"…And Jones whacks a banger of a bludger right at Mayweather, nearly takes his head off! Mayweather drops the quaffle— and Greengrass has it, Harpies are back in possession…"
Harry's lips curled in a faint smile, his attention half on the quiet commentating of the quidditch match drifting from his Wizarding Wireless. He was up in the dorm, the curtains around his bed drawn and warded, his password-protected notebook in his lap while Never Unarmed: The Theory of Wandless Magic lay open on his left.
Hermione was off in the library, as always; Ron was either with her, helping with Buckbeak's case, or had given up and sought out Dean and Seamus. Harry had been with them for a while, but when their bickering became too much he made the excuse of needing to talk to Lupin about his Patronus lessons. The pair may have banded together in the face of the Ministry's stupid creature laws, but that didn't quite make them friends again.
Either way, it meant that he had at least an hour of free time, and it was perfect timing for the Holyhead Harpies match against the Ballycastle Bats. It was also perfect timing for Harry to go over some of the notes he'd been making the last few months.
It was a good thing his notebook was charmed to add pages as it became necessary; it was full to bursting with scrawled notes and diagrams and half-hearted attempts at family trees as Harry tried to figure out the complicated world of British pureblood families. If he were more like Hermione, he'd have some sort of organisation system to separate his spell-related research from his history-related notes — but he wasn't, and chaos seemed to suit him perfectly fine, so he continued to write on whichever page he pleased.
Currently, he was comparing notes he'd made from reading Reaching Your Core: A Guide to Understanding Your Magic to the text within Never Unarmed, quill tapping thoughtfully against his lower lip. Since he'd entered the wizarding world, wandless magic had been spoken of as the absolute pinnacle of magical power and talent — only extraordinary people could manage it, like Albus Dumbledore.
But why then did children have so many bursts of wandless magic?
Many of the books he read talked about how the immature core was more volatile, and training it with the focus of a wand helped to direct it, with the downside of making it harder to access without a focus. They explained that for all but the most powerful, the trade-off for control over your own magic was the need for a wand to use it. Sure, in times of great stress or need, a person could perform wandless magic, but it was rarely intentional.
That made little sense to Harry, when all the books on inheritance magic suggested that many talents inherent to certain families were innate and wandless; metamorphmagi powers and soothsaying, an affinity to mind magics or animagi magics. Some were bloodline-only, but many were available to any wixen willing to work for it, and family magics just made it easier.
A wand wasn't needed for Occlumency. A wand wasn't needed for an animagus to transform, once they'd mastered the initial transformation process. They channelled magic directly from a person's core.
That had to be the connection. Never Unarmed talked about being in tune with your magic, about using your fingers instead of your wand, learning to push the magic through your body rather than your focus. Even to Harry, whose magic had been buzzing under his skin since the moment the goblins had released the blocks, that felt exhausting. He'd tried all the exercises the book offered, holding his wand in his off-hand and trying to cast through the fingers of his dominant hand, but it just felt like trying to push concrete through a sieve.
The book was wrong, he was sure of it. Reaching Your Core had taught him a lot of things, as had the books on core blocks and family magics. Wandless magic wasn't about turning your fingers into your focus — it was about bypassing your focus entirely and just letting your core breathe.
"…And the Harpies score! Owens had better hurry up, or even the snitch won't save the Bats today! Quaffle is back with Fawley, and to Kinnock…"
Harry tuned out the quidditch match, shutting his eyes and taking a steadying breath. Between all the various meditation exercises he'd been learning, it was easy to sink deep into the corner of his consciousness that housed his core, the magic humming softly. He wondered absently if it was like that for everyone, or if he was an exception. He was only thirteen, surely he couldn't be that powerful? None of his teachers had ever said anything about focusing inward on your magic, or any sort of humming or buzzing sensations. Perhaps it was just an uncommon practice, and if everyone tried it they would feel the same. Maybe he'd talk to Neville about it sometime, see what the other boy thought.
He delved deeper, surrounding himself in the humming, the warmth of his magic like rays of sunlight against his skin. Even now, months after the blocks had been removed, it felt… unsettled. Like it was housed in a space too small, crammed into his body like he had been crammed into the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys'. Harry hoped he'd grow a few inches, maybe put on some muscle; that might make his magic feel better. Dumbledore was pretty tall — was that because he needed to contain more magic?
