Chapter 19: Intimidation and Inference
The castle was still wrapped in the last remnants of night when Harry woke. The faintest traces of dawn seeped through the curtains of his four-poster bed, casting long, soft shadows across the Gryffindor dormitory. The usual snores of his roommates filled the air, steady and unbothered, but Harry had long since grown used to waking before the others.
At least in the future that is. Which was now his present. He just decided to drop that line of thought because it was starting to confuse him already.
He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor was cold beneath his feet, but he paid it little mind as he grabbed his robes, tossing them on over his sleep-rumpled clothes, then he put on his glasses and then his shoes. He wasn't planning on running into anyone just yet, just a quick trip to the kitchens, then up to the owlery before the rest of the school fully stirred for the weekend.
He quietly made his way down the steps of their dormitory and into the common room, making his way to the front of the tower and exiting out.
The castle was silent as he made his way down through the winding staircases and corridors, the only sounds were his own footsteps and the occasional shifting of the suits of armor. He liked this time of day, when the halls were empty, the world quiet, and there was no one expecting anything from him.
Reaching the familiar stretch of wall near the Hufflepuff common room, he tickled the pear on the portrait and slipped inside as the painting swung open. The kitchens were already alive with activity, house-elves bustling about, preparing for the morning rush. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat filled the air, and Harry's stomach gave an appreciative grumble.
A small, eager house-elf hurried up to him, large eyes shining. "Master Harry Potter, sir! What can Tilly be getting you?"
He had been doing this semi-regularly so they definitely recognized him. Oddly, he noticed that Dobby was absent today. Day off perhaps?
"Just some bacon, if you don't mind," he said with a small smile.
Within seconds, a plate piled high with crispy bacon was thrust into his hands, along with a cup of pumpkin juice. Harry thanked the elf before retreating to one of the small benches near the far end of the kitchen, eating in comfortable silence. He wasn't in any rush, but he also wasn't one to linger.
Once finished, he wiped his hands on a napkin, gave a final word of thanks, and slipped back out, making his way toward the owlery.
It was a rather quick walk all things considered and the next thing he knew, he was at the owlery already.
The morning air was crisp as he stepped outside, the lingering chill of the night still clinging to the stone walls of the castle. The sky was shifting into pale shades of blue, the sun beginning its slow ascent beyond the horizon.
He climbed the stairs to the owlery, the smell of hay, old parchment, and owl feathers filling his senses as he pushed open the wooden door. The space was filled with soft hoots and the rustling of wings as dozens of owls shifted on their perches.
And there, near the highest perch, was Hedwig.
A warmth that had nothing to do with the morning light spread through him as he spotted her. She turned her head at the sound of his approach, amber eyes locking onto his as she gave an affectionate hoot.
"Hey, girl," he murmured, stepping closer. He lifted a hand, and she hopped down onto his arm with practiced ease, her claws careful not to dig in too much.
She nipped at his ear in greeting before settling, her feathers ruffling slightly. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small strip of bacon he had saved from the kitchens, holding it out for her.
Hedwig took it delicately, munching in a way that made him chuckle.
He ran a hand gently over her feathers, taking in the way she leaned into his touch. "Missed you yesterday," he admitted, keeping his voice low.
The snowy owl gave another soft hoot, as if to say she had missed him too.
Harry stayed there for a while, enjoying the rare moment of peace before the day truly began. Soon, the castle would come alive with students, classes, and the weight of everything that constantly loomed over him. But for now, standing in the owlery with Hedwig perched on his arm, the world felt just a little bit lighter.
Harry stroked Hedwig's feathers a little longer, his fingers running through the soft, pristine white plumage. She closed her eyes briefly, leaning ever so slightly into his touch, a small, contented sound escaping her.
"You're the best girl, you know that?" he murmured, giving her one last affectionate scratch near the base of her head. She hooted softly in response, a sound full of warmth and familiarity.
Reluctantly, Harry shifted his arm, giving her the cue to return to her perch. With a graceful flutter of her wings, she lifted off and soared back up to her usual spot near the top of the owlery. She turned once to look back at him, tilting her head slightly, before tucking her beak into her feathers to settle back in.
Harry let out a breath, rolling his shoulders slightly as he turned toward the door. He had things to do.
Stepping back into the cool morning air, he pulled his robes a little tighter against the lingering chill. He moved quickly, his steps purposeful as he made his way through the winding corridors, heading toward the seventh floor.
