Chapter 36: Some Intense TrainingNotes:Author Note:
hey guys!!! apologies for the delay in posting, especially this story. I was travelling and other stuff in life. But here you go, the chapter is here.
Also, if you like my work, please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.instagram.com/bibliophile1722/
Chapter TextHarry walked quickly along the seventh-floor corridor, the one he had passed so many times in his past lives. Now he walked with intent. He'd wanted to use this place as his training ground since the summer, and the initial few days have gone into him getting into a rhythm of routine with classes and study group. Harry hadn't exactly shared his plan of training like this with Hermione and Luna yet, not even Sirius and others, but he will tell them later.
This morning, Harry came back with a clearer mind and a focused goal to train.
He paced again, forcing his thoughts into words. I need a place to train. A place where I can become stronger, faster. Somewhere I can prepare for what's coming. On his third pass, the door shimmered into being, large and oak-paneled. Harry pulled it open, bracing himself.
The sight still stole his breath.
The room had reshaped itself: broad stone walls, enchanted sconces casting steady golden light, the floor wide enough for dueling. Along the sides, shelves stacked with cushions and targets, and racks of old spellbooks. But as Harry stepped further in, the space stretched, as if alive. Dueling dummies stood lined in one corner, lifelike mannequins enchanted to move and retaliate. Another section had sprung up with obstacles—low walls, moving platforms, even ropes swinging as if daring him to dodge.
And then—far to the back—a massive clearing opened into a cavernous stretch, ceiling charmed to mimic a sky, clouded but endless. Enough space for him to call forth Fury, the dragon animagus form he had uncovered in summer.
While he thought of unleashing Fury, he knew he had to get it registered soon, but he also didn't want to get it in eyes of British Magical Ministery yet, he will have to figure out a way to get it registered inernationally so that British Ministery doesn't give him any trouble. That too before the tournament actually starts. He will write a letter to Sirius to get his advice on this and send it by Hedwig later. Well, back to training.
Harry's pulse quickened. This wasn't just a practice room. It was the best place he could train.
He drew his wand and faced the nearest dummy. "Fulminis!"
A spear of lightning burst from his wand, slamming into the dummy's chest with a crackling detonation. The wooden frame smoked and split, yet still it staggered upright, jerky and unyielding, its limbs twitching as though possessed.
Harry pivoted, eyes narrowing. "Confringo Maxima! Sectumsempra! Ossfractum!"
The first spell tore through the dummy's side in a fiery blast, the second carved gaping rents across its torso, and the third landed with a sound like snapping twigs, splintering its wooden arm clean off. It still pressed forward, relentless.
The dummy absorbed the spells, its chest glowing faintly where impacts landed. Then, with shocking speed, it swung its arm, sending Harry sprawling sideways with a magically enhanced shove. He hit the floor hard, groaning.
The room was not going to coddle him.
Harry scrambled up, irritation burning in his chest. Fine. If that's how it is, then good. He fired back, weaving spells quickly—Oppugno Ignea, Fracturae—until the dummy finally got destroyed in place, it's pieces, falling into ground spread far wide.
Harry wiped his forehead. His heart pounded. "Not bad," he muttered, though he felt the sting of how easily it had caught him off guard.
He turned to the obstacle section next. A small whistle echoed through the room, and suddenly balls of light shot across the space like Bludgers, zigzagging unpredictably. Harry dove, rolled, and fired shields, trying to keep his balance while the moving platforms slid beneath his feet. Twice he lost his footing and tumbled, once barely dodging a glowing orb that hissed like fire as it passed. His robes were scorched at the hem.
By the time the exercise ended, he was panting, legs aching. He pressed his palms to his knees and forced deep breaths.
This is exactly what I need.
Finally, trembling from the sheer magical drain, Harry moved back. He collapsed onto his knees, sweat soaking his shirt. His whole body ached as though he'd run ten miles. His wand lay beside him where he'd dropped it.
For several minutes, he simply lay there on the stone, gasping. He hated it—the weakness, the shaking of his arms, the ache in his chest. Voldemort would never give him the luxury of rest.
"Come on," Harry muttered aloud, forcing himself upright. His voice cracked in the empty chamber. "You can't stop here."
He staggered to his feet and raised his wand. Another dummy came to life, advancing with steady, relentless steps. Harry fired spell after spell, some connecting, some missing as his arms wobbled. The dummy hit him twice more, once nearly knocking the wand from his grip.
"Protego!" he yelled desperately, blocking the third strike. His shield shimmered but nearly buckled. He forced power into it, teeth clenched until his jaw hurt.
And then—the dummy froze, glowing red, and collapsed.
Harry dropped to one knee, clutching his side. His chest heaved, but this time he didn't fall over. He forced himself to stay upright, wand still in hand.
Better. Still not enough. But better.
He sat against the wall, staring at the enchanted sconces flickering. Sirius's voice echoed again: It's not about being the strongest, Harry. It's about not stopping, even when you think you've got nothing left. That's what will keep you alive.
Harry pressed his palm over his face. He could almost hear Voldemort's cold laugh in the back of his mind, a ghost of memory. He hated it, but it pushed him too.
"I'll be ready," he whispered fiercely. "I have to be."
The Room of Requirement was silent, but somehow Harry felt it approved.
He dragged himself upright once more, though his muscles screamed. One more round. Just one.
Because one day, it wouldn't be a dummy. It would be Voldemort.
And Harry Potter couldn't afford to be the boy who gave up.
Harry went by another daily class life, and the morning after another grueling session, Harry sat in the Great Hall staring down at his plate of eggs and toast without appetite. His muscles ached, and his head pounded faintly from pushing too much magic into the dragon form the night before. Still, a quiet satisfaction simmered underneath—he was improving, bit by bit.
Hermione glanced up from the Daily Prophet she was frowning at. "You look dreadful."
"Thanks," Harry muttered.
"You've been slipping off in the mornings," she continued in a low voice, so only he could hear. "Don't bother denying it. I know. You've been training."
Harry stiffened. "And?"
Hermione folded the paper. "And you shouldn't be doing it alone. If something happened—"
"I can handle myself."
Her expression softened. "I'm not saying you can't. But you don't have to. You've got us."
Harry hesitated. Part of him wanted to brush it off, but another part—the exhausted part—knew she was right. Training alone meant no one to cover his blind spots, no one to keep him honest when fatigue stopped his training.
Before he could answer, Luna Lovegood slid onto the bench beside him, dreamy-eyed as always. "It's very unwise to face shadows without light," she said serenely, spooning porridge into her bowl.
Harry blinked at her. "What?"
"I mean," Luna continued, as though it were the most obvious thing, "you shouldn't train alone. The shadows only grow darker when no one else is there to remind you they aren't real."
Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry. "See?"
Harry sighed. "Fine. You want to train, then? Both of you?"
Hermione straightened with determination. "Yes. If you're serious about this, then I'm with you. I don't care how exhausting it is—I won't let you shoulder everything alone."
Luna nodded serenely. "I'd like that very much. Maybe the Room will even show us how to fight Wrackspurts properly."
Harry gave a short laugh despite himself. He should've known Luna would accept without hesitation.
"All right," he said finally. "But you have to promise—you do exactly what I tell you. This isn't about being clever or improvising. It's about discipline. Otherwise, we'll never improve."
Hermione looked faintly insulted but nodded. Luna simply smiled.
Next morning, the three of them returned to the seventh-floor corridor. Harry paced three times, focusing on his need: a place where we can train together, grow stronger, defend ourselves.