Drawing his focus back to the task at hand, Harry kept breathing, raising his right hand slowly. He opened his eyes. His fingertips were glowing.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered, gaze turned on the hefty book at his side. The humming grew more urgent. His veins itched.
Then, slowly, the book began to rise off the bed.
A slow grin tugged at Harry's lips — suddenly, a door slammed, and the book fell back on the mattress. The connection was gone, the humming almost silent.
"Harry, are you back yet? Hermione's a nightmare, honestly." It was Ron. Harry scowled to himself; he'd been making progress there!
Hurriedly stuffing his book and notebook under his pillow, Harry dropped the wards around his bed and pulled the drapes back, offering the redhead a smile he hoped was sincere. "Couldn't make it to curfew?" he asked wryly, watching Ron's disgruntled frown deepen. The other boy opened his mouth to respond, when his eyes flicked to the Wireless.
"Owens is diving, but Griffiths is hot on his tail; who will reach the snitch first? They're neck and neck — if they keep going, they'll hit dirt! Griffiths is pulling level, and— Merlin's beard, what a catch! In a remarkable show of speed, Griffiths has caught the snitch! The Harpies remain undefeated for another day!"
"Since when do you have a Wireless?" Ron asked, an unreadable look on his face. Harry turned the volume down, shrugging.
"Bought it over the summer, when I was stuck in Diagon. I had no idea before that there was so much wizarding radio." The Weasleys had a Wireless, but they only seemed to turn it on when Mrs Weasley wanted to listen to Celestina Warbeck.
"They're expensive, those portable ones. Charlie bought one in his sixth year, but he took it with him to Romania."
The expression on Ron's face suddenly made sense; discomfort at Harry's wealth. Before, Harry might have let it bother him; might have offered to give his to Ron, and buy himself a new one later. Back when he'd been under Dumbledore's spells, and desperate to have friends by any means necessary. But things had changed. He could sympathise with Ron, of course — for most of his life, Harry hadn't had two pennies to rub together — but he wasn't going to let the other boy make him feel guilty for inheriting money when Harry's parents had died in order for that to happen.
He reached out, turning the Wireless off and offering Ron a half-smile. "Well, the Cannons match is next week, if you want to listen to it with me."
Ron grinned, only a hint of a shadow in his eyes. Harry ignored it; he could hardly keep up with Ron's mood swings this year, and it wasn't worth trying.
Letting the redhead grumble all about the work Hermione had forced him to do in the library, Harry couldn't stop his attention returning to the faint tingle still running through his veins.
He had done wandless magic. Intentional, focused wandless magic.
How much more could he do, with a little practice?
.-.-.-.
With the security in the castle amped up after Black's second break-in, the trio couldn't visit Hagrid in the evenings anymore. The only chance of getting to talk to him was during their Care of Magical Creatures class. Days later, and Hagrid still seemed to be in shock.
"There's always the appeal," Ron said, when it looked like Hagrid might burst into tears, walking the class back up to the castle. "Don't give up hope yet, Hagrid. We'll figure something out." They bid goodbye to Hagrid at the castle doors, and the large man blew his nose loudly, thanking them again for offering to help. It was clear he was expecting the worst.
"You'd think he could pull it together!" The voice made Harry's heart sink. Just inside the doors, Draco stood with Crabbe and Goyle, watching Hagrid leave. The two huge boys were sniggering. "It's not like it's his bloody dog or anything. It's just a beast." Behind the false sneer, Harry could see the regret in Draco's eyes. As if he could've done anything to stop Lucius Malfoy on a crusade.
"How dare you!" Hermione roared, stalking across the entrance hall towards Draco. His grey eyes widened in alarm at her ferocity, and Harry hurried after her. "You foul, evil little—"
SMACK!
Harry wasn't fast enough. Before he could do anything, Hermione had reeled back a fist and punched Draco square in the jaw. He fell back into Goyle, blinking dazedly. "Don't talk about Hagrid like that." With that, she turned on her heel and left. "Come on, boys. We'll be late for Charms."
Harry sent an apologetic glance back at Draco, who seemed utterly stunned, and hurried after Hermione, Ron hot on his tail. "Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "You just punched Malfoy!"
"He deserved it," she declared firmly. "Harry, make sure you beat them at quidditch, won't you? I couldn't stand to see him win."
"Uh, yeah, Hermione," Harry said after a beat. He shared a look with Ron, both of them thinking did that really just happen?? "I'll try my best."
