The Ravenclaw dormitory was quiet as Harry woke on Christmas morning, the pale winter light streaming through the frosted windows. The first thing he noticed was a small pile of gifts at the foot of his bed. For a moment, he stared in surprise; he hadn't expected much—if anything.
Sliding out of bed and wrapping himself in his dressing gown, Harry pulled the gifts closer, his heart warming as he saw tags with familiar names.
The first present was wrapped in deep green paper, tied neatly with a twine bow. The tag read: To Harry, from Neville.
Inside was a beautifully bound book titled Earthen Magic: A Study of Raw and Elemental Forces. A note was tucked between the pages:
Harry,I thought you'd find this interesting. Don't let anyone catch you
reading it in public, though—raw magic like this isn't exactly popular in modern circles. I think it could help with your connection to plants and maybe even give you some ideas about controlling your magic. Merry Christmas!Neville
Harry smiled, carefully placing the book aside. He'd have to thank Neville later. He hoped Neville liked the rare seeds he had sent him in return; he'd picked them specifically after asking Professor Sprout about unusual plants.
The next gift was from Padma and Terry. They'd pooled together to get him a handsome leather-bound journal with his initials embossed on the cover. Inside was a note from Padma:
You're always thinking about something, Harry. Maybe this will help you organise your thoughts—or keep secrets, like that journal of yours. Merry Christmas!
From Anthony, he received a self-correcting quill with a cheeky note:
No more parchment full of crossed-out mistakes! Happy Christmas, Harry!
A few more from his dormmates including sweets and school supplies.
The next gift was wrapped in cheerful red paper and looked slightly lumpy. Harry hesitated before opening it, noticing the tag read:
To Harry, from Mrs. Weasley.
Inside was a hand-knitted sweater in a deep emerald green with a large "H" on the front. Harry couldn't help but smile at the craftsmanship—it was soft and warm, even if it wasn't really his style.
There was a note included as well:
Dear Harry,Ronald speaks so highly of you, and I'm so glad you've been such
a good influence on him. I hope this keeps you warm this winter. Have a lovely Christmas!Molly Weasley
Harry's smile faltered slightly. Highly of me? He shook his head, wondering what Ron had been telling her. It seemed likely that he was spinning some elaborate tale of their non-existent friendship. He folded the sweater carefully and placed it with the rest of his gifts. He hadn't forgotten when he first saw the Weasley family at Kings Cross, especially not their connection with Dumbledore, he can't let them get close.
The last gift was wrapped in plain, unmarked paper, with no tag to identify the sender. Intrigued, Harry opened it to reveal a silvery fabric that felt like liquid in his hands. His breath caught in his throat as the material shimmered and shifted.
An invisibility cloak.
But not just any invisibility cloak if the way his magic was reacting to it.
A note fluttered out, landing softly in his lap.
Your father left this in my care. Use it wisely. Merry Christmas.
Harry's stomach churned as he read the words. Dumbledore. There was no signature, but it had to be him. The handwriting was careful, almost formal, and the cloak's return seemed like something Dumbledore would orchestrate.
But why? Wasn't this supposed to be in his vault?
Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and his self-correcting quill, his brow furrowed in thought. He addressed the letter carefully:
Grimbok,I hope this letter finds you well. Firstly, I'd like to thank you for
your ongoing efforts with the audit of my vaults. Your work is greatly appreciated.I have a concern to raise. This morning, I received a gift—my
father's invisibility cloak—with a note implying it was returned to me by, who I assume to be Dumbledore. As you know, this cloak was supposed to be among the items in my vault during our last meeting. Could you confirm whether it was removed before or after he became my guardian? If not, this raises serious concerns about the other contents in my vault.Please let me know if there are any updates regarding the audit.
I look forward to hearing from you.Sincerely,
H J P
He folded the letter neatly and tucked it into an envelope. Hedwig, perched on the windowsill, gave a soft hoot as Harry tied it to her leg.
"Take this to Grimbok at Gringotts, okay?" he said softly.
Hedwig nibbled affectionately at his finger before spreading her wings and taking off into the snowy sky.
Turning back to his gifts, he picked up a neatly wrapped package tied with an uneven silver ribbon. The handwriting on the tag caught his attention: "To Harry, from Luna"
He smiled faintly. Luna always gave such good gifts.
Carefully, he unwrapped the gift, the paper crinkling under his hands. Inside was a small, beautifully carved lyre. The smooth wood gleamed faintly in the firelight, its strings delicate and taut. Harry tilted his head, puzzled but impressed. Nestled beside the instrument was a folded piece of parchment.
He opened it and read Luna's handwriting, which slanted across the page in a dreamy sort of way:
Dear Harry,I was reading about the Cerberus, and they say music calms it
down. I don't know if you're planning to meet it soon, but just in case, you should learn to play a tune first. I hope you like it. If not, maybe it can make the flowers grow, or help a Crumple-Horned Snorkack dance.
Merry Christmas,Luna
Harry chuckled softly, running his fingers over the lyre's smooth surface.
He plucked one of the strings experimentally, and the sound that filled the room was gentle, almost ethereal. It reminded him of a breeze rustling through leaves. Harry played a few more notes, his awkward attempts starting to form a hesitant, uneven melody.
The rest of the day passed quietly. After enjoying a hearty Christmas lunch in the Great Hall—where he managed to avoid Ron entirely—Harry retreated to his fourth-floor practice room to train some more.
After Harry returned to the Ravenclaw common room that evening, he felt a strange sense of peace. The day had been quiet, productive, and full of small surprises.
Sitting by the fire, he pulled out his journal and wrote to Luna.
Merry Christmas, Luna. How was your day?
It was lovely. Daddy and I spent the day making pudding. He says hello.
Tell him I said hello too. Guess what? I got my father's invisibility cloak as a gift today.
Oh, how wonderful! Did it come with an explanation?
Not really. Just a note saying it was left in someone's care. I think Dumbledore sent it.
That's curious. Why would he take it out of your vault?
I've already sent Grimbok a letter about it. Did you like your gift?
I did, thank you so much! How did you even get your hand on it? There's barely any surviving artifacts from the Priestess' of Pythia.
I called in some favours with the Pritchards…they know the right kind of people. I wanted to thank you for the Lyre, its beautiful.
I hope you like it. Mummy would have wanted you to have it.
Luna…this was Pandoras? I can't accept it!
You will. I'll say Merry Christmas to Flick for you, goodnight Harry.
Harry smiled his eyes slightly damp, closing the journal. Luna's words were always reassuring, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
~
The last week of the Christmas holidays found Harry itching with anticipation. His days had been spent practicing spells and controlling his magic, but his evenings were devoted to preparing for something more exciting. The small Lyre from Luna sat snugly in his lap every night as he practiced simple melodies.
Ever since Padma had told him about the rumours of a three-headed dog guarding something in the forbidden third-floor corridor, Harry had been consumed with curiosity. The idea of a Cerberus—a creature straight out of Greek mythology—being just a few hallways away was too thrilling to ignore.
He knew sneaking off alone was risky. He could get caught, or worse, expelled. But Harry was careful, clever, and, if he were being honest with himself, a little too intrigued to care about the consequences.
It was late in the evening when Harry made his move. Most of the older students who had stayed behind for the holidays were in the common room chatting, and Filch was likely patrolling the lower levels. Cloak draped over him, Harry slipped out of Ravenclaw Tower, the cold stone floors of the castle cool beneath his feet.
The walk to the third-floor corridor was nerve-wracking. Shadows flickered along the walls from torches, and every creak made him pause, ears straining for the sound of footsteps. Thankfully, the hallways were empty.
When he reached the forbidden corridor, he hesitated. The heavy wooden door loomed before him, and the faint sounds of snuffling and shifting on the other side told him that the rumours were true.
Raising his hand, Harry murmured, "Alohomora." A soft click echoed as the lock released.
Harry pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, the hinges groaning softly. He stopped dead in his tracks.
There, sprawled across the stone floor, was the most magnificent creature he had ever seen. A massive dog with three heads, each one larger than the next, lay before him. Its coarse black fur gleamed in the dim light, and its enormous paws stretched out, claws tapping against the stone as it shifted in its sleep.
Harry's jaw dropped. "You're real," he whispered, almost giddy.
One of the heads stirred, its nostrils flaring. The middle head opened one amber eye, and Harry froze as the dog's lips pulled back into a snarl, exposing rows of sharp teeth.
Quickly, Harry pulled the lyre from his pocket and plucked a few strings. The soft, lilting melody filled the room, and the heads immediately quieted. One by one, the dog's heads drooped, its breathing slowing until it was deeply asleep.
Harry took a cautious step forward, his fingers never pausing their tune. The closer he got, the more he realised just how massive the creature was. Its heads alone were the size of Hagrid's pumpkins, and its chest rose and fell like a bellows.
When he was sure it wouldn't wake, Harry knelt beside the beast and, unable to resist, reached out to scratch behind one of its enormous ears.
"Good boy," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face. "You're incredible, you know that?"
The dog let out a soft, rumbling snore, and Harry chuckled.
As he moved around the creature, his eyes caught sight of the trapdoor beneath its massive body. His heart skipped a beat.
"So you are guarding something," he whispered, his curiosity deepening.
Harry crouched down to examine the trapdoor. It was reinforced with iron and had a round handle, but the fact that it was there at all made him frown.
