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Chapter Text

There was a familiar scent in Harry’s sinuses as he came to… something sweet, but it was fading quickly from his mind as he tried to shake off the darkness. In its wake, a splitting headache grew and expanded inside his skull, and he groaned as the pain began to overtake him. He was lying somewhere, an unknown place because it didn’t feel like the Hospital Wing… the distorted echoes sounded all wrong, and the air was cold and drafty… those flapping sounds might be a tent?

A fresh spike of agony, sharp as a needle, shot through his temples.

More pain.

Harry opened his mouth to take rapid, shallow breaths to stop himself from crying out. His eyes were still closed, but he felt tears running down his cheeks. This was worse than anything he’d experienced before — way worse than having the bones in his hand regrown or any prior mental intrusions of Voldemort, for sure.

It barely made a difference, but Harry tried to force himself to just breathe in, out, in, out, focusing on nothing but air in his lungs.

What had happened to him? The last thing he knew was… he’d been flying?

His skin began to itch as he started shuddering underneath his blanket. It took everything he had not to start screaming. His head felt like it was being slowly opened with a hammer and a chisel by someone who knew the most painful spots within his nervous system. The darkness behind his closed eyes was torn by erratic white flashes.

Suddenly, Harry remembered waking up in pain before, maybe just minutes or hours before now.

He’d been covered in dirt, hadn’t he? There’d also been something on his chest, something thick or padded… his Quidditch gear! Memories came back then, slowly and out of order. Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to make sense of it all.

The Quidditch match against… the Slytherins?

He’d tried to dodge Flint twice, but… no, that wasn’t right; Flint had left Hogwarts years ago. His mind felt like a locked room, and he was helplessly rattling the handle in vain.

The Hufflepuffs! Cedric was… also not there, dead, and it was all his fault.

Harry tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and another wave of pain wrecked his body. Every nerve ending seemed to scream in protest, amplifying the rough texture of the blanket against his skin into something abrasive.

Slowly, the match came back to him. Ron being out of action because of that stupid poisoning attempt… and something else, something hidden… oh, and that idiot McLaggen.

The Bludger!

His mind’s eye conjured the image of something coming his way, fast. Something small, something dangerous… the Bludger, it was going to hit his face! Instinctively, he flinched and tried to dodge it, only to have his headache increase tenfold from the sudden motion.

Harry finally screamed as his muscles tried to rip themselves apart.

It was like a Cruciatus curse being cast directly at his brain.

Distantly, he noticed that there were other noises close to him. He was still screaming out his very soul, but that was an ongoing process that cruelly left enough brain space to observe himself being in such agony — and apparently surrounded by other people now. He distantly smelled different scents of cloth and leather, wood and hair, breath and… magic. That was magic, being cast close to him; he was sure of it. It washed over him like a pour of warm water, but it didn’t soothe the overwhelming pain; it only added to the massive overload of sensual input on his mind.

His screaming continued, and he tasted blood in the back of his hoarse throat.

Then, thankfully, everything dissolved into nothingness. The last thing Harry noticed was that something… no, someone was holding his hand.

Strangely, it didn’t burn at all on his skin.

“I know you mean well, Miss Granger, but you need to leave. Harry needs rest, and so do you. He’ll wake up eventually, and all things will be revealed.”

A huff. “But Headmaster, we can’t…”

“We did all we could to soothe his pains, Miss Granger. The rest is up to him and to time.”

“Alright, but I want to know if he wakes up. First Ron almost dies, now Harry. Something is going on. I won’t lose my friends, I just…”. A sob.

“I understand, believe me, I do. I’ll have Professor McGonagall contact you when he comes to.”

Harry wasn’t fully awake yet, but he was content to follow the voices along, letting them gently tug him out of his sleep. His head felt strangely sore, like it was filled with cotton. There was a terrible taste in his mouth, and his blanket was itchy.

He knew he’d been in serious pain before just now — less an actual memory, but a bone-deep ache in his entire body that he knew all too well by now. Feigning sleep, just to have another moment or two of quiet for himself, he let his memories tumble out of the dark and slot into place.

The Quidditch match. McLaggen’s accidental Bludger, and then… pain, so much pain.

He’d crash-landed on the ground, hadn’t he?

Gryffindor had probably lost that game, thanks to him.

And those headaches, worse than anything he’d ever experienced…

A deep, regular thumping suddenly filled Harry’s ears. It took him a few panicked moments to notice it was his rhythmic heartbeat, and he listened to it with wonder, eyes still closed. Why was it so loud? He could hear an actual echo, at least from his left side where the curtain was opened…

… he was in the Hospital Wing?

For sure.

It smelled of medical potions and clean linens, and of Madame Pomfrey’s robes, whose scent wasn’t quite the same as typical hospital gowns, but almost. Just how the bloody hell did he know all this? Harry swallowed and noticed that his throat was less sore. He must’ve been here some time then, probably a day or more.

A crackling sound pierced the rhythm of his heartbeat, and someone drew in a loud breath. “You can open your eyes now, Harry; I know you’re awake.” A male voice, old and deep, and far too loud.

He winced and moved his arms across his face, feeling skin rubbing on skin and not liking it at all. “Please… don’t shout.”

“I didn’t.”

Dumbledore shuffled closer, each step thundering on the floor as if a troll was rampaging within the wing. Harry winced again.

“Are you still having a headache, Harry?”

He nodded slightly. “It’s manageable, but, please, everything is so… loud,” he whispered.

A loud noise of rustling cloth and something wooden that stirred between fingers. Harry didn’t dare open his eyes, but he knew the headmaster was drawing his wand. Then, another faint impression of magic on his skin, as if someone had lit a candle an arm’s length away during a cold night. Suddenly, a soft and silky blanket of… nothingness lowered itself around his senses, and Harry felt a moment of vertigo as he imagined himself falling away from all the noise and smells, down into the floor and deep into the earth…

But he was still lying in his bed in the Hospital Wing.

Only that his blanket wasn’t itching anymore, and his ears and nose were calming down. The sudden, blessed quiet was so profound it felt like a physical weight being lifted from his very soul. Carefully, he opened his left eye and tried to adjust to the bright light. Then, with a slight groan, he opened both eyes and slowly rubbed his face. His fingertips felt tiny pockmarks and scars on his skin — his fall during the game must’ve been pretty bad. He probably looked as if he'd been trampled by wild centaurs.

“Is that better?” Dumbledore’s voice sounded almost normal now.

“Loads.” He nodded, more eagerly this time, and finally turned his gaze to the older man. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” With a flick, the headmaster conjured a stool and sat down to look at him. “Harry, you’ve given us quite the scare. Do you know what happened to you?”

He closed his eyes again as he tried to remember more clearly. “Cormac hit me with a Bludger during the game, and I fell? After that, I don’t know, apart from that my head seemingly wants to explode.”

Dumbledore hmm’ed. “It was indeed an unfortunate accident on Mister McLaggen’s behalf that saw you fall from your broom. The Bludger split your skull, but a timely intervention by Miss Granger saved you from hitting the ground with full force.”

Harry smiled. “I’ll make sure to thank her for that.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very relieved to learn that you feel better.” Dumbledore apparently ignored the fact that Harry had overheard their earlier conversation, which the man must’ve known. Harry snorted and then felt almost dazed as several half-buried scents came up in his sinuses. Earth, cloth, leather, and… that sweet aroma he remembered smelling earlier.

What was it?

The headmaster, thankfully, hadn’t noticed his distraction. “Miss Weasley’s also tried to intervene on your behalf. She flew into you to push you away from one of the goalposts so that you wouldn’t hit it. Maybe she’s also worthy of receiving thanks for that.”

“I will make sure.” Harry thought about Ginny and something inside him hardened into a knot — before it vanished and left nothing but an almost disturbing… emptiness. He tried to conjure images of her freckles and her gleaming hair and felt deep fondness. But the image of himself asking Ron to give his blessing to Harry’s pursuit of his sister suddenly felt like a foreign thought.