She huffed, continuing on the way to class. Harry eased the door open to the classroom, praying they weren't late, and Professor Flitwick smiled up at them. "There you are, boys! Settle down, now, take your seats."
Harry looked over his shoulder — Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Where had she gone?
"She was just behind us," Ron muttered, just as confused as Harry. "Maybe she dropped something?"
But Hermione didn't reappear. She was absent for the entire class. Harry frowned; what was going on with her?
.-.-.-.
Clearly Hermione was on a roll, Harry thought as he watched her storm out of the Divination classroom. When the class finished, he turned to Ron.
"She's having a bit of a day, isn't he?" the redhead remarked. "Blimey."
Hermione wasn't at dinner, but the hall was abuzz with the story of her talking back to Professor Trelawney. Luckily, Draco didn't seem to have told anyone about her punching him, though there was a fairly impressive bruise rising on his pale cheekbone. Harry winced; would Draco be mad at him for it? They weren't supposed to meet for another few days. Harry would have to wait to ask if he was alright.
"I'm gonna take some food up to Hermione," Ron said once he'd eaten his fill, which as always was an impressive amount. He wrapped some roast beef and potatoes in a napkin, grabbing another one to fill with parsnips. "You coming?"
"Can't. Patronus lesson with Lupin," Harry replied apologetically. He had the spell down pretty well, now — it hadn't taken shape yet, but he could get a fairly solid shield up against his boggart-dementor.
"Oh, right, yeah. Well, have fun." Ron grabbed as much food as he could in his large hands, and the two parted ways, Harry headed up the familiar route to Lupin's office. He dragged his feet a little, feeling a little awkward about seeing the man again after basically breaking down on him. Lupin didn't seem to hold it against him, though.
"I hear Miss Granger had quite the eventful afternoon," Lupin remarked once they'd put the boggart away for the evening, sat in their usual chairs with tea in their hands. Harry winced.
"You heard about Divination, then?" Lupin nodded. "I mean, I don't blame her, really. She's doing about fifty subjects at once, and Divination's a bit…" Harry trailed off sheepishly, not wanting to insult one professor in front of another. "I wish I could drop it, too. Is there any way to switch your elective subjects if you realise you don't like them?" Truthfully he'd love to drop Care of Magical Creatures, too, but he couldn't bear to do that to Hagrid.
"I'm afraid not. Not this late in the year, anyway. You'll have to stick it out until your OWLs, I'm afraid." Lupin sounded truly apologetic. Harry sighed.
"I figured as much."
"You could always independent study for a different elective? Arithmancy, or Ancient Runes, or even both. You don't have to be enrolled in the class to take the OWL, if you contact the ministry about it. Your mother took an OWL in Muggle Studies without ever going to a single class. She said it was an easy O," Lupin informed him, a smile tugging at his lips.
Harry hadn't realised that was possible. "It'd be harder to teach myself Runes and Arithmancy, though. Muggle Studies is easy, especially if you grew up with them." A memory popped into his head. "You were top of your class in Runes, weren't you?" The yearbook had said so.
"Indeed I was. And third in Arithmancy — only your mother and Sirius beat me there. I'd be happy to help however I can if you chose to go down that route. No disrespect to any of my colleagues, but Divination and Care of Magical Creatures aren't the most… useful subjects in the world."
A thoughtful hum escaped Harry, and he leaned back in his chair. "Maybe after quidditch." The match against Slytherin was drawing ever closer, and he had little free time as it was.
"Naturally. You just focus on beating Slytherin, for now," Lupin agreed with a chuckle. "I know we're not supposed to play favourites, but I bet Severus five galleons you'd win. He seems to think Mr Malfoy can pull it out of the bag, even after his time off for injury."
Harry tried to imagine Professor Snape placing a bet on the quidditch, even if it was in Slytherin's favour. "Y'know, Professor; I think the Snape you know and the Snape I know are two very, very different people."
That made Lupin laugh, the sound clear and somewhat raspy, unexpectedly loud in the quiet office. "I should certainly hope so, Harry," he agreed, a strange sort of look in his eyes. "Severus really isn't as bad as he makes out to be, though. He just has a reputation to uphold."
Harry made a face to show exactly what he thought of that. "If you say so, Professor."
"Speaking of reputations to uphold," Lupin drawled, sitting forward in his chair a little. "Draco Malfoy. Care to share?"
Harry's cheeks grew hot, and he almost spilled his tea. "What? I don't know what you mean. We're just friends."
.-.-.