"Who puts something like this in a school?" he muttered, shaking his head. "And behind a door that a first-year can open with a basic unlocking spell? That's just stupid."
He considered for a moment whether he should try to open it, but a glance at the sleeping dog reminded him that waking a Cerberus probably wasn't the smartest idea.
As much as Harry wanted to stay and admire the creature, he knew he couldn't linger. The lyre's melody had stopped, and though the dog remained asleep, he wasn't about to push his luck.
Before leaving, he gave each of the dog's heads a final pat. "Thanks for not eating me," he said with a smile.
Closing the door quietly behind him, Harry took a deep breath, his heart racing from the thrill of what he'd just done.
On his way back to the tower, he encountered Mrs. Norris prowling the hallways. The cat paused, her yellow eyes narrowing as she spotted him.
"Hello, Mrs. Norris," Harry whispered, crouching down to scratch her under the chin. She purred softly, rubbing her head against his hand before sauntering off.
"She's nicer than people give her credit for," Harry mused as he straightened up and continued on his way.
By the time Harry reached the Ravenclaw common room, the excitement of the evening was still buzzing in his veins. He slipped into a quiet corner, pulling out his journal to write to Luna.
Luna,
It was real!
A three-headed dog, just like in the myths! It's guarding something on the third floor, but I can't figure out what yet.
It's incredible, Luna. Massive, with three heads and sharp teeth, but I played a tune on my lyre, and it fell asleep. I even got to pet it! It's probably the coolest thing I've ever seen.
It seems a bit stupid though. Who puts a creature like that in a school full of kids? It doesn't make any sense. What do you think?
As Harry slipped into bed that night, the image of the Cerberus stayed with him.
~
The castle buzzed with energy as the students returned from the holidays. Snow still blanketed the grounds, but the warm chatter in the Great Hall during breakfast seemed to chase away the winter chill. Harry sat with his housemates, thanking each of them for the thoughtful gifts they'd exchanged over the holidays.
"Thanks for the journal, Terry, Padma." Harry said with a smile.
Terry grinned. "Glad you liked it. And the rune book you gave me is brilliant—I've already found a few we can use for minor protections. I'll show you later."
Padma laughed. "Good. I figured you'd appreciate something practical."
Michael leaned forward. "And thanks for the chocolate, Harry. I swear, it got me through practicing that ridiculous levitation charm over break."
Harry chuckled, pleased that everyone seemed happy.
The mood in the hall shifted noticeably when Hermione Granger walked through the doors, flanked by a gaggle of Gryffindors. Her bushy hair was tied back, and though she looked thinner and a bit paler, she held her head high. The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers as she approached, and Hermione flushed at the attention.
"Look who's back," Padma whispered, nudging Harry.
Harry glanced over, a small frown forming. He wasn't sure how he felt about Hermione's return, especially since Ron tried to force him to go get her.
Sure enough, the twins soon grabbed Ron by the arms, dragging him over to Hermione. The entire Ravenclaw table watched with interest.
"Go on, Ronniekins," Fred said loudly, pushing Ron forward.
"You've got something to say, don't you?" George added, crossing his arms with a stern expression that didn't match his usual mischief.
Ron scowled, his ears burning red, but under the combined pressure of his brothers and the many watching eyes, he mumbled, "I'm sorry, Hermione."
"What was that?" Fred teased, cupping a hand to his ear.
Ron glared at him before turning back to Hermione. "I'm sorry for being a prat and—and for getting you hurt."
Hermione stared at him for a moment, her lips pursed, before she gave a curt nod. "Fine. Apology accepted."
The Gryffindor table burst into applause, but at the Ravenclaw table, Harry shook his head.
"That didn't seem very sincere," Terry muttered.
"Not at all," agreed Anthony.
Padma sighed. "Poor Hermione. She deserves better than a half-hearted apology."
Harry nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. He was glad Hermione seemed okay physically, but he couldn't shake the feeling that things between her and Ron would only cause more trouble in the future.
After breakfast, the hall quieted as Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table. His piercing blue eyes swept over the students, and his warm smile belied the seriousness of his tone.
"Welcome back, everyone," he began. "I hope you all had a restful and enjoyable holiday. Before we return to our usual routines, I must once again remind you all to avoid the third-floor corridor. It is out of bounds for a very good reason, and venturing there is highly dangerous."
Harry exchanged a knowing glance with Padma, who raised an eyebrow.
"Shouldn't he just tell us what's there if it's so dangerous?" Michael whispered.
"That'd ruin the mystery," Anthony quipped, smirking.
Harry leaned in, keeping his voice low. "It's a Cerberus. A three-headed dog."
His housemates stared at him, wide-eyed.
"I thought everyone was joking about that!" Padma said.
Harry nodded. "I saw it over the holidays. It's guarding a trapdoor."
"A trapdoor?" Terry echoed, leaning forward. "What do you think is down there?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted, "but it must be important if they've got something like that guarding it."
Michael whistled. "A Cerberus… That's mental."
"They're amazing," Harry said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "And it's incredible. Huge, with three heads, and it falls asleep to music—like the stories."
Padma frowned. "If it's guarding something, shouldn't it be behind better protection? I mean, Alohomora works on that door, doesn't it?"
Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that part's stupid. Anyone with half a brain could get in."
The conversation continued back in the common room, where Harry's housemates debated the purpose of the Cerberus and what might be hidden beneath the trapdoor.
"If it's that important, why not just use magical wards or curses?" Anthony mused.
"Because Dumbledore's dramatic," Terry said with a grin. "He probably thinks a giant dog is more intimidating."
Padma rolled her eyes. "We're missing the bigger question: why is it here at Hogwarts? What could be so important that it needs to be hidden in a school?"
Harry shrugged, though his mind was racing. He'd been wondering the same thing ever since he saw the trapdoor.
Later that evening, Harry sat by the window, writing a note to Luna.
You'll never guess—Hermione Granger is back. She looks okay, but the whole thing with Ron apologizing was awkward. He didn't really mean it, and honestly, it was hard to watch.
Oh, and Dumbledore made another announcement about the third-floor corridor. I told my housemates about the Cerberus, and now they're all trying to figure out what it's guarding. Padma's convinced it's something ancient, and Terry thinks it's just one of Dumbledore's odd experiments. I wish you were here—you'd probably come up with something brilliant.
How are things at home? Is your dad still home? I miss you.
Harry set the journal aside, his thoughts drifting.
~
By the time March rolled around, the days had grown longer, and the biting chill of winter was giving way to the first hints of spring. Despite the warmer weather, Harry's patience with Ron and Hermione was growing increasingly thin.
The two Gryffindors had developed an obsession with the third-floor corridor and the trapdoor guarded by the Cerberus. Every few days, they would corner Harry—usually during meals or in the library—to try and rope him into their theories.
Who would have thought that they would start getting along well enough to pester him this much.
"You've seen the dog, haven't you?" Hermione asked one evening, catching Harry just as he was leaving the Great Hall.
Harry sighed, his hands full of books he'd borrowed from the library. "Yes, I've seen it. You already know that."
"Then don't you care what it's guarding?" Hermione pressed, her eyes bright with curiosity.
"Not really," Harry replied bluntly. "Whatever it is, it's not my business."
Ron scoffed from behind Hermione, his ears red. "Not your business? Come on, mate! You're the Boy Who Lived! If anyone's supposed to figure this out, it's you!"
Harry froze, his jaw tightening. "Stop calling me that. I'm not your 'mate,' Ron, and I don't owe you anything. Leave me alone."
Ron's face turned an alarming shade of red, but before he could say anything, Hermione stepped between them.
"Look, Harry," she said, her tone placating. "We're just trying to figure this out. It's obviously important—why else would Dumbledore go to such lengths to keep it secret?"
"Then you figure it out," Harry snapped. "I have enough to deal with without you two dragging me into your schemes."
He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving them both standing in the corridor.
By the next morning, Harry had had enough. The constant badgering from Ron and Hermione was exhausting, and Ron's repeated mentions of his parents were starting to feel like a deliberate attempt to get under his skin.
During breakfast, Harry slipped away early and made his way to Professor Flitwick's office. The tiny Charms professor looked up from a stack of parchment as Harry knocked on the door.
"Ah, Mr. Potter! Come in, come in," Flitwick said, his high-pitched voice cheerful. "What can I do for you?"
Harry hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. "Professor, I wanted to talk to you about something… personal."
Flitwick set down his quill and gestured for Harry to take a seat. "Of course. What's on your mind?"
Taking a deep breath, Harry began to explain. "It's about Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They've been bothering me a lot lately—Ron especially. He keeps bringing up my parents and trying to force me to act a certain way, like I'm supposed to be in Gryffindor or something. It's… it's too much."
Flitwick's cheerful expression grew serious. "I see. And how long has this been going on?"
"Since the start of the year for Ron," Harry admitted. "It's been getting worse lately. They won't leave me alone about the third-floor corridor, and Ron keeps talking about my parents like it's some kind of strategy to get me to do what he wants. I don't think it's fair that I have to keep avoiding them just to get some peace."
Flitwick nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. "I understand. You've done the right thing by bringing this to my attention, Harry. I'll speak to Professor McGonagall about this matter, as it involves students from her house. In the meantime, if they bother you again, don't hesitate to come straight to me."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.
Later that day, Professor McGonagall called Harry into her office. She was seated behind her desk, her sharp eyes fixed on him as he entered.
"Mr. Potter," she began, folding her hands on the desk. "Professor Flitwick has informed me of your concerns regarding Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. I'd like to hear your side of the story."
