion Theodore couldn’t quite decipher. Was it worry? Understanding? Perhaps even acceptance?

"Yes, I love him."

* * *

Harry's relationship with Theodore Nott was clearly a subject of fascination. It was hard to imagine that a distant, slightly arrogant, and rather intimidating Slytherin was Harry's type. Theodore, undeniably handsome, was a pureblood through and through. What vexed Hermione even more was her disbelief that Harry had managed to conceal their relationship from his friends for so long. He had never been known for subtlety. Recently, she began noticing a certain closeness between them, but had assumed it was merely flirtatious. The reality, however, was much more profound. It seemed the old saying was right: love really does change people. Hermione had never witnessed Harry being so open and tender with anyone the way he was with Theodore. She had always believed Harry disliked being touched by anyone and had consciously restrained her own embraces, but with Theodore, Harry was inseparable, evidently yearning for his touch in private, or — more likely — whenever they didn’t feel the need to hide their relationship.

Upon reaching the Great Hall, she found Harry indeed there, sitting among his new classmates, laughing heartily at a someone's joke. Hermione settled into her seat, filled her plate, and opened the book on ancient Celtic legends she had recently picked up from the library.

"Hermione, I don't understand why you're not worried about Harry," Ron Weasley complained during dinner, interrupting her reading. "Look at him, sitting there among the snakes, all pleased with himself!"

"Ronald, I thought we were beyond the phase of being unable to handle Harry socializing with his classmates without suffering," Hermione responded with a hint of annoyance.

"I thought after what happened to us, he'd see sense. But he's still mingling with the Slytherins as if nothing's happened," Ron said, his voice laced with righteous indignation.

"His classmates weren't the ones who attacked us, Ron," Hermione tried to reason with him. "Besides, everything ended up fine."

"But it might not have ended fine! That's no excuse for him to be so relaxed around them. Did you see how he was casually eating the sandwich Nott brought him?" his voice lowered to a whisper. "And his father is definitely a Death Eater! A high-ranking one at that... They’ll brainwash Harry and hand him over to You-Know-Who!"

Hermione sighed, feeling weary. Convincing Harry to open up to Ron about Theodore, his abilities, and the real prophecy seemed daunting, especially with Ron’s staunch stance against all Slytherins. She hoped that once he knew the whole story, he would understand and change his perspective, but his current attitude wasn't encouraging.

"Actually, Ron, I think Harry looks happier and more relaxed this year," Neville interjected cautiously. "Maybe he's really finding his place in Slytherin?"

"I have an idea why he might be enjoying it there," Ginny Weasley murmured to herself, casting dark looks towards the Slytherin table. "As long as it's not Malfoy making his dungeon nights more bearable…"

"Ugh! Ginny, yuck!" Ron looked as if he was about to be sick. "What are you saying?! That's... gross!"

"Why is it gross?" Tamsen Boot, a fourth-year student and Ginny's friend, joined in. "I think Malfoy is quite attractive. His hair... Mmm... I've always wanted that shade of blonde."

"Stop discussing such nasty things during meals!" Ron demanded, burying his face in his plate of nearly cold shepherd's pie.

"I'll write to Charlie and tell him about the intolerance his dear younger brother shows towards same-sex love," Ginny said mockingly.

"What does same-sex love have to do with this!" Ron exclaimed. "I don't care who's with whom! Just not with Malfoy. Besides, what does Harry have to do with this anyway? He likes girls!"

His sister snorted with a look of conviction in her own righteousness that convinced Hermione Ginny knew something. They definitely needed to talk about Harry. Maybe together with Ginny, she could figure out how much they could actually trust Theodore Nott. She wanted to signal Ginny to wait for her after lunch, but her attention was drawn away by Lavender and Parvati.

"Hermione! We've just looked at the OWL exam questions for Defence Against the Dark Arts with Padma, and it's the end of the world!"

They sat down at the table opposite her, squeezing Ron and Ginny out of the way.

"We think your idea of reviving the Defence Against the Dark Arts club is brilliant!" Lavender declared.

"Without proper practice, we're definitely not going to pass the exam," Parvati added.

"But we need someone who really understands the subject and can teach us all the shields and protective charms... And Harry doesn't want to," Hermione replied, taken aback. She hadn't expected such enthusiasm for study from her roommates.

"Talk to him again," Lavender urged with a hint of impatience. "And besides, Harry Potter isn't the only one who can help. We could ask some of the older students..."

Her gaze shifted meaningfully towards the other end of the table where she whispered something to Parvati with a sigh. Hermione followed her gaze. At the other end, the Weasley twins appeared to be trying to feed their questionable joke products to the first-years again.

"Fred and George Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed, standing up abruptly. "Are you up to your tricks again?! I warned you not to dare play your stupid pranks on the first-years!"

"But we asked them ourselves," Euan Abercrombie tried to defend the twins.

"That doesn't make it better," Hermione countered sternly. "Hand over everything Fred and George have given you!" She turned to the twins and warned them sternly. "If I catch you again, I'll write straight to your mother!"

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As night fell, Theodore was so restless he doubted he'd ever fall asleep. Yet, sleep eventually claimed him. He was in the midst of a pleasant dream when he felt Harry slip out of his embrace. Theo awoke. Nearby, something was jarringly ringing, like a bell but far more piercing. A Lumos spell illuminated the room. Harry clambered over him, rummaging through his desk drawers.

From the neighboring bed's canopy, Blaise's sleepy face emerged. He quickly grasped the situation and, locking eyes with Theodore, rolled his eyes in exasperation. Meanwhile, Potter found and silenced the noise's source. Zabini gave Nott a knowing wink and retreated behind his curtain.

"I think Blaise saw me in your bed," Nott muttered, his tone a mix of concern and annoyance, as Potter crawled back under the canopy. "What was that all about, Harry?"

"Just a two-way mirror," Harry responded tersely. "Sirius gave it to me before I returned to Hogwarts…"

"Ah, hello, godson," Sirius's voice emanated from the mirror, a touch of mischief in his tone. "We're not overheard, right? Except for your friend, of course," he added with a chuckle. "Theodore, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed without awkwardness, angling the mirror so Sirius and Theodore could see each other. "We're under a charm, so feel free to speak."

"Erm, good evening, Lord Black. It's an honor to meet you, sir!" Nott said quickly, his gaze catching Harry's godfather's eye. He instinctively straightened his hair and pajama collar.

"Call me Sirius, mate," Black replied, waving off the formality. "Sorry for waking you, fellas, but I've got urgent news."

"What's up?" Potter inquired, his tone laced with concern.

"I've found you a great lawyer, Pronglet!" Sirius announced with a hint of triumph.

"Why do I need a lawyer?" Harry sounded puzzled, and Theodore mentally facepalmed. Of course! You could bring a lawyer to an Auror interrogation. Why hadn't he thought of that? Luckily, Potter had Sirius.

"So you don't accidentally end up in Azkaban for a decade, like your dear old godfather," Sirius explained with a hint of sarcasm.

"But I haven't done anything illegal!" Potter protested, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I hope."

"As you recall, neither had I, but I wasn't exactly cooperative with the Aurors," Sirius chuckled. "Anyway, your lawyer will be at Hogwarts tomorrow at eight thirty in the morning. After breakfast, grab Hermione and head to Dumbledore's office. He'll be waiting."

"Alright," Harry agreed. "Can you tell me at least his name?"

"Marcellus Warrington."

"Oh!" Harry's interest piqued. "Cassius's dad?"

"I'm not sure," Sirius admitted. Apparently he didn't know who Cassius was. 

"His uncle, I believe," Theodore interjected. "The younger son of Lord Warrington."

"Right, that's him," Sirius confirmed. "He's a solid lawyer and works under oath. Before you disclose anything, you'll need to sign a contract. He'll bring all the necessary paperwork. Moony and I have reviewed them, but you should too. Make sure there's a clause stating he can't disclose any information you give him, directly or indirectly, without your consent."

Sirius gave a few more tips on how Harry should behave with the Aurors. Then, with a highly inappropriate joke that made Potter turn beet red, Black signed off.

"Should I really tell Warrington everything?" Harry queried, turning to Theodore.

"Not everything, surely. Black himself isn't privy to the entire story, right?" Nott sought clarification, seeking to understand the basis of the advice given. Harry nodded in agreement. "In that case, it might be wise to suggest to the lawyer that your memory post-explosion is hazy, but make it clear that your mind is off-limits. No one should use Veritaserum, Legilimency, or attempt to access your memories."

"What's the issue with sharing parts of my memories? I can limit it to just before the explosion..."

"The problem is, it'll be too apparent that the memory ends abruptly. Plus, selectively sharing memories requires nearly expert-level Occlumency," Theodore responded, elaborating further. "I went through that mind defense book Snape handed you last semester. It had an entire section on extracting specific memories."

"That's hardly reassuring... But my lawyer can't betray me, can he?"

"He's bound by oath not to."

Harry fell into a pensive silence, idly scratching at his scar.

"Everything's going to be alright," Nott said, though it felt like a hollow reassurance.

"Yeah, it will be," Harry quickly shifted gears, fluffed up his pillow, turned off the light, and asserted, "Time to sleep now! And Theodore, no fooling around this time!"

With a nudge to Theodore's shoulder, Harry indicated for him to turn onto his left side, away from him.

"I wasn't planning on doing anything," Theodore retorted, almost offended. Didn't Harry realize that Theodore completely understood the need for a good night's sleep tonight?

"But this way, I'll definitely be in control of your behavior," Potter declared confidently. He nudged Theodore again, and finally, Theodore turned over. Harry slipped his arms around him and held him tightly across the chest, leaving little room for maneuver.

"You do realize I'm stronger than you, right?" Theodore asked, his tone lightly teasing, yet making no attempt to break free.

"Ha! Maybe in terms of physical strength... And that's debatable! Let's talk when you can pull off something like this."

Without a flicker of movement from Harry, the blanket obediently untangled itself from beneath them, spread out in the air, and enveloped them both in a cocoon of warmth.

In certain areas, Harry Potter's progress was alarmingly rapid...

Chapter 18: Captive in the Auror Quarters

On the morning of February 20th, the Ministry of Magic's atrium was busier than usual as Harry, Hermione, and Marcellus Warrington stepped in. It was just before noon, and the sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting long shadows across the hall. They were not let go accompanied by just one lawyer, of course. On Dubledore's demand they were escorted by Moody and Lupin. In the Auror Office itself, they would likely have additional backup from Shacklebolt and Tonks, but so far, they were nowhere to be seen. This made sense, as both preferred not to display overtly their ties with the Order of the Phoenix.

"Disgusting," Hermione said out of the blue.

Harry followed her gaze. It turned out that Hermione's attention was caught by the Fountain of Magical Brethren. It was a rather absurd sculptural composition in the center of the atrium, depicting a wizard and a witch surrounded by a centaur, a goblin, a mermaid, and a house-elf, all looking at them with idiotic ecstasy on their faces.

Harry just snorted, while Marcellus Warrington inquired, his voice smooth. "You don't like the fountain, Miss Granger?" His question drew a suspicious look from Moody.

"It's a clear sign of wizarding supremacy," Hermione responded sharply, her voice echoing in the spacious hall.

Warrington nodded thoughtfully. "You know, the original was even more controversial. It included vampires and werewolves, which caused quite an uproar."

Harry's curiosity was piqued. "What was in the original?"

"Originally, there were representatives of six races beside the wizards. Apart from the centaur, goblin, mermaid, and house-elf, there were also vampire and werewolf statues. But they sparked a scandal and had to be removed. This was right before Fudge’s campaign for a second term, so he was keen to appease the voters."

"Eh... Was the scandal really just because the fountain included two additional races?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Worrington looked somewhat uncomfortable.

"Vampires and werewolves are not considered intelligent races by Ministry of Magic, but dark creatures," Lupin interjected, showing no indication that the topic affected him personally. "Many found the idea of them being equal to wizards extremely offensive."

"Are we going to just stand here gawking at these figurines and babbling, or are we finally going to move our backsides to the Auror Office?" Moody barked impatiently.

"We still have a bit of time," Marcellus attempted to counter.

However, Moody had already gripped Potter by the shoulder, steering him towards the entrance and giving Worrington a glare that made Harry genuinely worry whether the old Auror was considering replacing his lawyer. From the start, Moody had openly distrusted Worrington, viewing him as untrustworthy. He particularly disapproved of Worrington accompanying Potter and Granger to the Auror Office interrogation. Dumbledore also wasn’t too enthusiastic about this arrangement. It was unclear if his reluctance was due to a general distrust of pure-blood wizards or if he was opposed to Harry and Hermione receiving extra support. Regardless, it seemed Sirius had successfully made his case.

Initially, Harry was wary of Mark Worrington as well. He seemed too smiley and almost too flamboyant, reminiscent of Lockhart, and not at all like the stern lawyers Aunt Petunia fancied in her detective shows. However, Worrington quickly earned Harry's favor with his straightforward attitude and dry humor. When Worrington had casually suggested, "Just call me Mark," Harry found it surprisingly easy to do so, the informal address fitting Worrington's easy-going approach.

In no time, Mark had managed to persuade Dumbledore to leave them alone in his own office. There, like a skilled illusionist, he drew out far more details about the incident than Harry and Hermione had initially intended to share, securing Harry’s reluctant respect. Mark certainly knew his stuff, and his sworn oath was an assurance to defend Harry and Hermione’s interests.

Together as a group of five, they passed the entrance and descended to the second level.

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement," the sign opposite the elevator declared. Below it, a severe-looking witch in a blue robe, her dark hair touched by strands of gray, sat behind a high desk. She scrutinized them intently, comparing their faces with some papers on her desk. Harry thought she had the piercing gaze of a hawk.

"What’s the reason for your visit?" she inquired, her tone cool and detached.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are here for a meeting in the Auror Office. I am accompanying them as their legal counsel," Worrington replied courteously, extending some documents towards the witch.

She studied the papers meticulously, waving her wand over them and muttering to herself. After a moment, she looked up and announced:

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Worrington, you may sit for now. Anyone not involved, I ask you to leave this level unless you have other business here."

"I'm not just anyone, missy! I've labored in this snake pit for forty damn years!" Moody growled with visible irritation.

"Be that as it may, Mr. Moody, I must insist you depart. There are specific instructions regarding your presence," the witch replied with firm authority, turning towards Lupin. "And you? What’s your business here?"

"The children are underaged. They require a chaperone," Remus said, his tone the epitome of politeness.

"Are you their father?" When Lupin shook his head, she continued, "A guardian, perhaps? Or a close relative?"

Lupin negatively responded to all her inquiries and withdrew, looking abashed. Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances.  Did Moody and Lupin really not know they wouldn't be allowed into the Auror Office? Or had the rules changed recently?

But before they could ask anything, a trio of Aurors in their formal red robes was already striding towards them.

"Ah, what do we have here? Mad-Eye in the flesh!" one of them sneered mockingly. "What's the matter this time, Moody? Hallucinating again that someone's attacking your trash cans, and you've come to file a complaint?"

"Shut your trap, you snotty brat! You're barely out of diapers to be squawking at me!" Moody retorted harshly.

A fiery verbal clash broke out, but Harry and Hermione were already being escorted away. Hermione was the first to be called in for interrogation. Worrington accompanied her, leaving Harry seated on a bench in the barren, windowless hall, under the vigilant eye of an Auror.

The interrogation of Hermione stretched beyond an hour. During that time, Harry walked the perimeter of the hall repeatedly and had memorized every crack in the ceiling. He even made a few attempts to engage the Auror in conversation, starting with Quidditch and then shifting to trivial talk about the weather. The Auror, however, proved to be less than conversational.

Hermione reentered the hall with Worrington and a familiar figure, Auror Savage. She appeared fine – a bit weary and frazzled, but otherwise unharmed.

"Miss Granger, you are essentially free to go. However, you may wait here for Mr. Potter if you prefer," Savage suggested with a tone of courtesy.

"I'll wait here."

Approaching Harry, Hermione enveloped him in a firm hug.

"Don't let them rattle you," she murmured into his ear.

Their journey through the serpentine white corridor was long and silent. The corridor was stark, adorned only with doors set at intervals in the walls.

"Auror Savage, may I inquire where we are heading?" Worrington asked, maintaining his composure.

"Interrogation room number four," Savage stated flatly.

"Why there? The session with Miss Granger was in room number one."

"It's not for me to question. I'm just following orders."

Worrington briefly pursed his lips, maintaining a professional façade that hid any deeper worries. Harry, watching closely, picked up on a faint unease in Worrington's behavior, a subtle indication that something wasn't quite right. Harry couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but he definitely felt a sense of disquiet about it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The interrogation room number four had an unmistakable air of a massive prison cell, with its stone floor, ceiling, and walls clad in metal sheets inscribed with cryptic symbols. The only semblance of a window was a barred section in the heavy door.

Harry was seated in an iron chair, its back towering and chains hanging loosely from its armrests. Gawain Robards, the Deputy Head of the Auror Office, sat across from him. Robards, with his military crew cut, square jaw, and a thin scar on his left cheek, was a stark contrast to Worrington. He was about the same age but entirely different in demeanor. Unfortunately for Harry, Robards was conducting his interrogation, with other Aurors standing like silent sentinels along the wall behind him.

For nearly two hours, Robards cycled through the same questions, subtly altering their phrasing in an attempt to disorient Harry. But Harry remained composed, answering with a measured calmness, "I don't recall," or "I'm not sure." Worrington was proving invaluable, consistently preventing the Aurors from becoming overly aggressive and frequently intervening when he found a question either irrelevant or unrelated to the specific case. Worrington swiftly dismissed any queries about the prophecy concerning Harry, as well as questions about Potter's connection with Sirius Black. Harry was profoundly grateful for this; he dreaded to think how the interrogation might have unfolded had he been alone with the Aurors.

The interrogation, though grueling, seemed to be progressing smoothly, with Robards' questions gradually lessening.

Mark gave a nod of approval at Harry's repeated "I don’t know, I don’t remember," when suddenly, a stocky, red-haired man entered. He whispered hurriedly to Robards after casting a series of privacy spells.

A cold grin spread across Robards' thin lips. He issued a quick command, and the man left hastily.

"Mr. Potter, why exactly did you obliterate all records in the Hall of Prophecy?" Robards plunged back into the interrogation, his tone now laced with a fresh edge of enthusiasm. Harry realized too late that his brief respite was over.

"I have no recollection of doing such a thing," Harry reiterated, sticking to Worrington's advice of staying close to the truth rather than fabricating outright lies.

 "Tell me, Mr. Potter, did you act alone in the Hall of Prophecy, or were there others involved? Collaborators, perhaps?"

Harry sighed, the fatigue evident in his voice. "Like I've said before, I don't remember destroying anything in the Hall of Prophecy."

Robards’ patience visibly snapped. His voice turned icy, "I find your selective memory rather convenient, Mr. Potter. Are we to believe that such significant events simply slipped your mind?"

Harry opened his mouth to object, but Worrington placed a hand on his shoulder. He then addressed Robards firmly, "If you have no formal charges to present, Auror Robards, this interrogation should be concluded. Detaining Mr. Potter without proper legal grounds is a violation of his rights."

"Present charges, hmm... Perhaps I will," Robards mused, twirling his wand in his hand, his gaze fixed on Harry. "I'm afraid the warrant will have to wait a bit longer, though."

"If there's no warrant, we're leaving immediately!"

"I don't think so," Gawain Robards shook his head and flicked his wand. The chains, hanging idly by the sides of the iron chair, suddenly bound Harry's hands to it. "Feel free to leave, Mark. I won't stop you. You've been giving me a headache."

"That's absolutely unacceptable! Unchain him!" Worrington stood abruptly, his composure finally breaking as he raised his voice.

"If I were you, I would keep quiet unless you want to be charged with witness tampering and obstruction of justice! Sit down! Or I'll order my Aurors to drag you away."