Reaching the familiar stretch of wall, he began to pace back and forth, his thoughts focused on what he needed.
I need a place to train. I need a place to train.
On his third pass, a door materialized before him. Without hesitation, he reached for the handle and stepped inside.
The Room of Requirement had arranged itself exactly as he needed, a wide, open space with dueling dummies lined against one wall, training equipment neatly stacked nearby. The lighting was dim but sufficient, casting soft shadows against the stone floor.
Harry took a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward, already focusing on the session ahead. He had time before the day truly began, and he intended to make the most of it.
As soon as Harry stepped into the training space, he flicked his wand sharply, willing the dummies to life. They began to move in a slow, circling pattern around him, their featureless forms shifting unpredictably. He didn't hesitate.
With a blur of movement, his wand lashed out, and the room erupted with magic.
A stunner shot from his wand in a burst of red light, slamming into one of the dummies and sending it staggering back. Before it could recover, he transitioned smoothly into a cutting curse, his wrist twisting as the magic lashed out like an invisible blade, cutting deep into another. A blasting curse followed, ripping through the air and striking the ground just behind a dummy, sending it skidding forward before he struck it with a disarming hex purely out of reflex.
The dummies moved faster now, responding to his attacks with unpredictable shifts in their pacing. He countered without breaking rhythm, sidestepping and pivoting between spells as though in a real duel.
Then, without warning, he conjured a thick marble block in front of him, his magic shaping it out of thin air in an instant. It landed with a heavy thud, a solid barrier between him and what he imagined would be a killing curse. Without missing a beat, he flicked his wand upward to banish it and the marble block launched forward with terrifying speed, slamming into one of the dummies and crushing it to the ground in a violent crash of splintering wood.
Harry spun, his wand carving an arc through the air as he summoned a shimmering blue shield of pure energy in front of him. It pulsed for a brief moment before he shattered it with a sharp twist of his wrist. The broken shield exploded into dozens of jagged shards, fading remnants of protective magic dissipating into razor-thin edges.
A quick flick of his wand kept the shards from vanishing entirely, forcing them to remain in existence for just a moment longer. That was all he needed. With a sharp thrust of his wand, he sent them flying forward, each shard cutting through the air in a blur before ripping into one of the dummies, shredding it apart.
Even as that dummy collapsed, he extended his offhand and willed his magic forward without a wand. "Expulso!"
A pulse of invisible force slammed into another dummy, sending it flying backward with enough strength to crack against the far wall before it crumpled to the ground.
The room was silent, the dummies having been disabled and Harry exhaled sharply, his heart pounding, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of raw magic. The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of residual energy fading from the air.
He stood there for a moment, taking in the aftermath, the shattered remnants of dummies, the dust settling from the crushed marble, and the faint crackle of dissipating energy where his spells had landed.
Slowly, he lowered his wand.
He'd needed this. The release, the focus, the absolute control over his magic.
A perfect little teaser.
He only had about an hour and a half to work with because he was going to be helping Neville today, so he would need to make the best of it.
He then grinned, willing the Room to conjure up a dozen this time, these ones being actually capable of firing back imitated spells.
His wand practically purred in anticipation as he raised his hand, sending forth the first of many more spells at his targets this morning.
(LINE BREAK)
Saturday, January 25th
As Harry and Neville walked toward the Great Hall, Neville's steps were unsteady, his limbs trembling slightly from the brutal training session Harry had just put him through. His hair was damp with sweat, and his breathing was still slightly labored despite their slower pace through the corridors.
"You alright?" Harry asked, glancing at him.
Neville gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah… just didn't think I had that many muscles that could ache at once." He rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly. "Merlin, you make it look so easy."
Harry gave him a reassuring smile, patting his shoulder gently. "It gets easier with time. Your wandwork's already improved loads."
Neville let out a breath and nodded. "I just hope I can keep up when we actually start fighting real opponents."
"You will," Harry assured him as they reached the entrance to the Great Hall. "You're better than you give yourself credit for."
Neville gave him a grateful look, though his exhaustion made it clear he wasn't in any state to argue.
As they stepped inside, the scent of breakfast filled the air, the warm aroma of eggs, toast, and bacon making Harry's stomach rumble in anticipation. Students were already gathered at their respective tables, some engaged in quiet conversation, others still shaking off the last remnants of sleep.