Harry repeated everything he'd told Flitwick, trying to keep his voice steady. "I just want them to leave me alone," he finished. "I shouldn't have to deal with this all the time."
McGonagall nodded, her expression stern. "You're absolutely right. No student should feel harassed by their peers, especially over something as personal as your family. I will speak to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger directly and make it clear that their behaviour is unacceptable."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, relieved.
McGonagall's expression softened slightly. "You've handled this matter maturely, Mr. Potter. If there are any further issues, don't hesitate to let me know."
Over the next few days, Harry noticed a change in Ron and Hermione's behaviour that seemed to correlate with Gryffindor's massive point loss. While Hermione seemed to avoid him altogether, Ron would shoot him glares from across the Great Hall but didn't approach him.
"I heard McGonagall gave them an earful," Padma said one evening, smirking as she passed Harry a plate of toast.
"Good," Harry muttered, buttering a slice. "Maybe they'll finally leave me alone."
Unfortunately, the incident sparked a new wave of rumours. By the end of the week, half the school seemed to be whispering about why Harry had complained to the professors.
"They're saying Ron was bullying you because you're not in Gryffindor," Anthony said during breakfast one morning.
"And that Hermione was trying to force you to solve the mystery of the third-floor corridor," Michael added.
Harry sighed. "Brilliant. Just what I needed—more people talking about me."
Padma patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry. It'll blow over soon."
Despite the rumours, Harry felt lighter knowing he'd stood up for himself. With Ron and Hermione keeping their distance, he was finally able to focus on his own interests without interruption.
He continued practicing spells and research, finding more control with each session. The book Neville had given him on earth magic proved invaluable, helping him channel his energy more effectively when working with plants.
In the evenings, he wrote to Luna in their journal, sharing updates about his progress and making sure she was taking care of herself while her father was away.
As the end of March approached, the castle began to buzz with anticipation for the warmer months. Harry found himself looking forward to spring, eager to continue his studies and explore more of the magical world.
~
The library was unusually busy for a Wednesday afternoon, with nearly every table full of students frantically scribbling notes or paging through massive tomes. Harry and Neville had managed to claim a small table near the Herbology section, though it was tucked awkwardly between two towering shelves.
Harry leaned over a particularly dense Transfiguration book, quill in hand, while Neville was flipping through The Advanced Guide to Magical Plants. They had been studying together more often recently, and Harry found Neville to be a good friend—quiet but enthusiastic when the topic turned to Herbology.
"I still don't get why McGonagall insists on us writing essays about the theory behind Switching Spells," Harry muttered, glancing at his parchment, which only had a few lines scribbled on it. "I mean, wouldn't it make more sense to just practice the spell?"
Neville looked up, his brow furrowed. "Well, I think she wants us to understand how it works before we try it. You don't want to accidentally switch your nose with someone else's or something."
Harry grinned. "Fair point. Though I think I'd survive with a different nose."
Neville chuckled softly, but the sound was drowned out by the low hum of students around them. Harry was about to go back to his essay when a shadow fell over their table. He looked up to see two Slytherins standing there—Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.
Both boys had an air of calm detachment, their expressions carefully neutral. Blaise's dark eyes scanned the table, while Theodore pushed a hand through his neatly combed hair, looking slightly uneasy.
"Potter. Longbottom," Blaise began, his voice smooth but cautious. "Mind if we share this table? The library's a bit crowded today."
Neville visibly tensed, his fingers tightening around the edge of his book. Harry, however, didn't hesitate.
"Sure," he said easily, gesturing to the empty seats. "Plenty of room."
Neville shot him a nervous glance, but Harry ignored it, focusing on Blaise and Theodore as they slid into the chairs opposite them.
"Thanks," Theodore said quietly, not quite meeting their eyes.
The silence stretched awkwardly for a moment, broken only by the occasional scratch of quills and the rustle of pages. Harry decided to break it.
"So, what are you guys working on?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Potions," Blaise replied, pulling out a neatly organized set of notes. "Snapes got us brewing Strengthening Solution next week, and I'd rather not end up with a cauldron full of acid."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't too hard. Just make sure you stir counterclockwise at the end, not clockwise. Otherwise, you'll get a nasty reaction."
Blaise looked at him with mild surprise. "You've already brewed it?"
"Yeah," Harry said, shrugging. "We did it yesterday in class."
Theodore finally looked up, his pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. "I heard you're top of the year in Charms and Defence," he said, his tone half-curious, half-sceptical.
Harry shrugged again. "I do all right."
Neville snorted, finally relaxing a little. "He's being modest. He's the only one who can get Aguamenti to work consistently in our year. And he doesn't even need the right wand movements half the time."
Blaise and Theodore exchanged a look, their expressions unreadable.
"That true?" Blaise asked, his tone light but probing.
Harry hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I guess. Still working on control, though."
Blaise leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Impressive."
"Thanks," Harry said, feeling slightly awkward under their scrutiny.
The conversation shifted after that, with Blaise and Theodore mostly keeping to themselves. Neville, however, seemed to grow more confident as the study session went on, especially when the topic turned to Herbology.
"You're both writing the essay for Herbology, right?" Neville asked, his voice growing more animated.
"Unfortunately," Blaise said dryly, earning a smirk from Theodore.
Neville didn't seem to notice the sarcasm. "If you're struggling, I could help. Professor Sprout's been talking about Mandrakes lately, and they're really fascinating. Did you know their roots can actually mimic the sound of human speech when they're young?"
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "I think I'd rather not hear a plant screaming, thanks."
"It's not screaming," Neville said earnestly. "It's more like… a high-pitched wail. And they're not dangerous if you handle them properly."
Harry grinned as he watched Neville launch into an enthusiastic explanation about Mandrakes and their uses in potion-making. Blaise and Theodore listened politely, though they occasionally exchanged amused glances.
By the time the library started to empty, the atmosphere at their table had become noticeably more relaxed.
"You're full of surprises, Potter," Blaise said as they packed up their things.
Harry tilted his head. "How so?"
"You're not what I expected," Blaise admitted, his tone casual but sincere. "Most people wouldn't even look twice at us, let alone share a table."
Harry shrugged. "I don't care about houses. People are people."
Blaise gave him a long, appraising look before nodding. "Fair enough."
As they stood to leave, Neville hesitated before turning to Harry. "Do you want to come with me to pick up that plant Hagrid got for Professor Sprout? It's supposed to be something really rare."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Absolutely. Let me grab my cloak."
As they left the library, Harry noticed Blaise and Theodore lingering near the door, watching them go. He couldn't tell if they were amused, curious, or something else entirely.
Well, Harry thought, this could get interesting.
The walk to Hagrid's hut was brisk and refreshing, with the cold April air nipping at Harry's cheeks. He and Neville trudged through the light coating of frost on the grass, their breath visible in puffs. Neville carried a bag slung over his shoulder, which Harry assumed was for the mysterious plant Hagrid had acquired for Professor Sprout.
"I heard it's some kind of rare African vine," Neville said excitedly, his face flushed from the cold and anticipation. "Apparently, its sap can be used in potions to strengthen magical resistance. But it's tricky to handle, Professor Sprout said it can lash out if you're not careful."
Harry smiled, shaking his head fondly at Neville's enthusiasm. "I hope it doesn't decide to lash out at us. Last thing I need is to explain why I've got whip marks all over me."
Neville chuckled nervously, clearly hoping the same.
When they reached Hagrid's hut, smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and Fang, Hagrid's dog, barked from somewhere inside. Neville raised a hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door.
"Comin'!" Hagrid's deep voice boomed from within. A moment later, the door creaked open, and Hagrid's large, bearded face broke into a grin. "Harry! Neville! Come in, come in!"
They stepped inside, the warmth of the hut immediately thawing their chilled fingers. The space smelled of wood smoke and something savoury simmering in a pot over the fire.
"Got yer plant right 'ere," Hagrid said, gesturing to a large clay pot on the table. "Careful, though. She's a feisty one."
Harry and Neville approached the pot, peering at the strange plant inside. Its long, thin vines twisted and twitched as if alive, and the leaves were a deep, glossy green.
"Wow," Neville breathed, his eyes wide. "It's a Whipvine. These are so rare!"
Hagrid beamed. "Figured Sprout'd appreciate it. Thought she might find a use for it in her classes."
As Neville began carefully packing the plant into his bag, Harry's eyes wandered around the hut. Hagrid seemed like a bit of a hoarder, and his hut was cluttered with various odds and ends. But one item in particular caught Harry's attention: a large, shiny egg sitting partially hidden under a rag in the corner.
"Hagrid," Harry said, his curiosity piqued, "what's that?" He pointed to the egg.
Hagrid froze, his eyes darting to the egg and then back to Harry. "Oh, uh… tha'? Jus' a decorative piece. Nothin' special."
Harry raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "It looks a bit too real to be decorative."
Before Hagrid could respond, there was a sudden knock at the door, followed by it swinging open to reveal Ron and Hermione.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, her face lighting up when she saw him. Ron, standing behind her, looked less enthusiastic but still determined.
Harry immediately stiffened, his expression darkening. "What are you two doing here?"
Hermione looked taken aback, but Ron pushed past her, crossing his arms. "We wanted to talk to Hagrid, same as you."
Neville glanced nervously between Harry and the newcomers, clearly uncomfortable with the tension.