Worrington resumed his seat, his expression as hard as stone. He caught Harry's gaze, seemingly trying to convey a warning, but Harry couldn’t grasp its meaning.

"You know, Mr. Potter, playing the amnesia card won't save you here. We know you caused the mayhem in the Hall of Prophecy," Robards continued once everyone had calmed down. "The only question is, was it a deliberate act or a distraction?"

Harry remained silent, and Robards sneered, "You think you're clever, Potter? This attitude won't get you anywhere. You're not the first criminal to sit in that chair, and I've cracked tougher nuts than you."

"That's enough! Perhaps it's time to end this circus, Auror Robards?" Mark demanded harshly. "Release him immediately! You can't detain Potter without a Wizengamot approval!"

"I told you: the warrant is on its way. I believe it's just a matter of five minutes. No more."

“What are you accusing me of?” Potter asked hoarsely, his throat dry.

“Primarily, that you deliberately destroyed the Hall of Prophecy. And spare me your lies for once. The memories provided to us clearly show how all the spheres shattered to dust as soon as you flashed your eyes and waved your hands. I must admit, I’m impressed,” his voice almost became friendly. “But what I can't fathom is why you chose to destroy the prophecy records instead of vaporizing the Death Eaters, particularly since you claim they forced you there. It would have been quite the spectacle... Tell me, Potter, what was your reason?”

“Don’t say anything, Harry,” Worrington hastily advised him.

Potter had no intention of responding. He already understood that he was in deep trouble this time. The only person close enough to see and especially to recognize his eyes at that time was Lucius Malfoy. Could it be that he just went to the Aurors and shared his memories?

“Whose memories are we talking about?” Worrington asked, as if reading Potter’s thoughts.

“Who knows,” Robards surprisingly admitted. “The memories were delivered anonymously, but we have expert confirmation of their authenticity. If you decide to take on this case, I’ll show them to you as his lawyer. But you might want to consider who you’re defending. Or doesn’t it matter to you as long as you get paid?”

“You should think about what you’re doing, Gawain! You're unlawfully detaining an innocent child. If we stop this farce now, I won’t file a complaint with the International Confederation of Wizards,”  Worrington said, his face hardening. “You know what will happen when it gets to them: you’ll be the first to lose your job.”

“But then this monster will be securely behind bars. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face and innocent eyes. The boy is dangerous.”

Worrington looked at him anxiously, and Harry lowered his head. To the average wizard, he probably did look like a monster who had absorbed the power of Voldemort and his victims and was now a threat to society.

The door swung open again, and Rufus Scrimgeour entered the room. Harry had never seen him in person but recognized him instantly from his distinctive lion’s mane seen in the Prophet. John Dawlish and several other Aurors loomed behind him.

“Mr. Potter, you are arrested on suspicion of illegal entry into the Department of Mysteries, destruction of priceless records of eight thousand three hundred and twenty-four prophecies, causing irreparable damage to the British Ministry of Magic, and the use of forbidden magic. Hand over your wand and follow us.”

Finishing his statement, Scrimgeour finally noticed that Harry was chained to the chair and unable to fulfill his request.

“Why is he chained?” he asked Robards, pointing at Potter.

“To make sure he doesn’t escape,” Robards replied indifferently, as if that reason was sufficient to justify the forceful restraint.

It was at that moment Harry firmly decided he never wanted to be an Auror.

“You can remove the chains. I'll hand over my wand and go with you,” Harry said calmly. “I won’t resist.”

Worrington stopped him and demanded to see the arrest warrant first. Scrimgeour handed him a parchment, which he began to read intently.

“There’s no signature from the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Only the Minister’s,” Worrington’s voice trembled with fury. “This document has no legal validity.”

Scrimgeour grimaced as if in pain.

“Take him away,” he ordered.

Two Aurors standing behind Robards forcibly took Worrington away. He shouted something to Potter in the ensuing commotion, but it was too chaotic for Harry to make out the words. He could only hope that whatever Worrington was trying to tell him wasn’t crucial, and that Worrington himself would be alright and able to take care of Hermione.

“Are you saying you won't resist?” Scrimgeour had leaned over him, peering into his face.

“What's the point?” Harry had replied coldly, meeting his gaze directly, almost defiantly.

Scrimgeour had nodded at Robards, signaling to release the spell, and the chains clanked against the legs of the chair.

Harry had stood up, retrieved his wand from the sleeve of his robe, and extended it handle-first. Dawlish had roughly snatched it from his hand, a vengeful smirk on his face.

“Any additional wands, magical artifacts?”

Harry shook his head. Instantly, spells were cast towards him.

“You’re lying again, brat! There's something around your neck!” Dawlish had exclaimed triumphantly. Why did he harbor such animosity towards him? Was it just because of what Moody had said to him at St. Mungo’s?

“It’s an amulet, not a weapon. And I can’t take it off anyway,” Harry had stated, a sense of resignation in his voice.

“Wilkes, bring the curse-breakers. They'll know how to remove it,” Scrimgeour had ordered, weary of watching Dawlish’s futile efforts to remove Potter’s amulet. Then he had turned to Robards. “Ensure everything is in order. I don’t have time to stay here. I have a meeting with the Minister.”

With these words, Scrimgeour had departed, taking two other Aurors with him.

Harry had realized that there wouldn’t be a better moment to escape. But if he fled then, he would never be free again. He would have to spend the rest of his days hiding from everyone, much like Sirius.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The cell the Aurors put Harry in, right after the curse-breakers figured out how to get Theo's amulet off, indeed looked a lot like that interrogation room number four, but smaller. It had the same kind of stone walls and floor, and a similar ceiling. There was a narrow bed against one wall, with just a flat pillow and a thin blanket. On the opposite wall was a toilet and a sink. That was it – no lamp or anything, just some kind of magic light.

This cell was kind of like a simpler version of what he guessed Azkaban would be. They were probably going to send him there, right? Harry wondered if he could escape from a place like that. He wasn't an Animagus like Sirius, but he could still do some magic without his wand. Maybe he should try to learn how to Apparate...

Without his amulet, which he'd worn almost all the time since September, Harry felt weirdly exposed. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to think about something else, but the connection with Voldemort was buzzing annoyingly. Closing his eyes, Harry focused and slipped into Voldemort's mind.

Voldemort was sitting at his big desk, looking over some papers...

BAM!

Suddenly, it was like hitting a wall. Harry felt a strong push, as if Voldemort had sensed him and shoved him out. His head felt like it was being squeezed, a mental vice tightening around his head, threatening to split it open. Nausea surged up his throat. Staggering to the toilet, he succumbed to the violent urge to vomit.

After throwing up, Harry started to feel a bit better, the headache easing off. He got up, rinsed his face at the sink, and noticed some food on a tray near the door. He only had the berry drink, not feeling up to eating anything. His hands were still a bit shaky, and he was really kicking himself for being so reckless. Why did he dive into Voldemort's mind like that, with no good reason? If Voldemort figured out it was him, he could start spying on Harry and his friends. That was the last thing Harry wanted, especially since it could put Theo in serious danger. Harry couldn’t believe he'd been so careless. What if Voldemort did something to them because of his mistake? The thought made him feel even worse.

Harry was exhausted both physically and emotionally. A few hours later, another tray of food showed up. This time there was salad, mashed potatoes, and chicken. Harry made himself eat something and then lay back down.

He wanted to sleep, but the bright light in the cell was really annoying. Maybe they were keeping it on purpose. Perhaps it was a tactic to provoke him into using wandless magic. If that was their game, they needed to try harder.

Finally, the light went off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry's answer to what Voldemort would do if he found out about the intrusion into his mind came quicker than expected. In the middle of the night, he woke up to a terrible pain in his chest and a sharp sting in his scar. It was pitch black around him. On instinct, Harry lit up a wandless Lumos, but he quickly put it out, remembering where he was. He hoped no one had seen it.

In the total darkness, with no light at all and unable to see anything, Harry's other senses got sharper. His own breathing sounded too loud in his ears. He took a few deep breaths, trying to focus, and felt a wave of horror wash over him. His connection with Voldemort was stronger now. He could feel his strength being pulled away bit by bit. He struggled to block the channels, to pull back the magic to himself, but it was no use.

The magic kept slipping away.

Harry started to panic. They had been wrong; the connection wasn't just one way. Voldemort could take his magic. Was this how it would all end?

He tried once more to break free, but it just left him completely weak. Thinking about that cursed prophecy, Harry imagined a massive silver sword cutting through the threads tying him to Voldemort, the threads that were draining his magic. But the sword got tangled in the magic streams and broke into thousands of pieces.

With every breath, Harry felt weaker. A hollow feeling grew in his chest. He just lay there, helplessly watching his magic drain away.

"Sorry, Theo. Looks like it won't be happily ever after for us."

Then he heard Theo Nott's voice in his head. "Harry, you said you wanted to live, to be with me, to be happy. How about trying a bit harder before giving up?"

It was as if Hermione's voice was there too, spurring him on. "How can you, with all your abilities, be such a slacker? Pull yourself together, Harry James Potter! Try again!"

Every shred of strength and willpower Harry could summon was now focused on pulling at the threads that connected him to Voldemort. He pushed himself beyond his limits, his body feeling as if it were consumed by fire.

As the magic drain began to slow, Harry's frustration boiled over into sheer rage. It was so blatantly unfair! He was too young to have his life and magic stripped away. He had dreams unfulfilled, adventures unexplored. And there was something vital he hadn’t even mustered the courage to tell Theo. The thought filled him with an intense fury. He couldn't, he wouldn’t let it end like this!

Luna's words echoed in Harry's mind, reminding him, "Don't worry, Harry Potter. The magical balance is still intact. Lady Magic is on your side."

This memory gave him a bit of hope. He was exhausted and sore, but he felt a bit more determined. He wasn’t going to let Voldemort win this, not when he still had so much to do.  He could do it! 

No way I'm letting that snakefaced bastard take any more of my magic!

Fueled by anger, Harry yanked at the channels with unprecedented force, stretching them as far as they would go. He couldn’t break them, but he could twist them into an inextricable tangle. Guided by instincts deep within him, Harry fought through the pain of strange, invasive energy that felt like sharp hooks tearing into his chest. He kept pulling, driven by a fiery determination, until his core was alight with a warm, renewing fire. With gritted teeth, he tied the channels into knots, effectively shutting off the flow.

The magic finally stopped flowing away. Harry had managed to do it, though he was still in disbelief. It all seemed too simple, almost like a trap. Maybe Voldemort was just biding his time, waiting for Harry to drop his guard. Harry couldn't let his guard down. He spent the whole night awake, on edge, and ready for anything, not allowing himself even a moment of sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, as Harry received his breakfast, he also found a short note written in unfamiliar handwriting.

"Hang in there, Harry! Dumbledore is working his old connections. We're going to pull you out of here. And remember: they have no right to interrogate you without a lawyer present. Don't say a word to them."

The warning proved incredibly timely. After he finished his meager breakfast, Harry was again taken from his cell to interrogation room number four. This time, the Aurors seemed intent on understanding how his magic worked. The wandless Lumos he had cast the previous night unfortunately hadn't gone unnoticed. Despite their probing, Harry kept silent, giving away nothing.

The Aurors' frustration was palpable. They resorted to physical intimidation, though their blows were measured, not meant to cause serious harm. Dawlish, however, seemed to take a disturbing pleasure in the task. He landed a heavy blow to Harry's nose and several to his kidneys before his colleagues stepped in, pulling him back. Harry's injuries were quickly healed – not out of concern, he suspected, but to avoid leaving evidence of their rough treatment.

As Dawlish's fist connected with him, Harry found himself wondering – was it just him that Dawlish hated, or was the man generally a sadistic son of the bitch? He tried to gauge the other Aurors' reactions. Some seemed indifferent, just doing their job, but there was a hint of reluctance in others. Auror Savage, in particular, appeared somewhat apologetic as he healed Harry, his eyes betraying a flicker of sympathy that was hard to place.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Aurors had been relentless all weekend, but come Monday, they suddenly left Harry to himself. He found himself drifting into deep contemplation, losing track of time. Days were only differentiated by the arrival of food trays and the routine turning on and off of the cell light.

After the fifth food tray since his last interrogation, the cell door creaked open, banging against the stone wall. Mark Worrington stepped into the cramped space. Despite looking worn out, he greeted Harry with a genuine smile.

"We've put pressure on the Wizengamot. Your trial is set for the day after tomorrow," he said by way of greeting, quickly adding, "That's actually good news. They were trying to delay it till March."

"What are the odds they'll let me go?" Harry asked, his tone heavy. The past four days in the cell had been a rollercoaster of emotions: from despair to fleeting hope and back to frustration. He was worn out from the continuous interrogations and the persistent fear of Voldemort attempting to drain his magic again, which barely let him sleep.

"I'd say the chances are nearly a hundred percent," Worrington confidently replied. Harry met his assurance with skepticism. "You haven't committed any crimes. You were defending yourself. The whole arrest is nothing but a farce."

"Then why 'nearly' a hundred percent? Why not just a full hundred?"

"It's all about politics, Harry. And you’re a powerful wizard," Worrington's smile faded slightly. "I've reviewed the Aurors' memories and talked to Miss Granger. There are some questions I have for you too. Will you answer them?"

Potter nodded and said, with a hint of resignation, "Sure, but just remember, we're being watched."

Casting a privacy charm, Worrington sat down beside him. His questions revolved around Harry's magic and the decisions he'd made.

"At the trial, just tell the truth when they ask you about all this," he advised finally. "There’s nothing wrong in what you did, even hiding your abilities."

He stood up to leave, promising to try and visit again before the trial. But as he reached the door, he paused and suddenly exclaimed, looking as if he’d almost missed something important.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I've got something that might lift your spirits."

He pulls out several envelopes from inside his outer robe.

Each was unmarked, save for his name. The handwriting on each was familiar: Hermione, Sirius, Ron, Maeve, and Theo.

After Worrington’s departure, Harry curled up on the hard cot, pulling the coarse blanket around him. Each letter seemed like a treasure. He carefully opened the envelopes, mindful not to rip the delicate paper, and laid out the heartfelt letters before him.

Hermione and Ron wrote words of encouragement and hope. Sirius, full of his usual fire, promised that everything would work out, threatening to tear down the Ministry brick by brick if the charges against Harry weren’t dropped by Thursday. Maeve’s letter was brief, more a message from Ulick promising his grandfather, Lord Gamp, a senior Wizengamot member, would ensure a fair trial. Maeve's own words were although brief but unexpectedly warm.

The last letter Harry opened was from Theo. The page appeared blank at first, but as his hand brushed over the parchment, familiar, dear handwriting materialized.

Harry, I’ve only got a few minutes before Worrington heads to the Ministry, and there's so much I want to say.

I'm holding onto the belief that by Thursday, this will all end and you’ll be back with me. Hold onto that belief too. It’s the only outcome that makes sense. They can’t convict you for defending your own life and Hermione's. The destruction you caused in the process is irrelevant. Keep that in mind, and don’t let them sway you otherwise. They fear you, Harry, but they’re no match for you.

I'm yearning for the moment when I can wrap my arms around you again, to kiss you until our lips hurt.

And Harry, one last crucial thing. You might need to rethink your plans for the future, because I have no intention of ever letting you go.

Because I love you. Truly, deeply, insanely. 

My love for you, it’s more profound and consuming than I ever imagined possible. I always thought I’d confess this in some grand, romantic moment. Yet, here I am, declaring my love as you wait in a cell, writing on a piece of parchment ripped from my Transfiguration homework. And under the watchful eyes of your friends and lawyer, no less. It feels a bit awkward, I admit. Forgive my clumsiness. But don’t worry, I have plans to make up for the lack of romance in this confession. You'll be thrilled, I promise. Or, if not – I'll keep trying. Because, Harry, we have an eternity to get it right.

Yours, 

Theo

Chapter 19: Orichalcum Manacles

When Harry found himself in the dimly lit hall, its walls crafted from dark stone and illuminated only by the flickering flames of numerous torches, a sharp sense of déjà vu enveloped him. Indeed, it was in this very hall that his previous hearing had been conducted. The Wizengamot's assembly hadn't changed in the last six months, and today, every member was present. Arrayed in an amphitheater-like arrangement, fifty wizards sat on long benches, their purple-violet robes creating a vivid tapestry. Even Umbridge was there, and Harry, somewhat cowardly, had hoped she would be too preoccupied with her inspectorial duties to attend.

It was a scene almost identical to last summer. The difference now was that Harry was not entering alone, hurriedly and anxious about being late, his greatest fear being expulsion from school. This time, he was being led in by two Aurors, with a third trailing behind, never taking their eyes off him. Guards were also posted at the hall's exit.

Harry's hands were unfettered, but that freedom lasted only until he sat in the defendant's chair, situated at the center of the hall. Back in August, the chains had merely clinked lazily as he approached. Now, they sprung up abruptly, binding Harry's hands and painfully pressing his forearms against the armrests.

Fudge began by reading the charges, naming the investigators and judges, before formally declaring the session open. Harry was accused of Destruction of Property for shattering all the spheres in the Hall of Prophecy and Breach of Ministry Security. His abduction, as it turned out, was being treated as an Unauthorized Entry into the Department of Mysteries. Upon first hearing this, Harry wanted to scream about the gross injustice.

If the last August's disciplinary hearing had seemed to Harry like a farcical imitation of a trial, today's proceedings felt more akin to a circus sideshow or a scene from an asylum. It appeared that neither the Minister nor the Wizengamot members were listening to each other, the witnesses, or even the accused.

The first hour of the trial was consumed with bringing everyone up to date on the case. This was followed by another two hours of listening to the testimonies from both defense and prosecution witnesses. When whispers about a lunch break began circulating, the Wizengamot divided into two factions: one advocating for the standard break after three hours, the other eager to conclude the trial and return home.

"Cornelius, I've been listening to you for the past four hours and still can't fathom why we're prosecuting this boy," Lord Gamp eventually burst out. "Young Heir Potter hasn't killed anyone, after all! He would have been justified, given the circumstances... What has he done that warrants a full Wizengamot trial? Broke some glass in the Hall of Prophecy?"

"Glass?! How could you speak so lightly of this?!" Fudge nearly spluttered in outrage. "With all due respect, Lord Gamp... These are the records of all prophecies made in Magical Britain since the eleventh century! Some are even older than Hogwarts itself!"

"But Cornelius, we actually do nothing with these records," interjected Madame Bones, adjusting her monocle thoughtfully. "They just lie there, aimlessly stored in the Hall of Prophecy, taking up space. I've long argued that too much room is wasted on non-verbal magicians. It's completely pointless! Meanwhile, the DMLE is crammed..."

"Amelia!" Fudge cut her off, his voice seething with anger. "We're not discussing the allocation of space in the Ministry of Magic! We're debating the fact that Potter intentionally destroyed unique records of prophecies, causing incalculable damage to Magical Britain!"

"He was defending himself. Let's not forget, he and the girl were brought against their will to the Hall of Prophecy by individuals resembling Death Eaters and were forcibly detained," Madame Bones countered coolly. "I'd like to remind my colleagues, according to paragraph twenty-three 'd' of Magical Law code number seventeen, in cases of self-defense where damage is caused to third parties, it's the aggressor who bears responsibility."

"Excuse me, my dear Amelia," Umbridge's voice rang out, sickeningly sweet as always. "It's not proven at all that these 'people dressed as Death Eaters' ever existed, or that the children were actually subjected to violence. Mr. Potter is notorious for his overactive imagination," she added with a barely concealed giggle, "and his tendency to seek attention."