As they made their way toward the Gryffindor table, Harry suddenly felt a familiar warmth in his pocket. His fingers instinctively brushed against the galleon linked to Daphne.
His mind sharpened.
He didn't react outwardly, keeping his expression neutral as they reached the table. Instead of sitting directly beside Neville, he made sure to take a seat slightly apart, giving himself enough space to check the coin discreetly.
Sliding his hand into his pocket, he pulled the galleon out and tilted it slightly to catch the light. Along the rim, the enchanted numbers had shifted, now displaying a precise time.
3:00.
He resisted the small smile that threatened to form. Daphne wanted to meet.
Slipping the coin back into his pocket, he reached for a plate of toast and bacon, keeping his focus on breakfast while mentally adjusting his schedule. There were things to get through, but at least now, he had something to look forward to.
As Harry reached for his toast, he let his eyes flicker briefly toward the Slytherin table. Daphne was there, sitting with Tracey, her posture as composed as ever. She wasn't looking at him, at least not obviously, but he knew better. The subtle way she held herself, the occasional glance toward the Gryffindor table, it was enough.
He looked away before anyone could notice, turning his attention back to his plate. The last thing he needed was to draw suspicion, especially from people who would immediately start asking questions. Taking a bite of bacon, he focused on eating, letting the morning routine ground him after the intensity of training.
A few minutes passed in relative quiet, the Great Hall steadily filling as more students trickled in. The usual morning hum of conversation grew louder, the scrape of cutlery against plates mixing with laughter and yawns as everyone fully woke up.
Then, the bulk of his year mates arrived. The Gryffindor contingent swept into the hall, chattering about the day's classes and lingering assignments. Among them, Ron and Hermione made their way toward him, each carrying their own distinct energy. Ron was still half-asleep and clearly in dire need of food, and Hermione, already alert, and she of course had a book in hand.
They sat down on either side of him, Ron immediately reaching for a plate of eggs while Hermione gave him a sharp look.
"You were up early," she noted.
Harry took another bite of toast and shrugged. "Spell and duelling training Sirius taught me."
Hermione frowned but didn't say anything, knowing roughly what he let her know about it. Instead, she started filling her plate, while Ron, now halfway through a sausage, simply muttered, "S'pose that's why you woke up Neville so early too."
Harry nodded slightly. "Figured he'd appreciate the extra practice."
Neville, who had just taken a seat across from them, groaned and dropped his head onto the table. "Appreciate might not be the right word."
Ron snorted, and Hermione gave Neville a sympathetic look before turning back to Harry. "You really should pace these things, you know. There's a difference between training and completely exhausting someone."
Harry merely hummed in response, glancing at his pocket where the galleon rested. 3:00. He had the rest of the day to get through before then, but at least now, there was something to look forward to.
xRSxxRSxxRSx
The door to the Room of Requirement sealed shut with a quiet click behind them, muffling the outside world like a thick blanket. The atmosphere inside was warm and familiar, soft candlelight floated lazily in the air, casting golden glows over the inviting cushions and the low-burning hearth in the corner. It wasn't quite the romantic setup from the night before, but it was cozy, private, theirs.
Harry barely had time to breathe before Daphne was in front of him, standing close.
"Hey," she murmured with a soft smile.
"Hey," he returned, and they met in a quick, gentle kiss. It lingered only for a moment before Daphne pulled back slightly, her expression shifting. The usual composed confidence in her blue eyes dimmed ever so slightly, her brows drawing in with uncertainty.
Harry immediately caught it. "What's wrong?" he asked, frowning, stepping in a touch closer.
Daphne hesitated, not from fear, but from thought, weighing her words before committing to them. Her arms crossed loosely, then unfolded. "Malfoy," she said at last, voice quiet but firm.
Harry's eyes narrowed in an instant. The name alone was enough to summon a cavalcade of violent solutions in his mind. His hand twitched near his wand almost reflexively, jaw tightening. "What did he say?" he asked coldly.
Daphne lifted a hand. "Wait, not like that."
He paused, not relaxing, but listening.
"He stopped me just before I left for the common room last night," she continued, the familiar steel returning to her tone. "Said he knows I'm talking to you, even if he doesn't care about the reason why."
Harry's lips pressed into a thin line. "And?"
Daphne sighed and shook her head, eyes briefly glancing off to the side. "And he told me to tell you he wants to talk. About joining the DA."