"Shouldn't you be in the library?" Harry said coolly, folding his arms. "Or, you know, leaving me alone like McGonagall told you to."
Ron scowled. "We're just trying to figure out what's going on with that trapdoor on the third floor. You could at least help."
"I don't care about the trapdoor," Harry said flatly. "Whatever Dumbledore's hiding isn't my problem."
Hermione frowned, stepping forward. "But Harry, if it's something dangerous—"
"Then it's Dumbledore's responsibility to deal with it," Harry interrupted. "Not mine."
The tension in the room was thick, and even Hagrid looked uncomfortable.
"Er, maybe we should all jus' calm down," Hagrid said, raising his hands. "No need ter be arguin'."
"Calm down?" Ron snapped, rounding on Hagrid. "Do you know what's behind that door, Hagrid? You've got to know something!"
"I don' know what yer talkin' about," Hagrid said, a little too quickly.
Harry's sharp green eyes flicked back to the egg in the corner, and he changed the topic for him. "So Hagrid…that egg over there. What is it?"
Ron and Hermione followed his gaze, and their eyes widened.
"Is that… a dragon egg?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"It's nothin'," Hagrid said gruffly, trying to move in front of it. "Jus' somethin' I picked up."
Harry snorted. "Right. Because dragon eggs are so easy to pick up."
Ron and Hermione were now staring at the egg with open curiosity.
"I bet it's illegal," Ron said, grinning for the first time since entering the hut. "Isn't it, Hagrid? You're not supposed to have one, are you? We could call the aurors."
"Drop it, Ron," Harry said, his voice edged with annoyance.
"Why are you defending him?" Ron demanded. "Don't you want to know what he's up to?"
"No," Harry said firmly. "He shouldn't get in trouble for something like this."
Neville tugged on Harry's sleeve, clearly wanting to leave. "We should go. Professor Sprout will be waiting for this."
Harry nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You're right. Let's go."
He turned to Hagrid, ignoring Ron and Hermione entirely. "Thanks for the plant, Hagrid. Good luck with… whatever that is." He gestured vaguely toward the egg.
Hagrid gave him a grateful, if sheepish, smile. "Take care, Harry. Neville."
As they stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, Neville let out a breath he'd been holding. "That was… tense."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his jaw tight. "I'm so tired of them trying to drag me into their nonsense."
Neville nodded, adjusting his bag. "Do you think Hagrid's really hiding a dragon egg?"
Harry shrugged. "Wouldn't surprise me. Hagrid loves magical creatures, no matter how dangerous they are."
They walked in companionable silence for a while, the noise of the castle growing louder as they approached.
"Thanks for letting me tag along," Harry said suddenly.
Neville looked surprised. "Why wouldn't I? You're one of the few people who actually listens when I talk about plants."
Harry grinned. "Well, you know your stuff. That Whipvine looked ready to bite someone, and you handled it like it was nothing."
Neville flushed with pride but didn't respond.
They parted ways with a sense of mutual respect, and as Harry headed back toward the castle, he found himself wondering just how much trouble Hagrid's dragon egg was going to cause.
~
The first time Harry snuck out to check on Hagrid's dragon egg, it had been pure curiosity. Something about the way Hagrid had hastily tried to hide it—and Ron's loud exclamations—had nagged at him. If it really was a dragon egg, Harry couldn't resist the urge to see it hatch. He loved magical creatures, even the ones that were dangerous. Maybe especially the ones that were dangerous.
Wrapped in his invisibility cloak, he crept through the dark, silent corridors of the castle. He had mapped out the best route to Hagrid's hut during his first few excursions, dodging Filch, Mrs. Norris (though she seemed to have a soft spot for him), and the occasional patrolling prefect.
By the time he reached Hagrid's hut, his heart was racing—not from fear, but from excitement. Hagrid's window glowed softly with the light of a dying fire. Fang was snoring somewhere inside, a low rumbling sound that carried into the chilly night air.
Harry carefully opened the door, thankful for Hagrid's habit of never locking it. The hut was warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The dragon egg sat on the table, nestled in the embers of a large fire pit to keep it warm. Harry pulled off his cloak, draping it over a chair as he approached the egg. It gleamed in the firelight, a deep, mottled black with faint streaks of silver running through it.
"Wow," Harry whispered, his fingers lightly brushing the egg's surface. It was warm, almost alive under his touch, his magic reaching out. He couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. "You're amazing."
Over the next couple of weeks, Harry found himself visiting the egg more frequently. At first, he told himself it was just to make sure Hagrid wasn't doing anything reckless. But as time passed, he found himself growing attached to the egg. He started bringing small gifts—a few shiny rocks he'd found by the lake (he thought dragons might like shiny things) and even an old bit of cloth to line the nest. He kept these visits secret, not even telling Neville or Luna.
One night, about two weeks later, Harry's curiosity and excitement peaked. He felt like something was going to happen tonight. He had seen Hagrid heading toward the forest with Fang earlier in the evening, muttering something about checking on the unicorns. Knowing the hut would be empty, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and hurried down.
As he entered the hut, Harry immediately noticed something was different. The egg wasn't just warm—it was moving. Small, sharp tapping sounds echoed from inside, and the egg wobbled slightly in its nest of embers.
"It's hatching," Harry breathed, his eyes widening. He pulled off his cloak and approached the egg, his hands trembling slightly with excitement. "Oh, Merlin, it's really hatching."
The egg rocked more violently, and a loud crack echoed through the hut. A piece of the shell fell away, revealing a small, scaly snout. The dragon inside let out a faint squeak, pushing against the remaining shell with surprising strength.
Harry leaned closer, his heart pounding. "Come on, little one. You can do it."
The hatchling's snout pushed through again, followed by a clawed foot. Finally, with a final burst of effort, the egg split in two, and the baby dragon tumbled out onto the nest. It was small, about the size of a cat, with dark, shiny scales and a faint sheen of iridescence. Its wings were tiny and crumpled, but its eyes—large and golden—gleamed with intelligence.
"Hello there," Harry said softly, crouching down to its level. "Aren't you the most incredible thing I've ever seen?"
The dragon blinked at him, tilting its head curiously. Then, to Harry's utter amazement, it let out a soft chirp and waddled closer. It nudged his hand with its snout, letting out a faint puff of smoke.
Harry grinned, his heart melting. "You think I'm your mum, don't you?"
The dragon chirped again, this time more insistently. Without thinking, Harry switched to Parseltongue. "Hello, little one. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."
The dragon immediately perked up, its eyes wide and curious. It hissed softly in response, a sound that Harry instinctively understood as happiness.
"You can understand me," Harry said, his grin widening. "That's amazing. What should I call you?" He thought for a moment, then said, "How about Nox? It suits you."
The dragon—Nox—let out a pleased chirp and nuzzled against Harry's hand. Harry gently stroked its head, marvelling at the texture of its scales. They were smooth but firm, like polished stone.
For the next hour, Harry stayed with Nox, feeding it small bits of meat he found in Hagrid's pantry and talking to it in Parseltongue. He learned quickly that Nox had a feisty personality, snapping playfully at his fingers and trying to climb onto his shoulder. Despite its small size, it had a surprising amount of strength and a voracious appetite.
As much as Harry loved the idea of keeping Nox with Hagrid, he knew it wasn't safe. Hagrid wasn't exactly subtle, and it wouldn't be long before someone—likely Ron or Hermione—noticed the dragon. He couldn't risk Nox being discovered and taken away, and even knowing Hagrid was Dumbledores man, he didn't want him to get arrested.
"I'll keep you safe," Harry promised, stroking Nox's head as the dragon let out a contented purr. "But we can't stay here. It's too dangerous."
He thought for a moment, trying to come up with a plan. The unused part of the castle on the fourth floor came to mind. It was perfect—quiet, secluded, and completely abandoned.
"Alright, Nox," Harry said, wrapping the dragonlet in the old bit of cloth he'd brought. "We're going on an adventure."
He carefully tucked Nox into his bag, making sure the dragon was comfortable and hidden. Then he threw on his invisibility cloak and slipped out of the hut.
The journey back to the castle was nerve-wracking, but Harry's cloak kept him hidden from prying eyes. Once inside, he made his way to the fourth floor, avoiding the areas where Filch or the prefects might be patrolling.
When he finally reached the abandoned corridor, he let out a sigh of relief. The space was just as quiet and empty as he remembered. Dust covered the floor, and the faint scent of old wood lingered in the air.
"Alright, Nox," Harry said, setting his bag down and gently lifting the dragonlet out. "This is your new home for now."
Nox chirped happily, flapping its tiny wings as Harry set up a makeshift nest using some old blankets he'd found. The dragon immediately started exploring, sniffing at the corners of the room and letting out soft hisses of approval.
Harry watched with a smile, feeling a strange sense of pride. "You're going to love it here. No one will bother us."
Over the next hour, Harry worked to make the space more comfortable for Nox. He found an old fireplace in one corner of the room and managed to get a small fire going, which Nox immediately curled up beside. Harry also placed a few shiny objects around the nest, hoping to keep the dragon entertained.
As he sat down next to Nox, the hatchling climbed onto his lap, letting out a satisfied sigh. Harry chuckled, stroking its head.
"Looks like we're in this together, huh?" he said softly. Nox responded with a happy chirp, nuzzling against his hand.