"Stop it, Dolores! Enough is enough! Your views on Harry Potter are well known," snapped the ancient and gaunt Griselda Marchbanks. "Let's not skew the facts due to personal animosity. We all heard the conclusions of Healer Smethwyck, and then from Madame Pomfrey. The children were beaten and tortured. The Muggle-born girl was taken to St. Mungo's, barely alive! Are you not listening? Quite early for your age to be hard of hearing…"

"Madam, we've indeed heard the witnesses," cut in Torfinn Rowle, a wizard in his fifties with a stern look and a thin goatee. "Still, that doesn't justify why the boy destroyed the prophecies. If Potter is so powerful, couldn't he have simply stunned the attackers and fled using his illegal portkey?"

"Mr. Rowle, my client has already addressed this," interjected Mark Warrington, his voice firm and loud, yet impeccably polite. "Mr. Potter was mostly bound and unconscious. The assailants were vigilant over him and his wand. True, Mr. Potter's magical abilities are exceptional, but they are not limitless. Besides, he couldn't risk leaving Miss Granger in the clutches of those villains."

"Ah, the hero narrative," Rowle sneered derisively. "Still, why couldn't he come up with something better than to demolish Ministry property?"

"An excellent point, Torfinn," perked up Fudge. "I completely agree! Tell us, Mr. Potter, how can you assure us that the destruction of the prophecies wasn't a calculated act of sabotage?"

"Calculated sabotage?.. I barely knew what I was doing, unsure if it would work at all! Do you seriously think…" Frustration crept into Harry's voice, and he bit his lip. Warrington had long and tediously implored him not to provoke anyone.

As Warrington explained, many in the Wizengamot were indifferent towards him: neither supportive nor antagonistic. They needed to see Harry clearly as a victim, not as someone who irritates or, worse, infuriates the Minister of Magic in public.

"Forgive me, Minister," Harry continued, adopting a more subdued tone, "but I was indeed in such a state that thinking clearly was nearly impossible. As I've mentioned, Bellatrix Lestrange continuously held a knife to Hermione's throat, causing her several wounds… Her face and neck were covered in blood! I feared for her life. My hands were only untied to retrieve the prophecy from the shelf and hand it over," Harry sighed deeply, reminding himself that this was not the moment to fight for justice, but to navigate his way out. "to the masked man. The portkey could only be activated by squeezing it in one's hand and uttering the code phrase. They outnumbered us seven to one… I had to do something, anything, to distract them, even for a few seconds. Just long enough to pull Hermione to safety. Do you understand? I deeply regret breaking the prophecies. Truly... But I had no other choice!"

"Mr. Potter is prepared to undergo interrogation under Veritaserum with a set of questions pre-approved by me," Warrington announced, playing their last card. He had previously agreed with Harry to resort to this if they felt the case was going nowhere.

The Minister looked displeased, and a sense of foreboding engulfed Harry. The proposal to testify under the truth serum was almost unanimously accepted. Fudge, with a sour expression, declared a two-hour recess and instructed Percy Weasley to prepare a list of questions for the interrogation.

Harry was then led back to his cell. He was given food and some time to himself.

In other circumstances, it would have been preferable to present the Wizengamot with memories. Surely, someone would have recognized Lucius Malfoy. But that scoundrel would not get away easily. However, Warrington explained that as Harry was a suspect, not a witness, only a Ministry Legilimens could handle the memories. They had to ensure that the memories were not distorted or taken out of context. Harry couldn't allow someone to freely probe his memories. He had too many secrets. The Ministry shouldn't discover the true nature of his magic, the fact that he had taken the prophecy about himself and Voldemort, or that he and Hermione had teleported from the Ministry to Theo's house. If they found out, Harry would face even more problems. But the real disaster would unfold if the Wizengamot learned about Sirius' whereabouts, and that Dumbledore, Mr. Weasley, and even Kingsley Shacklebolt, the lead investigator on the Black case, were all in the know. And who knows what else they might unearth in Harry's mind, given unrestricted access.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After the break, the hall was notably less crowded. All witnesses had departed, leaving only the members of the Wizengamot and a few individuals in black robes sitting near the Minister of Magic. As the chains resecured Harry to the defendant's chair and the accompanying Aurors withdrew to the doors, Fudge ordered the administration of Veritaserum to Harry.

Harry swiftly swallowed the water mixed with five drops of the truth serum. The effect was almost immediate, a wave of pleasant bliss washing over him. All anxieties retreated instantly, replaced by an unnatural clarity in his mind.

The Veritaserum's effect, Harry thought, was somewhat reminiscent of the Imperius Curse. It was tranquilizing, but instead of a foggy haze shrouding his consciousness, his mind was now filled with crystal clear lucidity.

"Begin, Amelia," Fudge commanded languidly, not even glancing her way. It seemed a conflict had arisen between them during the break, evident by the Minister's distorted expression and his pet toad's overzealous smile that made Harry feel nauseous each time he caught sight of her.

"Are you ready, Mr. Potter?" Madame Bones inquired.

"Yes," came Harry's steady voice, no longer needing willpower to speak. The truth serum did that for him.

"Before we start, please state your full name and date of birth for the record," Madame Bones requested.

"Harry James Potter, July 31, 1980," Harry responded automatically.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Now, let me explain the procedure," Madame Bones continued, laying out several parchments. "Depending on your responses, I will ask between three to ten questions. They're designed for highly specific answers, with most expecting a monosyllabic reply. If your answer lacks specificity, I'll ask clarifying questions until the matter is clear. However, no matter what information you provide, I won't go beyond the topics agreed upon with your lawyer. So, first question: Did you enter the Hall of Prophecy of your own free will on the night of February 14th to 15th?"

"No."

"Who forced you to be there?"

"Death Eaters."

"Your testimony indicates the Hogsmeade attack happened around noon, while the Ministry explosion occurred at half past one in the morning. Over twelve hours passed between these events. During this time, did you have an opportunity to use your emergency portkey?"

"Yes."

Madame Bones' frown deepened.

"A clarifying question then. If you had a chance to escape earlier, why didn’t you?"

"I thought Ron and Hermione might be with them."

"Ron?"

Harry, under Veritaserum, didn't interpret this as a question and remained silent.

"Ronald Weasley," Warrington clarified. "Mr. Potter's classmate, also attacked in Hogsmeade. His details are in the case files."

Madame Bones nodded, satisfied, and proceeded:

"Mr. Potter, did you destroy all the prophecy records?"

"Yes."

"Intentionally?"

"Yes."

"Why did you destroy the prophecies?"

"To distract the Death Eaters."

"Did you see other ways to free yourself and Miss Hermione Granger?"

"Yes."

Madame Bones’ eyebrow arched, her face showing keen interest.

"How else could you have freed yourself and Miss Granger?"

"I could have killed the Death Eaters."

Hearing his own response, Harry's eyes widened in shock. Had he really contemplated such an action?

Whispers rippled through the judges.

"Quiet, please," Madame Bones insisted. "Since you've mentioned alternatives, I must ask a clarifying question, Mr. Potter. Why did you choose not to kill your captors?"

"It wasn’t necessary."

This response, too, wasn't what Harry had expected from himself. He had always thought Voldemort would be the only one he could ever kill.

"But could you have had the strength to kill seven adult wizards without a wand?" Rowle blurted out before being stopped.

"Yes," Harry replied before fully processing the question, unaware of the potential reactions to his answer.

"Monster!"

"He's dangerous!"

"Worse than You-Know-Who!"

"I always knew he was Dark!"

"A fiend!"

"I demand an immediate halt to this interrogation!" Warrington asserted, attempting to override the commotion. "My client was intentionally asked a non-listed question by a Wizengamot member."

"Colleagues, calm down. Remember, the defendant's answers reflect his beliefs, not definitive truth," Madame Bones reminded, looking at Harry with a peculiar expression. "The investigators have no further questions."

"Weasley, administer the antidote," ordered Fudge, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

Percy Weasley promptly filled a glass a quarter full with water, added a few drops of a clear blue potion, and approached Potter, his face betraying a detachment as if he had no relation to the proceedings and had never known Harry.

"So, I believe we have clarified the situation," Madame Bones stated as she neatly stacked her papers and removed her monocle. "Minister Fudge, if you please."

Assuming an air of importance, Fudge stood up and cleared his throat:

"Witches and Wizards of the Wizengamot, we convene today to address the grave matter of Harry James Potter's actions, specifically the destruction of invaluable prophecy spheres in the Hall of Prophecy. While it has been established under Veritaserum that Mr. Potter's presence in the Department of Mysteries was not of his own volition, the destruction he caused therein remains a significant breach of our laws. The loss of these prophecies is not merely a physical one; it represents a profound loss of our heritage and magical knowledge. This reckless act cannot be overlooked or excused by the circumstances that led to it. We must uphold the sanctity of our institutions and the laws that protect them."

Harry's heart sank rapidly. He disliked Fudge's speech intensely. Turning his head towards Warrington, he was horrified to notice that his lawyer seemed to have paled.

Meanwhile, Fudge continued:

"As you deliberate, remember the responsibility we bear to our community. The breach in the Hall of Prophecy is a matter that cannot be taken lightly. It falls upon us to uphold the rule of law and to set a precedent that such actions, regardless of intent, have consequences. I urge you to consider the severity of the destruction caused and to vote with the integrity and justice that our positions demand."

After his calculated speech, Cornelius Fudge crisply announced, "We will now proceed with Deliberation Time. I ask that everyone, except for the Wizengamot members, be escorted from the courtroom."

The Aurors immediately sprang into action, guiding Harry out of the room. As he walked, Harry clung to a sliver of hope that this might be his last return to the cell, but Fudge's speech had nearly extinguished that fragile hope. With each step, the gravity of his situation seemed to weigh heavier upon him.

Warrington, attempting to follow Harry, was stopped by the Aurors. Frustration flickered across his face before it settled into a solemn expression of concern. He remained standing, helplessly watching as Harry was escorted away, the courtroom doors closing behind him with a definitive thud.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Theodore Nott was like a tightly wound spring all day, his mind a whirlwind of worry that rendered him incapable of concentrating on either his studies or the idle chatter of his peers. The clock had struck noon, marking the start of Harry's hearing, yet there was no sign of him returning to Hogwarts, not after lunch and certainly not after classes wrapped up. Hermione Granger, who had been summoned early on as a witness, was equally devoid of any news.

By the time the evening shadows began to stretch across the Slytherin common room, Theodore's nerves had frayed to their limits. The pretense of reading long abandoned, he sat slumped in his usual armchair by the fireplace, his gaze locked unblinkingly on the common room entrance. With each creak of the opening door, his heart skipped a beat, but it was always someone other than Harry who walked through.

"Stop torturing yourself," Daphne Greengrass scolded with a mix of sternness and concern in her voice. "It's hard to watch! You're not doing yourself, or Harry, any favors by worrying this much."

Theodore merely gave her a weary look, his response a silent nod, the weight of the situation evident in his eyes.

"Cards, anyone?" Blaise Zabini offered, breaking the tense silence with a hesitant suggestion. Millicent Bulstrode was quick to agree, and, to Theodore's subdued surprise, Daphne nodded too, a rare trace of solidarity in her usually stoic demeanor.

"I'll sit this one out," Theodore declined softly, his voice distant. "Go ahead, I'll just... watch."

"Sure, watch. Or more likely just keep an eye on the door," Blaise remarked with a half-smirk, his tone shifting to a quieter, more serious timbre. "Theodore, it'll be okay. Potter always lands on his feet. He'll be back, safe and sound."

A faint, grateful smile flickered across Theodore's lips.

"I thought you'd all chosen to ignore whatever's going on with me," he murmured, almost to himself.

"That's become quite the impossible task," Daphne retorted sharply, her light blonde hair glinting in the firelight as she tossed it back."I can't pretend to be dumber than Goyle for that long."

A soft chuckle escaped Millicent, who gave Theodore's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning her attention to the deck of cards in her hands, shuffling and dealing them out to the others.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Forty-five minutes had barely passed when Harry Potter found himself standing before the Wizengamot, awaiting his sentence. The members faced him, a mixture of stern and sympathetic expressions among them. Cornelius Fudge, presiding over the trial, stood to deliver the verdict.

"Harry James Potter," Fudge's voice echoed in the chamber, "you have been found guilty of the destruction of property within the Hall of Prophecy. This act has resulted in the irreversible loss of invaluable magical records and prophecies. However, you are acquitted of the charge of Unauthorized Entry into the Department of Mysteries, as it was proven you were taken there involuntarily."

A heavy silence descended as Fudge paused, readying himself to announce the sentence. "Given your young age and the stressful circumstances, the court has decided against Azkaban." Fudge frowned disapprovingly, his demeanor clearly opposed to such leniency. "However, the severity of your actions cannot go unpunished. You are hereby ordered to pay a fine of 200,000 Galleons, to be withdrawn from the Potter family vault at Gringotts upon your coming of age."

Harry's face was stoic, absorbing the sentence, while the room buzzed with murmurs. The sum was significant, even for the wealthy Potter estate.

Fudge continued, "Furthermore, for public safety and as a condition of your freedom, you will be required to wear magical restraints until you come of age. These will limit your use of magic to educational purposes only."

No, they can't do this…
Harry refused to believe what he was hearing. He turned helplessly to Warrington, but his lawyer seemed just as shocked.

"This is an outrage, Cornelius!" Griselda Marchbanks couldn't hold back. "We did not agree to this!"

The chamber erupted in uproar again.

"I don't need the Wizengamot's approval for every sneeze!" Fudge declared arrogantly, lifting his head with a haughty air. He adjusted his bowler hat, which had shifted askew from his abrupt movement. "I am the Minister of Magic, tasked with the welfare of our citizens. Even if the Wizengamot doesn't see grounds for sending Potter to Azkaban, he is still a danger!"

"Furthermore, if Mr. Potter intends to continue his studies at Hogwarts, we cannot risk the safety of other children. Everyone must be treated equally," Dolores Umbridge chimed in, looking around the room with a triumphant air.

"That's enough!" Fudge abruptly stood up. "The hearing of February 26th, 1996, 'Ministry of Magic versus Harry Potter' is hereby closed. Aurors, escort Mr. Potter for the execution of the sentence."

"We will appeal this, Harry! It's unlawful!" Warrington whispered hurriedly to him before the Aurors led him away again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dawlish barked the order with a harsh tone, "Roll up your sleeves to the elbows and stretch out your arms!" as they entered a starkly furnished office.

Had Harry still possessed his portkey, he would have surely conjured another explosion and fled from the Aurors. Forget Hogwarts. The idea of being constrained by an artifact to limit his magic was intolerable. Fudge’s overly pleased smirk and Umbridge’s gloating expression signaled nothing promising.

While Harry methodically unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his robe and shirt, the Aurors carried in a small chest into the room. Dawlish opened it, bringing it close to Harry's face  so he could see the contents.

"Know what this is, Potter?"

In the chest, on a red velvet cushion, lay two wide, unclasped bracelets of coarse, yellowish metal, covered in cryptic symbols. Actually they were more akin to shackles than bracelets.

Harry’s response was silence, but Dawlish was undeterred.

"These are orichalcum manacles, specially crafted for freaks like you, who think the usual laws of magic don't apply to them," Dawlish said, each word laced with a twisted satisfaction. "Orichalcum will sap nearly all of your magic, reducing you to barely more than a Squib," he leaned in, his words a venomous whisper intended only for Harry, "And I hope you become exactly that – a true Squib…"

"Why such hatred for me, Senior Auror Dawlish?" Harry asked with a detached tone.

"Because you're a freak who dares to think he's something special," Dawlish spat back, his gaze filled with contempt. "Savage, Wilkes, hold him firmly."

The Aurors flanked Harry, gripping his arms to prevent any movement. Dawlish retrieved one of the manacles from the chest and clamped it onto Potter's forearm, eliciting an excruciating jolt of pain. Harry's cry pierced the air, and he would have crumpled to the ground had the Aurors not been holding him upright. Dawlish secured the second shackle, then the Aurors let go. Harry's knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor. As the pain gradually subsided, a creeping panic took its place. His own body felt alien, his blood like ice.

"Is it supposed to hurt him?" Savage inquired, concern in his voice.

"How should I know?" Dawlish snapped back irritably. "Anti-magic manacles haven’t been used since nearly the last century."

Harry struggled to his feet. Dawlish, meeting Potter's gaze, instinctively stepped back from him. But, remembering that Harry was now as harmless as a kitten, his face twisted into a scornful sneer.

"Here's your wand, Potter. Keep it. If it feels like a useless twig, that's expected," Dawlish said mockingly.

Harry accepted his wand, sliding it into his sleeve.

"And the amulet?"

"It was illegal and has been confiscated. You'll receive all the relevant paperwork from your lawyer."

Harry nodded, then exited the room, every ounce of his strength focused on maintaining a straight posture and steady steps.

Warrington waited outside, his expression a mix of worry and guilt. He spoke hurriedly to Harry, but Harry could only catch fragments of his words: illegal, appeal, complaint to the International Congress of Wizards, no right…

Reality felt muffled, like observing through a veil of water. Harry felt as though he had been robbed of one of his senses. Warrington escorted him toward the Atrium, shielding him from the swarm of journalists. Fortunately, Lupin, Tonks, and Moody quickly joined them, helping to fend off the press. Harry's entire focus was on moving forward – one step, then another, approaching the transport fireplaces. Just a bit further to go.

Moody almost had to force Harry into the fireplace, handing him a bag of Floo powder. With a steadying breath, Harry grabbed a handful and pronounced as distinctly as he could, "Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts."

As the Floo powder ignited, it sent another jolt of pain through Harry – a reminder that even this relied on his magic.

He emerged not gracefully but rather tumbled out of the fireplace into Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore was quick to assist, helping Harry to his feet and guiding him into one of the plush visitor's chairs. The Headmaster then handed Harry a potion, which he drank almost without hesitation, feeling a slight but immediate fortification. 

"I've been briefed on the trial's verdict," Dumbledore began, his tone somber as he took a seat opposite Harry. "I'm deeply sorry about the outcome. However, it's a relief that Azkaban was avoided."

Harry looked up, his eyes heavy with unshed emotion.

"Oh, my dear boy," Dumbledore sighed, a look of regret crossing his face. "Why didn't you entrust me with the full truth right from the beginning?"

Harry remained silent, his gaze steady. What did Dumbledore expect him to say? In Harry's ideal world, he wouldn't have shared anything at all with him. What would've been the point?

Dumbledore seemed to read his silence. "I could have offered my assistance," he said gently.

"Now you're aware of the truth," Harry replied softly, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "Is there any help you can offer now?"

He raised his arms, the motion revealing the anti-magic manacles snugly fitted around his wrists, previously hidden under the billowing sleeves of his robe.

Dumbledore's expression contorted with pain and sympathy.

"I'm afraid my hands are tied in this matter, Harry. But please know, I am genuinely sorry."

"Yeah," Harry responded with a nod, skepticism lining his tone. "Well, since there's nothing more to be done, I'd like to retire for the night, sir. I'm exhausted."

Engaging in Dumbledore's unfathomable games was the last thing Harry had the energy for, especially now, with the manacles draining him slowly, leeching away his vitality.

As Potter made his way to the door, Dumbledore called out, "Would you consider spending the night in the Hospital Wing? I'm concerned your classmates might exploit your current... vulnerability."

Harry paused, then shook his head slightly. "I can handle it," he assured.

Exiting Dumbledore's tower, Harry found a quiet spot along the corridor and leaned against the cool stone wall. He glanced around surreptitiously before pulling out his wand and whispering, "Lumos." A sharp pang shot through his chest, yet the wand remained stubbornly inert, devoid of its usual magic.

It took four attempts before a weak flicker of light finally emerged, casting a faint glow in the dimly lit hallway.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Harry!" Theodore exclaimed, immediately rushing to his side. He instantly noticed something was terribly off. Harry looked distinctly unwell, his face gaunt, his skin an ashen shade of pale. But most distressing were his eyes, blazing with a tumultuous mix of pain, guilt, and despair.