It was all wrong.

Harry grunted as he massaged his temples. He was getting sick of being so… weird and having to deal with all these sensations and emotions.

“Is there anything else, Harry? Why does your head hurt this much?” Dumbledore leaned closer now, as Harry felt the aroma of lemon drops and old skin grow stronger. “Are you having some of those visions again?”

“No, it’s not like that…” Harry stopped himself all of a sudden because the skin on his neck was prickling. Something was… off. Something right here, in his vicinity. He couldn’t place it; he knew it wasn’t an actual ambush or physical attack, but something deep within him urged him to guard his words now, to guard himself.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he mumbled, not looking Dumbledore in the eye as he stared off into space and wondered why he could see tiny dust particles on the Hospital Wing’s far wall. “It feels brutal in its intensity, like a Cruciatus Curse almost, but at the same time different from what Voldemort did to me before.”

The Dark Lord’s intrusions had been sharp and invasive, but this was a dull, grinding pressure from within, as if his mind was tearing itself apart. He didn’t elaborate on his hyperactive senses because he wouldn’t have believed himself right now. And because that tight feeling in his guts was still present, causing him to feel vulnerable and alert at the same time.

“Do you see anything during those flashes you have?”

“Not really, just… noise at the edge of my vision. Like a TV not attuned to a station, or something like that. And memories from when I was hit and fell.” That one wasn’t even a lie.

The headmaster sighed. “I know your lessons with Professor Snape haven’t exactly been fruitful, but I urge you to muster all the resources you have to fortify your mind. It might be a different form of attack that Voldemort hasn’t used before or just now discovered.”

“Yes, of course.”

There was little Harry could draw upon from Snape’s painful attacks on his mind to protect himself against… anything, really, but what else was he supposed to say? They had been over this enough times to drive home that nothing he’d say would dissuade Dumbledore from holding that greasy git in the highest regard.

“I’ll leave you for the moment. Get some rest; the spell I cast will hold for several hours, so you won’t feel so overwhelmed.”

Harry opened his eyes again. “What was it, if you don’t mind me asking, Headmaster?”

“Quietus Animus, a variant of the Quieting Charm, you know, only that it is cast at a person and soothes all their senses, not just sound. It can be cast wordlessly if need be, and the wand movement is almost the same as the Quieting Charm's, except that you end it with an S-motion, like so.” The old man used his index finger to show Harry. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble mastering it once you feel better.”

“Thank you.” Despite his current reservations, which he still couldn’t explain, Harry was honestly thankful. If this spell prevented him from having another episode, he’d stop at nothing to learn to master it.

“You’re welcome, Harry. Sleep well. I’ll inform Professor McGonagall that you can receive visitors later this evening if that’s alright with you?”

He nodded again and watched Dumbledore go to exchange a few words with Madame Pomfrey and then leave the Hospital Wing. As the door shut behind the old man, Harry stared at the doorknob and the fading impressions of Dumbledore’s hands on it. Three fingerprints remained, standing out against the multitude of tiny imperfections and marks on the gleaming metal surface due to being so much more complex.

It was only then that Harry noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

He looked over to his bedside table and experienced another bout of vertigo as his vision fell apart like a kaleidoscope and everything around him began tumbling. Holding himself upright on the bed with both hands, he tried to draw deep breaths as his vision blurred and refocused a few times before he was able to finally look at his glasses, lying on the small table just an arm’s length away.

What was going on?

How was he able to see anything without his glasses, and at such a distance?

Dust particles and fingerprints? Really? It was impossible, a trick of his battered mind, yet the hyper-realistic detail was undeniably there.

And how much worse would this have been without Dumbledore’s charm that still covered his very being and smoothed out all his impressions?

Harry slowly lowered himself back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling — thankfully not seeing more than he should right now. His head was spinning as he tried to make sense of his current state of being.

McLaggen had a lot to answer for, really.

“Hermione.” Ron nodded awkwardly as he sat down at the Gryffindor table for dinner. He’d come alone — Lavender, who’d arrived earlier, was whispering furiously with Parvati while shooting him dirty looks.

Hermione looked at him, then at her classmates, then she rolled her eyes. She didn’t respond but continued. Beside her plate was a quill on top of a small sheet of parchment, yet to be filled with notes.

“Good thing Harry is okay, right?” Ron glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he heaped food onto his plate. “If only he’d managed to grab the Snitch or something, that would’ve been…”

“Would’ve been what, Won-Won?” Her icy voice caused some of their housemates to shuffle away. She bit back the urge to scream at Ron for treating Harry's life-threatening fall as just another missed opportunity for house points.

The redhead blushed. “Nothing.”

Hermione huffed. “That’s what I thought. This stupid game.”

“So, are we talking again?”

She stared at him. “That remains to be seen.”

“Great.” Ron snorted. “I just can’t win with you, or anyone, these days.”

“You have just yourself to blame.” She squared her jaw as she stared at him. “All of this…”

“All of what?” Ron tried to remain quiet, but his furious stage-whispering drew quite a bit of attention now. “Getting death glares and a cold shoulder? I’m kind of used to that by now, as is Harry.”

Hermione’s cheeks grew hot. “I don’t have a problem with Harry.”

“Are you sure?” Ron motioned with his spoon between them. “Ever since he picked up that Potions book, you’ve been hounding him or biting his head off for the smallest things. Well, his and mine.”

“I… ” She wanted to argue his point, but in her gut, Hermione knew that — against all odds, or rather her expectations — Ron was right for once. She’d been somewhat irritable as of late, her ire not just reserved for the idiot in front of her.

“Granger at a loss for words? Can someone punch me, please? This isn’t right.” Seamus grinned at Neville, who just blushed.

Ron, surprisingly, didn’t acknowledge his mate’s comment but continued to look at Hermione. Something unspoken between them, something that had simmered for weeks, months even, shifted. Both felt it, and both knew the other one felt it as well — their eyes were locked onto each other.

Finally, Hermione sighed. “Okay. Let’s… table this, whatever it is, for now.”

“You’re worrying about Harry.”

“Of course I do!” She pushed her plate away, not feeling hungry anymore. “I worry constantly. Not just about him, but yes, mostly about Harry because he always finds himself in these ridiculous situations where his life is in danger.”

Ron leaned closer. “It was an accident, Hermione, not a conspiracy. McLaggen can’t play for shite; that’s it.”

“Hear, hear,” Ginny grumbled a few seats away, causing current and former members of the Quidditch team to nod.

“Language, Ron!”

”It’s true.”

She sighed again. “I know it wasn’t a nefarious plot, at least this time.” Her gaze bored into Ron. “Unlike with you. That potion incident was… too much. I thought you… ” She stopped. “That was much too close.”

“I’m still here.” Ron’s wry smile was eerily similar to the one Harry loved to employ when making self-deprecating comments.

“I still hear him screaming," Hermione said, watching his reaction. "I've never heard him be in pain like that, Ron. Never.”

Ron blanched slightly. “Me neither. It was like a Dementor, or something worse, was going at him.”

“This is why I worry.”

They stopped talking for a moment. Ron glanced at Lavender and saw that she was still giving him the evil eye. Hermione was scribbling something on her piece of parchment, stopping only occasionally to look over Ron’s shoulder a few times.

“Something happening?” He didn’t turn around.

“Malfoy.” She made another note. “I… I’m not sure why, but somehow I feel as if… don’t you dare laugh.”

Ron just shook his head.

“Maybe Harry was on to something, after all. It came to me when I left the Hospital Wing earlier because I’d seen him going up the Grand Staircase.”

“So?” The redhead gave her a confused look, then glanced over his shoulder to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was sitting alone, away from his housemates.

“I might have borrowed the map when I got back to Gryffindor Tower,” she whispered back. “And I didn’t find his name on it.”

“Oh, please, not you too.” Ron threw his spoon away. “Hermione, no. Why?”

She shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t really explain it. It felt like I’d been missing something, and have for a while now, and I thought trying to see if Harry had a point after all would… be that missing thing? I don’t know.”

“That sounds a bit weird, even for you.” Ron raised an eyebrow.

“You’re one to talk, Won-Won.”

Suddenly, Lavender’s voice cut through their discussion. “What is it with her now, Ron? What?” The blonde was standing now, pointing a finger at them. “What is going on with you two?”

Hermione cradled her head in her hands. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

Ron blushed furiously instead and stared at his sort-of girlfriend. “Err… hey, Lav.”

“Oh please.” Ginny rolled her eyes as the rest of the Gryffindors snickered.

Harry was dozing in the quiet of the Hospital Wing when he heard footsteps.

Not heavy ones, but light. Somehow, he knew it was a female person. There was a familiar scent in his nose, something that smelled warm and sunny… 

Ginny.

He’d figured out by now that his senses were indeed hyperactive. If it was a phase, it seemed to continue for now. He didn’t know how or why, just that even with the Charm on him, he was able to sense... almost everything. Furthermore, he’d already recast the spell, figuring out the correct wand movements on the third try — and yet he knew that Ginny would enter the Hospital Wing within ten or so seconds. So its effects didn't seem to overlap for increased sensory deprivation, which was a bummer.

It also didn't cover all his senses equally well. His vision was still operating on superhuman levels, it seemed, but his sense of touch felt pretty normal right now.

But how much worse would his situation be without Quietus Animus? He couldn’t cover his senses like that for the rest of his life now, could he?

Still, Harry was hesitant to talk about this new condition of his — and he still didn’t know where this deep-seated suspicion actually came from. Only that he felt it so deep within his thoughts and his flesh that he couldn’t help but follow his instinct.

When Ginny opened the doors, he breathed in.

Her heartbeat was fast, and her scent washed through the Hospital Wing, being very noticeable now despite the Charm dampening his senses. He looked at her as she walked toward him, not feigning ignorance as he’d initially planned. As she came closer, he could see his reflection in her eyes and also smell something apart from her normal scent… It was a faint, almost metallic tang underneath the familiar aroma of sunshine and wildflowers.

Harry blushed — his was really awkward.

There was absolutely no need for him to know about her period.

He swallowed, trying to ignore that particular olfactory information, which turned out to be really hard.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Ginny sat down at his bedside.

“I’m fine.” He smiled awkwardly. “No, really, I know how that sounds, but I… I feel much better now.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Uh-hm.”

“Ginny… “

She shook her head. “You gave me such a scare, you know that?”

“I’ve been told you tried to catch me during my fall.” He watched her irises grow larger and heard her heartbeat increase even more. She clearly felt agitated, or nervous, or both.

“Yeah, but it didn’t work; my angle was all wrong.” She grabbed his blanket and kneaded it with both hands, probably only being half-conscious of what she was doing. “I saw you fall after McLaggen hit you and everyone screamed, and I thought if I could get underneath you somehow…”

Harry grunted. “That sounds dangerous.”

“More dangerous than falling to the ground from your height with a broken skull? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

He shrugged.

“Anyway, Hermione slowed you down enough so you didn’t break anything else. Somehow.” Her eyes found him again. Harry felt overwhelmed by the intensity, but he tried not to look away.

“Thank you,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“You’re welcome.” Ginny smiled and blushed a bit. “Why did you look at me like that?”

“Err… what?” He had no idea what she was talking about.

“When I came in, you were staring at me as if you knew I was coming in. Your eyes… it was strange. I’ve only seen you look like that when we were fighting Death Eaters and monsters.”

Harry swallowed. Was he that transparent? He needed to work on his poker face before people noticed that his senses were completely out of whack.

“I… I don’t know; I just heard the door opening.” He looked at his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just… ” Ginny stopped and fiddled with her hands now. “Promise to get better?”

Harry nodded. “Sure.”

“Good.”

“Does De…” He bit his tongue and stopped himself from asking about Dean. He didn't understand why he was doing this; he didn’t actually want to know what they were up to. “How are the others?”

Ginny was staring at him as if she were trying to decide which question to answer, the unspoken one or the excuse he’d made. “Okay, I guess. After we took care of McLaggen, overall morale improved despite the game’s outcome.”

“I’m sorry about that, I really am.”

She continued to stare, which made Harry squirm even more.

“Ginny?”

“Why were you screaming so much?” Her voice was a whisper now. “Hermione was beside herself, and she wasn’t the only one. You sounded like someone was casting a Cruciatus on you; it was horrible. And then it didn't stop… you just didn't stop screaming.”

Harry sighed. “It felt like one, to be honest. Nobody knows.” He felt the lingering suspicion and tension in his gut and decided to avoid telling Ginny the truth. At least for now. “Dumbledore suspects that it might be something Voldemort does to me.”

“Does he?” Her eyes were fearful now.

He shrugged again. “To be honest, I don’t know. I don’t think so, but… yeah.” His head was full of thoughts and feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him, and he tried to mentally banish everything out of his system. Still, he felt that as nice as having a visitor was, he didn't actually want to talk to Ginny but to Hermione or Ron instead. Like some new, invisible compass inside him was pointing insistently towards them and away from everyone else.

Was that weird?

They sat in awkward silence for a few seconds before Ginny abruptly stood up. “I should go, I think.”

“Okay?” He didn’t feel anything, strangely, besides relief. “Will Ron and Hermione come visit me as well?”

She shook her head. “McGonagall said only one visitor this evening, and I was the fastest one to say yes.”

Harry groaned. Of course, they would isolate him again. Not that he should actually complain; his current condition wasn’t exactly conducive to lively discussions with several people at once, but he still felt annoyance. His isolation felt crushing. If only he could talk to someone, someone he truly trusted. But who was that now?

“I’ll tell them that you’re better now,” Ginny offered shyly.

“Please do that.”

“Sleep well, Harry.” She looked him up and down, then turned to leave.

“Bye.” Harry watched her exit the Hospital Wing. She glanced at him before closing the doors behind her, and he knew her eyes were wet. Was she actually crying? He couldn’t tell, but the thought made him nervous.

He was pants at situations like this.

But why the hell did it feel so different now? He liked Ginny a lot. Or didn’t he?

He must be missing something.

As her scent left the Hospital Wing in her wake, he cracked his neck and folded his arms behind his head to stare at the ceiling again. A tiny spider was spinning a web above him, and he heard its legs scratch ever so slightly on the thick wooden beams.

Something was indeed missing; he just didn’t know what.

Chapter Text

When she finally managed to break free of the grip of her night terror, Hermione gasped for air like a drowning woman. Staring blindly at the dark canopy above her bed, she drew rapid breaths as she tried to reassure herself that she was indeed awake. The sound of the other girls in her dormitory moving around in their beds grounded her more than her frantic thoughts. She’d probably screamed.

Hermione reached out for the glass of water beside her bed with trembling hands, then drew her wand and cast a Silencing Charm. She wouldn’t need it now that she was finally awake, but it calmed her nerves.

Sitting on her mattress, she experienced flashbacks of the nightmare she’d been caught in.

Endless corridors, deep down within Hogwarts. The angles were all wrong, but she’d notice that stonework anywhere. Cold, so cold, and also… haunted. No, not haunted, but rather hunted. A cold dread, slick and oily, coated the back of her throat. She was being hunted, running away from something unseen that was right behind her.

But not just that.

She was also running toward something… or someone?

The instinctive knowledge that she needed to find this person before her hunter caught up with her, or…

… or something terrible would happen.

Hermione felt frustrated because everything was so vague and difficult to put into ordered thoughts, let alone words. But the feelings inside were very real, and her heart was still racing as the sweat on her face and arms cooled.

Drawing another ragged breath, she pushed her tangled hair to the side of her head and leaned over to…

Harry.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she gasped for air as her entire body convulsed in the darkness of the dormitory.

