After leaving the peculiar Divination class, the group walked in silence. Everyone kept their eyes on Harry—something that, for him, had become rather common a long time ago. Usually, though, it was for very different reasons: his family, his past, or the inevitable trouble he always seemed to get into with his friends.
This time, however, the stares were different. There was sadness in them—or worse, pity. And that was something new to him.
So he didn't wait around for long. He took a few steps ahead and muttered that he needed some fresh air before the next class, which, for better or worse, happened to be with Professor McGonagall.
His friends watched him with concern. Daphne and Hermione exchanged a brief glance; both had felt that Harry had been tense lately. Professor Trelawney's dark prediction hadn't helped in the slightest.
"Don't worry, Harry. It's all a sham. I honestly don't know how that woman still has her job! It's nothing but cheap theater," Hermione said quickly.
Harry gave her a small smile, the kind that said "I know," even if he didn't quite feel it.
"Just go on ahead; I'll be right behind you. I need to stop by the bathroom," he said calmly.
They nodded, trusting that a few minutes alone might help him clear his mind before the next lesson.
Harry then walked through the castle corridors with a thoughtful expression. There was something strange stirring inside him—an unease he couldn't quite identify. To distract himself, he began observing the walls and portraits around him. Though the castle had been completely renovated to remove any hidden dangers, its classic design had been preserved. The armor, the paintings, and the old objects remained in their places—only cleaner, brighter, and purified of the dark magic that had once saturated them.
The portraits, in fact, still occupied their usual spots. For them, Hogwarts was also home, and it showed in the way they watched him with a certain nostalgic familiarity.
As he walked on, he noticed that the second-year students had also finished their class and were heading to their next one. Among them, he spotted Luna and Astoria walking together as always—inseparable. It was only natural; they were the same age and shared a deep friendship. Luna had stayed by Astoria's side during the time she suffered from that curse that left her bedridden for weeks. Although Wanda had completely healed her, Astoria's parents still feared something similar could happen again, so they tended to overprotect her—and Luna, always by her side, received the same treatment.
Harry always pretended to joke about how spoiled the two girls were, though deep down he understood why. He himself had been terrified when he saw that curse's effects. He didn't want to witness something like that again—not with Astoria, nor with any of the other girls. Not even with Draco, his best friend after all.
"What are you two up to?" he asked with a smile, walking toward the two blonde girls.
Astoria, cheerful as ever, tried to smile naturally, though Harry immediately noticed a faint tension in her expression. Luna, meanwhile, maintained that serene and unshakable calm she was known for—except, of course, when Hermione or Draco teased her, which was always quite a sight to behold.
"We're going to Defense Against the Dark Arts, with Professor Dominic," Luna replied with her usual tranquil smile, clearly happy to run into Harry in the corridor.
Technically, she and Astoria had been escorted by the group of four to their first class earlier, before they had to hurry up to the Divination tower.
"Oh, really?" said Harry with a smile, lowering his gaze slightly as he noticed the subtle signal Astoria gave him with her eyes. He followed her cue and realized what she was pointing out—Luna's feet were bare.
The shoes she usually wore were her favorite pair, a gift from her mother. Harry liked them, though some found them a little too bright and eccentric.
"Where are your shoes?" he asked gently, his smile fading slightly.
Luna looked down at her feet, wiggling her toes inside her socks, and wore an expression of mild confusion, as if just realizing it.
"Oh… maybe the Nargles took them. Although I remember wearing them this morning," she said thoughtfully, touching her chin in a reflective gesture.
Harry turned to Astoria, seeking an explanation, but she shook her head with slight concern.
"We only separated for a moment—in the bathroom, just now," she explained softly.
"Ah, the bathroom," Luna repeated with total calm. "Then perhaps that's where they took them. It doesn't matter; they'll turn up later."
Harry narrowed his eyes, watching her closely. For a brief instant, a faint reddish glow flickered through his hair—so subtle that no one else noticed. He then composed himself, kneeling down as he began to take off his own shoes.
"Here, wear these for now. They're enchanted, so they'll adjust to your feet. When you have time, look for the ones we gave you for your birthday. Those won't disappear because of… the Nargles," he said softly, placing the shoes in front of her and carefully slipping them on.
"Hmm… all right," Luna replied with a happy, calm smile.
Harry sighed when he saw how relaxed she looked. He finished tying the laces, then cast a quick glance at Astoria, who nodded subtly in understanding—she would stay alert.
"And what about you?" Luna asked curiously.
"I'll be fine. I'll ask Red to bring me another pair while I'm in class. It'll be enough of a distraction so no one notices my bare feet," Harry replied with a light smile.
The two girls immediately laughed, easily picturing the scene.
"Now go on to class," said Harry gently.
"All right!" they answered together before hurrying off. They were already running late, and the path to their classroom was long; though they tried not to run, they ended up trotting lightly down the corridor, laughing as they went.