Before Theodore could utter a word or even begin to question, other Slytherins swarmed around them. The news of Potter's arrest and the subsequent trial had been splashed across the pages of the Daily Prophet, so everyone was somewhat informed about why Harry had been absent from school for the entire week.

Queries about how the trial went, supportive pats on the back, and curious stares all directed at Harry. Maeve rushed up and enveloped him in a tight hug, burying her face in his chest. Harry's response was distracted, his hand automatically patting her red hair as he answered questions in a vague, detached manner. All the while, Theodore stood just a step away, torn between wanting to help and not knowing how. He could see Harry's distress and understood that he needed to be removed from the crowd, away from prying eyes. Yet, if Theodore acted now, it would almost be an open acknowledgment of their relationship, something Harry had been so keen to avoid. But it was Harry himself who gently released Maeve, took a step toward Theo, and firmly grasped his wrist.

"Excuse me, I need to speak with Nott. Excuse me…" Harry spoke in a tone devoid of emotion, almost robotic, as he led Theodore away from the common room.

Not letting go of Theodore's hand, Harry guided him silently through the corridors towards the west wing. He didn’t glance back or even look at Theodore, just marched forward with purpose. The thin fingers wrapped around Theodore's wrist felt unnaturally cold, a stark contrast to Harry’s usually warm touch.

Theodore refrained from asking their destination. It was clear enough. Harry had few places in the castle he favored. The real challenge for Theodore was resisting the urge to ask about the trial. Harry was here, which meant he was acquitted, but the change in him was palpable… Now wasn't the time to push for answers; Harry would only retreat further into his shell.

Finally, they emerged onto the terrace, where a brusque blast of cold wind greeted them. The air hinted at the approach of spring, yet the temperature hovered just above freezing. Harry let go of his hand and approached the parapet, leaning heavily against it as he stared blankly into the Forbidden Forest. His breathing was uneven, too deep, as if fighting for each breath.

Nott moved closer and gently wrapped his arms around Harry from behind. Harry immediately turned, his dim, guilt-laden eyes meeting Theodore's.

"They took your grandmother’s amulet," Harry said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Is that all?" Theodore's relief was palpable as he drew Harry closer. In his eyes, the amulet mattered little next to Harry's condition "Is that the only reason you're so upset?"

"But it was your grandmother’s amulet…"

"Harry, it’s okay," Theodore tried to reassure him, even as his own breath hitched at the sight of Harry's distress. "Yes, the amulet was useful, but I have her entire estate. It's nothing in comparison… The main thing is that you’re here. Please, don’t worry about it."

"Alright," Harry agreed in a subdued tone, his voice still devoid of its usual liveliness.

Something was unmistakably off, and it was gravely serious. He gently brushed his hand through Harry's hair, his fingers tenderly tracing down Harry’s cheek.

"What's happened, Harry? You were acquitted, weren't you?"

"No..." Potter shifted his gaze away, a shadow crossing his face. "I was convicted for destroying the prophecies... They've fined me, and... they've restricted my magic."

"What?" Theodore blurted out in disbelief. He thought he must have misheard. That couldn't be…Restriction of one's magic… He had only read about such things in historical chronicles.

Harry rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms encased in clunky, yellowish metal. As Theodore's fingers traced the unfamiliar runes carved into the shackles, his shock was palpable.

"They couldn't possibly..."

"But as you can see, they did," Harry replied, a weak, bitter smile fleeting across his lips. "Warrington did mention that it's unlawful, though."

Potter began to tremble slightly. Theodore, reacting swiftly, cast warming charms around them and gently guided Harry to sit down. He settled himself on the chilly stone floor of the terrace, drawing Harry close into his lap. Adjusting his position against the wall for Harry's comfort, Theodore wrapped his arms protectively around his  shoulders.

Gradually, as Harry warmed up and relaxed in his embrace, his fragility became more apparent. Without his usual surging, uncontrollable magic… he seemed almost breakable. Theodore wondered how he hadn't immediately realized what was off with Harry… Usually magic around him was almost palpable. 

Theodore lost track of time as they sat there. It must have been hours, he thought, as he periodically renewed the warming charms. Slowly, Harry narrated the events, jumping from one event to another. Some of it Theodore already knew from Granger, but he didn't interrupt. He didn't say anything at all, even when Harry's story reached the point where the Aurors threw him into a cell and how he tried to block his connection with Voldemort to prevent his magic from leaking to him. Theodore just listened and soothingly stroked Harry's back and hair. What use were his senseless consolations or promises he might not be able to keep now?

In that moment, Theodore felt a deep loathing for his own helplessness, his inability to provide some real aid. Rage boiled in his chest. He wanted to kill them all – the dim-witted Aurors, the power-hungry Minister Fudge, and Dumbledore, who had made Harry a pawn in his political games and failed to protect him.

As Harry concluded his story of the day's events, he pulled back slightly from Theodore's shoulder. His green eyes, usually vibrant, now flickered with a dim, haunting despair.

"Theo, what if I turn into a Squib?"

"You won’t. You have too much magic within you. It’s still there..." Theodore reassured, placing his palm over the center of Harry's chest. He could almost feel the faint, smoldering presence of Harry’s magical core. "Can you feel it, Harry? It’s right here, just locked away."

Theodore was certain – no shackle in the world could break Harry Potter and turn him into a Squib. Furthermore he would definitely find a way to remove those nasty things from his wrists.

Harry gave a hesitant nod, then leaned back against Theodore. 

"Theo?"

"Mm?"

"I love you too."

Chapter 20: Ancient Books, Mysterious Girls, and Blueberry Pies

In his sleep, Harry emitted a soft, prolonged whimper and rolled onto his side. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his dark curls stuck to his damp, pale face. Theo put down his notes and gently touched Harry's forehead with the back of his hand, relieved to find no sign of fever this time.

Harry comically wrinkled his nose at the touch but remained asleep. Without his glasses, his hair tousled, he looked very young and fragile. This vulnerable Harry seemed even more in need of protection and safeguarding from the world's harshness. His thin collarbones were visible under the stretched neckline of his shirt. The urge to kiss them and slide his hands under Harry's pajamas grew nearly irresistible.

Theodore shook his head, forcibly returning his focus to the tome before him, pushing aside thoughts of what they might do once this nightmare was over. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He planned to complete his calculations, take a shower, and sleep for the few hours left until breakfast. As long as he could maintain his concentration, he would keep working. Time was not on their side.

Regardless of what Potter claimed, he was deteriorating day by day. He had become gaunt, and by evening he always looked utterly drained. This was despite Harry sleeping for twelve hours or more lately. But even this prolonged rest wasn't enough for his recovery.

The most concerning aspect was his magic. Now, Harry could only manage the simplest spells like Lumos or Accio. Occasionally, he succeeded in casting some basic household charms or those Transfiguration spells that required more calculations and precision than raw power. It might have been better for Harry to abstain from magic for a while, but Harry Potter wouldn't be himself if he didn't stubbornly conceal his condition and continue to cast spells, even pushing beyond his limits.
Elsewhere, things were eerily quiet, to the point of suspicion. Nott was wary of any provocations, particularly in the early days. Yet, contrary to expectations, since Harry's return from the Ministry, no one had bothered him. The prime suspect for any trouble, Malfoy, had also become subdued. He disappeared for whole days with Crabbe and Goyle and only returned to the dungeons at curfew. Two maroons McLaggen and Finnigan, who used to hussle Harry, now averted their eyes in his presence. Granger and her friends must have finally reached them. The teachers, apart from Umbridge, supported Potter as much as they could. In classes where magic was hardly needed, like Herbology or Astronomy, Harry consistently earned points for every correct answer or action. Snape did not reward Potter with points but had stopped harassing him and had even acknowledged Harry's work as 'Exceeds Expectations' a few times. Of course, this was in cases where Harry's performance was actually 'Outstanding', but it was still progress. McGonagall and Flitwick had unanimously decided not to let Potter participate in practicals "until this misunderstanding is resolved". So in Charms and Transfiguration, Harry was relegated to studying theory and practicing wand movements.

Despite the adults' assurances that they would resolve everything soon, Theo saw no hope of legally freeing Harry from the anti-magic handcuffs. Warrington's appeals and complaints were being systematically rejected. The Ministry of Magic was unresponsive. When Harry received updates from the lawyer, he merely snorted, feigning indifference, or perhaps he truly didn't care anymore. The growing numbness in his eyes unsettled Theo. So all he could do was bury himself in his work.

In the first days after the trial, Theo and Granger had combed through the entire Hogwarts library, including the Restricted Section. They were soon joined by Blaise, Daphne, and Millicent. Weasley and Longbottom tried to contribute, but they were more of a distraction. Even Theodore himself had little to show for his efforts. Their findings were meager: a couple of ancient legends, a handful of irrelevant references to anti-magic manacles in historical records, and a scant description of orichalcum properties in an old alchemy guide, penned by a seemingly deranged wizard at the dawn of the first millennium.

Alongside their theoretical studies, they had repeatedly tried to remove the manacles, but these seemed immune to all magic. Theodore was continually troubled by the question of why the manacles had such a severe effect on Harry's magic and completely nullified his wandless capabilities, were supposed to just limit them. According to the properties of orichalcum, as detailed in an old alchemy guide, this metal was supposed to block magical flows only at points of contact, restricting standard wand magic without causing pain in the magical core during spellcasting, let alone nearly completely blocking all magical flows. Theodore theorized that the runes inscribed on the manacles were responsible for this effect. Hermione disagreed, insisting that no runes could exert such force. But her understanding of Ancient Runes was limited to the Hogwarts curriculum. Theodore, however, was aware that vast swathes of ancient knowledge had been lost, including many Rune Magic secrets traditionally kept within families and not disclosed to the public, much like the runic sequences his grandmother employed to activate the various protective layers of their estate.

Despite Nott's belief in his theory, they found nothing that could even minimally alter or damage the runes on the manacles, much less remove them.

Help came from an unexpected source. Four days earlier, just before dinner, as they were studying in the common room, Ulick and Maeve approached them.

"We need to have a word," Maeve whispered, wedging herself onto the couch between them.

"Let's not talk here," Ulick added, hesitant to sit down next to them. "We should find somewhere private, okay?"

Theodore had hoped to understand the matter at hand first, but Harry had already stood up and, along with the younger students, headed towards the exit of the common room. They walked down the corridor to the lower levels of the dungeons, eventually reaching a spacious alcove outfitted with old, overstuffed armchairs with cracked leather upholstery.

"Is this spot alright?" Harry inquired, checking the Marauder's Map. "No one's nearby."

Gamp appeared unsure.

"Could we speak with you in private?" he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

"I won’t leave him alone right now," Nott stated firmly before Harry could respond.

Potter shot Theo a reproachful glance. Earlier in the week, they had nearly quarreled twice because of Nott's steadfast refusal to leave Harry unattended for even a moment. Technically, with Maeve and Ulick, Harry wouldn't be alone, but Theodore didn't regard the two first-years as reliable, just as potential adversaries wouldn't. Disregarding Harry’s imploring gaze, Nott crossed his arms, clearly indicating he wasn't going anywhere.

"Would casting a silencing charm work?" Harry offered, reluctantly shifting his look from Nott to Gamp.

Maeve quickly whispered something in the boy’s ear. Gamp coughed and blushed deeply.

"No need for charms. I... I just promised my grandfather that I’d give this to Harry privately. That's why I asked... But you probably tell each other everything anyway…"

Nott arched a skeptical brow. How much longer would he stall? It would be better to cut to the chase rather than create unnecessary secrecy.

"Yeah, usually we do," Harry replied with a soft smile. "What is it, Ulick? Does your grandfather have some special request?"

"It's not exactly a request. He asked me to give this to you," Gamp pulled a magically shrunken parcel from his pocket, used his wand to restore it to its original size, and handed it to Harry. "There's a note on top. Grandfather said you'd understand everything."

The parcel, seemingly a book by its shape, was wrapped in yellowed paper. Harry carefully removed the envelope affixed to the wrapping, extracted the note, and skimmed it quickly.

"Thanks for this, at least..." he muttered to himself, passing the note to Theodore, and began unwrapping the parcel.

The letter was written in an unnaturally perfect handwriting, undoubtedly the work of a self-writing quill. The letter’s secrecy extended beyond its flawless script: it lacked both a signature and an addressee, a precaution in case it ended up in the wrong hands. Yet, its message was unmistakably clear.

 

From the first day of your acquaintance, my grandson has spoken of you as a young man worthy of respect in every aspect. I must admit, given the swirl of rumors that surround your name, I had concerns that his youthful judgment might be clouded. However, having seen you myself, I am relieved to find his assessments were accurate. You struck me as an extraordinarily powerful and intelligent young wizard, one who, I believe, will one day shift the balance of power in magical Britain. I eagerly await that day and assure you of my support when it arrives. For now, I must remain in the shadows.

In the current circumstances, I regret that my ability to assist you is limited, but I would like to extend to you a gift. I trust you will find its proper application.

Best of luck!

 

“Magical Metals and Their Properties?” Harry queried, having already unwrapped the impressive tome and turned its cover towards Theo. The title “Magia metalla et eorum possessiones” was inscribed in almost faded red ink on the tome's worn grey leather. Harry's translation was absolutely correct.

“Yes… Hand it over, please.”

Nott eagerly took the tome from Potter’s hands, his fingers quickly navigating through the ancient pages until he found the chapter on orichalcum. The book was a manuscript, its contents written in a complex and archaic form of Latin. Fortunately, Theo was well-versed in Latin, making the tome decipherable to him. The information was vast and somewhat disparate, covering mining methods, combinations with other materials, uses in magical rituals, applications in alchemy and artifact crafting. Finally, he arrived at a section he had almost despaired of finding. Halfway down one page was a detailed illustration of anti-magic manacles. The design differed slightly from the ones binding Harry's wrists: they were noticeably narrower and lacked inscriptions. Nonetheless, the subtitle confirmed that this was precisely what they had been seeking.

Theodore closed the book with a contented thud.

"Gamp, I could kiss you right now!"

“Please, don't,” the boy replied, darting up from his chair and swiftly retreating behind Maeve. “It was all grandfather’s doing. Kiss him if you have to.”

"Ulick, he’s not going to kiss anyone, don't worry," Harry said, his laughter genuine and infectious.

Theodore's mood soared even higher at the sound of Harry's laughter.

"What, no one?" he teased, drawing Harry closer by the waist with his free hand. Without a second thought for their very young audience, he planted a kiss on Harry’s lips.

Maeve let out an exasperated shriek, pleading for them to stop  stop slobbering over each other, while Gamp blushed a deeper shade of red. Harry, however, responded eagerly to the kiss, and in that moment, Theodore couldn’t have cared less about who they might embarrass with their affection.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After returning from the shower, Nott found Harry sitting on the bed, engulfed in complete darkness. He hoped that Harry hadn't lit any lights merely because he didn't need them, not because he lacked the energy even for such a minimal magical effort.

"Did I wake you up?" Theodore settled beside Harry on the bed, gently kissing his temple, and then launched a pale yellow ball of light under the canopy. "Sorry about that."

"No, I woke up by myself," Potter shook his head. "Just about five minutes ago. Maybe I sensed in my sleep that you weren’t here..." His smile was faint. "Or perhaps I finally got enough rest. I went to bed right after dinner, after all. What time is it now?"

"Nearly three," Nott sighed, casually brushing back his damp hair with his fingers.

Harry instantly looked guilty. He glanced at the scattered books and the heap of parchment, all covered in Nott's meticulous handwriting, and murmured:

"Theodore, you need to get some sleep too."

"I do sleep. A few hours each day is enough for me to stay functional," he answered, though his cheerfulness seemed a bit forced. He started to stack his notes together. "Plus, there's always the option of an invigorating potion."

"Daphne has forbidden Blaise from giving you any more of that," Potter interjected with a frown. "Theo, it doesn’t help me to see you exhausting yourself like this. You need proper rest. You can’t keep going on invigorating potions alone."

"Actually, I think I've figured out a way to reduce the impact of the manacles."

"How?" Potter asked, his expression still skeptical and clearly not very hopeful, especially since just the previous day Theodore and Hermione had bitterly realized their initial idea for removing the manacles was flawed.

"Let me explain."

Theodore fluffed up the pillow and lay back, pulling Harry to lie next to him. Harry settled his head on Theodore's shoulder, and Theodore wrapped his arm around him, fingers interlocking.

Harry was warm and soft, still carrying the coziness of sleep. Theo breathed in the scent of his hair and closed his eyes, wishing to melt away into their small sanctuary under Harry's bed canopy and layers of protective charms. In this space, they didn’t have to be strong; they could simply be themselves.

"Theo?" Harry's quiet voice brought him back. "What did you come up with?"

"You know when I said I couldn’t figure out how the manacles are affecting your wandless magic? We thought it might be the inscriptions on them," Theodore started.

"Yeah, I remember. And Hermione's arguments against that."

"Hermione doesn’t really get the nuances of Rune magic," Theodore said, a hint of irritation in his tone. "Daphne and Blaise, remember, they backed up my theory, and they’re pretty sharp when it comes to Runes."

"But of course, not quite as sharp as you, our resident Rune expert," Harry replied with teasing smile on his lips.

"Right, but that's not the key point here. After going through Gamp's book and doing some calculations, I realized that to significantly restrict the magic of a wizard as powerful as you – and I'm pretty sure you’re far beyond the average strong wizard – they would need to encase you in orichalcum from head to toe. It has to be the inscriptions. They seem to suppress magic more intensely the stronger the wizard is. Otherwise, even just a fraction of your magical reserve would be enough to cast spells at the level of an average wizard."

Harry raised his hands, letting the sleeves of his pajamas fall down to reveal the wide bands of yellowish metal encircling his forearms. He scrutinized the inscriptions in an unknown language with a look of distaste.

"You're saying if we decipher what's written on my manacles, we might weaken their effect? But we haven't even figured out the language yet. Wasn't Hermione's last guess Phoenician?"

"I think so. But honestly, the language doesn't matter. I believe if we erase these symbols, your wandless magic will return to normal."

"Erase them? How exactly?"

Turning onto his stomach, Harry peered up at Theodore, a hint of skepticism in his eyes, as if checking his sanity.

"Yes. They use a special adamantite-based ink for the runes on orichalcum, and there's only one known formula for it. I can't believe we didn't think of this earlier... We completely missed the part about orichalcum's interactions with other materials! If I'm correct, all we need is a potion to dissolve the ink," Theo explained, his words rushing out in his excitement. "It's not too complex, though gathering the ingredients will be a bit tricky."

He retrieved Lord Gamp's book from beneath his notes and flipped it open to the relevant section. Harry leaned in, absorbing the recipe. His Latin might have been lacking, but he could grasp the essentials.

"Manticore blood? Quintaped fur? Kelpie bile? Just the ingredients alone are worth a fortune!" Harry's doubt lingered, yet he couldn't help being swept up in Theodore's enthusiasm. "Where are we going to find all this?"

"Well..." Theodore paused, weighing his words. "I was thinking of asking your godfather for help."

"But it's risky for Sirius to leave the house," Harry immediately tensed up.

"Sirius is capable. Besides, he's got Lupin and the whole Order to back him up. It's about time they got involved."

Harry let out a chuckle.

"Okay, we'll see. Still, we need a plan for after we alter the manacles so the Ministry doesn’t send me straight to the Dementors."

"We'll just replicate something similar on them; they'll never notice," Theodore casually replied. He then slipped his hands under Harry's pajama shirt and leaned in to kiss his neck.

"Or they will notice and ship me off to Azkaban," Harry continued, though he tilted his head, making it easier for Theodore to kiss him.

"Then I'll end up in Azkaban with you, as an accomplice. Sure, it's no North Ronaldsay cottage, but Azkaban is also on an island in the North Sea. Not such a big difference, really."

"Oh yes, Dementors for company instead of your cats. The difference is minimal," Harry quipped with a smirk, allowing himself to be gently rolled onto his back.