He was in pain.

She knew it.

It was impossible knowledge. She didn’t truly believe in supernatural senses like that — yet she’d acted on her gut feelings before, hadn’t she? Only this time it was different; it wasn’t a vague urge but a visceral and intimate certainty that in this very moment, Harry was in pain. It felt less like a thought and more like a fundamental law of the universe that had just been revealed to her, absolute and undeniable. That he needed help.

Her help.

She needed to get to him, no matter what.

Ignoring any ideas of putting on decent clothes or shoes or that she was about to do something forbidden, Hermione stumbled out of her bed and raced to the door. She was half-aware that her feet were freezing as she rushed out of Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the Fat Lady’s protests as she rushed through the gloomy hallways and down the Grand Staircase in her nightgown. There was no thought about what she’d do if she encountered a professor on a late patrol. Her own safety was an irrelevant footnote in the desperate, screaming narrative that was all Harry.

There was only thought about Harry, who she knew was still in agony.

When she finally reached the Hospital Wing, Hermione was winded. Her hands and feet were cold as icicles, and she was shivering violently — yet her face burned as if she was having a fever. After another labored breath, she touched the doors, only to notice that they were slightly ajar.

Madame Pomfrey would never leave her sanctum unlocked like this.

Another shiver ran through Hermione’s body, and she stepped inside, anxious and afraid of what she’d find. But even without actual lights in the large room, she immediately saw that Harry’s bed was empty.

All the beds were.

It stopped her cold in her tracks.

The silence of the room was suddenly immense, a suffocating void where the sound of his breathing should have been. Where was he? Why was he gone? She knew, knew it in her bones, that there was something wrong with him!

Hermione’s heart began racing as she turned around in a fruitless effort to locate him. Her rational mind knew he wasn’t here, but something else inside her didn’t accept that, didn’t want to accept it. Bile rose in her throat, and she tried to swallow once, twice, before she convulsed and dry-heaved, falling on her knees.

The room began spinning.

Where was he? Where was Harry?

Hermione noticed that she was whimpering as a full-blown panic attack overtook her. Her vision began to distort, and she took rapid breaths as her chest felt like it was about to explode. “No, no, no, no, no…” The words were automatic, despite the danger of waking Madame Pomfrey and having to explain herself.

Tears were running down her face as she tried to breathe, and Hermione tried to cry as quietly as possible as her thoughts were scattered by an unspeakable fear of loss. She was all alone now, and Harry wasn’t here; she was…

At last, she seemed to calm down a bit because deep within her confused mind, she managed to build one critical thought.

Why was she crying for Harry in the middle of the night like an emotional wreck in a cliché telenovela? That didn’t make any sense, even with all of their crazy adventures during prior years in mind. She was Hermione Granger, a fortress of logic and reason, and yet some unknown part of her was crumbling from the inside out.

No, that didn’t make any sense at all.

Moreover, she didn’t feel about Harry like that; she somehow, in her own and very complicated way, fancied Ron, didn’t she? What else was that whole Won-Won drama about?

Hermione slowly calmed herself down as she took hold of this thought.

What the hell was she doing?

Feeling as if she awoke from yet another dream, she looked around in disbelief, then at herself kneeling on the cold floor. She must’ve been out of her mind, quite literally. That… simply wouldn’t do.

Slowly and with shaking legs, Hermione stood up and took inventory of herself.

This must be what losing one’s mind felt like, she decided. There wasn’t a single reason she could come up with to explain what she’d just done, at least not a good one. Intellectually, she knew that night terrors were a serious matter, and she would take it seriously. But to panic like that and run around the castle, half-naked, in the middle of the night? Was there something wrong with her?

Her eyes found Harry’s bed again.

Despite her problems, he still was gone. Had he slipped back into the boys's dormitory under the cover of darkness? That didn’t sound like him; he’d never done that before because he’d know how Professor McGonagall would chew him out afterward.

But he simply wasn’t here.

This was leading nowhere.

Squaring her jaw in defiance of her own emotional state, Hermione turned around and left the Hospital Wing. As she snuck back to Gryffindor Tower, still trembling from the cold, she vowed to get some answers tomorrow.

And she definitely would not worry about a certain someone who’d left his bed in the Hospital Wing without permission — she wouldn’t.

Hermione almost believed herself.

As used as he was to people staring at him, Harry felt extremely self-conscious as he slipped into the Great Hall the next morning. It wasn’t as bad as during that thrice-damned Tournament or Umbridge’s reign of terror, but there were plenty of eyes on him. The Quidditch match’s outcome, or rather his fall from his broom, seemed to have left an impression. It put his anxiety into overdrive because the sense of being vulnerable and unsafe remained.

Hogwarts, his home, wasn’t safe right now. 

Somehow.

It didn’t make sense; it just was — well, wasn’t.

Trying hard not to sniff the air, which was laden with olfactory information, or look at anyone in particular, he hurried over to the Gryffindor table. His head was buzzing under an avalanche of sensory input, but the charm prevented him from hyper-focusing on anything in particular or from a splitting headache.

Harry shook himself as memories of last night resurfaced.

He’d woken up somewhere after midnight and been completely overwhelmed by everything around him, even in the quiet of the night. The castle’s gentle groan, the infinitesimal movements of the windows and the door, the scents, the impressions left in the very air… all of it.

His flight from the Hospital Wing and escape to the dungeons, where he’d hidden in an unused and empty storage room, had been surreal — Harry had no memory of actually navigating the castle. His body had moved with a desperate, animalistic certainty, a vessel guided by a primal need to flee the cacophony of his senses.

He’d regained full consciousness, cowering in a corner of the room in complete darkness, his cheek pressed onto the cold walls in hopes of escape from his mind. There’d been nightmares and complete loss of control over his body, but thankfully no migraines. It’d still hurt, though, even with that charm. 

Harry had a feeling that its effects wouldn’t last, and he didn’t think it was a failsafe method either. Currently, he was just glad that he could stand the feeling of his robes and underwear on his skin and that he wasn’t drowning in the scents and sights around him.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled as he sat down on the free space beside Neville.

“Hey, how are you?”

He shrugged. “Better now, but… I still have a headache.” That was as close to the truth as he felt comfortable sharing.

Neville nodded. “Hope you get better.”

“Yo, Potter!” Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote waved to him as he grimaced slightly at the volume. “That fall was crazy; please don’t do that again!”

He smiled. “Don’t plan to.”

“I’m still having nightmares from those screams,” Coote said. “If my Mum ever learns of this, I’ll never be allowed on a broom again.” The duo started bickering about parental influences, and Harry tuned out. He noticed that he still didn’t like having lost the Quidditch game, but somehow it didn’t bother him as much as it should… or would’ve at any other time in his life.

Yet another weird thing bothering him.

A brief look down the table showed that neither Ron nor Hermione was present, which was unusual given how late it was.

Neville was watching him, though. “They’re not here yet. Ron is arguing with Lavender somewhere on the second floor, I think. No idea about Hermione.”

He looked at his roommate. There was a spot of soap on his throat, and his shirt smelled of greenhouse. A tiny feather was stuck in his hair, probably from his pillow. All in all, it was calming, since Neville was just so very much himself. 

“Thanks, Nev.”

The boy just nodded and proceeded to butter a toast. The scraping of his knife on the bread’s crust caused goosebumps to run down Harry’s spine, but he tried to play it cool and hid behind a mug of tea.

Then, everything stopped.

Harry was half-aware of lowering the hot mug as he slowly turned around, unseeing but very much smelling something. There was a scent in the air, a sweet scent that he remembered… from before. When he’d been screaming for mercy. When his brain had almost leaked out of his nose and ears. Sweet but with an earthy note, almost like caramel, and something else, something that reminded him of…

He flinched and spilled hot tea as Hermione suddenly and loudly sat down in front of him. Then he flinched again as she slammed a stack of books on the table while glaring at him. Harry hastily vanished the spilled tea and put the mug down, almost missing the table. Something was obviously bothering her, but all he could do right now was take a deep breath because that scent… that was her.