~
The days following Nox's arrival were a whirlwind of excitement, stress, and a fair share of sneaking around. As much as Harry adored the little dragon—who had quickly become his constant companion in his secret hideout—it was exhausting trying to manage everything alone. Between juggling his classes, keeping up with his housemates, and slipping away unnoticed to care for Nox, Harry felt like he was always one step away from disaster.
Nox was oblivious to the stress she caused. The hatchling thrived in their secluded space, growing stronger by the day and developing an ever-increasing appetite. Harry spent his evenings sneaking food from the kitchens or Hagrid's pantry, but he knew it wasn't a sustainable solution. The guilt of stealing and the constant worry of getting caught were starting to weigh heavily on him.
After a particularly frantic evening of smuggling raw chicken legs and blood under his cloak, Harry decided he needed advice. There was only one person he trusted enough to tell.
Harry scribbled hastily into the two-way journal as soon as he was back in his dormitory.
I might have done something reckless. Really reckless.
Oh, Harry, those are the most interesting kinds of things. What happened? Did you turn a teacher's hair blue again? Hex Ron's shoes to stick to the ceiling?
No, it's worse. I… I kind of stole a dragon. A baby dragon. Her name is Nox.
There was a long pause before Luna's reply came, and Harry could almost imagine her wide, dreamy eyes lighting up with amusement.
A dragon? That's not reckless, Harry. That's brilliant! How did you end up with a dragon?
Hagrid had an egg, and I… sort of took it after it hatched. He would've been in trouble if anyone found out, and Nox is… well, she's amazing. At least I'm pretty sure she a she. But I can't keep doing this, Luna. She eats so much, and I'm terrified someone will find her.
Hmm. It does sound like a lot. But it's very sweet of you to protect her. You're right, though—if anyone found out, Hagrid would probably be arrested without even an investigation. People don't trust half-giants, you know. It's awful.
Harry frowned at that. The thought made him feel even guiltier.
What do I do, Luna? I can't let her go, but I don't think I can keep this up much longer.
You need help. First, you should write to your goblin accountant—Grimbok, wasn't it? Ask if your Peverell inheritance could be used to buy a small property or a cave somewhere secluded. That way, Nox would have space to grow, and no one could trace it.
A cave? That's actually a brilliant idea. Nox would love that.
Of course, she would. Dragons love wide spaces and shiny things. Oh! You should also call for any house elves still bound to your family. A good house elf could help care for Nox and make sure you don't get caught.
A house elf? I didn't even think of that. Do you think I'd have one?
Probably. Most old wizarding families do, and the Potters and Peverells are as old as they come.
Harry smiled. "Of course," he murmured aloud, then quickly wrote back.
Thank you, Luna. I'll write to Grimbok tonight and see if there's a way to call for any house elves. You're amazing.
I know. So are you. I can't wait to meet her.
That night, Harry stayed up late writing a detailed letter to Grimbok. He explained his need for a secluded property or cave to house a magical creature, specifying that it had to be entirely private and untraceable by the Ministry or Dumbledore. He also asked about any house elves tied to his family and how he could summon them.
The next morning, the response arrived quickly. Harry opened the letter eagerly.
Lord Peverell,
I have already located several properties that would suit your needs. I will send a detailed list shortly for your review. Additionally, there are three house elves bound to your family, awaiting your call. To summon them, simply say, "Potter family elves, come to me." They will arrive immediately.
Yours in service,
Grimbok
Harry read the letter twice, his mind racing with plans.
He was on his way to the kitchens for another late-night raid when he heard familiar voices around the corner.
"Flamel, Hermione. Nicolas Flamel," Ron was saying in a hushed but insistent tone. "That's who Hagrid was talking about. I just know it."
Hermione's voice followed, sharp and impatient. "Yes, but who is he? I know I've heard that name before!"
Harry stopped, his curiosity piqued despite himself. He stayed perfectly still, listening as Ron continued.
"I dunno. But I'll bet it's something big. I mean, come on, a Cerberus? That's not guarding a bag of Galleons."
Hermione huffed. "If you spent even a fraction of your time studying instead of guessing, we might've figured it out by now."
Harry rolled his eyes under the cloak. He didn't care much about whatever was behind the trapdoor, but he couldn't deny his curiosity about Nicolas Flamel. The name rang a bell—something about alchemy and immortality. Then it hit him.
The Philosopher's Stone. Flamel was the creator of the Philosopher's Stone, an artifact said to grant immortality and riches.
He shook his head and walked away silently. Whatever they were up to, he didn't want any part of it.
Back on the fourth floor, Harry decided it was time to summon the Potter family elves. He closed the curtains around his bed for privacy, then said softly, "Potter family elves, come to me."
There was a faint pop, and three small figures appeared before him. They were house elves, each dressed in an old, worn tunic. The eldest stepped forward, her eyes wide and filled with awe.
"Little Master Harry Potter," she said excitedly, bowing deeply. "We is your elves, sir. How can we serve you?"
Harry felt a pang of discomfort at the term "master" but pushed it aside. "I need your help," he said, explaining the situation with Nox and his plans for a new home for the dragon.
The elves listened attentively, nodding along. When he finished, the eldest elf—who introduced herself as Tilly—clapped her hands together. "We is helping, Master Harry. We will care for the little dragon and prepare the new home when it is ready."
Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Tilly. And please, just call me Harry."
The elf hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish, Master."
Harry sighed in resignation and instead explained how to look after Nox.
With the elves' help and Luna's advice, Harry felt the weight on his shoulders begin to lighten.
~
The library had become something of a second home to Harry, Neville, Blaise, and Theo. Over the past month, their twice-weekly study sessions had become a comforting routine. What started as hesitant cooperation had evolved into a dynamic, if occasionally chaotic, partnership. Blaise and Theo's dry humour often clashed with Neville's earnestness and Harry's sarcastic wit, but it all seemed to work, somehow.
On this particular evening in mid-May, the four were tucked away in their usual corner of the library. The table was covered in parchment, open textbooks, and half-eaten sweets—courtesy of Theo, who always smuggled in a stash of chocolate frogs or liquorice wands.
"Alright," Theo said, leaning back in his chair and stretching. "Here's a question for you lot. Name all the components of the Wiggenweld Potion, in order of addition."
Neville groaned, dropping his quill. "You're evil."
"Not wrong, though," Blaise added, smirking. "You need to know this one, Longbottom. It's practically guaranteed to be on the exam."
Harry, who had been flipping through his Transfiguration notes, grinned. "Let's see… salamander blood four separate times, then lionfish spines. After that, it's flobberworm mucus, and finally boom berry—"
Theo raised a hand to cut him off. "Wrong. You forgot the honeywater after the flobberworm mucus."
Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is why I hate Potions."
"Not bad, though," Blaise said, giving him a mock look of approval. "Better than Theo's attempt at Herbology last week. What was it you called bubotuber pus again?"
Theo scowled. "An 'anti-acne miracle potion.' Which, by the way, is technically correct."
Neville snorted. "If you want your skin to feel like it's on fire, sure."
The four laughed, their conversation easing some of the tension that had been building as exams loomed closer.
After a brief break, Harry pulled a small piece of parchment from his bag. While the others debated the merits of different Defence Against the Dark Arts revision strategies, he quietly wrote a letter to Grimbok.
Grimbok,
Please finalise the purchase of the seaside cottage in Anglesey we discussed. The agreed-upon price of 12,000 Galleons is acceptable. Ensure that the wards are sufficient to contain a dragon within the boundaries of the property and that no one can Apparate, Portkey or enter onto the land without my explicit permission. Please also arrange for the necessary transfer of ownership and ensure anonymity where possible.
Best regards,
HJP
Harry winced as he folded the letter. Spending that much money made his stomach turn, but it was worth it to give Nox a proper home. He'd already started training Tilly, the eldest of the three Potter elves, to care for Nox once they moved him. He could only hope it would make things easier.
He sealed the letter and made a mental note to give it to Hedwig later that night.
"Alright, Harry," Neville said, dragging him back into the conversation. "If you're so rubbish at Potions, let's try something else. What are the wand movements for switching spells?"
Harry grinned, picking up his wand to demonstrate. "Like this—swish, twist, then a sharp flick. Easy."
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Show-off."
"Just because he can actually cast the spell," Theo teased, nudging Blaise.
"Speaking of casting spells," Neville said, looking at Harry. "How are you feeling about Charms?"
Harry shrugged. "I've been practicing. I think I've got the Pineapple Charm down, at least."
"Good," Blaise said. "It would be awful if you could never make a pineapple dance."
They all laughed, and for a while, the tension of exams seemed to fade into the background.
As their session wound down, the peace of the library was shattered by the arrival of two very unwelcome figures. The pair marched over to their table, ignoring the glares from Madam Pince and several other students.
"There you are!" Ron said, glaring at Harry. "We've been looking for you everywhere. Come on—we've got a lead on Flamel, and you're coming with us."
Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "For the last time, Ron, I don't care about Flamel or whatever you're up to. Leave me alone."
Ron's face turned red. "You're being ridiculous. Don't you want to know what's behind that trapdoor?"
"Not particularly," Harry said, his tone dry. "And even if I did, I wouldn't want to find out with you."
Ron's eyes flicked to Blaise and Theo, narrowing dangerously. "Oh, I see. You're too busy cosying up to them. Figures. You'd rather hang out with a couple of slimy Slytherins than your own housemates."
"Watch it, Weasley," Blaise said coldly, his hand resting on his wand.