The door appeared, and when it opened, the Room of Requirement revealed itself again—this time already adapted. The dueling dummies were in neat rows, a wide practice circle etched into the floor. Along one wall, a rack of protective gear shimmered faintly.
Hermione's jaw dropped. "This is incredible. It's…it's like it's alive."
"It is," Luna said matter-of-factly. "It always has been. It's just that most people never ask it for what they truly need."
Harry smirked. "Well, now we're going to put it to use."
The session started simple. Harry demonstrated a standard shield charm, reinforcing how much magical push was needed to hold against repeated attacks. Hermione picked it up quickly—her shields were steady, if slightly too small. Luna's shield wavered oddly at first but then solidified, strangely flexible, like a bubble that absorbed rather than blocked.
"Different, but it works," Harry admitted.
Then he conjured small glowing spheres that darted around like angry hornets. "These are moving targets. Don't block—dodge."
Hermione yelped as one zipped past her ear. She ducked behind a dummy and tried firing a Stunning Spell, missing by a foot. Luna giggled as she skipped out of the way of another, twirling almost like she was dancing.
By the end, Hermione was panting, face flushed, but her spells were sharper than when they'd started. Luna looked as unruffled as ever, though her hair stuck out wildly where sparks had grazed her.
"You both did well," Harry said, catching his own breath. "Better than I expected, honestly."
Hermione gave him a look, half proud and half scolding. "And this is what you've been doing alone? You could've been knocked unconscious in here, Harry. No one would've known."
"I'm still standing," Harry replied. "But yeah. I needed this. And so do you."
The next morning, Harry, Hermione, and Luna slipped away after breakfast, heading for the seventh floor again. But as they reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, footsteps echoed behind them.
"Oi, what are you lot sneaking around for?"
Harry stiffened. It was Tonks, her hair bubblegum-pink today, eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. Susan Bones trailed beside her, looking curious but less confrontational.
Hermione's eyes widened. "We're not—"
Tonks folded her arms. "Don't even try it. Harry here has been slipping off together for days now, and you have also joined him recently. I'm not an Auror trainee yet, but I do aspire to be one, remember? I notice things. And if I didn't, Susan here has been whispering that you've been acting mysterious."
Susan blushed. "I only said it once. But…you have been."
Harry exchanged a look with Hermione and Luna. His stomach sank.
Tonks tilted her head, lowering her voice. "You're not just doing your little study group anymore, are you? There's more to this. Something you don't want the others knowing."
Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp. And when they flicked briefly to Harry, there was a glimmer of something else—knowledge she wasn't saying aloud.
Harry's throat went dry. Hermione's lips tightened. Luna simply watched Tonks with her usual serene expression.
Susan frowned between them. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Tonks said quickly, brushing it off with a grin. "Just that these three are hiding something. Which means I'm definitely tagging along to find out what."
Harry sighed. The secret was out, at least partially. "Fine," he muttered. "Come on, then. Both of you."
Susan blinked. "Wait—you're serious?"
"Completely." Harry turned to the tapestry and began pacing, summoning the door again. When it appeared, Susan gasped. Tonks whistled low.
"Well, now I really need to know what you've been up to," she said, following them inside.
The Room of Requirement greeted them with the same training hall setup. Susan's eyes went wide. "This…this is incredible. I've never even heard of this room."
"It's not in the official Hogwarts guidebooks," Hermione admitted grudgingly. "It's…a secret."
Tonks strode across the stone floor, testing the walls. "Merlin, this is perfect. No wonder you've been vanishing." She shot Harry a grin. "What've you been making them do? Duels? Drills?"
"Both," Harry said. "And now you're doing them too."
Susan's eyes widened further. "Me? But I—I'm not that advanced. Not like you lot."
"Then this is where you'll get advanced," Harry said firmly.
Tonks raised her brows. "Bossy, aren't you?"
"Better bossy than dead," Harry snapped, surprising even himself with the harshness of his tone.
Silence fell. Then Tonks nodded slowly. "Fair enough."
The Room seemed almost eager at the arrival of five people instead of three. Its torches flared brighter, and the training dummies shifted themselves into neat rows, as though preparing for inspection. The floor expanded outward until there was enough space for all of them to spread out without colliding.
Harry stood at the center, wand in hand, shoulders squared. The others gathered around him—Hermione already watching with determined eyes, Luna smiling dreamily as though this was a picnic, Susan fidgeting with her wand nervously, and Tonks bouncing on the balls of her feet with a crooked grin.
"All right," Harry began. "Since this is your first time, Susan, and your first official time, Tonks, we're starting simple. The same drills Hermione and Luna went through when they joined me. Shields, dodges, and controlled spellfire."
Susan swallowed. "I—I'll try."
Tonks winked at her. "Don't worry, Bones. I'll take the hits for you if it comes to it."
Harry ignored the banter. "First: shield charms. Line up."
Five glowing orbs appeared overhead, conjured by the Room. They hummed faintly, then shot downward like arrows.
"Protego!" Harry barked. His shield flared before him, solid and bright, and the first orb splashed harmlessly against it.
Hermione's shield came up next—smaller, tighter, but firm. Luna's shimmered oddly, translucent like glass, and the orb seemed to sink into it before bouncing away. Tonks produced a shield too, though hers flickered at the edges, unstable.
Susan's shield…barely formed. It cracked like thin ice as the orb slammed through, clipping her shoulder. She cried out, stumbling back.
"Again," Harry ordered, not unkindly but firmly. "Stronger. You have the magic—you just need to mean it."
They repeated the drill again and again. Hermione improved quickly, her shield smoothing into a steady curve. Luna's remained strange but effective. Tonks cursed under her breath as hers collapsed once more, earning her a sting on the arm.
Susan shook, her wand trembling, until finally she closed her eyes and shouted, "Protego!" A solid shield burst forth at last, wide and steady. The orb struck and fizzled out.
She lowered her wand, breathless but glowing with relief. "I—I did it."
Harry nodded. "Good. That's what we need."
"Now dodge," Harry commanded. He waved his wand, and the orbs split into dozens of smaller sparks that began zipping around the room at dangerous speeds.
Hermione ducked and rolled, trying to keep her wand ready. Luna twirled lightly, as if dancing, somehow letting the sparks miss her by inches. Tonks stumbled, cursed loudly, and tripped over her own foot, landing hard. Susan tried to sprint aside but yelped as a spark grazed her sleeve, leaving a scorch mark.
Harry moved through the chaos like it was instinct, batting a spark aside with a shield while sidestepping another. His muscles screamed from exhaustion carried over from yesterday, but he forced himself to push harder—they're watching, you can't falter now.
"Keep moving!" he shouted. "Don't freeze—never freeze!"
By the end of ten minutes, Hermione was drenched in sweat, Luna looked as serene as ever though her robes were tattered, Tonks was sprawled on the floor laughing at her own clumsiness, and Susan leaned heavily on her knees, gasping.
"Next: counter-fire," Harry said.
The dummies marched forward in rows. "Use Stunning Spells, Disarming Charms, and Impediments. Keep your aim true."
Hermione raised her wand immediately. "Stupefy!" A dummy stiffened and froze.
Luna tilted her head and sang softly, "Expelliarmus," sending a dummy's wand flying even though it wasn't really holding one.
Tonks charged ahead with reckless enthusiasm, blasting Stunning Spells left and right. Two hit their marks. A third went wide and ricocheted, nearly hitting Hermione.
"Watch it!" Hermione snapped.
"Oops," Tonks said cheerfully.
Susan hesitated, panic flickering in her eyes. Her first "Stupefy" fizzled before leaving her wand. She tried again, stronger. This time the red bolt hit, and a dummy collapsed. She gasped at her success.