That scent, that impossible anchor in the chaos — it was all Hermione.

Harry felt as if he was experiencing a vision as he bathed in her scent. His heart slowed down. The noise of the Great Hall faded into background noise, easily tuned out. The rough surface of the table and the cloth of his trousers stopped being so noticeable on his skin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was shouting at himself that he needed to stop staring at her like that, to stop being such a… 

… a freak.

The unwelcome thought brought Harry out of his sensory reverie.

Hermione still glared at him, her eyebrows now drawn together in irritation as she tried to make sense of his behavior. Neville shot him worried glances but remained quiet — a welcome contrast to Ron's inevitable commentary.

“Are you feeling better, Harry?” Her voice would've cut through steel.

Harry blinked and tried to focus. “Morning, Hermione,” he said awkwardly.

“Don't.” She pointed a finger at him. “Just… don't.”

He gulped. “What did I do?”

Hermione huffed and grabbed two slices of toast. She entirely ignored him now as she filled her plate. “Can you pass me the bread, Neville?”

“Of course.”

“What did I do? Please, what's going on?” Harry looked up and down the table, but people didn't pay close attention — yet. “Hermione?”

Neville swallowed. “I… I think I left something in the dormitory. Yeah… I did. Be right back.” He was gone before anyone could question him.

All alone, since Ron still wasn't there and Seamus and Dean seemed to have an intimate discussion about something or other down the table, Harry felt very exposed. “I know you're not happy with me; what did I do?” he whispered, feeling a hot spike of indignation in his chest. None of this was his fault!

“It doesn't matter since you're better now and everything's all right, isn't it?” Hermione still didn't look at him as she poured herself some tea. “Everything is just… all right.”

“Hermione, I…”

“Potter! Good to see you! That was quite the fall, but what did you expect trying to catch the Bludger like that?” A hand grabbed his shoulder, and Harry winced as McLaggen's voice boomed behind him.

“I didn't catch it; you misplayed and hit me in the face, you daft idiot!” He shook off the hand and turned around, focusing his anger on this new target. “What were you thinking?”

McLaggen smiled. “Me? I tried to show you and the team how it's done.”

“In case you didn't know, knocking over your Seeker isn't part of the game.” Peakes was staring daggers at McLaggen from his seat. “You could've seriously harmed Harry.”

“Nah, that's in the past.” McLaggen waved the younger student off. “And as I said, it would've been way better for the team if we…”

“Are you serious now?” Harry stood up, his ears ringing and his heart pumping violently. He smelled the hair gel on McLaggen's head and that his trunk had transferred a faint aroma of old incense onto his robes. He saw how the irises of the other boy narrowed as he glanced at Hermione, almost leered at her, and heard saliva rush in McLaggen's mouth. It was nauseating and created a possessive, guttural rage, utterly foreign to him. It roared in his ears — a primal command to protect what was his.

“You almost killed me, you stupid ponce. And you can't even say you're sorry?” Without conscious thought, Harry shoved McLaggen away.

“Hey, that's no way to talk to a teammate,” the blonde protested.

Harry advanced and was immensely satisfied when he noticed that McLaggen flinched ever so slightly.

“Stop it!” Hermione had joined the fray, at least verbally. “Stop fighting!”

“Listen to Granger.” McLaggen gave Harry a level look. “What's done is done, and I didn't lead the team to utter defeat. You did, Wonder Boy.”

Harry's fist hit the Gryffindor Keeper straight on the cheek and made him stumble and fall backward.

“Harry! Stop it!”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Yo, they're at it!”

“Did Potter knock him out?”

“I can't see anything?”

“Mister Potter! What is the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall stepped into Harry's field of vision. “Why is Mister McLaggen on the floor with a bloody nose?”

“He… he didn't even say he's sorry,” Harry mumbled as he looked at his hand, feeling ashamed for his outburst under his Head of House's angry stare. Beneath the shame, however, thrummed the undeniable and ugly satisfaction of his knuckles connecting with McLaggen’s jaw.

“That is not reason enough to attack other students at will, as you well know. I… I'm very disappointed, Mister Potter.” McGonagall looked at McLaggen. “Are you all right?”

“It's nothing.” The blonde tried to play it cool as he stood up, but his eyes were blazing when he looked at Harry. “Just a scratch.” He wiped his bloody nose with a hand.

“Go to Madame Pomfrey anyway; I'll inform Professor Vectra that you might be late, Mister McLaggen.”

“Yes, Professor.” Surprisingly, McLaggen didn't say another word as he left the Great Hall, accompanied by stares and whispers.

“Mister Potter, you'll follow me to my office now.”

Harry drew a deep breath and hung his head. He still wanted to punch someone or something, and his head felt like cotton again. “Yes, professor,” he whispered, knowing his day had just turned from okay-ish to awful.

He'd probably get detention until summer.

Hermione was staring at him, her face a mask of worry and exasperation.

He noticed now that he'd forgotten about her scent when McLaggen had arrived and registered it only now again. He took a deep breath. But, as he followed his angry Head of House out of the hall, he felt a headache rise. That wasn't good.

The Charm should still work for another few hours.

As Harry neared the doors, he winced as hot white pain interrupted his train of thought.

“Mister Potter?” McGonagall had stopped to look at him.

“Sorry, I'm just… Aaaah.” Harry sank to his knees as his senses went into overdrive again and set his brain on fire. “My…. head….” He pressed his hands against his temples. “Not again.”

“Mister Potter!”

Harry screamed as another wave of pain erupted behind his eyes. He knew he'd fallen to the floor, but he had no control over his limbs as his awareness burned away under the sheer agony of the migraine.

There was Hermione's scent again.

Then, thankfully, everything went dark. 

“Man, I would’ve loved to see McLaggen go down.” Ron shook his head.

“Focus, Ron. Something’s wrong with Harry, and we need to find out what.” Ginny glared at him for a moment before she looked down at the floor. “We need to do something.”

“I’ve never seen him scream like that before,” Neville added. “But it was much like I imagined what being tortured by… what the Cruciatus must sound like.”

Luna, who, like everyone else, was aware of Neville’s familiarity with the aftereffects of that particular Unforgivable, grabbed his hand. “Harry is still in pain, I think,” she said in a low voice. “But it’s something different, I can feel it.”

“But what?” Ron threw his hands in the air, not caring for the annoyed looks of the other students in the Common Room.

“A curse, maybe?” Ginny looked at them in turn. “Something that He-Who… Voldemort does? He’s sent him visions before or made his head hurt. You know that.”

“But that was different.” Ron crossed his arms, but he appeared to be thinking. “Whenever the damn snake tried to mess with Harry, it was more subtle. More of a nuisance than… whatever this is. Dammit, I really should’ve been there.”

“Believe me, it was frightening.” Neville shook his head. “Man, every year it's something new, isn't it?”

Ginny and Luna nodded.

Ron looked at the ceiling. “So now what? Shouldn't we, I don't know, ask Hermione? This is something she's good at figuring out.”

“I asked her, and she said that she's busy. Whatever that means.” Ginny huffed. “Great friend you have there, Won-Won.”

“Hey! Don't call me that!”

“Make me!”

Luna sighed. “I thought after Ron almost died it would be different, but you two are just the same as always.”

The tall redhead blanched. “You… you can’t just say stuff like that!”

“Welcome to my life.” Ginny sighed. “But she’s right. Sorry.”

“I wonder.” Neville retracted his hand from Luna with a slight blush. “Why would Hermione not help? She's Harry's best friend, aside from you, Ron. They did have a row of some sort during breakfast, but I assumed…”

“They did what? Tell us everything.” Ginny stared at the tall boy.

Neville squirmed. “I don't feel comfortable gossiping like that.”

“Everything, Neville. Now.”

Ron grunted when his roommate stared at him. “Don't look at me, man.”