Theodore sat on his hips and began unbuttoning Harry's pajamas. Harry's gaze was probing, but his lips curled into a smile that was both teasing and genuinely content.

"Alright," Potter finally conceded, lifting slightly to assist in removing the now unbuttoned pajamas. "But after this, we sleep." 

Even pale and exhausted, with dark shadows under his impossibly green eyes, he was so gorgeous that it was almost painful to look at him. For a brief moment, Theodore considered taking things with Harry a bit further but hesitated, not wanting to overwhelm him. He chose to stick to what Harry was comfortable with, avoiding any pressure or undue strain. There would be time for exploring new boundaries when Harry regained his strength.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Three weeks had slipped by since Harry came back from the Ministry. Professor McGonagall, worried from the start, had made sure Madam Pomfrey kept a close eye on his health. That's why, after lunch today, Harry was off to the Hospital Wing again. His next class was Divination, and since Theo was in Runes, Ron and Neville were the ones walking with him this time.

For Harry, these weeks had been tough. He was constantly exhausted and in pain, but he tried to keep that hidden from his friends, and especially Theodore. He couldn't help but feel guilty when he saw how tired Theo and Hermione were, working hard on research to get rid of the manacles. This guilt was even worse than feeling utterly helpless. 

Deprived of his magic, Harry felt a vulnerability that gnawed at him relentlessly. Yet, he tried to maintain a facade of strength, not wanting to add to his friends' burdens. It was particularly challenging with Theodore, who, despite Harry's efforts, treated him as he was made of glass. This overprotectiveness only served to remind Harry of his current weakness and dependence. 

"Are you going to the match on Saturday?" Ron asked as they left the Great Hall.

"Probably," Harry replied, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He had been following Quidditch mostly out of habit lately, especially since the start of the inter-house championship in March. Gryffindor would face Ravenclaw first, then there were three more matches after Easter: Slytherin against Hufflepuff in April, Gryffindor against Hufflepuff in May, and finally Slytherin versus Ravenclaw before the OWLs.

"Who will you be rooting for?"

"For Gryffindor, Ron. Is there any doubt?" Harry said, giving him a stern look.

"You never know," Ron shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "You used to like Cho; maybe you'd root for her team this time."

"Now I like Theo," Harry snapped. His tone made it clear he wanted to end any further discussion on the matter. "As you know, he doesn't play Quidditch."

"Exactly! I just can't figure out what you two have in common," Ron persisted.

"Sexual preferences, for starters. Want the full rundown?"  Harry shot back, hoping his deliberate rudeness would push him away for a while. 

"N-no. I just don't get it."

Harry felt a surge of frustration. He loved Theo. Why couldn't Ron just accept that and see that Harry needed his friend now more than ever. Since Ron found out about Theo, he had been pestering Harry with all sorts of odd and inappropriate questions about their relationship. Harry couldn't fathom what Ron was trying to achieve with this line of questioning or why he couldn't just be happy for him. 

Feeling another argument brewing between Harry and Ron, Neville, with his usual peacemaking instinct, sighed deeply from behind them. Would Ron ever get used to the idea of Harry and Theodore Nott together? Neville, always observant but preferring to stay out of drama, couldn't help but notice Ron's lingering discomfort. Whether it was because Nott was a guy, a Slytherin, or simply not Ron's sister Ginny, even Hermione couldn’t pin down. Neville suspected that for Ron, Nott represented the changes in Harry that had gradually widened the gap between them since fifth year.

"What exactly don't you get?" Harry asked, sounding tired.

"I mean, how did you end up with him... You always liked girls before. Why Nott all of a sudden?"

Stopping in his tracks, Harry turned to face Ron with a look of exasperation. Neville, sensing the moment was ripe to intervene and steer them away from a potential fallout, decided to jump in.

"Harry, Ron!" he called out, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Did you guys hear about Umbridge's latest decree?"

"Which one?" Potter tensed up. "The one about not gathering in groups of more than three?"

"No, the previous one. I saw Filch hanging up another notice, number twenty-seven, about new rules for student behavior. They'll probably announce it at dinner," Neville explained, glad to have captured their attention. He racked his brain to remember the details of the decree – not an easy task for someone who didn’t usually concern himself with school politics. "Basically, Umbridge wants us to wear our school uniforms all the time. Not just in class, but even on weekends or trips to Hogsmeade! And she's banned any swearing... There was more, but I forgot. Ah, yes! There's a whole section on morality. Any physical contact that’s... um... romantic is now off-limits."

"Every kind of physical contact?" Harry asked sardonically. "So, we can’t even hold hands now?"

Ron rolled his eyes, but Neville could only nod, feeling a bit unsure.

"Yeah, it looks like it."

"Thanks for letting us know, Nev," Potter replied with a genuine smile of appreciation. "Better than if Umbridge got the power to ban staff from Hogwarts' grounds. I'm really worried she'll try to force Hagrid out of the castle if she sacks him."

On their way to the Hospital Wing, Harry, Ron, and Neville mulled over Hagrid's chances of retaining his professorship at least until the Easter holidays were over.

As they arrived, Madam Pomfrey greeted Harry at the entrance. "Oh, Mr. Potter, finally!" she exclaimed. She directed Neville and Ron to wait outside her office while she led Harry deeper into the wing, spending more time than usual attending to him.

"Do you get any sleep at night, Mr. Potter?" she inquired with a frown after completing her check-up.

"I do. Quite a lot, actually. Just last night, I went to bed straight after dinner."

"It appears that the blockage of your magical flows is preventing your body from fully recovering..."

With a few more wand gestures over him, Madam Pomfrey seemed to make a decision.

"What's next on your timetable?"

"Em.. Divinations. Why?"

"Good. I'll write you a note to skip it. Right now, you need to take this restorative potion and rest for at least an hour afterwards. It will boost the potion's effects."

Harry knew that with his magic being blocked, potions were almost ineffective on him, but he didn’t protest. Besides, a double session of Divination, even with Firenze, wasn't particularly appealing, and a nap sounded beneficial. He requested Madam Pomfrey inform Neville and Ron not to wait for him and settled comfortably on the cot, snuggling under a warm blanket. Sleep swiftly enveloped him.

Half an hour before Charms, Madam Pomfrey gently woke him. He felt somewhat refreshed after the nap, though a lingering weakness persisted. The mediwitch meticulously waved her wand over him once more and handed him a small chest filled with various potions.

"I’ve decided to adjust your treatment," she explained. "Take the blue potions in the morning, the orange ones at lunch, and the purple before bedtime."

Harry nodded, recognizing the blue for restorative and orange for invigorating purposes. But the purple ones were new to him.

"What are the purple ones for, ma'am?"

"They're to strengthen your magical flows."

"And why do I need that?" Harry asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"Your system isn’t channeling enough magic," Madam Pomfrey said gravely. "Our diagnostics indicate early degenerative changes in your central magical flows."

Harry felt a lump in his throat. He had been warned about this possibility... It seemed Theodore's plan was now his only hope.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter," the mediwitch said, her expression softening as she gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "You're a strong wizard and young. You'll bounce back once those devices are removed. I believe Professor Dumbledore will sort it out soon."

Harry doubted Dumbledore’s efforts but kept his thoughts to himself. He thanked Madam Pomfrey and accepted the chest of potions. He would consider taking them later in the evening. The invigorating ones, he definitely wouldn't take; they always ended up giving him a headache. But they might come in handy for Theodore, in the right dosage, of course. It was safer for Theo to rely on Madam Pomfrey's professionally prepared potions than those Blaise concocted in the abandoned potion lab for seniors in the lower levels of the dungeons. Zabini was a master at potions, but his penchant for experiments might lead to someone getting poisoned one day.

Leaving the Hospital Wing and seizing the rare chance for some solitude, Harry chose the long route to his Charms class through the west wing terrace. As he navigated the corridors, transitioning to another part of the castle, he almost collided with Luna Lovegood. Today, she seemed particularly disheveled: her hair was more unruly than usual, her robe was twisted, and she was shoeless, wearing only white cotton socks.

"Luna? Hi... Why aren't you in class?" Harry asked, fighting the urge to shake her back to reality. "And where are your shoes?"

"Hello, Harry Potter. My shoes..." she glanced down, looking surprised at her bare feet as though she had just noticed her lack of footwear. "I couldn’t find any this morning, so I decided to go without."

Harry frowned, concerned. It was mid-March, and Hogwarts' drafty corridors made the chill more pronounced. He himself was wearing a thick woolen jumper under his robe for warmth.

"Aren't you cold without shoes?"

"Not really. I've gotten used to it. People often hide my things."

"But why?" Potter was puzzled. Luna blaming others for such mischief seemed out of character; was she being bullied?

"I suppose they think it's funny," she replied, raising her misty blue eyes to meet his. "Some of my classmates call me 'Loony' Lovegood, you know."

Harry's muscles tensed. He mentally noted to have a word with Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein, or whoever was the current boy's prefect of their year. The thought that anyone in Hogwarts could be as cruel as his cousin Dudley was infuriating. Gently placing his hands on Luna's shoulders, he looked into her eyes with earnest concern.

"You're not loony. And it's wrong for anyone to take your things, no matter what they say. Need help finding them?"

"Oh. Don't worry. It's such a trivial stuff," she replied with a melancholy smile. "But we do need to find something important."

Before Harry could respond, Luna grasped his hand firmly and pulled him along, insisting, "Let's go." They ascended the stairs to the eighth floor, roaming the deserted corridors and checking each room they passed.

"Luna, exactly what are we looking for?" Harry finally asked, realizing he was about to be late for Charms.

Pausing, Luna stared pensively at the stone wall for a moment before replying, "Not a what. A who. We're searching for a crying girl."

Ok. That was something. 

The clock loudly chimed the hour.

"Luna, which girl are we talking about?"

"The crying one. She's frightened and alone right now. We must hurry!"

Luna sprinted towards the Clock Tower. Harry quickly followed her lead. When they reached the tower entrance, Luna tugged at the locked oak door. Unfazed, she chanted a lengthy spell. The door glimmered with a golden radiance and swung open, responding to her magic.

Together, Harry and Luna ascended the tower, climbing stair after creaky stair until they reached the topmost level, finding themselves tucked away behind the grand, mechanical workings of the castle's clock. The room was a forgotten space shadowed by the large clock faces that dominated the wall. Sunlight filtered through the dust-coated windows, casting long, slanted beams across the room. It was evident from the layers of dust on the sills and the rotting, creaking wooden floors that it had been years since anyone, even the house-elves, had ventured here.

Luna's expression turned to one of confusion, signaling to Harry that she, too, saw no one in the desolate room. As he moved forward to get her attention, a floorboard under his foot emitted a threatening crack, prompting him to quickly step back towards the doorway.

"Luna!" he called out, his voice competing with the rhythmic ticking and tocking of the ancient clock. "Let's head back, there’s nobody here."

She nodded in agreement and retreated from the room with him. They paused near a painting where Barnabas the Barmy was depicted in his fruitless endeavor to teach ballet to three large mountain trolls. The predator's grin of one troll suggested that Barnabas's ballet class was doomed from the start.

"Who was there, Luna?" Harry asked.

"The crying girl."

"But who is she? She is at least human, isn't she?"

Luna lapsed into one of her thoughtful silences.

"Not quite. But she needs our help."

"Should we look for her somewhere else?" Harry suggested, steering clear of probing too deeply into the nature of this mysterious entity.

"No, she's not here now. But we'll see her again," Luna said with unwavering certainty.

Resigned, Harry shrugged. He had already missed Charms anyway, and Luna didn't seem inclined to return to class either.

"Got any plans for the rest of the lesson?"

"We could check on the Thestrals, if you want. They're supposed to have foals by now," Luna suggested.

"Luna..." Harry couldn't hide his skeptical grin. "A walk in the Forbidden Forest doesn't seem like the best idea right now. It's damp, and you don't have shoes. Plus, my magic isn’t exactly at its best."

"I could conjure shoes. As for your magic…" Luna reached out and gently placed her hand over Harry's heart. She closed her eyes, seemingly tuning into something within him. When she opened them, they shone with an unusual clarity, devoid of her characteristic dreaminess.

"Your magic is nearly awake," she declared confidently. "Everything will be fine soon."

"What does 'nearly awake' mean?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him even though he realized perfectly that Luna would never answer when he asks her for clarification on such matters.

"You'll know when it happens. Now, let's head to the kitchen, Harry Potter. I heard the house-elves made blueberry pie today."

Regardless of what was happening with his magic or what creatures lurked in Hogwarts, blueberry pie was always good. Harry considered taking a slice back for Theo, hoping it might smooth over his sudden disappearance. Again.

Chapter 21: Under Slytherin's Watching Eye

The following day, after Theo had completed translating the entire orichalcum information from the book provided by Lord Gamble, and after his meticulous calculations, they met up in an empty classroom with Blaise and Hermione to strategize the implementation.

"Holy Morgana! I've never even laid hands on some of these ingredients," Blaise exclaimed in awe, quickly scanning the potion recipe. "Theodore, are you telling me you've actually found Quintaped's wool? I was under the impression they were all but extinct since the early part of the century…"

"No, we haven't, but Harry's godfather is confident he'll find everything we need."

Theo and Sirius had thoroughly discussed every detail the previous night. Despite Sirius's doubts about their ability to negate the main harm of the orichalcum manacles by merely removing the runes, he had willingly agreed to assist and procure any necessary ingredients.

"I'd be intrigued to meet his suppliers…"

"Trust me, you wouldn't," Nott replied with a smirk. "Black is getting the Quintaped's wool from a wizard who was in the neighboring cell to his in Azkaban, convicted for trading human organs. That gives you an idea of the sort of people he deals with."

Zabini made a face of distaste.

"But the real question is, can you actually brew this?" Theodore circled back to his initial inquiry.

"Of course, I can! When did you start doubting my exceptional potion-making skills?" Blaise responded, visibly offended.

Harry, observing this, thought Zabini's indignation appeared quite genuine. He himself felt slightly remorseful, though Theo remained impassive, simply nodding in satisfaction:

"Great. Then let's figure out if we can pull it off over the weekend. Black will deliver everything we need by Saturday. Think you can start on it the same day, say, after lunch?"

"I can, though the real challenge is finding a suitable place to set up the lab," Blaise said, without even a hint of offense. "It seems imprudent to brew an unknown potion from a bunch of forbidden ingredients in my usual not-so-secret potion lab in the dungeons... And definitely not here!"

He glanced around the dusty, abandoned classroom they had chosen for their meeting, giving a broken desk a slight kick for emphasis. The desk creaked mournfully but held firm.

"Boys, have you considered that erasing those symbols might make the manacles impossible to remove at all?" Hermione interjected, her tone laced with concern. She had been standing silently, leaning against the wall with a somber expression, until now. "Before we proceed with such irreversible actions and erase the inscriptions on Harry's anti-magic manacles, shouldn't we at least complete the decryption? We can't be certain of what's written there and the potential risks involved."

"The longer we delay, the higher the chance I'll end up a squib," Harry calmly rebutted, cautioning Theodore with a glance not to rekindle the debate with Hermione. "And you've mentioned that each set of these anti-magic manacles is unlocked by a unique spell-key. It's far more likely that it's secured in the Ministry rather than inscribed on the manacles themselves."

"Perhaps," Hermione conceded, her lips pursed in a McGonagall-esque manner as she resolutely shook her thick chestnut hair. "But I still believe relying solely on one source of information is risky."

"Your point is valid, but in the absence of alternative information, I too am in favor of taking the risk," Blaise interjected diplomatically. "It's unlikely that the runes on the manacles would provide any hints. In the same time these are clearly magical inscriptions, functioning like a runic chain or similar. Theodore's theory is sound: erasing them should weaken the manacles' effect."

"Looks like it's three against one, Hermione," Nott said with a half-smile. "Blaise, do you have any specific requirements for the lab? Besides ensuring exclusive access for us?"

"Well... Ideally, it should be spacious enough to set up a large table and several cauldrons. It would also be great if the mini-lab could be equipped in advance and be sure that everything remains untouched while I'm not around. Off the top of my head, if I brew the base in advance, I can handle the final phase in about six hours, give or take."

All four of them lapsed into deep thought Hogwarts was filled with numerous vacant spaces: derelict classrooms, storerooms, and empty living quarters. Yet, most were securely locked, keeping students at bay. They could bypass some spells and set their own, but that would definitely alert the house-elves and, consequently, the teachers. Harry was still baffled how their brewing of Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom during their second year had gone unnoticed. That reminded him…

"How about the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry suggested. "Sure, it's a bit grim with the dead basilisk, but we could probably shift it aside. There are loads of corridors and a few sizable halls. Plenty of room, in short. Plus, the Chamber of Secrets is accessible only to us – no house-elves or ghosts can get in. Slytherin spared no effort there."

As Harry laid out the merits of the Chamber, Zabini gaped at him as if he had grown an extra head.

"The Chamber of Secrets? Is he pulling my leg?" he quizzed Theodore, almost in disbelief.

"I think he's serious," Theodore said, his lips hinting at am amuzing smile. "You are serious, right, Harry?"

"Well, why not? It's a viable option, especially since no one else has come up with anything better."

"I've always wanted to visit it, purely for its historical significance!" Hermione's face brightened with enthusiasm. "I was worried about the Chamber bringing back traumatic memories for you, Harry..." A flicker of concern appeared on her face, but she quickly added, as if afraid he might change his mind, "but if that's not a problem, let's go have a look."

"Wait a minute!" Blaise blurted out. "We're actually talking about that Chamber of Secrets? Salazar Slytherin's Chamber? The one with the monster from our second year? You're not joking, right?"

"No, Blaise, this isn't a joke," Theodore reassured him, still smiling. "The monster's not there anymore. Harry killed it. With a sword. When he was barely thirteen."

Theo looked at Harry with a sense of pride, causing Harry to feel slightly abashed and start a stuttering explanation:

"It was really just luck. You know, Dumbledore's phoenix blinded the basilisk at the beginning. It couldn't see anything when it was trying to eat me, just sensing by smell and sound… Honestly, I was running away more than fighting. It was a dreadful creature. And the basilisk ended up impaling itself on the sword! I just happened to put my hand in the right moment."

Theo and Hermione regarded him with a blend of skepticism and amazement, while Blaise looked on, half-doubting, still somewhat unsure if this was all a prank.

"Alright then. Let’s actually go now and see what condition it’s in. We've got about three hours until dinner."

That’s how they started spending their free time in the Chamber of Secrets. Initially planning to keep it to themselves, they had agreed not to disclose the Chamber's use. However, Blaise was Blaise. The next day, Daphne and Millicent came to see it, and soon after, Astoria Greengrass showed up with Lafington and Vaisey in tow. Hermione then declared that since their friends were only visiting out of curiosity, she would tell Ron and Neville about their makeshift potion laboratory. Potter suspected her decision was influenced by her struggle with the Parseltongue password. She hoped Ron or Neville would be more adept with the snake language, saving her from constantly needing a Slytherin's help. As it turned out, the passages did respond to Ron, usually by the third try.

Harry had feared that mixing Gryffindors and Slytherins in a confined space for extended periods might lead to conflict, but the evolving inter-house friendship was surprisingly peaceful. Even Ron managed to be quite civil with everyone, except Nott. But even he did lend a hand when Theodore asked for help moving the basilisk's body to an unused corridor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Within a matter of days, Blaise, with everyone's assistance, had transformed the Chamber of Secrets into a nearly full-fledged alchemical laboratory at the foot of Salazar Slytherin's statue. Fortuitously, they discovered that in addition to the entrance through Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the Chamber had two other exits. One seemingly led to the Forbidden Forest, which they chose not to explore, while the other provided a quick route to the dungeons' lower level, a mere ten-minute journey to the Slytherin common room.