Remus stared at the teenage boy in front of him, red-faced and staring at his hands, squirming evasively. Oh, no. "I'd say that 'just friends' is baffling enough in itself." Harry blushed even brighter. "You can tell me anything, Harry. There's no judgement here." Even if you're dating a Malfoy, he added in his head, trying to imagine what Lily would do in this situation. Just act the same way she did when she found out about Severus.
"There's not much to tell, really. I bumped into him in Diagon before school started, and he was… civil. I think, really, we just got off on the wrong foot as first years. Ron's always been worse at antagonising him than I have. And now there's no compulsion on me, I just… don't want to fight him? Then he found out about the whole heir thing — okay, he found out because I told him — and he's actually been really helpful with all that. Obviously, he was raised about as pureblood as it gets, he knows all about the old traditions, even more than Neville does. So we were civil, and then we kept bumping into each other, and we kinda just… became friends? Now we meet up when we can, which isn't that often because there's no way we could do it during the day when someone might walk in, but I promise I'm really careful when I'm out after curfew. I'm always wearing the cloak."
Remus' eyes grew wider as Harry rambled, hardly taking a breath, and the whole situation became inordinately clear. Oh, cub, you have no idea, do you?
Forget what Lily would do in the situation. Prongs would laugh himself sick at his oblivious little boy.
"I'm glad to hear you're not letting all those prejudices about Slytherins get in your way," he said eventually. "More students could stand to do that. But Harry, you must be careful. He is still a Malfoy after all."
"That doesn't make him evil," Harry retorted angrily. Remus held up a placating hand.
"I didn't mean that. All I meant was, he's still Lucius Malfoy's son. You need to be careful for his sake as much as yours."
Harry's face fell, his green eyes darkening. "His father… his father is an awful man. I don't know much about his mum, but his dad…" Harry trailed off, shaking his head, and Remus wondered what sort of horrors Lucius Malfoy had inflicted on his poor son.
"Narcissa was never as cruel as Lucius. She was a Slytherin, and certainly no Light witch, but she was never needlessly cruel. And she always thought very highly of family." All the Blacks did, whatever the rest of their faults. Blood was important in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, in a number of ways.
"Draco really loves his mum," Harry agreed. "But… I think he's scared of his dad. I think she is, too."
Harry was much too young to have those sorts of shadows in his eyes, Remus thought sadly. But so were many children at the school. A generation that only knew the aftermath of war — for the state they lived in couldn't truly be called peace, not yet.
"I think your friendship with him is a good thing," he encouraged gently. It was certainly too late for him to do anything about it; Harry seemed to be in far, far deeper than even he realised. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be friends with him. Just have caution. There are any number of people out there who would be happy to hurt Mr Malfoy as a means to an end." The headmaster was one of them, no doubt.
"I won't let that happen," Harry declared stubbornly. The set of his jaw was every inch Lily Evans. Remus smiled at him.
"Tell me about him," he urged. "The Draco Malfoy that you know. Not the one that everyone else sees."
If he was reading things right, Remus was going to be getting to know Draco Malfoy quite well in future.
.-.-.
Later, when Harry was no doubt tucked up in Gryffindor Tower — hopefully not having late-night liaisons with Draco Malfoy — Remus flooed down to Severus' quarters, pleased when the Potions Master gave him permission to enter. The man had shed his teaching robe, leaving him in just a white button-up and black trousers, his feet bare. Remus' throat went a little dry. "Evening, Severus."
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Severus retorted, aiming for exasperated and falling just a touch short. Remus stifled a smile, sinking into the comfortable black leather sofa. Severus was in the armchair, a glass of white wine at his elbow. He summoned the bottle and a second glass, directing it over to Remus before the man could even ask. "Draco Malfoy is your godson, correct?" Remus asked once the wine was safely in his grasp. Severus raised a thin eyebrow.
"Yes. Why, what has the little whelp done now?" Again, he wasn't quite reaching exasperated; the fondness was creeping through.
"Befriended Harry Potter, apparently." Remus laughed when Severus almost spilled wine over himself at the proclamation.
"He what?"
Remus relayed what he'd heard from Harry — some, not all of it. He didn't want to go spilling his cub's secrets. "It seems they're quite close now. I daresay Harry even has a bit of a crush." Oh, it was definitely more than 'a bit of a crush', but he didn't want to give Severus a heart attack.