That made Harry blink. Of all the things he was expecting, threats, warnings, maybe even a veiled attempt to blackmail Daphne, that wasn't one of them. He stared at her for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or scoff.
"Malfoy?" he said finally. "Wants to join?"
She nodded slowly. "Doesn't want to ask you himself, though. Said he'd rather die than 'dance to the tune of a half-blood demanding he grovel for scraps of training,'" she quoted dryly, tone laced with disdain.
Harry's face darkened again. "Typical," he muttered. His instincts to say no were immediate, primal. But he took a breath. "And he gave you this message why?"
"He offered something in exchange," Daphne said quietly. "Information. About his… 'darling aunt.'"
Harry's expression shifted as understanding clicked into place. "Bellatrix," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
Daphne nodded once. "I don't know what he knows or if it's even worth anything, but he was serious. Or at least trying hard to seem serious."
Harry let the silence hang for a moment, thinking it through.
Finally, he reached out, resting his hand lightly against her arm. "You did the right thing, telling me. And… we'll hear him out." His expression was careful, but his mind was already moving ahead, plans slotting into place. "If he's lying, I'll know. If not… well. We'll use it."
Daphne looked up at him, searching his eyes. "You sure?"
"I'm sure," Harry said quietly. "But this time, I'll be the one doing the talking."
She smiled faintly, and the tension ebbed from her shoulders. "Figured you'd say that."
He smirked, stepping closer again and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Come on. Let's sit. We'll plan it out."
xRSxxRSxxRSx
The castle corridors were dim and quiet, save for the occasional flicker of torchlight bouncing off the stone walls. Malfoy strode down one of the lesser-used hallways near the Charms corridor, his prefect badge catching the glow with each purposeful step.
Ahead, Pansy Parkinson leaned lazily against the wall, wand dangling from her fingers as she twiddled it in boredom and waited by the junction where they were meant to start their patrol.
"You're late," she said, though her tone lacked any real irritation.
"I need you to cover for me," Malfoy said curtly, not slowing his pace.
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Cover for you? What for?"
"I have something to do," he replied without elaboration. "Tell anyone who asks that I got called up by one of the professors. Invent something. You're good at that."
She tilted her head, arms crossing. "You're not going to tell me what this is about?"
"No," he said flatly, pausing only briefly to glance at her. "And it's better you don't ask, I'm serious Pansy."
Pansy held his gaze for a moment, then gave a small shrug. "Okay, just don't get caught with what you're doing m"
Malfoy smirked faintly. "I won't." And with that, he turned and disappeared down the hallway.
The air grew cooler as he walked, the silence deeper. He was heading for the designated meeting spot that Greengrass had passed along to him, an unused classroom tucked behind a tapestry near the third-floor corridor. It was far enough from busy student paths that they wouldn't be disturbed, and secluded enough that no one would think twice if it stayed closed all evening.
He reached the door and paused for just a moment, glancing both ways down the hall to make sure he hadn't been followed. Then, with a quiet breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit with a few flickering candles in floating sconces, clearly a charm placed there ahead of time. Malfoy shut the door behind him with a soft click and folded his arms, waiting for Potter.
Whatever this meeting became, it was going to shift something. And Draco Malfoy didn't step into a game without playing to win.
Draco waited.
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows over the classroom's mismatched desks and cabinets, lending the space a cold, hollow feeling that only deepened the longer he stood in silence. A minute passed.
Then another.
He rocked on his heels, arms still folded, eyes flicking toward the door with every small creak or gust of castle air outside.
When another stretch of silence dragged out, he let out a sharp breath and flicked his wand.
"Tempus."
Silvery-blue numerals floated in the air. Right on time, and still no Potter. He scowled.
"What, does he think I've got all day?" Draco muttered to himself. "If he wants to play the dramatic entrance card, he's got the wrong audience."
He turned toward the door again, opening his mouth to complain aloud once more—
"Behind you."
The voice, cool, amused, and unmistakably Potter's, cut through the silence like a knife.
Draco flinched, whirling around and raising his wand instinctively. As he did, the air near one of the far desks shimmered, and a figure stepped forward, the disillusionment charm melting away like water rolling off glass.
Potter stood there, arms relaxed at his sides, dressed in casual school robes with his wand loosely gripped in one hand. His expression was unreadable, but his green eyes gleamed in the candlelight, sharp and focused.