Harry watched them leave. The two small blonde figures disappeared into the warm glow of the candelabras, and his smile gradually faded, replaced by a serious expression. A faint red gleam began to shimmer through his hair, and for a moment, his eyes reflected the same crimson hue.
The nearby suits of armor rattled softly, the metallic clang echoing through the stone walls. The sound was enough to snap him out of his trance. Harry frowned and tilted his head slightly, trying to shake off that strange sensation growing inside him.
"Maybe it's just stress," he muttered in a calm voice, though his cold gaze betrayed the unease he refused to acknowledge.
…
Harry arrived at class completely barefoot. When he stepped through the door, every gaze in the room turned toward him—including Professor McGonagall's. She glanced at the clock on the wall before fixing him with her usual stern expression.
"Almost late, Mr. Potter," she said firmly, though her brow furrowed slightly as her eyes lowered to his bare feet. Lifting her gaze again, she asked skeptically,
"And your shoes, Mr. Potter?"
"Possibly in Defense Against the Dark Arts class—unless they got sidetracked by sweets along the way," Harry replied with total calm, as if he were saying something perfectly ordinary.
A few students couldn't suppress their snickers. Draco, Daphne, and Hermione, however, stared at him in silence, puzzled. They knew perfectly well Harry had been wearing his shoes during the previous class, and their sudden disappearance worried them more than it amused them.
McGonagall let out a small sigh—the kind that came from someone long accustomed to the boy's peculiarities. "Your friends tell me you're taking Divination, Mr. Potter," she said with a hint of resignation. "But I must tell you, Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of a student every year since she arrived at this school. None of them have died yet."
She crossed her arms, looking at him with a mixture of severity and sly amusement.
"You seem to be in excellent health, Potter. So I'm afraid I can't excuse you from your homework today. Rest assured, if you die, you won't need to turn it in."
Harry raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Actually, I wasn't worried about that… but now that you mention it, I really am. Not for myself, though—for the world itself."
McGonagall frowned, trying to decide whether he was being serious. "Don't worry, Potter. The world will be fine; it will keep spinning. Though it's not appropriate to joke about your own death."
Harry tilted his head slightly, a faint, distracted smile tugging at his lips. "Ah, you don't really understand. Maybe the world continuing to spin would be even worse," he said lightly. Then, with an almost playful tone, added, "Now I'll have to worry about not dying… so the world keeps existing."
The professor studied him for a few seconds, confused, unsure if he was joking or if she should be concerned. At last, she sighed in resignation.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter. The class must begin," she said firmly.
Harry nodded and walked to his seat with perfect composure, while a few stifled laughs rippled through the room after the strange exchange.
The remark, with its dry and teasing irony, had momentarily broken the tension. Harry returned a faint, polite smile; he recognized in McGonagall's tone not only her contempt for Trelawney but also that brand of sharp humor she used to maintain order without losing her poise.
He sat beside Draco, who had left him an open spot. The three—Draco, Hermione, and Daphne—looked at him with a mixture of seriousness and concern.
The Hufflepuff students sharing the class didn't quite understand what was going on; they hadn't attended Divination. Still, good old Terry began whispering the story of the prediction to everyone nearby, quickly earning Harry several sympathetic looks. Upon noticing this, Harry rolled his eyes at his roommate, who immediately shut his mouth after receiving one of Hermione's deadly glares.
"You all right?" Draco asked quietly, keeping his eyes on him.
"I'm fine," Harry replied calmly. "Just had a small mishap. I'll fix it before curfew."
His voice was so steady it reassured them, though it explained nothing. And Harry preferred it that way; he knew that if they found out what was really happening, chaos would follow soon after.
He decided he would handle the matter himself.
The class continued without incident… at least until an unexpected figure burst in through one of the windows. Red, the crimson dragon, swooped in flapping his wings powerfully, a pair of shoes clutched in his jaws. The room exploded into chaos: students screamed, curtains fluttered wildly, and papers scattered everywhere.
Harry pressed a hand to his forehead. The distraction had been pointless; McGonagall had noticed his bare feet from the very start.
"Red…" he muttered under his breath.
The professor aimed her wand with a mix of fury and authority. A few sparks shot toward the dragon, who recoiled in confusion before instinctively trying to eat them.
"You again? Out of my classroom before you destroy something!" McGonagall exclaimed.
Red barely reacted until he caught Harry's gaze—serious and commanding—ordering him to leave. With a low, grumbling snort, the dragon turned and flew back out the window with the same speed and chaos with which he had entered.
Harry quietly put on his shoes, pretending nothing had happened while whispers and laughter filled the room. McGonagall, with one final sigh, chose simply to continue the lesson, knowing full well that opposing the peculiarities of Harry Potter was, as always, a battle already lost.