“Okay.” Neville sighed and rubbed his face. “When Harry came, he appeared to be a bit frazzled. His clothes were crumpled, and I suspect he hadn’t been sleeping. When Hermione arrived, he looked as if he had an episode; he was staring off into space like I've only seen Crabbe and Goyle do in class.”

“Well, he's not exactly a morning person,” Ron wagered.

Ginny shook her head. “A blind wizard guiding those without sight.”

Ron flipped her off.

“It was different, I'm telling you.” Neville clenched his hands. “Anyway, Hermione eventually came down and was visibly angry with him but wouldn't say why. Harry was completely lost and asked her, but she was… you know. It became so awkward that I left, to be honest.”

Ginny groaned. “Neville, why? That was important.”

“We should ask Hermione,” Luna said. “If she was angry, Harry must've done something. She's a very reasonable person.”

Ron grumbled something about a Potions book under his breath but didn't argue the point.

“Where is she, by the way?” Ginny looked around, but there was no bushy-haired witch in sight. “Is she in her room?”

“Ron, can't you ask Lavender to look?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Just let it go, Ginny. Can't do it.”

Ginny grinned evilly now. “What, did your smooching session on the second floor not work out as planned?”

“Stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong!” Ron roared. “I mean it, Gin!”

“Coward.”

“Shut up.”

Luna looked at Neville. “Why don't you ask Lavender? You're really nice; she might do it for you.”

The boy stared at her. “Err… what?”

Ron shook his head. “This won't end well.”

When McGonagall came out of the Hospital Wing, she saw Hermione sitting on the floor with a book in her lap.

“Miss Granger?”

“Professor.” Hermione sprang up. “Is he okay?”

The older woman sighed. “As far as we can ascertain — yes. For the moment, at least. The headmaster has called for a specialist from St. Mungo's, though, because Mister Potter seemed just fine yesterday evening.”

Hermione nodded. “That's probably for the best.”

“I take it that you want to see him?”

“Yes, Professor.”

McGonagall looked at the closed door behind her. “Normally, this isn't the time for visiting hours, Miss Granger, but I guess an exception can be made under these special circumstances.” She turned back to her student. “But only a few minutes; Mister Potter needs rest.”

“Of course.”

When Hermione entered the Hospital Wing, McGonagall motioned to Madame Pomfrey. The school matron nodded, understanding that Harry's friend had been allowed to enter. “You know the rules, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, I'll be brief.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded. “Very well, then.” She pointed toward Harry's bed, where the curtains had been drawn. “Be careful opening them; he is sensitive to loud noises.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to understand Harry's pain and his current predicament. She still was angry about the surreal episode last night in which he had to be involved somehow… because she didn’t obsess about Harry like that.

Normally, at least.

And if Hermione had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t turn into another Romilda, thank you very much.

After steeling herself with a deep breath, she approached Harry’s bed with careful steps, feeling slightly anxious about disturbing him. But she had no other choice. Not unless she wanted to feel absolutely awful for the rest of the day.

She'd regretted her choice of words — or rather the lack thereof — immediately when Harry had broken down at the Great Hall's entrance. To know that he'd begged her to explain her anger at him just before… she didn't even know why she hadn't chosen to have words. Being cross with Harry wasn't the same thing as with Ron. Both of them were rather oblivious when it came to the nuances of communication, but Harry, for all the things he noticed that Ron didn't, was always overwhelmed by the silent treatment.

Ron would just get riled up and eventually blow off, but Harry… just retreated.

And she should've known better.

She did know better.

His continued use of that blasted Potions book was literally all the proof needed. Her needling him about it had gotten her exactly nowhere.

Why were things always so complicated?

Hermione reached out for the curtain. “Harry?” she asked in a low voice. “It's me, Hermione. Can I see you?”

At first, there was no answer, and she hesitated. But then Harry’s voice came through the curtain. “It’s fine, Hermione. I’m not made of glass.”

She removed the barrier slowly and looked at him on the bed.

Harry was a bit pale, and there were dark rings under his eyes. He appeared to be both exhausted and… angry. She knew that clenched jaw and the way his eyes narrowed when he was upset. He didn’t look at her, though, but stared at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

“What… what happened, Harry?”

“I don’t know. Nobody does.”

Hermione fiddled with her robes. “Why?”

He grunted and finally made eye contact. She noticed that his eyes widened as he took her in, and he took such a deep breath that she almost imagined him… sniffing her scent or something. “Because I’m me and there’s no such thing as a normal school year? Don’t ask me, Hermione, I really don’t know why I’m such a fr… such a mess.”

She stared at him for a moment, summoning all her bravado for the question she actually wanted to ask him.

“Are you okay, Hermione?”

“I’m fine.”

His sardonic smile told her how inane that response had been. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“Harry.”

“Hm?”

“Where… where were you last night?”

He blinked a few times and slowly removed his hands from behind his head. “What?”

Hermione turned around, but Madame Pomfrey was in her office. She leaned closer. “I was here last night to check on you. You weren’t there!” she whispered furiously. “So, where were you?”

Harry swallowed as his eyes darted between hers rapidly. “I didn’t feel well, so I… got out for a bit.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yes.”

“That’s very irresponsible, Harry.”

He took another deep breath. “Really? I’m having my head split from what feels like a Cruciatus Curse, losing my mind and control of my senses in the process, but Merlin, beware of breaking curfew.”

She bit her lip and swallowed the angry response she’d already prepared. “So it’s truly that bad.”

“I… yes, it really is.”

Hermione looked down again. “I’m sorry about being… being so difficult this morning. I didn’t want to give you trouble.”

He tilted his head. “Why were you looking for me last night anyway?”

She groaned inwardly. That was a question she’d hoped wouldn’t come up, but occasionally Harry wasn’t as oblivious as she thought him to be. Just her luck, because she had absolutely no idea how to explain that episode of hers or why she suddenly felt so deeply worried about him in a way that surpassed everything she'd been through before.

“Hermione?”

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered. “Something terrible that made me fear for your safety, so I had to look for myself.”

“You had a nightmare?” Harry raised himself, seemingly drawn to her now. His eyes grew large. “What kind of nightmare?”

She blanched. “That… is none of your business, Harry. It was terrifying; let’s leave it at that.”

“But it made you leave your bed and come here? I know it was past midnight when I left, so it was very late. Hermione, that’s not normal, especially for you, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“None of this is normal, Harry.”

“That’s not an answer.”

They looked at each other, and Hermione felt herself squirming under his emerald gaze. It felt as if he could see everything, as if he could pierce her skin and see her innermost thoughts. It was quite unnerving.

“What is happening, Hermione? Are you somehow connected to what’s going on with me?”

“Why are you saying that?”

He broke eye contact. “Nothing… I figured just because you had a nightmare, and I had a nightmare, and I seem to… “

“What, Harry? Tell me.”

But he shook his head. “Just my confused mind playing tricks on me, I think. It’s nothing, really.”

She didn’t believe him but didn’t know how to make him trust her now, either. They hadn’t been close recently compared to the prior years, and Hermione didn’t know how much of that was her fault. She knew she’d been difficult to be around lately, and that whole Won-Won drama certainly hadn’t helped. 

Harry had removed himself from Ron and her in some way, and only now did she realize how much she disliked it. How much it hurt.

“Where did you run off to last night?” Not what she wanted to know, not really, but hopefully a safe middle ground.

Harry opened his mouth, but then his eyes moved to a spot somewhere behind Hermione. “Never mind,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?” She turned around, only to watch the Hospital Wing’s doors open. The headmaster was there, accompanied by another wizard she’d never seen before. How had Harry known they would enter just now?

“Miss Granger, nice to see a friend visiting Harry.” Dumbledore gave her a friendly nod. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave, though.”

Hermione turned back to Harry. He barely hid his annoyance at the interruption.. “See you later?”

“Hm.”

“Harry.”