"Good," Harry called. "Don't stop! Keep firing until they're all down!"
The room filled with flashes of red and blue, smoke and the heavy thuds of falling dummies. Finally, silence settled again.
By the end, Susan was trembling from head to toe, her face pale with effort. Tonks collapsed onto the floor with a dramatic groan. Hermione sat heavily, wiping sweat from her brow, while Luna calmly adjusted her radish earrings as if nothing had happened.
Harry remained standing, chest heaving, wand still in hand. His own muscles screamed for rest, but he forced his breathing steady.
"You all did well," he said at last. "But this is just the beginning. If you can't handle exhaustion, you won't survive real combat."
Susan gave a weak laugh. "If this is the beginning, I'm doomed."
Tonks propped herself up on her elbows. "Merlin, Potter. You're brutal. I thought Auror training was rough, but you're giving it a run for its money."
"That's the point," Harry replied. "This isn't schoolwork. This is life and death."
The words hung heavy in the air. Even Tonks sobered, nodding slowly.
Harry finally lowered his wand. "All right. That's enough for today."
He clapped his hands once.
With a sharp crack, the old house-elf appeared, bowing low. "Master Harry calls a hoggy warts house elf?"
Susan jumped. Hermione's eyes widened. Tonks blinked.
Harry kept his voice steady. "We need refreshments. Water, food—enough for five."
The elf bowed again, muttering about "young master's reckless training" before disappearing. Moments later, he reappeared with a tray of steaming mugs, sandwiches, and tall pitchers of pumpkin juice.
The group descended on the food gratefully. Susan nearly drained an entire glass in one go. Hermione sipped more slowly, though she didn't hide her exhaustion. Tonks devoured three sandwiches in a row and grinned with crumbs on her face. Luna nibbled delicately at a biscuit, her eyes dreamy as ever.
Harry sat back against the wall, finally allowing himself to relax. His chest still rose and fell heavily, but for the first time, he felt a flicker of pride.
They had trained hard. They had survived the session. And tomorrow, they'd be stronger still.
As they ate, Hermione leaned toward Harry. "You're turning this into something real. More than just a study group."
Harry shrugged. "It has to be. Voldemort's not going to wait for us to be ready."
Susan froze mid-bite, glancing nervously between them. She clearly didn't fully understand, but Tonks caught Harry's gaze and gave a small nod. She knew. She wasn't saying it aloud, but she knew.
Luna hummed softly. "The shadows will regret underestimating us. Even Wrackspurts will flee if we're determined enough."
Tonks chuckled. "If you say so, Lovegood."
Harry leaned his head back against the stone wall, eyes closing briefly. Exhaustion dragged at him, but so did determination. The Room was giving them what they needed. He wouldn't waste it.
Not when Voldemort was out there, gathering strength. He knew the plan, all he had to do is move his pieces in correct places, and then it will be a crushing defeat for Voldemort. He has already given a hard blow to Tom's financial help and his death eaters, now what remained was to not fall into an unseen trap.
Chapter 37Notes:Author Note: hey guys!!! apologies for the delay in posting. I was sick, and then I was travelling again, and fell more sick, but now I'm much better. So, here you go, the chapter is here.
Also, if you liked my work, please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.instagram.com/bibliophile1722/
Chapter TextHarry's life was running smoothly so far. He was living in a routine now, and that was what made it easier for him to manage things and plan ahead. Chaos always seemed to find him at Hogwarts, but these days, he felt like he was finally ahead of it.
Every morning before breakfast, the Room of Requirement became his training ground. Hermione, Luna, Susan, and Tonks joined him without fail. Some mornings they dragged their feet, robes askew and yawns stretching their faces, but they came anyway.
The Room adapted to whatever Harry asked of it: dueling dummies that fought back, spell targets, and a vast cavern where his dragon form, Fury, could stretch wings without breaking the castle in a much smaller size after some practice an Harry's will.
"Let's warm up," Hermione said briskly one morning, her hair brown curly tied back, parchment notes sticking out of her pocket.
Tonks groaned. "Granger, you'll kill us before Moody does. It's six in the morning."
"You'll thank me when you are alive," Hermione retorted, planting her feet and casting a firm Protego.
Luna tilted her head as a dummy charged her. She stepped aside in a fluid, almost dance-like movement, letting the spell glance off. "Shields are useful," she said smiling, "but sometimes it's better to be where the curse isn't."
Susan, steady as ever, raised her wand. Her shield was solid, if not flashy. "Better safe than sorry," she said firmly, looking to Harry for approval.
Harry nodded. "Both approaches matter. Shields when you can't avoid, dodges when you can. Mix them."
They rotated partners, sparring until sweat soaked through their robes. Tonks, predictably, tripped during one exchange, but even falling she fired off a Stunner that caught her dummy square in the chest. She sat up with a sheepish grin. "See? Graceful as a hippogriff in heat, but effective."
Hermione sighed, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
By the end of each session, all of them were panting. Harry stayed behind after the others slumped onto desks. He transformed, black scales rippling over his body until Fury crouched on the stone floor. Shrinking the massive form to a manageable size still burned every muscle, but he forced it, again and again.
When they finally stumbled out toward the Great Hall, they blended in with other students only just waking, their secret safe.
Sirius's letters had become another constant. Owls came almost daily, thick parchment folded with hurried but sharp handwriting. Sirius was careful never to mention Harry's training outright—too risky if intercepted—but his advice was clear.
One letter had Harry pacing his dormitory late at night:
You need to be careful about the Animagus thing, pup. Being unregistered could cause trouble if the Ministry ever found out. Don't panic—I'll handle it. Lord Black still carries some weight in places the Ministry can't touch. I've got contacts abroad, and a few owe me favors from back in Auror days. You'll be safe. In the meantime, keep practicing. Control is everything. A dragon is impressive, but uncontrolled, it's just a target.
Harry had breathed easier after reading that. If anyone could navigate Ministry red tape—or tear through it—it was Sirius.
Classes were smoother now. Harry's effort showed.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick nearly bounced off his books when Harry performed a silent Banishing Charm perfectly. "Excellent, Mr. Potter! Way ahead of others. Controlled and efficient!"
Hermione's quill scratched furiously as she copied down the spell theory, though she already knew it. She beamed at Harry like his success was her own.
In Potions, Snape's sneer hadn't vanished, but his scorn carried less weight. Harry's potion wasn't perfect, but it wasn't a disaster either. When Snape peered into the cauldron, his lip curled.
"Barely acceptable," he muttered. "At least you haven't poisoned anyone this time."
Hermione stiffened beside Harry, ready to argue, but Harry shook his head. Letting Snape bait him wasn't worth it.
Care of Magical Creatures brought another round of Blast-Ended Skrewts. Most students groaned as sparks shot dangerously close to robes. Malfoy muttered darkly but stayed quiet. Harry's group worked with practiced ease, dodging blasts and corralling the creatures with shields.
"Tha's the way!" Hagrid bellowed, nearly clapping Neville into the ground.
Harry shared a grin with Susan, who looked proud despite her singed sleeve.
And in Moody's Defence lessons, Harry stayed alert but didn't let it show. When Moody barked CONSTANT VIGILANCE, Harry met his mismatched eyes without flinching.
"You've been paying attention, Potter," Moody growled after one class.
Harry only nodded.
"Good. Keep at it. You'll need it."
Harry carried those words with him long after class ended.
Evenings belonged to the study group. The abandoned classroom no longer looked abandoned. Wards lined the walls, scorch marks were repaired, and desks were arranged in a circle. Luna's looping handwriting still read The Study Group across the blackboard, with doodles of winged creatures.