Draco lowered his wand slowly, jaw tightening as he tamped down the reflexive spike of irritation.
"Real mature," he muttered. "Sneaking up on me."
Potter simply shrugged. "You said you wanted to talk. I needed to make sure you didn't bring anyone with you."
"I'm not an idiot," Draco snapped.
Harry didn't respond at first. He walked slowly to the middle of the room and stopped a few paces from Draco, folding his arms.
"So," he said. "You want to join the DA."
Draco's mouth twisted slightly. "I wouldn't say join. I said I wanted to attend."
Harry gave a slight tilt of the head. "Right. You expect to show up, learn what you want, and walk out. No loyalty, no leadership, no rules."
"I'm not your follower, Potter. But I'm not here to sabotage you either. If I were, I wouldn't have come at all."
Harry considered that in silence, his gaze sharp and unblinking.
Draco resisted the urge to shift on his feet.
"I'm not asking for favors," Draco added. "I just want what you're offering the others. I can… help. Strategically."
"Strategically?" Potter repeated, but it was far from a question.
Draco's lips curved just slightly. "You're no idiot, Potter. Let's not pretend, I want assistance and I can offer you information. You need only ask and we can trade."
Harry's expression didn't change, but his voice was sharper this time.
"We don't need to pretend Voldemort hasn't returned either. So don't waste my time with platitudes about your aunt 'leading' anything. We both know she doesn't move unless he says so."
The shift in Draco was instant, a flicker of something in his eyes, a flush of irritation that climbed into his cheeks.
"She's the one making moves," he snapped. "My aunt's organizing the others. That's worth more than you think."
Harry frowned. "It's not worth enough."
Draco stiffened. "It's more than the old man or any of the blood traitors know," he said tightly.
And there it was, that reflexive jab, too familiar to be anything but ingrained. Harry's eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in something far more dangerous: understanding.
"You sound like your father," he said quietly.
The words hit harder than they should have. Draco's jaw flexed, but his voice was steady, if clipped. "My father knows how this world works."
"No," Harry said, stepping closer. "Your father knows how to survive. That's not the same thing."
Draco's mouth opened, but nothing came out. A surge of conflicting thoughts collided in his chest, pride, loyalty, unease. He shoved it down. Now wasn't the time.
"I told you what I was allowed to share," he said, cool again, calculated. "Bellatrix is coordinating the escapees. They're not scattered. They're preparing for something. You wanted real, there it is."
Harry didn't speak right away. His eyes were locked on Draco's, unflinching.
"And you're just a messenger?" he asked.
"I'm offering you something," Draco shot back. "A line you don't have. You want to act like you're the only one carrying weight, but you're not the only one in the fire."
Harry stared at him, unimpressed.
"That's not good enough."
Draco's brow furrowed.
"I don't need you for that little scrap of intel," Harry continued, voice even. "I could get it with or without your permission."
Draco's mouth pulled into a thin line. "Is that a threat?"
Harry chuckled, quiet and humorless.
Then, never breaking eye contact, he raised his offhand and said, "Finite."
The illusion above them shattered like glass catching the light, revealing a monstrous, dragon-sized block of conjured marble suspended in the air, silent and impossibly still.
Draco went rigid, eyes darting up. His heart skipped a beat.
"Look down," Harry said. It wasn't a suggestion.
And Draco's treacherous, rebellious eyes obeyed.
Glowing softly beneath his feet was a wide runic array, etched in light, pulsing faintly in time with some silent rhythm. Not active. Not yet.
Harry's voice turned to ice, every syllable cutting clean through the room.
"I could render your legs into a shredded mess," he said, tone flat. "And that marble would paste what's left of you across the floor. Before you could even cast a spell."
Draco couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his limbs were locked, his blood replaced with ice water.
Then Harry continued, softly, but no less chilling.
"The Slytherin common room sits beneath the lake," he said, casually as though discussing the weather. "It's tinted green from the water. Crabbe's bed is to your left. Goyle's on your right. Zabini across. Nott sleeps between them. You kick off your shoes before sitting on your trunk. Always."
Draco's breath hitched.
That dread, dark, slick, and crawling, clawed its way up his spine and lodged in the base of his skull.
How the hell did Potter know that?
Harry took a step back, wand loose in his hand, like he didn't need it. Like he never had.
"You're not the only one in the fire, Malfoy," he said, voice low. "But I've already learned how to walk through it."