As his friends busily adapted the Chamber to their needs, Harry often found himself feeling somewhat superfluous. Without his magic, he seemed almost redundant. This was particularly apparent when everyone, except a frustrated Hermione, quickly mastered the simple Parseltongue command “open” to access the Chamber's secret doors. So far, Harry had only encountered a few exceptions requiring a unique password. One such exception was the entrance to the basilisk's lair, ingeniously hidden within the mouth of Slytherin's giant statue. Harry had to acknowledge Slytherin's cunning; without having heard Tom Riddle pronounce the intricate phrase to open the lair in his second year, he would have never unraveled the password himself. If Slytherin was as meticulous with other chambers, their chances of opening doors sealed with unconventional passwords were slim. Delving into Slytherin's biography or better yet, finding his diaries, might provide clues to the phrases he could have used.

"What kind of person erects a thirty-feet statue of themselves in dungeons that no one but he can enter?" Harry mused aloud to Hermione one day.

"Well, not just he," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "Slytherin must have envisioned his descendants coming here to marvel at his grand, let's say, likeness. He probably wanted to immortalize himself for their sake. According to legend, he saw himself as great, on par with Merlin and King Solomon. It’s quite natural for someone with such ego to want to immortalize themselves in stone."

"It sounds like you don’t think Slytherin was all that great," Harry observed, suspecting Hermione's view might be influenced by Slytherin's known stance on Muggle-borns.

"To be honest, Harry, I'm not entirely convinced of his greatness. We know so little about what happened a thousand years ago. Sure, Slytherin was a founder of Hogwarts, which in itself is an achievement, but as a wizard? There's no record of any particularly extraordinary magic from him."

Harry pondered this. He had always held the belief that all the founders were remarkable in their own right, likely capable of magic beyond modern wizardry's comprehension. Maybe Hermione was reluctant to acknowledge that power alone could define greatness, or perhaps she was uneasy with the idea of the regression in wizardry over the centuries.

"What about the Chamber itself, though? We don’t even precisely know where it is, just assuming it's under the lake. And all its protective enchantments have lasted a millennium," Harry pointed out.

"True, creating something like this does require immense magical power. But that's just raw strength, not necessarily skill. Slytherin’s methods were straightforward, relying heavily on his and his descendants’ ability to speak with snakes. It doesn’t necessarily indicate exceptional intellect or talent. Strength isn't everything, you know," Hermione reasoned.

Harry felt a twinge of discomfort at her words, as if they were indirectly aimed at his own reliance on power rather than skill. His ruminations were interrupted when Lafington appeared, bringing with him Astoria's latest ideas for the password to "that" door, urgently needing Harry's help with Parseltongue translation.

Astoria and her friends scoured every corner of the Chamber with relentless enthusiasm. They were the ones who discovered the exit leading to the Forbidden Forest. However, Daphne firmly forbade them from exploring it further. Undeterred in their quest for adventure, they found another secret door the previous day, which Harry couldn't open despite his best attempts. Unfortunately, their ideas for passwords proved fruitless today. Nevertheless, they remained undaunted, returning to Harry with new suggestions over the next few days. This continued until Friday, when Blaise began brewing the base potion and demanded silence, along with a halt to any risky experiments that might unleash unknown creatures – or worse – from the yet-unopened doors.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On a brisk Saturday morning after breakfast, with the entire school buzzing in anticipation of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match at the stadium, Harry and Theo made their way down to the underground passage beneath the Whomping Willow. Mid-March's spring floods were still in full effect, causing not only the low-lying areas around Hogwarts to be inundated but also several underground passages. Particularly flooded was the one from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. Theo adeptly dealt with the first few deep puddles using an evaporating spell, but soon, they encountered an extensive puddle that stretched beyond sight.

"I guess, it's better cast some water-repellent charms," Harry suggested, eyeing the murky water. "There's too much of it, and it's getting steamy in here. Plus, I remember this tunnel slopes downward for quite a stretch. The water's only going to get deeper."

Theo nodded in agreement, sharing Harry's foresight.

"I just hope we won't end up having to swim," Theo muttered, finishing his spellcasting with a flick of his wand.

"Me too. I never learned to swim."

"Really? How did you get through the second task in the Triwizard Tournament then?"

"Gillyweed," Harry replied with a half-smile.

"Clever. Looks like I've got something to teach you this summer. Ready to go on?"

He extended his hand towards Harry. Harry hesitated for a moment, giving Theo's hand an unreadable glance, before finally taking it.

As they progressed, just as Harry had warned, the water level steadily rose. When they were wading through waist-high water and their charms began to falter, Theo seriously considered suggesting they turn back and trek to Hogsmeade above ground. He was formulating his argument when, thankfully, the tunnel began its upward slope.

Their soggy adventure through the flooded passageways was a necessity arranged by Sirius Black. For the handover of the remaining potion ingredients, Black had devised no better plan than to personally visit Hogwarts. Such typical Gryffindor bravado. Harry, however, had firmly opposed Black's initial idea of approaching the castle, insisting on meeting at the Shrieking Shack as a safer alternative.

Emerging onto a drier section of the tunnel, Theo glanced at the Marauder's Map. "We're almost there," he announced.

"Damn, your entire robe is soaked," he remarked with concern, quickly casting a drying spell on Harry. "You sure you won't catch a cold?"

"If I do, I'll take a Pepperup Potion," Harry replied tersely, pulling away from Nott's grasp and continuing briskly towards the exit.

"Wait, Harry. Let me reapply the water-repellent charms, just in case."

"He stopped abruptly, his back tense, and sharply turned around, his frustration evident. 'Enough!'"

"Enough of what?" Theo asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Stop fussing over me like I'm a little child or absolutely helpless! Always checking if I'm okay, if I've eaten, if I'm warm enough…It's too much! I'm not a… weakling, even if my magic is blocked right now!"

Theo stood there, slightly stunned. He was only showing concern for his friend, and the last thing he wanted was to make Harry feel smothered or patronized. Before he could respond, Harry had already moved ahead, leaving Theo to catch up at his own pace.

Moments later, the sound of jubilant barking echoed through the tunnel, signaling the awaited reunion between Black and his godson. Theo paused, debating whether to give Harry some privacy with his godfather, especially under the current strained circumstances. But standing alone in the damp tunnel didn't seem like the best idea. With a sigh, he decided to follow Harry's lead and make his way towards the Shack.

As Nott stepped into the Shrieking Shack, Black had already reverted to his human form. He was just letting go of Potter from a tight embrace, examining him intently in the dim light filtering through the sparse cracks in the boarded-up windows.

"Well, sting me with a manticore's tail, Harry... You look like an Inferius!" Black exclaimed.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "It's great to see you too, Sirius."

Noticing Theo, Black's gaze shifted. "Ah, Theodore, we finally meet," he said, a slight edge in his voice that seemed to vanish as he suddenly enveloped Theo in a hearty hug. "Thanks for taking care of my godson here."

Theo stuttered a vague response, unusually lost for words. Saying 'you're welcome' didn't seem right, especially after Harry had just chastised him for being overly protective.

Black quickly shifted to business, handing over the potion ingredients with detailed explanations of their contents and quantities. Harry wordlessly organized the bundles in his pockets.

"Have you two had a falling out?" Black asked astutely, noticing that something was off between them. 

"No," Potter answered shortly.

Theo felt like saying 'yes,' but he held his tongue. Black didn't probe any further, just gave a knowing nod and launched into a story about his latest rendezvous with Mark Warrington. The Ministry had dismissed another appeal, and the International Confederation of Wizards had responded that they didn’t handle matters of restricting underage magic across different countries.

"They really wrote that?" Harry's brow furrowed in disbelief.

"Unfortunately, yes. Seems like the place is overrun with cowards too afraid to stand up to Fudge and his cronies now that Dumbledore's not around."

"So, no hope then?"

"Well…" Sirius hesitated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "There are elections coming in the fall. There's a slim chance the new Minister might not toe Fudge's line. But I wouldn't bet on it, Pronglet, especially with Fudge looking like a shoo-in for a second term..."

"If he gets re-elected, I might just finish him off myself," Potter muttered darkly.

"That's the spirit!" Black chuckled. "But honestly, Fudge isn't the worst. So let's hope his successor won't be even more narcissistic and ignorant at the same time. Harry, I get why you despise Fudge," he added, noticing Harry's indignant gaze, "I do too, but if someone like Barty Crouch Sr. gets in, we're in for a whole new level of trouble. Dumbledore's already said he won't run, made that clear at the last Order meeting."

Harry sighed. "To tell the truth, I'm not exactly Dumbledore's biggest fan either," he admitted. "But who else is there?"

"Anyone from the old families who opposes the Dark Lord would be a step up from Fudge or Dumbledore," Theodore cut in. He couldn't understand why "the Light side" was so fixated on Dumbledore, who was clearly past his prime.

"Exactly, 'who opposes him' is the key! Not many people from the old families are neutral," Sirius countered. "Back in the early eighties, nearly everyone was in His pocket."

"I hate that people see only two options. Like there's no one but the Dark Lord and Dumbledore! Most who supported the Dark Lord were just misguided fools who got in too deep!" Theo argued fiercely. "The truly devoted ones, like my father, they're few and far between!"

Perhaps Theo had become too emotional with his last words because he felt Harry's hand on his shoulder, offering silent reassurance as understanding dawned in Sirius's eyes, leading him to give Theo an encouraging pat on the back.

"I know what it's like, dealing with a family obsessed with blood purity. I left home because of it when I was about your age, Theodore. You're right in some ways. But relying on the old families might be wishful thinking. They've been laying low since Grindelwald's downfall. Look at Lord Gamp – he's helpful, but he won't step into the limelight. The most he'll do is engage in idle chatter at trials and council meetings

Theo inwardly acknowledged Black's point, though it was a hard pill to swallow. They were truly on their own, with no one to rely on but themselves.

Harry and Theo, opting for discretion, decided to return to Hogwarts via an underground passage that started from the basement of Honeydukes. Harry, familiar with this route, assured Theo that it had always been reliably dry. Despite thawing a bit during their encounter with Black, Harry had become distant again, resulting in their journey back being mostly silent. The streets of Hogsmeade, bustling with townsfolk and visitors even without the students, demanded their attention to avoid collisions while under the Invisibility Cloak, further discouraging any attempts at conversation. After all, voices emanating from an invisible source would definitely attract undue attention.

Descending into the shadowy passage, Harry quickly took the lead, his pace brisk and determined. Theo, left to follow, cast occasional, bewildered glances at Harry's back, wondering about his boyfriend's sudden aloofness.

Approaching the tunnel's end, Harry halted and turned towards Theo with an air of seriousness.

"Can you light this up?" he asked, pulling out the Marauder's Map.

Theo complied.

"Just as I suspected," Harry muttered with exasperation. "Snape's around. Looks like we might have tripped a protective, or perhaps a signaling charm, crossing Hogwarts' boundary. Snape's probably come to check out the disturbance."

"Did you feel the charm when we crossed?"

"It felt similar to diagnostic spells, only more jarring. Did you notice anything?"

Theo shook his head, his expression blank with confusion. Potter refrained from further questioning and suggested they wait for Snape to leave, leaning wearily against the cold wall while deliberately avoiding eye contact with Theodore.

"Harry, is something bothering you?" Theo finally broke the silence a few moments later.

"Everything's fine," Harry replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, still evading Theo's concerned look.

Theodore heaved a deep sigh, sensing there was more to it.

"You snapped at me back there, and now you're saying everything's fine?"

Harry remained silent, his focus returning to the map.

"Ah, Snape's gone now! Let's head out. We can talk about this later."

Theo, feeling a surge of frustration, realized the futility of pressing the matter further. Perhaps he had upset Harry with his excessive care, but why couldn't Harry just be upfront about it?

Once back at the common room, Harry quickly handed all the ingredients to Blaise. He then left to spend the afternoon with Maeve and Gamp, and upon returning after dinner, immediately retreated to his bed for some much-needed rest. Theo, not wanting to intrude, opted instead to climb into his own bed, which had remained unused for what seemed like an eternity. They had scheduled the final stage of potion brewing for that night, reasoning that it was their safest bet to avoid being caught. And since they were to be awake through the night, catching up on some sleep beforehand was a sensible plan.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry spent several restless hours on the brink of sleep, trapped in a sticky drowse that brought nothing but a throbbing headache. Without Theo nearby, true relaxation eluded him. He'd regretted snapping at him countless times, irked by the pity he sensed from him and the others. They had been treating him these past weeks as if he were gravely ill, or worse, like a helpless cripple, incapable of handling anything by himself. And indeed, Harry mused bitterly, without fully functional magic, wasn't he just that?

Every day since the restriction of his magic, Harry's condition worsened. Lately, he had barely enough energy for classes. Madam Pomfrey, though sympathetic, could only offer him new potions and exemptions. The closer they got to the day of testing the damned Potion on his manacles, the deeper Harry sank into despair. The chilling thought of failure, of being trapped in those cursed manacles indefinitely, haunted him. He had long since abandoned any hope for a legal resolution. Would he spend his remaining days shackled, only for Fudge or Umbridge to invent some reason to keep them on forever? Perhaps Voldemort would end his suffering first, eliminating Harry as a precautionary measure in his weakened state.

Checking his pocket watch, Harry realized curfew had passed; it was time to head to the Chamber of Secrets. It struck him as odd that Theo hadn't woken him, but given their recent interaction, it made a sad kind of sense. No wonder his patience finally wore thin, growing tired of Harry's moodiness.

But there was Theo, waiting for him, sitting on Blaise's bed with a book in his lap, lost in thought. As Harry emerged from behind his bed curtains, their eyes met briefly.

Theo have been waiting for him.

Harry felt an overwhelming urge to collapse into Theo's arms and… cry, even though he hadn't done so since he was four. But instead of letting everything out, he found himself saying brusquely, 'You didn't have to wait. I can get there on my own.'

Theo's expression remained impassive, only offering a noncommittal shrug. Under the Invisibility Cloak, they walked close to each other, their bodies nearly touching, yet neither broke the silence. Arriving in the Chamber of Secrets last, Harry was surprised to find not just Blaise and Hermione preparing ingredients, but also Ron and Neville tending a makeshift hearth fire, and Daphne painting Millicent's nails on a transfigured green leathered sofa.

'Is this some kind of party?' Theo inquired coolly, clearly as taken aback as Harry by the unexpected gathering.

'We're here in case you need help,' Millicent explained pointedly. 'Brought cards and snacks, too. It's going to be a long night, and some company won't hurt.'

'Actually, Astoria wanted to throw a party,' Zabini interjected, a touch of wistfulness in his voice. 'Daphne sent her away, though. She thinks I'll get distracted because of her. No one trusts my professionalism...'

'Blaise, you're getting distracted right now,' Daphne commented dryly, her focus unwavering from Millicent's nails.

Zabini gave a frustrated click of his tongue and returned to work. Theo joined him.

'How did the game go?' Harry asked Ron, approaching him and Neville.

'You haven't heard?' Ron's face lit up. 'We won! Two hundred and ten to seventy!'

Ron launched into an animated recount of the match against Ravenclaw, detailing how he had let in only seven goals and how Ginny snatched the Snitch from Chang. As Ron delved deeper into Gryffindor's strategy for the final Hufflepuff match, Harry's yawns grew more frequent, though he tried to look interested.

'Get some sleep, mate. That sofa's a solid Hermione transfiguration job,' Ron suggested, pointing out the red velvet sofa a few feet away.

Nodding, Harry made his way to the sofa. He doubted he could sleep, but the flickering fire soon lulled him into an unexpected slumber.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry next opened his eyes, he found Theodore standing over him.

"Can I sit with you? Blaise kicked me out," Theodore said with a hint of amusement. "Claimed my neurosis was interfering with his work. Hermione's help is apparently all he can handle."

"Sure, sit down," Harry's voice came out slightly raspy from sleep.

Shifting to make space, Harry drew his legs up, freeing up a spot for Theo on the modest sofa. Theo settled down beside him, casually placing Harry's legs across his lap.

"You're not mad at me?" Harry asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

"No, I'm not. What about you?"

Harry considered for a moment. Sleep had drained away his anger and frustration, leaving behind a sense of fear mixed with a deep, almost painful gratitude for Theo's steadfast presence and tolerance of his outbursts.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally said. "I'm just falling apart with everything that's happening... I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know you're just... worried about me."

"I'm not just worried about you," Theodore replied gently, leaning in to brush his lips against Harry's in a barely-there kiss. "I love you, Harry. That's why I want to take care of you, no matter what's happening with your magic."

"But why? Theo, doesn't it annoy you, always having to help me with everything?"

"Actually, I like being useful to you. Of course, I wish those damn manacles weren't on your wrists and your magic was free. But I enjoy doing things for you, regardless. You know, I think I've come to really enjoy taking care of you."

Harry sensed there was an underlying meaning to Theo's last sentence that he couldn't quite grasp. He looked at Theo questioningly, whose lips curled into a mischievous smile.

"I've got this fantasy, Harry," Theo whispered, leaning closer. "I imagine bathing you. Shame there's only showers here at Hogwarts, not a proper bathtub... I'd undress you slowly, lower you into the water, and wash you with a sponge. Then, your hair... I love your curls, Harry. If only you knew..." Theo's fingers weaved through Harry's hair, sending shivers down his spine. "After that, I'd wrap you in a big towel and take you to bed, still undressed. I'd kiss you for a long time, everywhere you love... Then, I'd flip you over onto your stomach..."

Abruptly, Harry sat up, hastily unfolding the cloak to his knees.Theo fell silent but maintained his smug grin.

"That's...strange," Harry stammered, feeling his cheeks flush and his heart beat rapidly. He could vividly imagine all the things Theo left unsaid.

"So what if it is?" Theo responded airily, comfortably resting his head on Harry's knees. "As long as we both like it, right?"

"Guess so..."

Harry's eyes darted around the room, and he sighed in relief to see they weren't the focus of anyone's attention. Hermione and Blaise were engrossed in their potion, oblivious to everything else. Ron, snoring in an armchair by the fire, seemed lost to the world. Neville was absorbed in a card game with Millicent and Daphne, having found a surprising rapport with them.

"There's the prefects' bathroom," Harry murmured, almost to himself. "It's practically a pool. Just a bit far from any bed, and Moaning Myrtle and the mermaids in the painting tend to spy on you."

Theo burst into laughter at the thought.

"I'll wait until summer. My house has an excellent bathtub. You'll love it."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Theo didn't succeed in getting any sleep that night. He only managed to doze off briefly, his head nestled against Harry's while they sat on the sofa As the early morning hours approached five, Blaise started the final phase of the potion-making process, requiring Theodore's assistance this time.

By the break of dawn, Zabini finally removed the potion from the fire.

"Longbottom, watch out! Regular potions explode near you, and you can’t even breathe near this volatile concoction!" he warned Neville, who had narrowly escaped being in his way.

With careful precision, Zabini set the cauldron down on the large table around which everyone had gathered, and with a flourish, declared, "It's ready!"

"Do I need to put my hands in that?" Harry asked groggily, coming closer.

"If you're keen on them dissolving along with the manacles, go right ahead. But Theo, I believe, had a different plan," Blaise quipped.

Theo gave Blaise a stern look and then summoned a chair, pulling out a unicorn hair brush from his robe pocket.

"Harry, sit down, roll up your sleeves, and place your hands on the table," he instructed.

For once Harry complied without argument.

"If these inscriptions function like a runic chain, removing just a few elements should suffice," Daphne chimed in.

"Theodore, you seem nervous. Are you sure you want to do this yourself? I can help," Hermione offered, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"I'd like everyone to back off and stay quiet now," Theo muttered through clenched teeth as he dipped the brush into the cauldron. The potion began to glow faintly upon contact with the unicorn hair.

"Just be careful not to get any on his skin," Blaise added, unable to resist the warning.