Hermione ran things like a miniature professor. "Tonight we're revising," she announced one evening, handing out parchment.
Tracey groaned. "More notes? Merlin, Granger."
"You'll appreciate them next year," Hermione shot back with a smirk.
Blaise lounged in his chair, expression smooth. "Some of us don't need instructions written out."
"Then keep up," Hermione said crisply, unbothered.
Harry let them bicker. He paired off with whoever was free, his quiet leadership guiding the flow. With Susan, he adjusted her stance until her spell hit true. With Daphne, he matched her precise hexes, noting how controlled she was. With Tonks, he dodged like mad as she hurled spells too fast for the space.
Even Blaise earned grudging respect for his sharp technique.
For once, rivalries didn't pull the room apart. They still sniped at each other, still muttered under their breath, but no one left. Everyone kept coming back.
And Harry felt it: a fragile but real unity.
At night, when the castle quieted and his dormitory filled with the sound of Dean's soft snoring and Seamus's muffled mutters, Harry lay awake thinking.
He realized something: if he had clung to Ron despite the jealousy, despite the constant undercutting, he would have missed all of this. Hermione at his side, Luna's odd wisdom, Susan's quiet determination, Tonks's irreverent humor, Daphne's sharp intelligence—all of it would have passed him by.
It stung to admit, but Ron's absence had given him space to build something stronger.
And for once, Harry didn't feel like he was just surviving Hogwarts. He was enjoying it.
For Daphne Greengrass, life at Hogwarts had always been about balance. Balance between ambition and caution. Between house loyalty and personal survival. Between protecting her sister and playing her part in Slytherin politics.
Until last year, balance had meant one thing: keeping on the good side of Draco Malfoy.
Draco had been the loudest voice of their year, the so-called king of Slytherins. It wasn't respect he commanded, not really—more fear. Fear of his father, Lord Lucius Malfoy. Money and power did that, even when everyone whispered behind Draco's back about his arrogance.
But that was before the World Cup.
The trial had rocked the wizarding world. Every student had read the Prophet or overheard their parents whisper about it: Lucius Malfoy, proud head of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, unmasked as a Death Eater. Not Imperiused. Not tricked. A willing servant of Voldemort.
And not just him. Others had fallen too, captured or killed when the raid turned ugly. Three executed by the Ministry.
The shockwaves hadn't spared Hogwarts. Coming back for the new term, Draco Malfoy was quieter. Still smug, still sneering at Gryffindors under his breath, but the edge was gone. No more strutting into classrooms with that untouchable swagger. He sat with Crabbe and Goyle, but they looked like shadows of their former selves. Pansy also stayed with him and other students whose parents were also death eaters joined Draco sometimes.
Some Slytherins turned on him quickly. Not openly, of course—that was dangerous—but in whispers and in the way they didn't move aside for him in the common room anymore.
Daphne noticed. She always noticed.
Politics in Slytherin mattered. And politics had shifted.
When Hermione Granger had first suggested a study group last year, Daphne had dismissed it as Gryffindor foolishness. Slytherins didn't gather in circles and share knowledge; they competed, they schemed, they looked out for themselves.
And yet, here they were. A classroom found and being used by them, wards set up, students from all four houses working together.
She had agreed partly out of curiosity, partly because Tracey had nudged her into it, and partly because… well, Daphne wanted to see for herself what Potter was becoming.
What she found unsettled her.
Potter's magic wasn't schoolboy magic. When he cast, the spells hit harder, sharper, than most adults could manage. His shields absorbed curses that should have knocked him flat. When he moved, there was intent in every flick of his wand.
It was power—raw, undeniable.
And yet, he didn't flaunt it. He didn't bark orders like Malfoy, didn't strut or sneer. He demonstrated, corrected others quietly, set the pace by example. Students listened to him, even the Slytherins.
Daphne hated to admit it, but she listened too.
It left her conflicted. She had grown up warned about Harry Potter—the Boy-Who-Lived, who would be reckless Gryffindor, symbol of everything her house distrusted. Her father's friends had muttered about Dumbledore's weapon, the Ministry's darling. Her own instincts told her not to trust a Gryffindor with that much attention. Until last year, he was somewhat that.
But the Harry Potter in front of her wasn't reckless. He was focused. Controlled.
Worse, she found herself watching him.
Not in the way Tracey teased her about, though Tracey teased about everything. But in the way his presence drew her attention without asking for it. She tried to tell herself it was strategy—understanding an opponent, or at least a potential ally. But when she caught herself staring too long at the way his spells struck, or the steady way he spoke to Susan Bones, she didn't have an easy excuse.
Astoria
And then there was Astoria.
Daphne's younger sister had inherited the Greengrass family curse. A wasting sickness that came and went, cruel in its timing. Some days Astoria looked as bright as any other girl; others, she was confined to bed, coughing, pale as parchment.
Daphne had sworn she would find a way to break it. Becoming a mediwitch was more than ambition—it was necessity.
She carried that burden into every classroom, every study session. While others whispered about Quidditch or House points, Daphne took notes on magical illnesses. While Tracey complained about homework, Daphne thought about healer apprenticeships.
And when she watched Potter push himself beyond exhaustion in the study group, when she saw the way Susan looked at him with quiet trust, she couldn't help but wonder—was she meant to be pulled into his orbit too?
She didn't believe in destiny. But something about him made her feel tethered, as if a thread she couldn't see had already tied her to his path.
In the Group
"Your shield's strong," Potter told her one evening after she blocked his hex. His tone was even, not patronizing. "But you're holding it too long. Drop it quicker, reset, or you'll burn out."
Daphne frowned. "It held."
"For now," he said simply, and moved on.
Tracey elbowed her after. "Look at you, getting tutoring from Potter himself."
"Shut it, Tracey," Daphne muttered, but her ears burned.
Later, when Blaise questioned why they were even wasting time with Gryffindors, Potter cut in quietly: "Because next time something happens, it won't matter what house we're in. You'll want people who can actually fight beside you, support you."
The room had gone silent. Even Blaise hadn't had a comeback.
Daphne had pretended indifference, but inside she'd felt the truth of it.
So she balanced, as always. She watched Potter in classes—his improved potion work under Snape's glare, his silent spellcasting in Charms, the way he handled the Skrewts without flinching. She watched him in the study group, teaching without lecturing, pushing without breaking anyone.
And she thought of Astoria. Of the curse, of the burden she carried alone. Of how power like Potter's could change things.
Something tied her to him. She didn't know what, not yet. But she would find out.
The fire in the Headmaster's office crackled gently, its light glinting off polished instruments and the edge of the silver trinkets that ticked and spun on his shelves. To anyone else, it might have been a cozy scene. But Albus Dumbledore sat still behind his desk, his long fingers steepled, his expression heavy.
The latest reports lay before him. He had asked — subtly, always subtly — for updates from his colleagues. Not spying, of course, merely… professional observations. And yet, the pattern in the words disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.
"Potter shows remarkable progress." — Flitwick.
"Potter has developed a surprising consistency in his work. His effort is obvious." — Sprout.
"Potter is disciplined in my class, focused and a brilliant mind." — even Vector, who rarely wasted words on praise.
McGonagall's note had been the sharpest: He is no longer holding himself back. There is a seriousness to him, Albus. He is applying himself in ways I did not expect.
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly.
It was what he had wanted — and not at all what he had wanted.
Harry Potter was meant to be brave, loyal, and good-hearted. A boy who fought because he must, not because he sought strength. A boy who leaned on his friends, who needed guidance, who could be directed toward sacrifice when the time came.