Harry didn't move. The marble still loomed overhead, humming faintly with suppressed magic, and the runes beneath Malfoy's feet pulsed like the heartbeat of some buried beast.
"Give me more," Harry said coldly, his voice like frost cracking across a windowpane.
Draco's mouth worked for a moment, breath shallow. Panic clawed at the edges of his thoughts, but the part of him that prized self-preservation was louder.
"There's going to be an attack," he blurted, "on Godric's Hollow. In one week."
"The hour? Answer me!"
"At night!" Malfoy managed to get out weakly.
Harry didn't react, no flinch, no sound, but the air around him shifted. It distorted, like heat waves rising from a flame, only colder. Darker. The tip of his wand glowed with a sickly, flickering purple, as if it were drinking the magic around it, and his eyes, those emerald green eyes, gleamed faintly like embers in a dying fire.
Draco swallowed hard. "Bellatrix is leading it. They… they want to desecrate your parents' graves. Slaughter a few Muggles while they're there. Make it a message."
A low hiss escaped Harry, not quite human, not quite anything else. His hand clenched around his wand, and the purple light pulsed brighter.
"Who," he said, barely above a whisper. "Who else is going?"
Draco's knees threatened to give.
"At least six," he rasped. "They weren't named, but I know Travers and Rowle were suggested. Maybe Macnair. She's picking them."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
The runes at Malfoy's feet didn't move, but he felt them, felt them thrumming up through his legs, like they were waiting for a signal. Sweat traced a line down his back, cold and sharp against his spine. His hands trembled, but he didn't dare move them.
Harry stared at him, as still as stone. And then, with deadly calm.
"If you're lying," he said, every word carved from ice, "not even the gates of Malfoy Manor will slow me down. Not your wards. Not your bloodline. Not those stupid peacocks strutting around your yard."
Draco flinched, color draining further from his face.
"I'll end you."
The words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be.
Harry held his gaze another moment, long enough to leave no doubt, before he finally said, "Go."
Draco didn't hesitate. He bolted, stumbling back from the circle of runes, nearly tripping over a desk on his way to the door. His hand scrabbled for the handle, then yanked it open and vanished through it, the door slamming shut behind him, but not before he heard what was said, barely above a whisper.
"See you at the next DA meeting, Draco."
For a beat, only the quiet hum of dying magic remained.
And the marble hung above, still waiting.
xRSxxRSxxRSx
The door slammed shut with a finality that echoed too loud in the now-empty classroom.
Harry stood still, his chest rising and falling in shallow, measured breaths. The silence pressed in.
They dared.
They dared to make his parents a message. To defile what little peace they had in death, James and Lily Potter, who had given everything for a world that still let monsters like Bellatrix walk free.
A low, strangled sound escaped his throat, not quite a growl, not quite a word. His fingers tightened painfully around his wand.
The magic around him churned. The runic circle beneath his feet shuddered once and dimmed as he hissed a counterspell. The towering conjured marble above, so heavy it warped the air with its weight, shimmered, and vanished in an instant, like smoke fleeing fire.
But the fire remained. It burned.
His barriers strained against the fury storming inside his mind, cracks splintering through the calm he'd constructed. He forced it all down with the practiced will of someone who had spent a lifetime surviving, not thriving, but surviving, and knew what came if he let go.
His teeth were clenched so tight his jaw ached as he reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling only slightly.
The communication mirror was cool in his hand, smooth and familiar. Sirius's face didn't appear yet, but would in a moment hopefully as he waited for his godfather to answer.
The communication mirror lay flat in Harry's hand, the glass dark and still for a long, weighted moment.
Then, with a flicker like heat rising off stone, Sirius's face swam into view, tired, shadowed by flickering firelight in whatever room he was in.
The moment he saw Harry's expression, Sirius straightened.
"Harry?" His voice was sharp, no-nonsense. "What happened?"
Harry didn't speak at first. His jaw was clenched so tightly that for a moment Sirius might have thought the mirror had frozen. But then, slowly, deliberately, Harry drew in a breath.
"There's going to be an attack," he said, voice low, words razor-edged. "On Godric's Hollow."
Sirius blinked, frown deepening. "What?"
"Bellatrix is leading it," Harry said, his tone like ice cracking underfoot. "In a week, at night. They're going to kill muggles. And they're going to desecrate my parents' graves."