Ignoring the urge to snap back, Theo focused on his task. Of course… Without their advice, how could he possibly manage? He first painted vertical stripes along the manacles encircling Harry's forearms, followed by horizontal ones. The inscriptions on the orichalcum hissed like water drops on hot oil, emitting noxious green smoke.

"Hold your breath!" Daphne instructed.

Once the hissing subsided and the smoke finally dispersed, Theo wiped the manacles with a piece of cloth, which immediately showed tiny holes. Visually, the anti-magical manacles on Harry showed almost no change; the inscriptions were now separated by neat lines. To the untrained eye, it would seem as if they were meant to be that way. The Ministry wouldn't find anything amiss. Bit the most important thing was if it worked?

"Harry, do you feel any changes?" Hermione inquired impatiently.

Potter closed his eyes, focusing inward. For Theo, those seconds felt like an eternity. His friends stood by in hushed anticipation.

"Oh wow. Yes, I feel it!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes a mixture of joy and disbelief. "The magic isn’t locked up anymore. I can feel it flowing through my body."

Harry gestured with his hand, but nothing happened. The disappointment in his eyes was palpable, causing Theo's heart to clench. Then, realization struck him...

"Wait a second! Not cast with your hand. The orichalcum still hampers the flow of magic, but now it's just in your wrists. Try a different way."

"How?" Harry responded, his voice laced with resignation, already convinced of failure. "I've always cast spells with my hands."

"That's not true. Remember the incident with the blanket? You didn't even twitch a finger then. Your hands were on my chest, and I would've noticed," Theo reminded him.

"I don't even want to know what you two did with that blanket," Ron mumbled, but everyone ignored him.

"Stand up," Theo urged.

Reluctantly, Harry stood, and Theo immediately guided his hands behind his back.

"Now, just will that chair to fly at Weasley. He's earned it!"

Potter's lips curled into a strained smile.

"Alright. I'll give it a try."

Harry focused, and after the three longest seconds in Theodore's life, the chair finally rose from the floor and hurtled toward Weasley, who squealed and jumped out of the way just in time.

"Hey! Harry, were you trying to kill me?!" Ron exclaimed. "What did I even say?!"

Potter turned to Theo, his face alight with realization.

"It worked... I did it," he said, allowing himself to be overwhelmed by the moment before he simply let the magic flow.

Within a few seconds, the room filled with so much raw, free magic that it seemed almost tangible. The dim light first flickered and then brightened as if it were broad daylight in the Chamber. The cauldron with the potent potion formed a protective circle and carefully flew to the other end of the hall, where the laboratory was set up. Weasley's black cloak changed into Umbridge's favorite shade of pink. All the conjured furniture rose into the air, swapping places as they settled back down.

"It's incredible... Simply unbelievable..." Millicent whispered, completely mesmerized.

"Try your wand," suggested Neville quietly. "It might work too."

Harry pulled out his wand, visibly struggling as he muttered a spell, and a flurry of pale butterflies burst forth.

"It's harder with the wand," he acknowledged. "It's nothing like it used to be. The manacles are still a problem. But I can cast spells. Hermione, did you see? I can take my OWLs!"

Hermione nodded with a look of joy, and Harry chuckled, turning back to Theodore. His eyes sparkled green with happiness.

"Thank you."

In a rare uninhibited moment, Harry leaned in and kissed Theodore, unbothered by their friends' presence. Theo wrapped his arms around him. Harry, though painfully thin, felt far from fragile in his arms. He was strong, remarkably so. Holding Harry, Theo felt as though he were embracing pure magic – exhilarating and slightly unnerving.

"Typical," Blaise huffed with mock indignation. "Theodore gets all the thanks. Who was it bending over the cauldron all night, huh?"

"Blaise, if you're suggesting Harry should thank you like he did me, I'd advise you to start running," Theo replied with a playful threat in his eyes. Blaise backed off, pretending to be scared.

Millicent chuckled and walked over to Zabini, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"You did great, Blaise. That potion was top-notch!"

"That's better," Zabini beamed, his eyes darting towards Daphne and Hermione. "Any other ladies care to express their admiration for the potion master?"

Hermione, a bit flustered but playfully, laughed and kissed Blaise on his other cheek. Theo caught Ron's face twisted in jealousy, yet, to everyone's surprise, he bit his tongue.

"Fine, I'll join in," Daphne said with a smile and kissed Blaise as well.

"But Potter, you owe me too," Blaise declared, having received kisses from the girls. "I want the leftover ingredients, a few fangs, and a bit of your basilisk's hide!"

"No problem. The ingredients are yours, and take what you need from the basilisk too. It's not mine, anyway."

"If you killed it, by magical law, it's yours," Hermione quickly clarified.

"Is it?" Harry asked, surprised, glancing at Theo, who nodded. "Well, then take whatever you need. I'm not attached to it."

"Not just strong but generous," Blaise exclaimed dramatically. "You are a lucky man, Theodore. Now enough with the hugging, let's go eat. Weasley's about to spew if Harry doesn't fix his charms!"

Following Zabini's glance, they saw Ron indeed looking revolted, hastily casting spells and waving his wand.

"What the heck?!" Ron blurted out, realizing they were all looking at him. "I'm seriously gonna puke if you don’t fix this, Harry! This color is hideous. Change it back, now!"

Harry took out his wand again and clearly articulated:

"Finite Incantatem!"

Weasley's cloak returned to its original state.

"To be honest, I didn't expect such a strong effect," Theo admitted as they headed for breakfast. "I hoped you’d regain some wandless magic, but using your wand normally again seemed far-fetched."

"Well, I wouldn't say it's normal. Every simple spell takes all my effort, so the magic doesn't get stuck. But, Theo, I’m over the moon. I never thought any of this would work."

Chapter 22: An Excess of Serendipity

Today, Harry finally had some free time and decided it was finally the day to show Maeve the Chamber of Secrets. She had been bugging him about it ever since she found out, but Harry didn't want her in there while it was full of dangerous stuff. He already had enough on his plate with a bunch of third years poking around in the Chamber, leaving Daphne to deal with it.

Maeve was easy to find, hanging out in the corner of the common room with Ulick Gamp, as usual. Their friendship was really something – Harry couldn't think of two more different people. Ulick Gamp was the only child of a well-known pure-blood family, famous since his many times great-grandfather was the first Minister of Magic in Great Britain. He was smart, really polite, but a bit on the shy side. Harry hoped he'd get over that as he got older.

Maeve was completely different. She was as fiery as her curly red hair, making even the Weasleys seem tame in comparison. Harry didn't know much about her family, just that she was the older daughter of Irish immigrants who ran a shop in Knockturn Alley and barely made ends meet.

What brought Maeve and Ulick together was a mystery to Harry, but thankfully, no one gave them a hard time about being friends.

Maybe the other students didn't bother them because they didn't want to mess with the Gamp family, or maybe they were just careful not to upset Harry Potter since everyone knew he was fond of Maeve, the fiery first-year. For Harry, the reason didn't really matter. The important thing was that no one was picking on them.

"Hey guys, how about a quick field trip?" Harry said with a sly grin as he strolled up to them.

Maeve's face lit up. "Finally!" she exclaimed. "We're going to the Chamber, right?"

"Yeah. Ulick, you coming?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Ulick replied, nodding seriously as he started packing up his books and pens.

They made their way through Hogwarts' less-traveled corridors to the Chamber of Secrets, located in the lowest level of the dungeons. The castle was unusually quiet, with most of the older students caught up in afternoon classes. At the entrance, Harry whispered the Parseltongue command. The stone door groaned and slowly slid open, revealing a shadowy passage ahead.

"Is it really safe?" Ulick asked cautiously as they entered.

"Absolutely," Harry assured with a confident nod, his wand lighting up to cast a warm glow ahead. "We've tidied it up. Moved the Basilisk's remains to a side tunnel. Just avoid touching any strange levers or doors, and you'll be fine."

Maeve gasped, "The Basilisk's corpse? Are you serious? We're going to see that?!"

Ulick, trailing slightly behind, shivered at the thought.

"Well, I didn't plan to, but if you're curious... Just don't blame me for any bad dreams later," Harry warned with a half-smile.

"I'm from Knockturn Alley; it takes a lot to scare me," Maeve declared, her fiery hair seeming to echo her daring spirit.

As they ventured into the Chamber, Harry hoped she'd never encounter anything that could dent her boldness. The Chamber itself was imposing, with serpent statues lining the walls, their eyes eerily lifelike in the dim light. The distant sound of water dripping somewhere unseen added a layer of intrigue.

"This is absolutely awesome," Maeve whispered, her eyes scanning every inch of the cavernous space.

"It's like a walk through history," Ulick remarked, the awe evident in his voice as he studied the ancient symbols etched into the stone.

Harry led them around, highlighting features like the grand statue of Salazar Slytherin and, with some reluctance, the Basilisk's remains, which Maeve quickly deemed 'too gross' to linger by.

"What's that over there?" 

Maeve pointed at a hidden door they found when they returned to the main hall. Harry was surprised that Maeve noticed it; he hadn't see this door for couple of days before Astoria pointed it out.

"Honestly, I don't know. We tried to open it but couldn't figure out the code phrase," he admitted.

Oh, it must be something really interesting!" Maeve's eyes sparkled with excitement as she approached the door and started feeling the ornamentation. Harry noticed several long red lines, scars, on the back of her hand.

"What happened to your hand?" Harry frowned.

"Nothing!" Maeve quickly hid her hand in her pocket.

"It's Umbridge," Ulick explained grimly. "She disciplined Maeve in class with a caning jinx for being inattentive."

"With hurting her?!"

Maeve shot Ulick a glare. "Why did you tell him? You promised!"

"He was right to tell me," Harry said firmly. "You should have told me yourself."

"I can handle it. You've got enough to worry about," Maeve protested.

"Of course, you can, but there's no reason to endure pain from that sadistic witch". 

"Oh really? And what can you do about her?!" Maeve challenged.

"I'll make her pay, I promise," Harry muttered darkly. "Now give me your hands."

Maeve reluctantly showed her hand. Harry gently held it, concentrating as he channeled his magic. He wasn't an expert healer like Theo or Hermione, but he could use his raw magical ability. The manacles he wore were a hindrance. He felt the magic flow, warm and healing.

"There, all better," Harry said, releasing her unscathed hands now.

"Thanks," Maeve mumbled, accustomed to Harry's unique approach to magic. Ulick, on the other hand, stared at Harry with a disbelief, as if he were seeing a modern-day Salazar Slytherin.

"Now let's head back, shall we?" Harry suggested, trying to bring some cheerfulness to his voice. "I've got to catch up with Theo after his Runes class."

 

 

***

 

 

Theodore couldn't recall a time when he had been as happy as during those sunny days in March. Maybe in his early childhood? Yes, that must be it... back when his mother was still alive.

After they had succeeded in weakening the anti-magic manacles, Harry seemed to revive. His appetite came back, along with his usual optimism. He began to smile more often, enjoyed spending time with the younger students again, and often gazed at Theo as if he were the most important person in his world. These glances from Harry made Theo's head spin, filling his heart with such lightness that worries about his father, the Ministry, Umbridge, and even the rising threat of the Dark Lord faded away. And studying for the upcoming OWLs? That seemed trivial in comparison.

Now, as he was walking from Runes to Transfiguration, Harry suddenly appeared, pulling them both under an invisibility cloak and wrapping Theo in a tight hug. Theo didn't resist. It didn't matter if their classmates had seen them vanish or if they were late for their next class. None of that seemed important. It was just him and Harry, kissing him as if he was his lifeline. Harry's hands were all over him, fingers quickly finding the fastenings of his cloak.For a moment, Theo thought Harry might start undressing him right there in the corridor, hidden from everyone by only the invisibility cloak. But then Harry regained his composure. His gaze sharpened, and he grasped Theo's hand, swiftly leading him away from the hall's center to avoid prying eyes.

They found themselves in a storage room or closet, the location unclear. The door shut swiftly behind them, plunging them into complete darkness.

Harry's breath was hot against him. He swiftly removed their invisibility cloak and captured Theo's lips again. They clumsily clashed teeth a couple of times. Harry pushed him against the wall, causing them to accidentally hit a shelf. Various household items clattered to the floor, creating a noisy disturbance.

Potter chuckled into the kiss, then paused briefly. Theo felt a surge of magic – Harry had apparently cast 'Colloportus' on the door, and maybe even a soundproofing charm.

Finally managing to undo his cloak, Harry let it drop to the floor, followed by his shirt. Theodore, trying to keep up, quickly loosened Harry's tie and unbuttoned a few top buttons before yanking Harry's shirt off over his head. The urgent need for no barriers between them was overwhelming. As their skin touched, Theo lost himself in a whirlwind of feelings, pulling Harry closer and nipping at his neck.

"We're going to miss Transfiguration," Harry stated bluntly, stepping back only to unfasten his belt.

Theo wanted to make a snide remark, but Harry's fingers were already sliding into his trousers, gripping him firmly. Theo could only utter his name.

"Harry…"

Potter's hand movements quickened, but Theo, reaching Harry's trousers, intentionally slowed down. He firmly caressed from base to tip, focusing on sensitive areas, prolonging the sensation.

Harry's body began to quiver, his rhythm faltering.

"Theo…"

"Mm?"

Unable to see his face in the dark, Theo sensed Harry's confusion.

"Please…"

"Please what?"

Despite his arousal, Theo's voice remained almost steady. Harry, silent, began to move more urgently.

"Please what, Harry?" Theo gently teased, quickening his pace before deliberately slowing down again.

"Why are you...?" Harry began, hesitating before urgently kissing Theo, unable to finish his sentence, "...can you go faster?"

Shyness and eagerness tinged his voice. Theo wished he could see his expression.

"Later," Theo murmured, a hint of a smirk in his voice. "Don't stop, Harry."

He mused to himself, that just a month ago, Harry would have blushed at the mere thought of touching him. Just look at him now… 

Potter grunted in mild annoyance but continued. In a sudden act of defiance, he bit Theo sharply at the neck and then worked his fingers in an unimaginable way. Unable to hold back, Theo let out a deep moan.
The orgasm was prolonged and intense, leaving him nearly devoid of strength. He clung to Harry momentarily, gasping for air. His legs felt weak, but standing wasn't a necessity at that moment. Relaxing his grip, he sank to his knees in front of Harry.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, bewildered, but Theo was already lowering his trousers and underwear.

"Hush. Just relax, Harry."

Theo gently lapped at the tip before enveloping it with his lips, taking it in slowly. Harry's breath hitched. It took him a moment to let desire override his shyness. Theo felt the shift when Harry finally placed a hand on his head, encouraging a gentle rhythm. As they neared the end, Harry weakly tried to pull away, but Theo held him firmly in place. Harry let out a sound that was more a whimper than a moan and surrendered. He arched his back, grasping Theo's head firmly, and climaxed. Exhausted, he slumped onto the cold stone floor beside him. Theo drew him in close, soothingly stroking his hair and back until Harry's breathing steadied.

"McGonagall's going to kill us," Potter muttered sleepily after a while. Instead of getting up, he settled in more comfortably and cast a warming charm over them.

"Yeah… Most likely," Theo agreed, reaching out in the darkness to find his cloak, in the pocket of which was his magic wand.

Once he found his wand, he immediately cast Tempus. The glowing illusion of a clock face appeared, showing that Transfiguration had started just four minutes ago. That meant they still had time to hurry. Losing points for being late was better than getting punished for skipping class altogether.

 

 

* * * 

 

 

When they finally burst into the classroom, McGonagall didn't even bother scolding them. She just pursed her lips in disapproval, docked the standard ten points for their fifteen-minute tardiness, and told them to take their seats.

"As I was beginning to explain before Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott so rudely interrupted by failing to arrive on time once again, the spell for partial vanishing of living creatures is our last new topic this academic year. After the Easter holidays, we'll focus on reviewing past material and preparing for the OWLs. Now, what do you think is the main challenge in applying the partial vanishing spell to living creatures? Mr. Potter, your thoughts?"

Blaise nudged him under the table, and Harry realized McGonagall was speaking to him. The run through the castle had refreshed him, but his mind was still blissfully empty, lingering in the closet with Theo.

"Uh," Harry started, scrambling to guess what the professor might have asked. He sneakily glanced at Zabini's notes for a hint but found none – Blaise had only jotted down today's OWL grading parameters, which McGonagall must have mentioned at the start of the class.

"Insightful as always, Potter," Parkinson couldn't resist mocking, turning to whisper to Malfoy, "What an idiot!"

Behind them, Crabbe and Goyle started snickering dutifully, but Malfoy just stretched his lips into a forced smirk, his expression remaining aloof.

McGonagall shot the Slytherins a stern look before turning back to Potter.

"I asked you, Mr. Potter, what in your opinion is the main difficulty in using the partial vanishing spell on living creatures?" she repeated with unusual patience.

Harry pictured trying to make a rabbit's ear vanish, the one sitting in a cage on the teacher's desk. But that wasn't like cutting off the ear, right? The ear would simply end up in oblivion, whatever that meant...

"Could we accidentally harm the creature if we perform the spell incorrectly?"

"With any spell executed improperly, there's a risk of harming a living creature," McGonagall snapped. "But what's unique about partial vanishing?"

Harry racked his brain, trying to remember what the professor had said about Evanesco in earlier lessons. It was something about the complexity of the organism affecting the difficulty of achieving the desired effect.

"Do we need to clearly understand the anatomy of the specific creature to successfully vanish a particular part of its body?"

"Exactly, Mr. Potter. Two points to Slytherin," she acknowledged.

"Professor, can I ask a question?" McGonagall nodded, and Harry continued, "I'm a bit confused about how partial Evanesco works. Say, if I made a rabbit's heart vanish with this spell, it wouldn't die?"

"It would not," she confirmed.

"But why?"

"For the same reason a rabbit wouldn't die if vanished completely by the spell. As I mentioned earlier, it would simply be transported to oblivion. The same would happen to its heart. It will be both everywhere and nowhere, so it would continue to pump blood, and the rabbit would stay alive. Think of it like Apparition. When a wizard apparates, they disappear momentarily from our world, passing through oblivion or 'subspace', as you might prefer, before reappearing. It's the same concept."

"I understand. Thank you, Professor," Harry nodded, then settled back in his seat.

As McGonagall started the lecture, Harry’s thoughts wandered. Wizards frequently used Evanesco to vanish anything they didn't need. He vividly imagined 'subspace' overflowing with trash, unwanted items, spoiled potions, and rabbit ears, which made him feel queasy. His discomfort must have been apparent because McGonagall promptly addressed him.

"If you're feeling unwell, Potter, you may step outside," she offered, mistaking his expression for general malaise.

Harry had kept up the pretense of being a half-squib in front of the teachers. Even though he looked healthier now, McGonagall still believed he was suffering from magical exhaustion.

"I'm okay, ma'am," Harry replied, shaking his head and trying to sound convincing. He thought maybe it was time to let her know that he could cast spells again.

McGonagall eyed him carefully before returning to her teaching. Harry sat out the practical part of the lesson. As his classmates practiced on rabbits, he reread a paragraph several times, affirming his decision to avoid using Evanesco unless it was absolutely necessary. The spell just seemed too gruesome.

At the end of the lesson, McGonagall reminded the fifth-year students that only those who nailed a transformation on the first try would earn an 'Outstanding' on the practical OWLs. Normally, Slytherins didn't react to the teachers' scare tactics about exams, as they didn't plan to work in the Ministry and grades didn't matter much outside school. In Slytherin, it was common belief that you'd have to be pretty foolish not to pass a subject you were interested in.

Yet, for some reason, Blaise was more riled up than usual and grumbled all the way to the Great Hall about the unfair grading in Transfiguration.

"In Potions, you can mess up a bunch of times and still get credit if the final product is good. In Charms, you get three tries! Why isn't Transfiguration the same? My first attempts at transformations are always flawed."