But this Harry Potter… this boy was learning too much, too quickly. His spells were sharper, his thinking more precise, his determination harder than Dumbledore had foreseen.
And the worst of it — he had done it without youngest Weasley boy.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, the phoenix Fawkes shifting gently on his perch nearby. The bird trilled a note of comfort, but Albus did not take it in.
Ron Weasley had been the anchor, the balance that kept Harry tied to where Dumbledore wanted him: Gryffindor loyalty, a steady friendship, but also a brake on Harry's instincts. Ron's jealousy, unfortunate as it was, had played into that balance. Harry leaned on Hermione for answers, on Ron for companionship. Between them, Harry remained… manageable.
But that bond had cracked.
Reports placed Weasley sulking, avoiding Harry, clinging to other boys in his dormitory. And Potter? Potter had not pursued him. He had not sought to mend the rift.
Instead, he had gathered new allies. Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws.
Harry Potter was building something of his own.
Dumbledore rose, pacing slowly across the rug. His mind drifted back to another time — to Tom Riddle, brilliant and untethered, who had slipped free of every guiding hand. Albus had promised himself he would not make the same mistake twice.
Harry was not Tom. He was kind, he had known love, he had risked himself for others already. But if left unchecked, his independence could make him… unpredictable.
The prophecy still hung over them both. Neither can live while the other survives. Harry's role was clear, but how he reached that end mattered greatly. If he grew too strong too soon, if he built bonds that Dumbledore could not account for, the boy might refuse the path laid out for him. He might resist the final step.
That could not happen.
Dumbledore paused at the window, looking out over the dark grounds of Hogwarts. The lake rippled faintly in the moonlight, the Forbidden Forest brooded at its edge. Somewhere out there, danger always lurked. He had once thought to shield Harry from too much, to let him face trials in measured doses. Now, Harry was seeking trials on his own.
How much longer before he uncovered truths Dumbledore had kept hidden for his own good?
The most galling part was how little room he had to maneuver.
If he pressed too hard, Harry would only grow more distant. If he ignored the changes, Harry would continue to gather strength unchecked.
Dumbledore's one lever — Ron — was gone. Weasley's jealousy had broken the trust too completely. Harry had chosen to let it go, and by doing so, had stepped outside of Dumbledore's careful net.
Even Hermione, ever the rational one, seemed bound more tightly to Harry now. And Luna Lovegood — her presence in Harry's circle was… unexpected. Unpredictable.
The Headmaster's fingers tightened on the window ledge.
No, he could not interfere yet. Not openly. Not while the Triwizard Tournament loomed, not while eyes were upon Hogwarts from every corner of Europe. Or he can enter the harry's name, it wouldn't be that hard and when it happens, he will come crawling back to me for help.
But he would wait, watch. He would listen. And when the moment came — when guidance was once again needed — he would act.
Later that evening, he stood at the top of the staircase leading down toward the Great Hall. Voices carried upward, laughter bubbling from the doors below.
Harry's laughter was among them. Bright, unguarded, shared with friends from three Houses, cutting through the usual divides of the school.
Dumbledore closed his eyes. The sound should have pleased him. Once, it would have. But now, it reminded him too much of how quickly control could slip away.
Fawkes's soft trill reached his ears again, gentle and steady. Dumbledore forced himself to breathe, to release the tension from his hands.
"Patience," he murmured aloud, voice barely above the whisper of the fire. "For now."
And he turned away.
Chapter 38: A Small EncounterNotes:Hi, if you liked my work, please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.instagram.com/bibliophile1722/
Chapter Text
The office in the Realm of Inbetween was full of activity. It was functional. A desk made of blackened oak, shelves lined with ledgers that contained the truths of every life, a single chair positioned neatly at the center. The walls were pale and unmarked, the light steady but without a visible source.
Death sat behind the desk, her pen scratching silently across parchment that never seemed to run out. She wore a fitted charcoal blazer over a pale blouse, skirt pressed to perfection, heels polished. Her silver-ash bob cut her face into clean lines, professional and sharp.
To mortals, the space might have seemed sterile, impersonal. To Death, it was orderly. It was exactly what was needed for her role.
And right now, that role was to watch Harry Potter and finish up the pending paperwork.
She had been watching him since she sent him back at the end of his third year. He had performed admirably, keeping the timeline intact, going through the same actions he performed in his previous lifetimes. But after that, his actions have changed, resulting in a much better world for him and his close friends and family. And what a spiral it had been.
Moving on, it wasn't only the prophecy, though, that mattered. It was the weight of his decisions. The way he had reached for better outcomes, even when he knew the cost. That had marked him.
Since he was sent back, she had visited him twice, not in the open, not in ways the living could easily explain, but she had been there, she had visited his dreams. Enough to remind him, at some level, that she was watching, and also that she is in his corner.
And watch she had. Through the summer, through the start of his fourth year.
The boy had not wasted the second chance. She had been impressed.
His achievements in the summer had been significant, though she did not need to note the details here; they were already etched into the ledger. More important was the fact that he had turned his scars into discipline. He was no longer content to stumble through his days. He was sharpening himself deliberately.
That pleased her. Too many mortals, given a chance, squandered it. Harry had not.
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes reflecting faint ink lines that glowed across the parchment on her desk. They tracked his movements, his choices, his growth. Each report confirmed what she already knew: Harry Potter was no longer the same boy who had walked uncertainly into his third year.
And yet…
Her quill paused.
For all his progress, one flaw remained.
His completion of soulbonds with his remaining soulmates.
The soul-bond waiting between them was clear. It had been there from the start, long before Harry understood it. It was not a matter of chance or convenience. It was written into the deepest threads of his story.
He had inched toward it. Susan trusted him more. Tonks had received pieces of truth from him, and Daphne watched him with an attention sharper than she admitted. But still, he hesitated.
Tonks had been the clearest chance. She was ready. She was open. She would have accepted the bond without resistance. A single kiss would have carried the knowledge she needed, the information he struggled to explain.
Instead, Harry had chosen the long route. Words, half-truths, guarded conversations. He circled the matter, unwilling to cross the line.
It was cautious. Understandable. Entirely human.
And frustrating. And soon, another of his soulmates will enter. The tournament was inching closer, and Harry would have to move faster. Make his soulmates bond to him.
Ariel Winter — the shape Death had chosen for this age, this watch — adjusted the cuffs of her blazer. She did not sigh, but her thoughts were sharp.
Harry complicated what should have been simple.
He had been betrayed, abandoned, and doubted. She knew that. His instinct was to measure every step, to never give away more than he had to. That instinct had saved him before. But in this, it slowed him.
The bond was not a trap. It was strength. He would need it. Without it, all his training, all his discipline, would not be enough. The unifying power of love with his soulbonded would boost his own power against Tom Riddle.
The quill stilled. The ledger folded itself shut.
Death did not meddle. She did not shift the pieces herself. She observed. She arrived when the last breath was taken. That was her role.
But Harry Potter was different. He had touched her power once already. He had been given back. That tether meant his path mattered to her more than most.
She would not save him. But she would judge him. And she would measure whether he used the time she had given wisely.
"Impressive, Potter," she said, her tone even, cool, businesslike. "But not enough. Not yet. And if you think hesitation will protect you from loss…"
Her eyes hardened.
"…you are wrong."
The parchment stilled. The office went quiet again, only the steady hum of the Inbetween filling the space.
Ariel Winter — Death in her chosen form — straightened her blazer, rose from her chair, and stepped into the shadows beyond her office.
It was a week before, when the other schools and their students would arrive for the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had been on his routine and was doing way better than he had expected.