He looked at her again. “Yes?”

“Tell them whatever it is that bothers you, please.”

His eyes darted between hers again. Then, he swallowed. “We’ll see.”

That wasn’t the response she’d hoped for, but Hermione found herself shooed out of the Hospital Wing by Madame Pomfrey now.

Standing in the empty hallway outside, she suddenly remembered that she’d wanted to ask Harry about his suspicions about Malfoy because apparently, she’d inherited those now. That was another mess left for her to untangle on her own, it seemed.

“Bloody hell,” she mumbled.

After reading the healer’s report for the third time, Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and looked around his office. He didn’t like Harry’s diagnosis; he didn’t like it at all. In the back of his mind, he was trying to incorporate this new and unsettling piece of information.

Harry’s lessons would need to be adjusted.

And not just that… plenty of things would need to be.

Dumbledore sighed, then leaned down behind his desk to rummage in one of the lower drawers. It took him a while to find the old wooden box he was looking for. He opened it and looked at the silvery device in it — something that would add seamlessly to the collection of puffing and wheezing knick-knacks and odd instruments on his desk.

Only that this piece of hardware did something exceptional. Or would do, once activated. For that, he needed to visit Gryffindor Tower, though.

“Are you sure about that, Albus?” The portrait of Headmistress Slorah nodded to what he was holding in his hand.

“Not entirely, Gillian, no.”

“It would complicate things considerably.”

He nodded. “All the more reason to be certain, then. There are too many mysteries surrounding both Tom and Harry already.”

“I do hope you’re wrong,” Headmistress Slorah said.

“Bwah.” Phineas Black waved her off from his portrait. “I’ve yet to see a single one of those… things in the real world. I bet it’s just overly dramatic teenagers, nothing serious.”

“We’ll see…” Dumbledore said quietly. Then, he stood up. “Fawkes? I’m in need of your assistance, old friend.”

Chapter Text

Returning to his bed and to classes after two days of boredom and exhaustion was accompanied by heavy déjà-vu for Harry. Everywhere he went, eyes were on him, and whispers started. His fight with McLaggen and subsequent breakdown had caused a flurry of rumors in the castle, but people seemed undecided if he was a dark wizard or if this was just another weird Harry Potter thing they’d all look back to in a year with some fondness.

He didn’t feel fond of anything going on right now.

Nothing he’d done had helped him rein his senses in — same as with all the things Madame Pomfrey or the healer, Bryce Mallow, had tried. His head seemed to always be just a hair trigger and a missed casting of Quietus Animus away from melting down, and he was sick and tired of the pain. Or the way he was treated by the professors, like a fragile doll.

The fact that McGonagall had even decided to cancel his planned detention in light of his condition rankled him more than it rightfully should. Harry wondered idly what would happen should Mrs. Weasley learn of his predicament. She’d probably smother him, literally, and he wasn’t looking forward to his next visit to the Burrow.

He was his man, wasn’t he?

Well, that was, of course, a lie. Nothing he owned was really his, not in the same way it was for his peers. And his life? What measure of control did he really have, bound to a terrible fate by that blasted prophecy he learned about last year?

And then there was Hermione and his growing obsession with her.

There really was no other way to describe it.

It was getting worse, too.

Not only was he sniffing after her like a total creep, but he had begun to fantasize about her as well. He’d done so before, occasionally, only to bury those thoughts shamefully because she was his best friend alongside Ron, and one just didn’t think like that about friends.

But regardless of where he went inside his mind, she was… everywhere.

Harry wasn’t stupid; he knew she was gorgeous in her own way and that they all were teenagers and how hormones could mess with them — well, him — now. Yet it felt much more intense than any dreams he’d ever had about Cho, or about Ginny. He’d never dreamed about licking their skin or bending them over the next table.

It made talking to Hermione really awkward, especially since she appeared to make an effort to accommodate him and be more open to his outlook on things. He was glad for the change because, the past few months, the trio’s dynamic hadn’t been all that pleasant, if he was honest.

His reflection was stopped by his arrival at the Charms classroom, behind all the others.

Harry steeled himself as he entered, trying not to look anywhere in particular and breathe more through his mouth than his nose, at least for a minute or so.

“Hey, mate.” Ron perked up and leaned away from Lavender, who glared at Harry for interrupting. He couldn’t care less, though.

“Ron, Hermione, good to see you.” As he sat down, Harry noticed all the imperfections on the surface of his table, and how it was ever so slightly wobbly. He took a deep breath to tune out the sensation — only to smell Hermione, who was to his other side.

Great, just great.

“How’s your head?” she asked him with a low voice, apparently reading him like an open book.

“Same as before,” he mumbled. He needed a distraction, and fast. “Oh, by the way, Ron, thanks for the Honeydukes package.” He opened his bag, where he’d put the remains of Ron’s care package before leaving the Hospital Wing. “Much appreciated.”

“No worries, but are you sure you’re all right?” The redhead peered into Harry’s bag. “You’ve barely touched anything.”

“I did, but the chocolate was just too sweet to eat all of it. Did they change the recipe or something?”

He noticed that Hermione was observing him closely.

“Nah, they didn’t, and I hope they never will.” Ron shrugged. “It’s just the best.”

Harry hmm’ed and tried not to grimace. He’d known that his sense of taste was out of control as well, although not as much as his eyes or his nose. Still, he’d harbored a tiny bit of hope that it wasn’t him but the chocolate being different.

That one bite he’d managed had almost knocked him out.

When Professor Flitwick entered the classroom, he was glad for the distraction.

Hopefully, he was still able to perform magic as before — other than the Quietus Animus, he hadn’t cast anything in, like, a week.

“So you’re telling me you have no idea what’s up with… your head?” Ron appeared unconvinced.

Harry shook his head as he grabbed a jug of pumpkin juice, sniffed at it, and decided on a glass of water instead. “Not really. It all began when McLaggen hit me, but I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Other than that.” Ron nodded at him. “What's the matter with you sniffing at everything? Or everyone? Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

He swallowed hard. He really needed to work on his poker face. Fighting a blush, he lowered his head. “It’s nothing. Everything is just so overwhelming.”

“You’re hypersensitive to smells and sounds, right?” Hermione’s voice betrayed her worry. “What about your other senses, Harry?”

He glanced at her, forcing himself to not stare and to not lose himself in her appearance because he’d never live down the shame. Eventually, he nodded. “All of them,” he whispered.

“What?” Ron’s eyes grew large. “All senses?”

“Could you try to be quiet, you absolute muppet?” Hermione glared at the redhead. “It’s not like everyone needs to know, and Harry sits right beside you.”

Ron looked around at the Gryffindor table and noticed the attention the trio was receiving. “Sorry.”

Harry didn’t intervene, although he was grateful for her defense. 

“That must be unnerving,” Hermione said. “I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

“Headache-inducing,” he quipped.

She smiled tiredly. “Is that why you did so well in Charms?”

“Yeah, mate, what was that? I’ve never seen someone react so fast; Flitwick is just too quick in a duel.”

Harry shrugged, feeling uncomfortable sharing in this public space how he’d felt the magic brush against his skin, or how it’d built in his wand when casting spells, or in Professor Flitwick’s wand. It wasn’t as precise as his other senses, but it was… something.

Which made for yet another distraction he had to try to suppress most of the time because they were in bloody Hogwarts.

“I think my hand-eye coordination is just excellent right now? I didn’t plan to ace Charms today, but considering how my week has been so far, I’ll take it.”

“Man, you get all the cool stuff,” Ron grunted, glanced at them sideways, and shook his head. “Didn’t mean it like that, no need to glare, Hermione. But still, Harry… that sounds bloody brilliant.”

“Hermione probably thinks I’m cheating again,” Harry said lightly, hoping he didn’t overstep the renewed bond between him and her.

She puckered her lips. “I’m still on the fence about that.”

“Okay? Is that good, or bad?”

She shrugged, but there was a tiny smile playing around her lips.