Theo leaned back in his chair, looking utterly unimpressed. "I'd say it's jealousy, Blaise. Clearly, Harry just prefers better company."
Ron's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "Shut it, snake."
Neville, who had been quiet up until now, stood abruptly, his usually kind face set in a rare expression of anger. "That's enough, Ron. You've been warned before about bothering Harry. He's not interested in whatever you're doing, and you don't have the right to harass him—or insult people you don't even know. He's not even in Gryffindor."
Ron looked taken aback, as if he couldn't believe Neville was standing up to him. "I'm just trying to—"
"No," Neville interrupted firmly. "You're just being a bully. Leave us alone."
Hermione tugged on Ron's sleeve, her expression uncertain. "Maybe we should go, Ron…"
Ron hesitated, clearly furious, but after a moment, he allowed Hermione to pull him away. The tension at the table lingered even after they were gone.
"Well, that was dramatic," Theo said, breaking the silence. "Are Gryffindors always that insufferable, or is it just him?"
Harry chuckled, though he still felt a bit tense. "A little of both. Except for Nev."
Neville sank back into his chair, looking embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to cause a scene."
"You didn't," Blaise said, his tone lighter than usual. "If anything, you saved us from having to do it ourselves. And you're surprisingly intimidating when you want to be."
Neville blinked, then smiled faintly. "Thanks, I think."
They all exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. The rest of their study session passed without incident, and by the time they packed up, Harry felt lighter than he had in weeks.
Later that night, Harry returned to his dormitory to find a letter from Grimbok waiting on his bed. He opened it eagerly, scanning the contents.
Lord Peverell,
The seaside property has been purchased and warded to your specifications. The cave has been reinforced to ensure it is safe for your dragon, and all necessary precautions have been taken to prevent discovery. Your house elves have been informed and are preparing the property for Nox's arrival.
Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Finally, things were falling into place. Soon, Nox would have a safe home, and Harry would be free of the constant anxiety.
~
It was a quiet Sunday morning in late May, and Harry sat at the Ravenclaw table, idly toying with his breakfast. Around him, his housemates were caught up in light chatter about the upcoming exams and the end-of-year feast, but Harry's mind was elsewhere. For weeks, he and his fellow Ravenclaws had been speculating about Professor Quirrell's peculiar behaviour.
"I'm just saying," Maya whispered, leaning in closer to Harry. "Doesn't it strike anyone as odd that he suddenly forgot how to string a sentence together over the summer?"
"It's more than that," Terry added. "Sometimes, he stutters, and sometimes he doesn't. And his hands shake when he's near certain people. Like Snape."
Anthony frowned, "you're all overthinking it. He's just nervous. It's Snape—who wouldn't be?"
Harry, however, wasn't convinced. He'd been suspicious of Quirrell since the troll incident. He sipped his pumpkin juice, watching the nervous professor at the staff table.
"He lied," Harry said softly, drawing the attention of his friends.
"Lied?" Maya asked, frowning.
"About seeing the troll in the dungeon," Harry replied. "Think about it. He ran into the Great Hall to warn us, but the troll was already on the first floor. Trolls don't move that fast. There's no way it could've climbed all the way up from the dungeon in that short time."
"That's... you mentioned that the night it happened," Terry said, his brow furrowing.
"Not to mention how he looks every time someone mentions the third floor," Harry added, glancing meaningfully toward the staff table. Quirrell was pale and jittery, his hands trembling slightly as he buttered his toast.
"Weird," Anthony muttered.
As much as Harry wanted to unravel the mystery of Quirrell, his mind was preoccupied with something far more pressing. Nox, his dragonlet, had grown rapidly. Her wingspan was nearly five feet, and while she was still small compared to a full-grown dragon, she was far too large to keep hidden in the castle much longer. Even with the runic protections, silencing spells, and avoidance wards Harry had layered over the unused corridor, it was only a matter of time before someone stumbled upon her.
It was time to move her.
After breakfast, Harry made his way back to the hidden corridor where Nox's makeshift enclosure lay. As always, she greeted him with an excited trill, her coppery scales gleaming in the morning light that filtered through a small, enchanted window he'd created for her.
"Mother!" Nox hissed in Parseltongue, her tail whipping back and forth as she nuzzled Harry's chest.
Harry chuckled, scratching behind her frilled ears, long having given up trying to get her to call him Harry. "Good morning, little one. Are you ready for a new home?"
"New home?" Nox tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"Somewhere bigger, safer," Harry explained. "You'll have more room to fly, and you can build a proper nest."
Nox chirped, her excitement palpable.
"Tilly?" Harry called, and the elder Potter house elf appeared with a soft pop.
"Yes, Master Harry?"
"Is everything ready at the property?" Harry asked.
Tilly nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes, Master Harry. The wards are strong, the cottage is ready, and the cave is warm, just as you asked. Tilly also stocked the kitchen for Master Harry."
"Thank you, Tilly," Harry said with a smile. "Can you take Nox and me there now?"
"Nox, Tilly is going to take us to the new nest it might feel bad for a second. Just stay calm."
Tilly beamed, and with another pop, they were gone.
They reappeared at the edge of the cove, the salty sea air hitting Harry's face as he looked around. The view was breathtaking. The cove was nestled between steep cliffs, with a small strip of sandy beach leading to the shimmering waves. The tide was out, revealing jagged rocks and tide pools that glittered in the sun.
To his left stood a modest two-bedroom cottage, its stone walls blending seamlessly into the rugged landscape. Smoke curled gently from the chimney, and Harry could see the neat garden Tilly had started by the front door.
But it was the cave that drew his attention. It was enormous, carved into the cliffside with a high ceiling and plenty of room for Nox to stretch her wings. The wards shimmered faintly in the air, visible only to him, ensuring the dragons safety.
Nox sniffed the air, her frills twitching as she took in her new surroundings. "Big!" she hissed, her tail swishing excitedly.
Harry grinned. "It's all yours, little one."
He followed her into the cave, using his magic to light the space with warm, golden orbs of light. He cast a series of spells to make the ground softer and warmer, mimicking the heat of a dragon's natural habitat.
"You'll need a nest," Harry said, summoning the pile of soft materials—straw, blankets, and fabric he'd bought for her. Nox immediately began arranging them, chirping happily as she worked.
Harry was just finishing another round of warming charms when Nox suddenly flared her wings. She let out an excited trill, her muscles tensing as she prepared to take off.
"Wait, are you—?" Harry didn't get to finish the question. With a powerful leap, Nox launched herself into the air, her wings beating furiously as she wobbled into her first flight.
Harry watched in awe as she soared toward the mouth of the cave, her movements clumsy but determined. She let out a triumphant roar as she cleared the cave and flew out over the cove.
Laughing, Harry ran after her, his heart swelling with pride and joy. "Go, Nox! You've got this!"
He followed her down to the beach, watching as she circled over the waves before coming in for a shaky landing on the sand.
"I flew!" Nox hissed, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Harry knelt down, scratching her chin affectionately. "You did. You're amazing."
Nox nuzzled him, her warmth seeping into his skin as she curled her tail around his leg.
As the day wore on, Harry continued making the cave comfortable for Nox. He reinforced the wards, added a fresh water source, and even conjured a small fire pit for her to curl up beside.
It was an hour until dinner, Nox was fast asleep in her nest, her coppery scales glowing in the firelight.
Harry sat just outside the cave, watching the waves crash against the shore.
Smiling, he leaned back against the cave wall, letting the sound of the sea lull him into a rare moment of calm.
~
The dining hall buzzed with activity as students finished their meals. Plates clattered, laughter echoed, and the low hum of conversation filled the air. Harry sat with his Ravenclaw housemates, his plate half-empty as he poured over a study guide for Transfiguration. Exams were in just a few weeks, and he was determined to ace them.
The peaceful dinner came to a screeching halt when Ron and Hermione suddenly appeared at Harry's side. Before he could react, they grabbed his arms and began tugging him away from his seat.
"Harry, we need to talk. Now!" Ron demanded, his face red with urgency.
"Let go," Harry said firmly, trying to pull his arms free, but Ron's grip tightened.
"It's about the Philosopher's Stone!" Hermione whispered urgently, her eyes wide with panic.
Terry and Michael who immediately stood from their seats, marching over to intervene.
"What do you think you're doing?" Terry asked sharply, glaring at the Gryffindors.
"Let him go," Michael added, prying Ron's hand off Harry's arm.
Ron huffed, but he relented, rubbing his wrist as though he was the victim. "You don't understand!" he said, his voice rising. "Snape's going to steal the Stone tonight! Harry has to help us stop him!"
Hermione nodded fervently, looking between Ron and Harry as though they were the only two who mattered. "We've figured it out. He's been after it all year! If we don't act now, it'll be gone by morning!"
Harry stared at them, incredulous. "If Dumbledore is stupid enough to hide the Philosopher's Stone behind traps a first-year can get through, then he deserves to lose it," he said coldly. "It's not my job to clean up his messes."
Ron's face turned as red as his hair. "How can you say that?! It's—"
But Harry didn't give him a chance to finish. He turned on his heel and walked back toward his housemates, who stood protectively by his side.
"You heard him," Terry said with a smirk. "Run along now."
Ron sputtered angrily, but Hermione grabbed his arm, urging him to let it go. "Fine," Ron spat, his voice dripping with frustration. "But don't come crying to us when everything goes wrong."
Harry didn't bother replying, heading straight to the Ravenclaw common room with the rest of the Ravenclaws and Neville who joined him.