Sirius went still. Even the firelight behind him seemed to quiet.
"Are you sure?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Harry's gaze didn't waver. "Malfoy told me. He was terrified. It wasn't a lie. He offered information as a trade."
A silence passed between them, heavy with understanding and fury.
Sirius inhaled slowly, then nodded. "I'll inform the Order. We'll lay a trap, make sure they walk straight into it."
"I'll be there," Harry said without hesitation. "Even if I have to use a different wand."
"No," Sirius said, flat and immediate. Any fury Sirius might have had at the news seemed locked behind a steel cage of will and he brokered no nonsense.
Harry's jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. "You, of all people, should understand why I have to do this—"
"No," Sirius cut in again, firmer this time. "That's exactly why you can't. You're thinking about your pain. Your parents. Your revenge. But have you thought, what if this is a trap? What if it's not about the graves at all? What if it's to lure you out… or worse, your friends?"
Harry flinched.
The words hit like a hammer to the chest. His burning fury guttered beneath a wave of cold dread. Memories crashed in, Sirius falling through the Veil, his scream echoing through the stone arch. The crunch of glass underfoot in the wreckage of his home. Daphne's lifeless body cradled in his arms, his own sobs the only sound in the ruined corridor.
Nott.
His voice came quiet. Small. "I won't leave the castle."
On the other end of the mirror, Sirius's expression softened, the edge in his voice fading.
"Good," he said gently. "We'll handle it, Harry. You've done enough."
Harry didn't reply. His grip on the mirror didn't loosen.
"I'll let you know how it goes after," Sirius said, his voice quieter now, more measured. "In the meantime… keep learning. Keep training. You're doing more than enough, Harry."
There was a brief pause, then softer still, Sirius added, "I'm proud of you."
The mirror went dark.
Harry stood frozen for a second, the words lingering like a warm hand on a cold shoulder. Then he straightened slowly, jaw tight, and slipped the mirror back into his pocket.
The moment it left his fingers, he moved, pacing, shoulders tense, hands twitching with unspent fury.
They dared.
They dared to threaten his parents' graves. To spill innocent blood. Again.
His eyes narrowed, thoughts turning sharp, predatory.
He could end an incessant thorn in his flesh now or during the attack. Nott. The linchpin in that chain of horrors that had unraveled everything in his past life.
It would be so easy.
A quiet word to Dobby. A quick jaunt to the Slytherin common room. Cloak on. Silent steps. Wandless magic. One thought and Nott's head would sever from his body like a puppet's string cut mid-dance. Or better, he could stun him, drag him to the Chamber, and carve his vengeance from his bones over hours. Make sure no shadow of that future could ever return.
The blood pounded in his ears. His magic throbbed under his skin.
But then, he stopped.
Breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
This wasn't him. Not yet.
He clenched his fists until the knuckles ached and wrestled the violent thoughts down into the dark. He would protect her, but not like that where it would put suspicion on him and his friends. Not blindly. Not recklessly. Daphne deserved better.
And for now, at least, reason was louder than rage.
He would wait a week, and be far more discreet about it. What Sirius didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.
With a flick of his wand, the conjured marble vanished in a swirl of smoky magic, leaving behind only a faint outline on the ceiling that too faded. Another motion, more fluid, more practiced, dispelled the ward scheme he'd anchored beneath the floor. The runic array blinked out, the ambient tension in the air easing with it.
Harry exhaled slowly. His hands still shook faintly.
He pulled the Marauder's Map from his inner pocket and set it on the nearest desk, wand tapping once against the parchment.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink bloomed across the page, curling and spiraling until Hogwarts unfolded before him in precise, moving detail. His eyes scanned immediately for one name.
Daphne Greengrass.
His breath hitched, then released as he spotted her in the common room, seated between Tracey Davis and Astoria. No distress, no separation. Just a trio of girls, likely studying or whispering about something mundane. Something normal.
He swallowed hard. Safe. For now.
His gaze drifted next to the Gryffindor tower. Hermione Granger was in the library. That tracked. Ron was in the boys' dormitory. Neville was pacing the corridor outside the Room of Requirement, and Luna's name floated beside his near the tapestry with the dancing trolls.
They were all where they were meant to be.
They were safe.
Harry let the breath fully leave his chest, then whispered, "Mischief managed," and watched the map fold into stillness once again.
For now, the world hadn't cracked open.
But the storm was coming..