His morning training, classes, and evening study group had been going well, and he had become very close with all the new friends he had made.
But there was always something that he felt was missing. Hermione and Luna kept him company, which strengthened their bonds. He was feeling much closer to them, any moment he spent with them, he wanted to kiss them senseless. And it wasn't a bad idea per se.
Although Harry had been reluctant to start any makeout sessions with Hermione or Luna, they have been very proactive and have stolen all the kisses from him whenever they can, knowing how shy Harry can be with this. They have also been encouraging him to kiss Tonks soon, so she could also come into their inner circle and enjoy the fun parts of being together with them.
They have been pestering Harry for almost a month now, since they have become very close to Susan and Daphne as well. They all know Fleur is gonna be here soon as well. Harry felt cornered over this, because he did not want to start the soulmate bond without knowing them more first.
So he was stuck in this mess where he wanted to kiss them and couldn't because he hadn't known them that well yet. And right now, to get out of this mess, he had written a letter to Sirius and was going to the rookery to send it by Hedwig.
When he reached there, he found that Hedwig had been waiting for him.
"Here, Hed, brought you some bacon strips and a letter you can take to Sirius." Harry fed Hedwig some bacon strips and was tying the letter to her leg when Daphne also entered.
Daphne immediately noticed Harry as well. She had been having mixed feelings about him, and recently thought that Potter is not that bad. And she was sending another letter to her father for more advice on how to proceed. She has also learned that Harry is also now Heir Black.
In Harry's head, he was a bit mesmerized by the way Daphne was looking, the cold was yet to settle, and Daphne wore a beautiful ice blue dress with a wizarding robe with her family crest on it. Her face had barely a speck of makeup, and her lips with a rosy tint. Overall, she looked like a proper pure blood heiress.
And even with all the knowledge in his head, Harry didn't know what to say. He was staring at her when Daphne greeted him, "Potter! Didn't expect you here this morning."
"Umm, yeah, just sending a letter to Sirius, he likes it when I keep in touch more often," replied Harry after starting in a fumble. He didn't know why he was feeling so nervous, probably, she was one of her soulmates, and that she didn't know this also put his nerves on fire a lot.
On some days, he wanted to kiss and start his soul bond with Daphne, Susan, and Tonks anytime he saw them, but his nerves always got the better of him. Somehow, facing Voldemort was easier for him than actually reaching out more to Susan, Tonks, and Daphne to talk with them. Spend time with them. It wasn't like he hadn't tried, Hermione and Luna also gave him some confidence, but he always delayed it.
Meanwhile, Daphne was going through her own inner turmoil, till last year Harry had been Dumbledore's man, through and through, but now, after breaking off from Ron, and filling out really well in summer, had done wonders for him. She didn't want to admit it, but Harry had started looking good.
They both broke the awkward conversation with a nod and went back to their own owls to send the letter they were going to send.
Chapter 39: BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANGNotes:Hey guys, if you liked this story, please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.instagram.com/bibliophile1722/
Chapter Text"Harry! You can just invite Daphne and Susan as well, to RoR, and tell them what happens in the future, Tonks already knows, and she will help us explain them. And I believe they can also feel the building of soulbond between you and them," said Hermione sharply over breakfast, when he told her, and Luna his little awkward encounter with Daphne. "You can't hesitate now, this close to the Triwizard Tournament. Even Fleur will be here by next week".
"Harry is trying to do his best, Hermione, but his head is full of wrackspurts right now, give him some time to go over this, God knows, in his luck, it's written to get the rest of his soulmates together at once," said Luna kindly, and joking as well.
"Well, he better," said Hermione and left for the class.
Harry did his best not to think too much about it, but he still thought that Hermione and Luna's idea wasn't bad. But that means he can also wait for BAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG to arrive, and with it, will be the arrival of Fleur. With that thought in his mind, he followed Hermione to the class as well.
Harry did his best not to worry about the whole thing for the next week. He followed his routine and made others follow him as well. He also noticed how his other soulmates' eyes had started following him more often than not. He wished he could just grab them, kiss their lips, bind the soulbond, and then get them on board with him for the rest of his plan. Since even death told him that if he bonds with all of his soulmates, he will be way more powerful, and it will be then easy to get rid of Riddle in the cemetery. On the other hand, their lessons were becoming more difficult and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody's Defense Against The Dark Arts.
To their surprise or not actually, they have seen it happen before, Professor Moody, or Crouch Jr., as they knew who he was, had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects. Harry and Hermione had decided to let it go the same way as it had been done before. They even decided that Harry would not show any resistance this time, so that Crouch's report to Voldemort would be flawed about this.
"But-but you said it's illegal, Professor," said Hermione uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large, clear space in the middle of the room. "You said - to use it against another human was -"
"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," said Moody, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."
He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Harry had a comforting smile on his face, and he held her hand.
Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Harry watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it "Potter," Moody growled, "you next."
Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, keeping his act together, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said,
'Imperio!"
It would have been the most wonderful feeling Harry felt, but his animagus form and his power were overriding the whole curse. Last time, Harry had felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He had stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him. This time, he kept up the act of falling under the spell.
And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Jump onto the desk. . . jump onto the desk. . .
He could have just ignored the command, echoing in some corner of his brain, but he wanted to keep every advantage he could get. That meant not showing any kind of resistance to the command.
So, when Harry jumped on the desk, Moody got an expression, which was very quick, and then went away, but he was able to catch it. That meant the act had been successful.
"Even you were not able to resist this Potter. I had expected better from you," Moody growled.
After the class, they went away, listening to other students bicker about the class.
Also, all the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned.
"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!" she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer."
"We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year," said Dean Thomas indignantly.
"Maybe not, Mr. Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger and Mr. Potter remain the only two people in this class who have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Mr. Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"
Hermione, who would have turned rather pink again, just accepted the praise with a smile.
In Runes and Arithmancy, they were getting new and complex theory to study and work with. Even Hagrid hadn't backed out in this train, neither the other teachers.
30th October
There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, Neville, and Hermione hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall.
Harry was waiting for this day, Fleur would be coming today and tomorrow the champions would be selected. He knew his name will come out and the backlash of it. But he had already planned on how to handle that. No, the issue he was worried about was Fleur, he didn't know how to approach her before scaring her away. And once his name comes out of the goblet, she will not like that one bit. He will have to get her get her before that. Not just her, everyone.
The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. "Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."
Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.
"Follow me, please," said Professor McGonagall. "First years in front. . . no pushing."
The students were discussing how the other school's would come. The theories were as wild as weasley twin's invention. Just like last time, some said, broomsticks, some said train. Even apparition and portkey were mentioned. "You cannot apparate in Hogwarts, it's written in Hogwarts: A History" - said Hermione to no one in particular. He didn't realise but Hermione had snuggled closer to him when he was in his head. He appreciated her presence more than he would ever accept.
And then just like before, Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers - "Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
"Where?" said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions. "There!" yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest. Something large, much larger than a broomstick - or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks - was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time. "It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely. "Don't be stupid. . . it's a flying house!" said Dennis Creevey
Dennis's guess was closer. . . . As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powder blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.
The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.
Harry saw the door of the carriage which bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars), before it opened.
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage - a shoe the size of a child's sled - followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life.
The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped. Madam Maxine is here, and with her, Fleur.
Just like before Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman. Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it. "My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts." "Dumbly-dort," said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?" "In excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore. "My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.
Fleur wasn't walking with Madam Maxine, just like before, she was at the back of the group, with a cloth covering her neck, she was also shivering like other students from her school.