The dark-haired man stared at him for several long seconds, before his eyes fell shut, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Merlin help me," he muttered. "The children of today have no sense, do they? Meeting in secret in Albus Dumbledore's castle, sweet Salazar."
"I don't recall us having much more sense when we were thirteen, Severus," Remus pointed out dryly, biting back a laugh when Severus' ears reddened at the tips. "I told Harry to be careful. He understands Lucius is not to be reckoned with." That brought Remus to the point he'd been considering ever since Harry had left his office. "You know them far better than I do, Severus. Do you think Narcissa could be turned?"
There was a pregnant silence. Remus waited patiently. "Narcissa will do whatever will keep her son the safest," Severus said eventually. "She'd lay down her life for him in a heartbeat." He pushed his long hair back from his eyes, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Butterflies erupted in Remus' stomach, that the man was so comfortable around him, but he pushed them down with years of practice. "I have often wondered if there was a safe way to remove Narcissa and Draco from Lucius' care, should the worst come to pass. She follows him out of fear, not love. Time and time again I have tried to convince her to have a contingency plan in place, but she won't hear of it, just in case Lucius finds out and decides to punish her for it."
"And if her son chose to fight at Harry Potter's side?" Remus asked. Would Draco ever be so brave as to openly do so? People had done stupider things for love.
"Then she would be wherever she needed to be to protect him from the fallout," Severus replied. "With any luck, the scenario is a long time coming, but… that Potter foolhardiness might be exactly what's needed to push Narcissa's hand. She will follow wherever Draco goes, and if that means turning to Potter… she'll never come to Dumbledore, though. The only flaw in our plan."
"Harry won't come to Dumbledore either," Remus revealed. He still felt sick when he thought about what the headmaster had done to his cub. If the goblins hadn't scanned him… Severus raised an enquiring brow, but Remus shook his head. "His secrets aren't mine to share. But safe to say, Harry trusts the headmaster about as much as we do, these days. Perhaps even less."
"Interesting." The word was barely a murmur, Severus' low voice making Remus' spine tingle in a way he couldn't turn off, even after all these years. "There's no point in planning too far ahead now. The things we fear may never come to pass, or at least not for a while."
"We should be so lucky," Remus returned, draining his wine glass. He was tempted to top it up, but that would be a foolish move. Between the warmth of the fire and the buzz of the wine, he was too comfortable already. It wouldn't do to push too hard and lose all his precious gained ground.
"These brats will be the death of me, Remus," Severus declared quietly, his words hanging ominously in the fire-lit room.
"On the contrary, Severus," Remus replied, thinking of the sparkle in Harry's green eyes when he spoke of his budding friendship with Draco Malfoy. "I believe they might be the saving grace for all of us. If we play our cards right."
Harry was young and foolish and naive in so many ways, but not as many as he should be at his age. And despite all that, everything he'd been through; he had so much hope in that young heart of his. That sort of hope might be just enough to get them through.
.-.-.-.
Things were tense in Gryffindor tower the night before the match against Slytherin. Even Hermione claimed to be too nervous to study. Half an hour before curfew, Harry got to his feet. "I'm going for a walk," he said quietly. Hermione shot him a worried look.
"Harry, it's late."
"I'll wear the cloak," he promised. "I just… I can't stay here. I need some air if I'm gonna get to sleep."
She didn't look pleased, but she kept any further protests to herself. "Just be careful," she murmured, watching him sneak up the stairs just enough to put on the invisibility cloak in privacy. He only had to wait a few minutes for the portrait hole to open as a couple of seventh years came through, and then he was slipping out into the corridor.
He'd told Hermione he just needed air, but really he had somewhere to be. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure anyone could hear him as he walked, but none of the few people he passed noticed. They were all too focused on getting to their rooms before curfew.
Eventually, Harry turned into an empty Transfiguration classroom, and took the cloak off, stuffing it in his bag. He waited.
The door creaked open just wide enough for a blond head to duck through, shutting just as quick as it opened. "I can't believe we're doing this," Draco muttered. "Going to curse me before the match?"
Harry laughed quietly, his heart light — Draco had come. Harry wasn't sure he was going to. "I don't need to curse you to win," he teased, sinking into a chair. Draco chose the chair opposite, digging the deck of cards from his pocket.
"Just because you've got that fancy Firebolt doesn't mean you'll win," Draco retorted, shuffling the deck and dealing hands.
"I could beat you on a Cleansweep, Malfoy." Harry stuck his tongue out playfully, and Draco shot him a look of mock-disgust.