Later that evening, Harry, Neville, Terry, and Michael sat in the cosy common room, their books spread out on the low table before them. The fire crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows on the walls as they quizzed each other on various subjects.
"What's the difference between a conjuration and a transfiguration?" Michael asked, looking up from his notes.
"Conjurations create something from magical energy," Neville answered quickly, his face lighting up with pride. "Transfigurations just change the form of something that already exists."
"Exactly," Michael said with a grin.
Harry nodded, scribbling a note in the margins of his book. "Alright, then. What's the incantation for the severing charm?"
Terry smirked. "That's too easy. Diffindo."
They laughed, the tension from earlier fading as they delved deeper into their studies. But the peace was shattered when the door to the common room burst open with a deafening bang.
Everyone froze as Professor Quirrell stormed inside, his normally timid demeanour replaced by something feral and furious. His eyes locked onto Harry with a wild intensity, and Harry felt a sharp, searing pain in his scar, causing him to clutch his forehead with a grimace.
"Potter!" Quirrell snarled, striding toward him.
Harry backed away instinctively, his housemates quickly forming a protective wall around him.
"What's going on?" A seventh year demanded, his wand already in his hand.
But Quirrell ignored him, his trembling hands reaching for Harry. "You're coming with me," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "I won't fail my master again."
Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled back, knocking over a chair in his haste.
Before Quirrell could grab him, an older Ravenclaw student stepped forward, her wand raised. "Stay away from him!" she shouted, firing a knockback jinx.
The spell hit Quirrell squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling backward. As he fell, his turban unravelled, revealing a ghastly sight that made the entire room erupt into screams.
On the back of Quirrell's head was a face—pale, snake-like, and utterly horrifying.
"Voldemort," Harry whispered, his blood running cold.
The Dark Lord's red eyes locked onto Harry, and he sneered. "Harry Potter," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "So young. So brave. So foolish."
Students scrambled to get away, some shouting for help while others froze in terror.
"Master!" Quirrell gasped, struggling to his feet.
"Seize him!" Voldemort commanded. "Bring him to me!"
Quirrell lunged for Harry again, but as soon as his hands made contact, his skin began to blister and smoke. He screamed in agony, pulling back as his fingers crumbled to ash.
Harry stared in horror at his own hands, unsure of what was happening.
"Fool!" Voldemort snarled. "Kill him! Now!"
Quirrell raised his wand, his face twisted with pain and desperation. "Avada Ked..!" he shouted.
But Harry moved on instinct, lunging forward and grabbing Quirrell's face with both hands. The effect was immediate. Quirrell's skin blackened and cracked, his entire body beginning to disintegrate under Harry's touch.
"No!" Voldemort screamed, his voice echoing through the room as Quirrell collapsed into a pile of ash.
The dark spirit of Voldemort rose from the remains, a swirling mass of black smoke and rage. Harry barely registered the screams of his classmates as the spectre shot toward him, passing through his body with an icy chill before disappearing into the night.
The last thing Harry heard before he blacked out was the sound of terrified screaming and the crackling of the fire.
~
When Harry awoke, he was in the hospital wing, his head pounding and his body aching. The room was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of Madam Pomfrey bustling about nearby.
He tried to sit up, but the effort made his vision swim.
"Don't you dare move, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey scolded, rushing to his side. "You've had quite the ordeal."
"What... what happened?" Harry croaked.
The mediwitch hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You'll have to wait for the headmaster to explain," she said briskly.
But Harry didn't need an explanation. He remembered everything—the face on the back of Quirrell's head, the way his touch had destroyed him, and the icy presence of Voldemort passing through him.
He closed his eyes, his mind racing with questions.
His head rested heavily against the pillow, but his mind refused to settle. The events of the night replayed endlessly in his thoughts—the crackling of Quirrell's skin as it turned to ash, the terror in the other students' screams, and the cold, dark presence of Voldemort passing through him.
Then realisation hit him like a Bludger to the chest: He had killed someone.
His breaths came faster as guilt and panic swirled inside him. Quirrell had been working with Voldemort, yes, but he was still a human being. Harry remembered the way Quirrell's face contorted in agony when his hands made contact, the way his body crumbled like fragile parchment.
Hot tears spilled from his eyes, and he yanked the blanket over his head, curling into a ball beneath it. He stifled his sobs with the pillow, not wanting Madam Pomfrey—or anyone else—to see him like this.
He was just eleven years old. Eleven. He hadn't wanted any of this. All he wanted was to study, to learn magic, to be safe in the castle that had become his refuge. Instead, he'd been dragged into a world of schemes and darkness he barely understood.
I'm a killer, he thought miserably, his tears soaking into the pillow. What kind of person does that make me?
Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep, his dreams filled with ash and smoke, Voldemort's red eyes burning into his soul.
When Harry woke, sunlight streamed through the curtains, and the faint sounds of activity could be heard from the hallway outside the hospital wing. He blinked blearily, his body stiff from how tightly he had curled up the night before.
He sat up slowly, wiping at his face and glancing around. It was then that he noticed a familiar figure sitting in a chair by his bedside.
Albus Dumbledore.
Harry's stomach twisted. A surge of anger welled up in him, sharp and hot.
Why is he here now? Harry thought bitterly, his fists clenching beneath the blanket.
But he bit his tongue, forcing himself to remain calm. He wouldn't give Dumbledore the satisfaction of knowing how much he despised him.
"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore said, his tone carefully measured, as though he were speaking to a fragile child.
Harry didn't respond, his gaze fixed firmly on his lap.
Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I imagine you have many questions about what transpired last night."
Harry nodded faintly, still not looking up. "What happened?" he asked, his voice flat.
The headmaster stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Professor Quirrell, as you likely deduced, was under the control of Lord Voldemort. He sought to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, which was hidden here at Hogwarts for safekeeping. It seems that when Professor Quirrell could not retrieve it, Voldemort decided to finish what he started all those years ago."
Harry's hands tightened into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Safekeeping? Behind traps that first-years could solve?
"You were protected," Dumbledore continued, his tone growing more patronising, "by the love your mother left behind when she sacrificed herself for you. That same magic made it impossible for Voldemort—or anyone working with him—to harm you directly."
Harry's lip curled in frustration. He didn't feel protected.
"It is most unfortunate," Dumbledore went on, "that such an incident occurred in front of so many students. The fear it will have spread is regrettable."
Harry's head snapped up at that. Was that… annoyance in Dumbledore's voice? Was he more concerned about the school's reputation than the fact that Voldemort had been here, inside the castle?
But then Dumbledore's words shifted, and Harry's stomach sank further. "It's also a shame," the old man said, "that you chose to dismiss Mister Weasley and Miss Granger's concerns at dinner."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. How did Dumbledore know about that? He hadn't been at dinner.
Suspicion flared in Harry's mind. Was he spying on me? How much does he know about my life in the castle?
He didn't reply, his jaw tightening as he stared at his lap. Dumbledore seemed to take his silence as agreement and continued his monologue, his voice laced with that same maddeningly calm tone.
"You must understand, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning forward, "that these events are part of a much larger picture. You have a great destiny ahead of you—one that requires courage, wisdom, and trust."
When Dumbledore reached out to pat Harry on the shoulder, Harry flinched violently, jerking away. His heart raced, his skin crawling at the thought of being touched.
The headmaster's hand froze in midair before he slowly withdrew it. A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, perhaps, or irritation—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
Harry's chest heaved as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He wouldn't break down in front of Dumbledore. He wouldn't let the man see how much everything was affecting him.
"I'm tired," he said abruptly, pulling the blanket back over himself and turning his back to the headmaster. It wasn't a lie. He was exhausted—physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Dumbledore hesitated, but eventually, he stood. "Rest well, Harry," he said softly. "Madam Pomfrey will ensure you're ready to leave when the time comes."
Harry didn't respond, listening as the headmaster's footsteps retreated and the door clicked shut behind him.
Once he was alone, Harry let out a shaky breath, the tension in his body slowly easing. But the anger and mistrust remained, simmering just beneath the surface.
He thought about everything Dumbledore had said—about his mother's protection, about the Stone, about Ron and Hermione. He couldn't shake the feeling that the headmaster was playing some sort of game, and he was just a piece on the board.
If he knows so much, why didn't he stop Quirrell himself? Why did he let it get this far?
The questions swirled in his mind, but there were no answers—at least, none that he trusted.
~
The soft knock on the hospital wing door pulled Harry out of his restless thoughts. He had been sitting cross-legged on his bed, pretending to read one of Madam Pomfrey's medical pamphlets to avoid thinking about anything else. His heart sank as the door creaked open, but he couldn't deny the small relief when he saw Neville's round face peek through, followed closely by Theo and Blaise.
Behind them, Anthony, Terry and Padma shuffled in, clearly reluctant but determined. They carried a bundle of sweets and a stack of books, likely meant to distract him from whatever horrors they imagined he'd endured.
"Harry!" Neville exclaimed, relief evident in his voice as he hurried to the side of Harry's bed. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Harry said quickly, though his voice was tight. He shifted back slightly, an involuntary movement to keep some distance between himself and Neville's outstretched hand.
Neville noticed the movement and hesitated, dropping his hand and instead wringing it nervously. "Everyone's talking about what happened. They don't believe that it was you-know-who." His voice dropped to a whisper.