"Well, that won't do," after saying that, Harry performed the mass warming charm on the Beauxbaton students and he could immediately see the results. No one was able to tell who did but Fleur's eyes turned towards his general area of student group.
It seemed, she could sense the spell came from here. "Not bad, not bad at all."
While Harry was busy looking at Fleur, Madam Maxine and Headmaster Dumbledore had exchanged pleasantries and Madam maxine was moving inside to get more warm, the students followed her.
They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive.
Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky.
For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then - "Can you hear something?" said Ron suddenly, to Dean and Seamus.
Harry listened to the question as well, he knew how the Durmstrung would come.
"The lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!" From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water - except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks - and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor.
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle... but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.
And just like before Karkaroff came out, with Krum alongside him, and he could again hear Ron's voice, his shouting that it's Krum, Krum.
While they moved inside, Harry planned on how to get all his soulmates at once. He had to do it, before they might start distrusting him because of his name coming out of Goblet of Fire for The Triwizard Tournament.
He moved with a goal in his mind. It will be a long night and a day for him.
Chapter 40Notes:Hey guys!!! apologies for the delay in posting. I was sick, and then I was travelling again, and fell more sick, but now I'm much better. So, here you go, the chapter is here.
Also, if you liked the chapter, please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.instagram.com/bibliophile1722/
Chapter TextThe rest of the evening passed the same way it had in his previous life. The Great Hall buzzed with talk about the upcoming Tournament, laughter bouncing between the house tables, and the kind of restless energy that came whenever something big hovered just ahead.
Harry stayed mostly quiet, but he managed to have a decent conversation with Fleur. It wasn't long — just a few minutes after dessert, while the others were distracted — but it was enough to remind him how sharp and confident she was when she wasn't surrounded by people gawking. He could already see why she had been chosen as Beauxbatons' champion in the last timeline.
When the night ended, and he climbed back up the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitory, the energy of the day began to settle into focus.
He had a plan to set in motion.
The moment he closed the curtains around his bed, Harry sat down and pulled out parchment and quill. He wrote six notes — short, direct messages — each addressed to one of his soulmates.
Two of them were already bonded to him. The others would be tonight.
His handwriting stayed firm and even. He didn't waste words — each letter carried the same message:
"Meet me in the Room of Requirement at midnight. It's important. Trust me."
For Fleur, he added a separate line, knowing she was at Beauxbatons Carriage and couldn't exactly stroll through Hogwarts at midnight.
"Call Dobby, my house-elf. He'll bring you to the meeting."
It was a stretch, even for him. Crossing the boundaries between magical spaces wasn't easy, not even for elves. But his gut told him it would work.
When he finished, he folded each letter neatly and whistled softly.
Hedwig swooped down from her perch with a quiet hoot, landing gracefully on the desk.
"Six deliveries tonight, girl," Harry said softly, running a hand along her feathers. "You know where to find them."
Hedwig gave a soft click of her beak — acknowledgment — before taking the letters in her talons and flying out through the open window into the cold night air.
Harry watched her until she vanished into the dark sky, then exhaled slowly.
Now came the waiting.
He lay down for a while, pretending to settle in as his dormmates drifted off one by one. Seamus was the first, his snores filling the room. Dean mumbled something about a Quidditch match in his sleep. Ron, behind his curtains, his snores, loud enough to wake the whole dormitory.
When the tower finally fell quiet, Harry slipped out of bed, dressed quickly, and checked the Marauder's Map. The castle was still, no professors or prefects in his path. Not even Filch was near 7th floor with his cat to come in his way.
It was fifteen minutes to midnight.
He moved fast, his footsteps soft against the stone floor. Every corridor was familiar now, every staircase's creak predictable. He passed portraits that snored softly, their occupants asleep, and reached the corridor where the Room of Requirement would appear.
He paced in front of the blank wall three times, murmuring under his breath:
"I need a comfortable place for a meeting. I need a cozy place for showing memories. I need a place to show my life."
The door formed silently before him, tall and solid, framed by faint golden light.
Harry pushed it open.
The Room had shaped itself exactly as he needed: a wide space filled with warm light, deep armchairs, and a thick carpet that muffled sound. The walls shimmered faintly with runes — protective wards, likely the Room's own doing. In the center stood a large table with a pensieve on top, silver liquid swirling slowly inside.
It looked perfect.
Harry gave a satisfied nod and called out quietly, "Dobby."
A soft pop echoed, and the house-elf appeared instantly, dressed in a mismatched outfit of socks and a tiny vest that somehow carried a Gryffindor crest.
"The Amazing Master Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squeaked, bouncing on his toes. "You called, sir?"
Harry smiled faintly. "Yeah. I'll need some refreshments — tea, maybe sandwiches. Enough for seven. Oh, and Dobby…"
He hesitated a second. "Did Fleur call you yet?"
Dobby's big eyes went even wider. "No, the Amazing Master Harry Potter sir, they haven't called Dobby yet! But Dobby is ready the instant they do!"
"Good," Harry said simply. "Bring the food and drinks, then wait outside. Out of sight. No one should be able to see you."
"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir!" Dobby said, vanishing with another pop, leaving behind a faint shimmer of displaced air.
Harry looked around the room again. The fire flickered softly in a small hearth near one wall, casting shadows across the floor. The pensieve gleamed faintly under the light. Everything was set.
He checked his watch. Ten minutes to midnight.
The castle beyond the Room was silent now — the kind of deep, undisturbed silence Hogwarts only had after curfew.
He walked slowly around the table, adjusting the arrangement of chairs. His nerves weren't showing, but his thoughts were racing. This night had to go right. Every step had led here — every conversation, every careful decision since he had returned to this point in time.
These bonds weren't just personal. They were power, trust, and shared destiny.
He'd already bonded with two of them. The rest… would change everything.
He paused, glancing toward the door, half expecting it to open.
Nothing yet.
When Dobby returned, balancing a tray stacked with sandwiches, tea, and pumpkin juice, Harry nodded his thanks.
"Set it there," he said, motioning to a side table.
Dobby did so eagerly, his ears flopping with each nod. "Dobby is leaving now, sir, and Dobby will wait outside! Out of anyone's sight"
"Perfect," Harry replied.
Dobby vanished again.
The door sealed itself behind him with a soft hum.
Now it was just Harry and the flicker of the firelight.
He sat down in one of the armchairs, his elbows on his knees, staring into the pensieve. The surface shimmered like liquid glass. Memories — his memories — waited inside. He'd chosen the ones that mattered most: truths, moments, and evidence that would help the others understand what he carried and why this bond mattered.
He leaned back slightly, rolling the tension from his shoulders.
He didn't know who would arrive first. Fleur, if Dobby managed to reach her. Hermione would already be on her way. As well as Luna. They might shout at him because this plan was too early and wasn't discussed with them. He had just thought of it in the spur of the moment and enacted it right away. He will bear it.
Whoever came, they'd see what he needed them to see.
He checked his watch again.
One minute to midnight.
Harry exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
He had faced death. He had faced Voldemort. But somehow, the thought of opening himself — of truly showing these women who he was — made his chest feel heavier than any duel ever had.
Still, he was ready.
He had to be.
And so he waited.
The clock on the wall struck midnight.
Harry didn't move. He just watched the door, wand resting loosely in his hand. The fire crackled softly in the corner, and the pensieve continued its slow, rhythmic swirl.
A few seconds later, the handle turned.
The door opened quietly, and two familiar figures stepped inside.
Hermione entered first, her hair a little out of place and her robe thrown on hastily over her nightclothes. She looked alert despite the hour. Luna followed a step behind, barefoot, her wand tucked behind one ear as if she had simply wandered in from a dream.