"Just give Madam Marchbanks your most charming smile during the exam. Warrington says it helps," Nott suggested casually, still looking completely at ease with himself.

"If a charming smile was all it took, I'd be top of the class by now. But isn’t it you or Granger?"

"It's Granger. She had the most subjects in third year, and I totally botched last year's Herbology exam, confusing hemlock with wolfsbane."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that," Zabini remembered.

"Blaise, why are you even after an 'Outstanding' in Transfiguration? I thought 'Exceeds Expectations' was your goal," Harry recalled.

"I made a bet with Francesca over the winter break that I'd outscore her in all exams."

"Francesca's Blaise's older sister," Millie added. "She finished Hogwarts last year."

"Did you bet on something good?" Theo asked languidly.

"You wouldn't believe," Zabini sighed. Then, changing the subject, he glanced slyly at Potter and Nott. "So, what were you guys doing while the rest of us struggled with the conjured Transfiguration test?"

Nott responded nonchalantly, seemingly ignoring Blaise's implications, but Harry felt his face betrayingly flush.

"We've got the picture," Zabini declared. Linking arms with Daphne and Millicent in an exaggeratedly tragic gesture, he sighed, "Who would have thought our ever-so-steadfast Theodore would skip a test for love?"

"I bet there's more to come," Daphne mused with a half-smile, while Millicent giggled.

Theodore remained silent, giving Harry a look that seemed to say, "ignore them." Harry responded by squeezing his hand and smiling back reassuringly: everything was just fine.

As they approached the Great Hall, Hermione hurriedly caught up with them.

"Umbridge has fired Hagrid. It's not official yet, but it's a done deal. Ron, Neville, and I are going to see him after our classes," she whispered, then quickly blended back into the stream of students rushing to lunch.

Hagrid's firing had been anticipated. They had long known it was inevitable, and although they were prepared, Hermione's news still filled Harry with anxiety. He realized their brief period of calm was over.

Potter might not have had a knack for prophecy, for divination, but this time his intuition didn't fail him. Barely had they taken their seats at the table when a grayish-red owl landed in front of Nott, clutching an unmarked envelope in its talon. Theodore's expression turned grim, and Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Is something up?" asked a concerned Zabini.

"I'll fill you in later," Nott replied stiffly, quickly reading the letter before passing it to Harry.

 

 

Dear son,

Reliable sources have informed me that you not only completed my order but also showed excessive zeal in its execution. We shall discuss the appropriateness of your enthusiasm towards Potter during your annual summer visit to my estate. Now, however, it's time to reap the fruits of your labor. I understand Easter holidays are starting next week, and Potter will remain in the castle. You are to bring him to Hogsmeade. Ensure he is alone, without his friends, and that no one is aware of your departure.

I will inform you of the exact day, time, and location in a separate letter. Until then, devise a believable pretext to lead Potter to follow you, informing no one of his plans. Given his current state as practically a squib, I trust you can manage this, if not through words, then through magic.

Until our meeting,

Lord Sigmar K. Nott

 

 

"Well, we should have seen this coming," Harry remarked uneasily, and Theodore took his words as a reproach.

"Yes, you said it would happen. That my actions would put us both in danger..." Theodore agreed dully. "I remember. I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean it like that," Harry quickly reassured him, gripping Theo's hand tighter under the table. "You're not to blame. They would have targeted me eventually, right?"

Theodore nodded, but his expression still carried a shadow of doubt.

"We'll find a way through this," Potter whispered confidently. "What concerns me more are these 'reliable sources' he mentioned."

"Take your pick," Nott said darkly, nodding towards Selwyn, Pucey, and Malfoy, who were eating with Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Harry had been noticing Malfoy's increasingly haggard appearance and made a mental note to ask Theo, or better Daphne and Millicent, about him later. They didn't discuss Lord Nott's letter further, silently agreeing to save serious talks for when they were alone in the evening. Harry's plan to visit Hagrid with the Gryffindors after class got derailed by an unexpected intervention from Snape and Madam Pomfrey.

To avoid raising suspicions among teachers and students that the anti-magic manacles had stopped working, Harry simply refrained from casting spells in their sight. But Madam Pomfrey was bound to discover the truth during a diagnostic check based on his magical system’s condition. Without a better plan, Harry chose to skip his scheduled appointments and made efforts to avoid Madam Pomfrey. As expected, this tactic only worked for a short time. It wasn't surprising when, after two weeks of his absence, Madam Pomfrey, unable to hold back any longer, complained to Snape. Consequently, after Potions class, Snape dryly informed Harry that he could either go to the Hospital Wing willingly and immediately or be forcibly taken there. Left with no other option, Harry decided to come clean to Madam Pomfrey and hope for her discretion. Knowing the Medi-witch for years, he braced himself for a challenging conversation after days of avoiding her.

Harry procrastinated the inevitable by taking the longest route to the Hospital Wing. He partly hope to devise a convincing explanation for his nearly fully recovered magic and partly needed to clear his head. Despite more urgent matters, his thoughts persistently drifted back to Theo and their encounter before Transfiguration. Harry had never asked if Theo had been with anyone else, but Theo’s confidence in that regard was evident. This led Harry to the uneasy thought that Theodore might have had previous experiences, stirring up a mix of jealousy and insecurity. He feared being less appealing or skilled than someone from Theo's past. Deep down, Harry was also worried that Theo might find him dull or was already bored, expecting more from him than what they had.

Engrossed in these reflections, Harry reached the Hospital Wing before formulating what to say to Madam Pomfrey.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Finally decided to grace us with your presence," Madam Pomfrey remarked with a hint of reproach as she spotted him at the door. "Come in! And where are your escorts?"

"Well... I don't need them anymore," Harry replied, diverting his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey's frown deepened.

"So you've decided you don't need my exams either, hence your absence for nearly two weeks?"

"Actually, that’s correct," Harry admitted, taking a deep breath and quickly adding, "I'm sorry for not showing up, but I’m fine now. No pain, no fatigue. I can even cast spells again... So, I just wanted to thank you and say I no longer need medical assistance."

Surprised by his sudden confession, Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows and commanded:

"Sit down, please."

She gestured to a chair in front of her, and Harry reluctantly obliged. There was no point in running away now that he had made it to the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey’s expression cycled through surprise, skepticism, and confusion, before settling into understanding as she waved her wand over Harry.

"So, this is the situation... You could have just told me that you..." she began, but stopped herself mid-sentence.

"Ahem-ahem," Umbridge's cloyingly sweet voice suddenly intruded from behind Harry. "How timely of me to visit."

"Can I assist you with anything, Dolores?"

"I certainly hope so, my dear Poppy. But since I happen to catch Mr. Potter here, I’m curious about your assessment of his health."

"I'm afraid discussing my patients' conditions with others breaches confidentiality," Madam Pomfrey responded curtly.

"Even with me, the Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Deputy Head of the Ministry of Magic?"

"Confidentiality applies to everyone, Dolores. I can only share Mr. Potter's health information with him or his legal guardians."

"But the boy is an orphan!" Umbridge snapped, quickly regaining her composure. "However, if you can’t assist me, I fear I must send Mr. Potter for a complete check-up at St. Mungo’s."

"What?!" Harry couldn’t contain his shock, momentarily forgetting his need for caution around Umbridge. "On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that your lawyer, Mr. Potter, has been raising alarms about your magical restraints harming your health. I must verify the situation as per the Minister's directive."

Oh, Merlin, why now? Warrington had ceased his complaints once they dealt with the manacles, but the ministry's wheels turned slowly.

"I am in perfect health. There's no need for any exams," Harry said firmly, imploringly looking at Madam Pomfrey. "Please, tell her I'm fine."

There was a silent exchange of looks between Harry and Madam Pomfrey. Harry was terrified she would either expose him or be too scared to cover for him. Finally, she gave a slight nod.

"I don’t agree with using magical restraints on children," she began reluctantly. "Such measures can harm their magical development. However, Mr. Potter's current health indicators are normal. You may consider this an official statement."

A smug grin crept over Umbridge's face.

"Then, Mr. Potter, I expect the flood of complaints from your lawyer to stop."

"I’ll do what I can," Harry ground out, barely restraining his anger.

"I'm afraid I need more assurance than that," Umbridge said with false pity. "Stop the complaints immediately, or face personal consequences. Do you understand, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Someday, he would destroy her, Fudge, and the entire ministry if needed, but for now, he would stand straight and say what she wanted to hear. Her days were numbered.

As Harry made his way back to the common room, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He turned around abruptly several times and continuously checked for any tracking spells around him, but found nothing. Despite the lack of proof, he was certain that Umbridge showing up at the Hospital Wing at the exact time he was there was more than a coincidence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Blaise's urgent voice echoed through the dormitory. "Theodore, Harry! Wake up, will you? Damn, for Salazar's sake! Theodore!"

A small orb of pale yellow light glowed softly under the canopy. Harry, already awake, was searching for his glasses, which he always placed on the floor between the bed and the wall to avoid crushing them in his sleep.

Theodore, longing for more sleep, felt as if he had barely rested an hour. Maybe that was true. He and Harry had debated until 1 AM, or perhaps later, about whether to inform anyone about his father's letter. Theo firmly believed they should tell. Sirius Black, Harry's friends, and even Dumbledore needed to know about the Death Eaters' renewed pursuit of Potter. However, Harry had remained resolute in his decision. He agreed to confide in his friends but was reluctant to worry Black or trust Dumbledore with any additional information about them.

Despite Theodore's strong disagreement with this stance, it seemed they had fallen asleep without reaching a definitive conclusion. As for their plan of action, it was clear. Theodore would write to his father, promising compliance, but ensuring Harry would not leave Hogwarts. In the summer, they planned to escape to North Ronaldsay through an underground passage, using Ailee's help. They were determined not to give their pursuers any chance to intercept Harry.

"Seriously, what's up with all these charms? It's like breaking into a fortress! Can't even get you guys to wake up!" Blaise's voice continued from behind the canopy, his frustration evident as he threw a pillow their way.

The protective spells hadn't accounted for such an attack. The pillow slipped through the gap between the fabric and a bedpost, stopping just inches from Theodore's face. Harry, ever quick to react, was already alert.

"What's happened?" Theodore asked, swiftly pulling aside the canopy and sitting up.

Blaise's expression was one of genuine concern.

"Astoria’s missing... I don't have all the details. Millie just woke me and asked me to get you. Daphne and she are waiting for us in the common room. We need to get dressed quickly!"

Exchanging worried glances, Theo and Harry began to hurriedly prepare. Harry filled his pockets with the Marauder's Map and the invisibility cloak, preparing for any situation.

In the common room, a group of concerned third-year Slytherins had gathered, including Daphne, Blaise, Millie, Lafington, Vaisey, and Astoria's roommates, Agnes Monkley and Imogen Stratton. Only the Carrow twins, younger Pucey, and Kenneth Rowle were absent, all from families allied with the Dark Lord.

Daphne, usually so composed, looked utterly lost, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace and brushing off Vaisey's queries. Theodore had never seen her so out of sorts, even in critical moments.

Noticing Harry and Theo's arrival, Daphne nodded gratefully at Blaise and quickly filled them in.

She had woken up half an hour ago to find her binding bracelet burning hot. Astoria always seemed to find trouble, and their father had specially ordered a bracelet from a renowned artificer to alert Daphne when Astoria was in danger. Now, judging by the bracelet's temperature, Astoria was in mortal danger. But that was all it could tell. The bracelet offered no help in locating her.

Daphne had rallied half the house, but they hadn't found her sister. Astoria had disappeared without a trace, leaving no leads. Her classmates couldn't provide any useful information. They had done homework in the common room in the evening, and then Astoria had gone to bed. According to Agnes and Imogen, Astoria did return to the dorm, but left about half an hour before lights out, saying she'd be back soon.

"And you have no idea where she might have gone?" Blaise asked Astoria's third-year dorm mates after Daphne finished.

Both girls shook their heads.

"And you?" he turned to Astoria's friends. "Maybe she went again to..." Blaise stopped, realizing not everyone knew about the Chamber of Secrets. "I mean, maybe she tried to open that door again."

"No," Lafington responded with certainty. "We agreed to wait until after the holidays. Besides, without Potter, we can't do much."

"There are enough of us... Maybe we should split up and search the castle?" Vaisey suggested, pacing anxiously around the room. "I can take the dungeons."

Harry winced and, with a sigh, retrieved the Marauder's Map.

"If anyone blabs, I'll curse them," he warned the third-years, beginning to spread out the map. Fully extended, it nearly covered the whole table.

"Your magic is blocked," Agnes Monkley said haughtily.

"Believe me, I'll find a way," Harry replied, casting an annoyed glance at Monkley. She flinched fearfully and instinctively stepped back. Harry ignored her and muttered under his breath the password, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." He then addressed the others. "This is the Hogwarts map. It shows the current location of everyone in the castle. Look for 'Astoria Greengrass.'"

Blaise whistled in awe and leaned over the map first.

"Harry, does this map show all the rooms in Hogwarts?" Daphne inquired, scanning the layout.

"Almost. There's only one place it doesn't reveal."

"It even shows ghosts and pets! And..." Vaisey began excitedly, but Imogen Stratton interrupted:

"There! Astoria... There's her name!"

"The Clock Tower," Harry determined swiftly. "Let's go, but not in such a big group."

Daphne nodded in agreement, then sternly eyed her sister's classmates.

"You're staying here."

"We want to help too!" Vaisey protested.

"Help by covering for us. If we don't return in a few hours, tell everything to Snape," she said sharply. "Millie?"

"I'll stay and watch over the kids."

Harry led them through unknown passages, reaching the eighth floor of the east wing in fifteen minutes. A ghost seemed to float ahead, but Theodore realized it was a girl. Barefoot, disheveled, in a long nightgown down to her heels.

"Luna!" Harry immediately recognized her.

She turned, her eyes foggy.

"Ah, Harry Potter. You've brought friends... Good."

"Luna, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"The same as you. I came to help the crying girl. I was wrong before, but now I clearly hear her crying. Did you hear it too?"

Blaise and Daphne exchanged puzzled looks, both turning to Theodore. Blaise started to speak, but Theo shook his head — now was not the time.

"Not quite," Harry said pensively. "But you mentioned that the crying girl was..." He stopped abruptly, then continued, "Never mind. Let's go."

He led the way to the Clock Tower, slamming open the oak door. Blaise and Daphne followed quickly. Nott lagged behind with Lovegood. Above them, the sounds of friends' screams, cracks, and Astoria's piercing shriek filled the air. Theo raced up the stairs, fearing he was late.

Yet Harry had managed without him. He stood on the dangerously creaking floor, arms outstretched beside a gaping hole. One hand held a shield, blocking Daphne and Blaise from the stair landing. With the other, he seemed to have caught Astoria as she fell, now struggling to hold her using magic. Harry, still unaccustomed to casting spells without his hands, was strained to the limit. His face showed intense concentration, sweat beading on his forehead. Theo drew his wand to conjure a rope for Astoria, but just then, the manacle on Harry's right wrist cracked and split. Pieces of orichalcum clattered down the shaft, easing Harry's spellcasting. Without lowering the shield, he gently levitated Astoria into her sister's arms, then finally lowered his hands.

"Back off. Carefully. The floors are rotten here."

"Oh no…. I dropped my wand. Please… summon it," Astoria asked through tears, but Daphne had already led her away to a safer part of the stairwell.

Astoria suffered only minor injuries: scraped palms and a deep graze on her leg. However, Daphne was insistent on taking her to the Hospital Wing as soon as they left the tower for the eighth-floor corridor.

"We'll all get in trouble," Astoria protested through her tears. "I refuse to go!"

"I can take care of the wounds," Theodore interjected, kneeling beside the younger Greengrass.

While he attended to Astoria's injuries, Blaise and Harry had successfully retrieved her wand and the broken orichalcum manacles from the lower floors of the clock tower.

Kneeling down, Blaise offered her the wand, handle first.

"Here you go."

"Thank you, you’re too kind," Astoria smiled, accepting the wand. She quickly cast a few spells, clearing her tear-stained face. "Thanks, Blaise," she said, getting to her feet with the help of Zabini's extended hand, and turned to Nott and Potter. "And thank you, Theodore, for treating my cuts. And you, Harry…"

"Will you tell us what you were actually doing there?" Harry asked, with a noticeable edge in his tone.

Astoria straightened her robe, using magic to dust it off, and then, with the poise of a socialite, said:

"A lady doesn't have to justify her whereabouts," she said, lifting her chin but smiling to show she was joking. "But since you rescued me, Potter, I suppose you deserve an answer."

Harry, well accustomed to Astoria's speech mannerisms, merely snorted.

"Do enlighten me, then."

"Well, you might have noticed that Draco Malfoy has been mysteriously disappearing a lot these past few weeks."

"Astoria!" Daphne hissed menacingly, having quietly observed her sister's theatricality. "What does Malfoy's business have to do with you?!"

"On one hand, absolutely nothing. You're right, dear sister. On the other hand, I became curious about his activities. I couldn't resist following him."

"Had I known you got yourself trapped here over such a silly escapade, I'd have left you to hang!"

"Daphne, please… Let her finish," Theo urged, placing a calming hand on Daphne's shoulder. He, too, had been concerned about Malfoy's actions, but unlike Astoria, he had been too preoccupied with Harry to investigate.

"Thank you, Theodore. Sometimes Daphne can be a bit overzealous in her attempts to control everything."

Theo was certain that if Lady Greengrass hadn’t instilled such discipline in her daughters, Daphne would have growled, gnashed her teeth, resorted to cursing, or even slapped her sister. Instead, Daphne inhaled deeply, her face adopting a mask of polite attentiveness. Astoria, meanwhile, continued:

"So, I followed Malfoy. Not just once, but still couldn't figure it out. Nearly every evening after dinner, he, along with Crabbe and Goyle, would head to the eighth floor and vanish for hours behind a door that appears opposite this painting," she indicated a painting of dancing trolls. "But as soon as they enter, the door vanishes. I came here alone a couple of times, but never found the door. I noticed Malfoy always returns before curfew, so I decided to wait for him to emerge from this mysterious door. Makes sense, right?"

"Absolutely," Harry agreed, offering encouragement. "What did you discover?"

"Sadly, nothing. I came here when the clock struck half-past eleven. Bored of just waiting, I decided to explore the clock tower. As I neared the clock, the floor beneath me collapsed. I dropped my wand and fell halfway through. Trying to escape, I got trapped even more. That's probably when Daphne's bracelet was triggered. You know the rest."

Harry seemed poised to ask more, but just then, Mrs. Norris's loud meowing echoed around the corner, and she soon appeared.

"We need to hide," Harry decided quickly.

"It's too late for that. They're already here," Luna Lovegood stated, her voice unusually firm. 

Peeves' ghostly head popped up from the floor, soaring to the ceiling with a boisterous laugh.

"I found them! Quick, Madam Undersecretary!"

Harry unfolded the map. Theo leaned over his shoulder to take a look. Filch and Dolores Umbridge, accompanied by two unfamiliar wizards, were swiftly making their way down the eighth-floor corridor from the West Wing, about to turn the corner. They must have been tracking Harry's movements somehow; it was the only plausible explanation for how they had located them so rapidly.

Harry expressed everyone's sentiments with a succinct "Fuck" and quickly handed the rolled-up artifact to Daphne.

"Hide this, please. They're unlikely to search you."

Daphne tucked the map into an inner pocket of her robe without question. Harry then quickly draped his invisibility cloak over Luna.

"Astoria, you too! Hurry! We've clearly been snitched on, but they might not know we found you. Say you were hiding from your sister or come up with another excuse…"

"What about Daphne?" Astoria asked, worried.

"Potter's right," Daphne nodded and whispered, "Go together, quickly, Astoria! We'll tell them we went to find you. But when they come to check, you need to be in your bed!"

The last thing Theodore did was conceal the fragments of Harry's manacles in his hidden pocket.