Harry tensed but nodded. "Quirrell… He…" His voice faltered. How could he explain what had happened without reliving the moment Quirrell's skin crumbled beneath his touch?
Blaise, always the calmest of their little group, stepped in smoothly. "I'm surprised the Aurors haven't shown up yet," he said, his dark eyes narrowing. "The Ministry should've been crawling all over this by now."
"Maybe Dumbledore's keeping it quiet," Theo added, crossing his arms. He leaned against the edge of Harry's bed, though he stayed far enough back to give Harry space. "Wouldn't be the first time he's swept something under the rug."
Anthony frowned. "But why? Everyone in the common room saw what happened. How do you cover up something like that?"
Padma, ever the practical one, sighed. "You'd be surprised. The Daily Prophet hasn't mentioned anything. Either they don't know, or someone's making sure they don't report it."
Harry stayed silent, letting their speculation wash over him. He didn't have the energy to offer his own theories, and he certainly wasn't going to tell them about the confrontation with Dumbledore earlier that morning.
The visits continued throughout the day, with various students popping in to check on Harry. Most were hesitant to bring up Voldemort directly, but the fear and curiosity were evident in their eyes.
Harry appreciated the concern, but the constant attention was exhausting. Worse, every time someone leaned too close or reached out to pat him on the shoulder, he flinched away instinctively.
The thought of accidentally hurting one of his friends made his stomach churn. He avoided touch entirely, keeping his arms crossed or tucked close to his body whenever someone was nearby.
His housemates noticed, of course. Terry, ever observant, even asked him about it during one of their late-night study sessions a few days later.
"You've been jumpy lately," Terry said, glancing up from his Transfiguration notes. "More than usual, I mean."
Harry forced a smile, shrugging. "Just stressed about exams."
Terry didn't look convinced, but he let it go, much to Harry's relief.
By the time Harry was discharged from the hospital wing, the rumours about what had happened had reached fever pitch. Students whispered in the corridors, their eyes darting nervously to Harry whenever he passed.
But the worst part, by far, was Ron.
The Gryffindor boy seemed to think Harry's involvement with the Quirrell was a validation of his own theories. He strutted around the Great Hall, loudly telling anyone who would listen that he had known all along that Harry should have gone to stop him.
"Harry knew Snape was after the Stone," Ron declared one evening, standing at the Gryffindor table with his arms crossed. "But no, he wouldn't listen to me and Hermione. If he'd just come with us, none of this would've happened."
Neville, who had been sitting with Harry at the Ravenclaw table, stiffened visibly. He turned in his seat, his face unusually stern as he glared at Ron.
"Snape?" Neville said, his voice louder than usual. "You think Snape was after the Stone? Are you daft? It was Quirrell! And the Stone wasn't even there!"
The Gryffindor table went silent, and several students turned to stare at Neville in shock.
Ron's face turned red. "How would you know?" he snapped. "You weren't there!"
"I was studying in the Ravenclaw common room when Quirrell came in," Neville shot back, his voice shaking slightly but firm. "And we saw what really happened—unlike you, who's just making things up!"
Hermione, sitting beside Ron, huffed loudly. "Regardless, Harry should've gone to investigate when we told him to. If he had, maybe this could've been avoided."
Harry, who had been trying to ignore the argument, slammed his fork down onto the table with a loud clang. The noise drew everyone's attention, and the hall fell silent as he stood up, his eyes blazing.
"You don't get it, do you?" Harry said coldly, addressing Ron and Hermione. "The Stone was never the point. It was a trap, and Quirrell fell right into it."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the hall, leaving Ron sputtering and Hermione glaring after him.
The weeks leading up to exams were a blur of studying, practicing spells, and avoiding the endless questions from other students. Harry, Neville, and their small study group—Terry, Michael, Blaise, and Theo—spent most of their evenings in the library or common rooms, pouring over textbooks and quizzing each other on everything from Potions ingredients to Transfiguration techniques.
Despite the tension lingering from the dungeon incident, their study sessions were often filled with light-hearted banter.
"Alright," Blaise said one evening, smirking at Theo as he leaned back in his chair. "What's the incantation for summoning fire without burning yourself?"
Theo rolled his eyes. "Incendio! But you have to focus on the containment field to make sure it doesn't spread."
"Correct!" Blaise said with mock enthusiasm, throwing a scrap of parchment at Theo's head. "Five points to Slytherin!"
Michael snorted. "You're not a professor, Zabini."
"Not yet," Blaise quipped, grinning.
The teasing helped ease some of Harry's tension, though the spectre of Voldemort still loomed in the back of his mind. He threw himself into his studies, determined to focus on something—anything—other than the memories of that night.
~
The Great Hall was alive with excitement as students gathered for the final event of the school year. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the late spring evening, dotted with stars against a dusky blue sky. The long tables groaned under the weight of delicious food, though most students were too busy speculating about the House Cup results to pay attention to the feast itself.
Ravenclaw was currently in the lead, with Slytherin in second and Gryffindor trailing behind. The banners decorating the Great Hall alternated between blue and bronze, and green and silver, a reminder of how close the competition had been all year.
Harry sat with his fellow Ravenclaws, exchanging murmurs of anticipation with Terry, Padma, and Michael. Neville smiled at him from the Gryffindor table. Across the room, Blaise and Theo gave Harry small nods from their seats at the Slytherin table.
As Dumbledore stood at the staff table, the chatter in the hall slowly died down. His twinkling eyes scanned the room, and he raised his hands for silence.
"Another year has come to an end," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying effortlessly over the hall. "Before we part ways for the summer, we must acknowledge the hard work and accomplishments of our students. The House Cup will soon be awarded, but first, a few words."
Harry leaned back in his seat, dreading whatever Dumbledore had planned.
"First," Dumbledore continued, "a word of caution: this year has brought unexpected challenges to our school. We owe a debt of gratitude to those who have demonstrated vigilance in the face of danger."
Harry's stomach sank. He could already feel where this was going.
"For outstanding foresight and concern for their fellow students," Dumbledore said, smiling benevolently, "I award 50 points to Miss Hermione Granger."
The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers as Hermione blushed, looking both proud and embarrassed.
"And," Dumbledore added, his voice rising slightly, "for his bravery in recognizing the potential threat to the school, I award 50 points to Mr. Ronald Weasley."
The Gryffindors cheered even louder, with Ron basking in the applause, puffing out his chest.
Harry felt his jaw clench. He stared at his plate, his appetite gone. Around him, the Ravenclaws exchanged outraged looks.
"How does that make any sense?" Terry muttered under his breath. "They didn't do anything! They weren't even there!"
Padma folded her arms, glaring at the Gryffindor table. "They're being rewarded for trying to drag Harry into their nonsense."
Dumbledore continued, oblivious to—or perhaps ignoring—the growing unrest among the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. "With these final points, the House Cup standings are as follows: Gryffindor, 482 points; Ravenclaw, 481 points; Slytherin, 475 points; and Hufflepuff, 392 points."
The Gryffindor table exploded with cheers, their banners unfurling above the hall as the enchanted ceiling shifted to red and gold.
The rest of the feast passed in a haze of frustration and disbelief. Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike exchanged outraged whispers, their eyes darting toward Dumbledore and the Gryffindor table. Even Professor Flitwick looked enraged.
Harry stayed silent, his face carefully blank as he picked at his food. He could feel the tension radiating from his housemates, but he didn't trust himself to speak without his anger spilling over.
As the students began to leave the Great Hall, Blaise and Theo caught up with Harry and Neville near the doors.
"Well," Blaise said dryly, "that was predictable."
Theo snorted. "Gryffindor wins again, thanks to Dumbledore's blatant favouritism. What a shock."
Neville frowned, looking deeply uncomfortable. "It's not fair. Everyone in the Ravenclaw common room knows what really happened. Harry was the one who stopped Quirrell—not Ron and Hermione."
Harry shrugged, his voice low. "It doesn't matter. Let them have their points. It doesn't change what really happened."
But even as he said it, Harry couldn't ignore the bitterness creeping into his tone.
The train ride back to London was a welcome relief after the tense atmosphere of the Leaving Feast. Harry, Neville, Blaise, and Theo claimed an empty compartment near the back of the train, settling in for the long journey.
Neville pulled out a bag of sweets he'd picked up from Honeydukes during their last Hogsmeade trip. "Chocolate Frog?" he offered, holding the bag out to Harry.
"Thanks," Harry said, unwrapping one and watching it leap onto the window before he caught it.
Theo leaned back in his seat, flipping through a copy of Advanced Rune Theory. "So, what's everyone doing over the summer?"
"I'll be helping Gran with the garden," Neville said, sounding both proud and a little nervous. "She's letting me plant my own herbology experiments this year."
"Sounds more productive than what I'll be doing," Blaise said, smirking. "Mother's throwing another one of her parties, which means I'll be avoiding as many of her suitors as possible."
Harry chuckled softly, though the laughter didn't quite reach his eyes.
"What about you, Harry?" Neville asked hesitantly.
Harry hesitated. He couldn't exactly tell them about the cottage in Anglesey or the dragon hiding in the cove. "Just… catching up on some reading," he said vaguely.
Blaise raised an eyebrow but didn't press the matter.
As the train rumbled on, the four boys fell into a comfortable silence, occasionally interrupted by bursts of laughter as they shared stories and jokes. For the first time since the chaos of the dungeons, Harry felt a small measure of peace.
Whatever the next year brought, he knew he wouldn't face it alone.