Harry stood, meeting them halfway. Hermione didn't hesitate — she crossed the distance quickly and threw her arms around him in a brief, firm hug.
"You scared me half to death," she said, voice low but sharp with concern. "A midnight note, really?"
Harry gave a tired grin. "The idea came suddenly and I had no way to talk with you or Luna about this, I'm just winging it. I knew you both would come." He moved his face forward and kissed her softly on her lips and pulled away.
She pulled back, narrowing her eyes. "Of course I'd come."
Before he could answer, Luna stepped forward. She didn't hug him right away; instead, she studied him for a moment, eyes calm but searching. Then, with a small smile, she reached out and squeezed his hand.
"It would be alright Harry, everyone would align perfectly well with you," she said quietly. "I could feel it."
Harry exhaled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Yeah, maybe." He hugged Luna and gave her a soft kiss as well.
Hermione gave Luna a look halfway between amusement and exasperation but didn't argue. She turned back to Harry. "Alright. We're here. Now tell us what's going on."
Harry opened his mouth to respond — but the door opened again before he could.
Tonks walked in first, wand drawn, pink hair dimmed to a darker shade as if she didn't want to attract attention in the halls. Susan Bones followed close behind her, her expression confused but cautious.
Susan was still in her night gown, hair tied back in a braid, clearly pulled from bed in a hurry.
Tonks's eyes swept the room quickly, assessing. When she saw Harry, her shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. "Alright, Potter," she said in a low voice. "What's this about? You know sneaking half the castle into a meeting after hours isn't subtle."
Susan stepped forward beside her. "Why are we here, Harry?" she asked, voice steady but tight. "It's the middle of the night, and you said it was important. What's going on?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He looked at each of them — Hermione's sharp focus, Luna's quiet curiosity, Tonks's controlled suspicion, Susan's mix of confusion and trust.
They were all here. Four of them.
Two more to come.
He nodded once, motioning for them to sit. "I'll explain," he said finally. "But not yet. We're still waiting on two more."
Tonks arched an eyebrow. "Two more?"
Harry met her gaze. "Yeah."
She studied him for a moment, then holstered her wand. "Alright," she said finally. "But this better be worth the suspense, Potter."
"You know about my past life Tonks, and the time has come for me to take my next step."
Hermione folded her arms, clearly biting her response to that. Luna simply sat down cross-legged on one of the armchairs, watching the fire serenly.
Susan hesitated, then lowered herself into the seat beside Hermione. Her eyes stayed on Harry. "Who else are we waiting for?"
Harry looked toward the door. "You'll see soon enough."
The room fell quiet again. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint hum of the Room's enchantments.
Harry stood near the pensieve, waiting. The silver liquid rippled faintly in the bowl, reflecting the soft light.
He could feel the weight of what was coming. Every heartbeat brought him closer to the point where he'd have to lay it all out — the truth, the memories, everything he'd been carrying.
But for now, he stayed silent.
He'd wait until they were all there. Then, finally, they would know.
Minutes passed in steady silence. The clock on the wall ticked faintly, every sound exaggerated in the quiet.
Hermione sat forward in her chair, restless energy in every small movement. Luna had tilted her head back, eyes half-closed, as though she was listening for something no one else could hear. Tonks tapped her boot lightly against the floor, impatience written in the rhythm. Susan glanced toward the door every few seconds, clearly trying to piece together what this was all about.
Harry stayed standing. He didn't pace, didn't speak — he just waited.
Then the handle turned again.
The door opened softly, and Daphne Greengrass stepped inside.
For a moment, no one said a word.
She looked exactly as composed as she always did — posture straight, robes neat, expression calm — but her eyes told a different story. They flicked from Harry to the others and back again, assessing everything in a single sweep.
Hermione straightened slightly. Tonks' brows lifted, clearly surprised. Susan's confusion deepened — Daphne's presence wasn't one she had expected.
"Daphne," Harry said finally, breaking the silence. His tone was calm and steady. "You got my note."
"I did." Her voice was quiet, level, the kind of tone that didn't give much away. She stepped forward, closing the door behind her. "You weren't joking about midnight, then. I clearly thought it might be a ruse to get me into trouble."
Harry gave a faint smirk. "Well, as you can see, that's clearly not why I asked you here."
Daphne's lips twitched, maybe the ghost of a smile, but it faded quickly. "Apparently not." She glanced around the room again, then met his eyes. "I wasn't sure if you actually wanted me here, Potter. Most people don't send mysterious letters to Slytherins asking for secret midnight meetings."
Tonks gave a short laugh under her breath. "He's full of surprises, that one."
Hermione shot her a look but said nothing.
Harry moved closer, just enough to be within easy conversation distance. "I wouldn't have written if it wasn't important. You wouldn't be here if you didn't already suspect that."
Daphne held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fair point."
Hermione folded her hands together, speaking carefully. "Harry has gathered us here for something very important, which involves all of us, and one more person. Rest only harry can explain."
"Ohh, so, who are we waiting for?," Daphne asked, eyes still on Harry. "Though judging by everyone else's faces, I'm guessing I'm not the only one waiting for them."
Harry inclined his head slightly. "You're not. We all are, and honestly, it would be a miracle if she shows up."
Daphne gave a slow nod, then crossed to one of the chairs near the edge of the table. She sat, her movements measured, but Harry noticed the faint tension in her shoulders. For someone who usually looked like nothing ever rattled her, that said a lot.
He turned toward her as she adjusted her robe sleeve, the faintest tremor of uncertainty in her movements. "Thanks for coming," he said quietly.
Her eyes flicked to his. "You made it sound urgent, I didn't have much of a choice."
Harry shrugged. "I didn't mean it that way. Just… I'm glad you came."
That earned him a brief glance — not quite soft, but not cold either. More like acknowledgment. "I almost didn't," she admitted. "It's not exactly common sense to walk alone into a meeting called by Harry Potter in the middle of the night."
"I wouldn't have blamed you," Harry said, meaning it.
"But you knew I would anyway. I found myself very curious of what do you have to share which cannot wait another day."
Harry didn't answer. His silence said enough.
Daphne exhaled quietly through her nose, then leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her composure returned piece by piece, like armor being refitted.
Across the table, Tonks leaned toward Hermione and muttered, "He's really collecting the whole set, isn't he?"
Hermione elbowed her lightly. "Tonks."
"What?" Tonks grinned, whispering, "I'm just saying — midnight meetings, mysterious notes, Slytherins sneaking out — tell me that's normal."
Susan frowned at both of them. "Maybe we should just hear him out before making jokes."
Harry heard all of it but didn't respond. His attention was still on Daphne. She was trying to look detached, but he could tell her mind was racing. She had that calculating look he'd seen in the study group before — the same one she wore when trying to decide if someone was worth trusting.
He didn't blame her.
Finally, she spoke again, voice lower. "I'll stay until you explain. But if this turns out to be some kind of prank or Gryffindor stunt—"
"It's not," Harry interrupted, tone even. "This isn't about house lines or games."
Daphne's eyes stayed on him another moment, measuring him, then she nodded. "Alright then. I'll hold you to that."
The faintest crack of a smirk tugged at Tonks' mouth. "Guess we're all in now."
Harry gave a single nod. "Yeah. We are."
He looked around the room — Hermione steady and waiting, Luna calm and unreadable, Susan tense but attentive, Tonks half-smiling, Daphne watchful and cautious.
They were the start of something much bigger, even if they didn't see it yet.
And with one more person still to come, the night wasn't over. Not by a long shot.