"Are all Gryffindors this childish?"
Harry just laughed, playing his first card.
For all Draco had promised to give Harry pureblood lessons, they usually never got around to that. They would just sit, and play cards, and talk; about quidditch, about school, about the future. Harry had told Draco things he hadn't even told Ron and Hermione. Draco didn't judge when Harry said something selfish, or a little bit cruel. It was… nice, not having to guard his language like that. "So what do healers do, anyway?" he asked, remembering what Draco had said last time they'd met. Everyone expected him to become a Potions Master, but he wanted to be a healer when he grew up.
"They heal people, Potter," Draco replied with a roll of his eyes. Harry shot him a chastising look.
"I figured that. I just meant — muggles have loads of different types of doctors that specialise in different things. So, like, one doctor would just be for kids. Or just a brain doctor, or a stomach doctor, or whatever. They have GPs — all-round doctors, who help diagnose when people need to see a specialist doctor — but then mostly it's all split up. Surely a healer can't heal everything?"
"For the most part, yes. They have their strengths; St Mungo's is split into different wards — spell damage, illness, physical injury, all that stuff. But a good healer should be able to deal with just about anything they come across."
"What kind of healer would you want to be?" Harry was curious. Draco swore as he saw the card Harry played, glancing down at his own hand. He bit his lip as he thought about his next move, and Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the reddening flesh. Draco played his card, snapping Harry out of his daze.
"As long as I'm good at it, I don't really care," was Draco's dismissive reply. "I'd probably specialise in spell damage. Counter-curses are always fascinating to me, and I bet there'd be lots of challenging cases. I wouldn't like to end up delivering babies all day or something."
Harry made a face; he couldn't see Draco delivering babies, either. Not that he was completely sure how that all worked, but he couldn't see Draco doing it.
"Well, at least you'll get plenty of practice, when we're older," he declared. "I'm in the Hospital Wing all the time. I think Madam Pomfrey is considering giving me my own personal bed."
With a snort, Draco played the card that won him the round, triumph shining in his silver eyes. "It'll be a while yet before I know the spells to put your sorry arse back together again. Do try not to get yourself killed before then."
"Alright, I'll wait," Harry agreed. He glanced down at his watch; it was getting late, and tomorrow would be a big day. "We should go to bed. I want to be at the top of my game on the pitch tomorrow."
"Damn right you do, if you've got any chance of beating me," Draco agreed, sending the cards into their box with a wave of his wand. Before he left, he paused, looking back at Harry. A stray lock of blond hair fell into his eyes, and Harry was struck with the strangest urge to push it aside. "Just… be careful tomorrow, Harry. The Slytherins really want to win this."
Harry, who had been fending off low-level attacks from Slytherins for the last two week, gave Draco a deadpan look. "Y'know, I'd figured that out." Hurt flashed in Draco's eyes, and Harry softened. "I know. I'll be careful. I'm used to having snakes out for my blood," he added dryly. "No hard feelings, whatever happens, yeah?"
He held out a hand, and Draco shook it. "No hard feelings when my team crushes yours to dust," he agreed, yelping when Harry made to jab him in the side. "You're a barbarian, Potter."
"That's what I've got you for; keep me civilised," Harry retorted teasingly. Draco huffed, scowling one last time, then disappeared from the classroom. Throwing his cloak over his shoulders, Harry followed after a few minutes, making the short trek back to Gryffindor Tower.
The light from the half-moon streamed through the large windows, guiding his way back. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a flash of movement, and froze.
Down in the grass, skirting the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was an animal. Harry's heart leapt into his throat — not the Grim, not now, not tonight — but it was much too small a form for that. He stepped closer to the window, squinting to get a better look. The moonlight passed over dark ginger fur. Crookshanks. Relief flooding through his form, Harry made to turn away, only… Crookshanks wasn't alone. A huge, shaggy black dog trotted across the lawn, approaching Crookshanks. It pressed its nose briefly against his, then turned back towards the forest, Crookshanks following close behind. Harry watched until the pair were no longer visible. What on Earth did that mean? Could it really be an omen of death, if Crookshanks could see it too? Maybe it was just a regular dog after all. Or maybe Crookshanks could see death omens too, and this quidditch match was about to be Harry's last.
He forced himself away from the window, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers. It was probably nothing. Cats couldn't see Grims, even cats as smart as Crookshanks seemed to be. There were all sorts of creatures living in the forest, why couldn't there be a dog, too?