Her eyes were still on him, and Harry fought hard to keep his reaction to her mouth in check. One thing he couldn’t help but notice, though, was that her heartbeat had slowed down during the past twenty or so seconds and was now in sync with his own.

The reverberation was both comforting and a bit strange.

He tried to distract himself by looking down the Gryffindor table. He saw Ginny and Dean sitting side by side, their heads close together as his roommate whispered to her. Strangely, it didn’t irritate him at all — no chest monsters or anything. Harry knew he’d be able to listen in, but didn’t want to, so he turned his gaze away, toward the Slytherin table.

His eyes met Malfoy's, who was staring at him.

Strange how he hadn’t noticed that before.

Harry returned the stare, unbothered by the Slytherin’s hateful mask. Malfoy’s appearance was almost gaunt. He could see the rings under the boy’s eyes, and that he’d lost weight. If he didn’t know better, Harry would’ve said that Malfoy looked like someone under a great deal of stress.

But why? Normally, it seemed there was little that could faze the Slytherin, Harry’s remarks aside.

It probably had something to do with whatever Malfoy was cooking up in the Room of Requirement. It had to; it was the only thing that made sense, considering the number of times he’d snuck up there.

Harry felt a primal satisfaction when Malfoy broke eye contact and looked elsewhere.

It was stupid, but he couldn’t help but draw some level of comfort from being more intimidating. He remembered McLaggen’s flinch from two days ago. Normally, even during a confrontation, people tended to laugh in his face.

Something about his demeanor must’ve changed.

Harry decided that this was one thing about this whole sensory overload disaster he wasn’t worried about. Feeling slightly badass was… good. Because there was plenty of stuff left to worry about.

“There’s something different about Malfoy, isn’t it?” Hermione’s voice was low, but Harry still jumped in his seat as his senses returned to his immediate vicinity.

“Err… sorry, what?”

He looked at her and immediately felt the draw of her bright brown eyes. There were tiny golden flecks in her irises, and rings of green around her pupils.

He really was in trouble.

“I said, there’s something about Malfoy,” she repeated. “I think you were right. He looks… almost haunted, doesn’t he? What’s he up to, I wonder?”

Not believing his ears, Harry just stared at her. “What?”

Ron groaned. “Not this again! I’m surrounded by lunatics. Stop it. Who cares what that stupid git is doing or not doing?”

Hermione broke eye contact with Harry and furrowed her brows at Ron. “You can’t just ignore things when they’re inconvenient. I know I didn’t believe Harry before, but I told you that I checked with the map and Malfoy really was gone.”

“You did what?” Harry didn’t know if he was upset about her borrowing the Marauder’s Map or not, but compared to her complete disinterest in his theories earlier this year, it seemed very… strange to receive this level of support.

Now it was her turn to almost blush. “I may have borrowed the map when you were in the Hospital Wing,” she admitted. “The first time, I mean.”

Harry let that sink in. “So?”

“As I said, I believe that you’re on to something. I have a strange feeling about him staring at you like that and that he’s missing so often.”

He couldn’t help but give Ron a shit-eating grin. “See? I’m not crazy.”

“Bloody hell, of course you are! And it’s infectious, too!”

“Language, Ron.”

The redhead looked away, muttering under his breath.

Harry looked between his friends. “Thanks,” he mumbled to Hermione.

She nodded, but her eyes were focused on Malfoy. “You’re welcome.”

He noticed how she was absently biting her lower lip and how that drew him in like a moth to the flame. It was hopeless, really. Her heartbeat was still in sync with his, which was impossible and very distracting now that he noticed it again. With clenched fists, Harry tried hard to focus on lunch.

He would lose his mind, eventually.

No doubt.

For the first time in living memory, Hermione Granger didn’t take notes in History of Magic.

Not that anyone noticed or cared, because she’d often been the only person to do so, at least in detail. Even the most studious Ravenclaws in class were only making cursory notes, if any, since revising Binns’ so-called lessons afterward was mandatory anyway.

Yet Hermione felt like a cheat for not following along. She couldn’t help herself, though.

She was making a study of Harry.

It was all she could think about, which was annoying, to say the least, and she’d reasoned with herself that this class of all classes was her only chance of doing some actual Harry-studying during the day — no matter the intensity of all the confusing emotions and intuitions she had to struggle with lately, she’d never ever do this in Transfiguration, or Charms.

Harry… was different from before his Quidditch accident. Way different.

It wasn’t just the obvious stuff, such as his tendency for headaches, or full-blown migraines. Hermione suspected that nobody else had tried to think about what living with enhanced senses like that actually meant. None of the professors, at least, who had to be in the know, because that now almost legendary cancellation of Harry’s detention with Professor McGonagall aside, no one made the slightest accommodation for him.

He probably found the droning monologue of their History professor strangely comforting, compared to the avalanche of smells and scents in Potions, where he’d really struggled lately despite his blasted book. Not that Slughorn's simpering commentary had helped with that.

Right now, she watched Harry run his fingers back and forth across his table in small, repeating motions as he stared off into space. Occasionally he would stop, blink a few times like a person regaining full consciousness, adjust his seating, and then continue.

A hypocritical part of her wanted to admonish him for not listening to Binns, but Hermione had little trouble pushing it aside.

She also knew, somehow, that Harry was very much aware of her observing him.

She’d seen his eyes glance toward her once or twice, unerringly finding hers every time. He hadn’t acknowledged her, though, and quickly looked away. She had almost been able to taste the nervousness coming off Harry in those moments, mirroring her own emotional state. It had taken her a full minute to find actual words to note this down.

Her list was growing steadily.

She didn’t actually know what to do with it yet apart from use it to find books and material on Harry’s condition. But it gave Hermione a measure of control that she felt was sorely lacking ever since she’d run to the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t as bad for her as it was for Harry, but Hermione was growing so tired of her emotional turmoil that she had to try very hard to bottle it up.

“Are you making notes about… me?”

She looked up and saw Harry glancing between her and the parchment she was writing on over the top of his glasses. She bit her lip, trying to decide on an answer, but then just nodded. “Yes.”

Harry’s eyes focused on the parchment again. Hermione realized that he was actually reading her notes from his table, and fought the urge to cover them up with her hand.

“You are… thorough,” he whispered.

“I need to make sense of all this.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I think you need some help with whatever this is, Harry.”

He looked at her again, breathing in deeply. “Okay.”

“I won’t show this to anyone, I promise.”

“I believe you.” Now it was his turn to smile, and it helped ease her anxiety a bit. Harry had rarely smiled during the past week or so, not that she could blame him. Another tiny part of her was actually proud that he was taking all of this so seriously — not that he had a choice, really — instead of goofing around as usual.

That thought brought Ron to mind, and Hermione tried hard to stop her line of thinking from going there.

Whatever strange thing was between him and her, she could not deal with it right now. Not until she’d made a bit more sense of Harry’s predicament and her own. And not before Won-Won was resolved. Glancing to her other side and expecting him to be asleep, Hermione flinched slightly as she found Ron leaning on his elbows and eyeing her critically.

He glanced toward Harry, then her again, shifted, and then stared ahead at Binns.

But she’d seen the frown on his face and knew trouble was brewing.

They would have to have a real talk soon, it seemed.

She sighed.

Harry had smelled lemon drops before he’d rounded the corner of the Grand Staircase’s base and suspected what was coming. He squared his shoulders as he walked toward the Great Hall and saw the headmaster talking to a Slytherin prefect.

As he approached, Dumbledore dismissed the student and turned to him. “Good morning, Harry. What a wonderful coincidence, as I wanted to speak with you today. Do you have a moment?”

Hoping that it wouldn’t end with him having to be checked out in the Hospital Wing again, he nodded. “Of course.”

“Splendid.” Dumbledore looked him up and down. “I see that you’ve applied the Charm again. Is your increased sensibility still ongoing?”

“Yes.” Harry felt exposed and vulnerable. How had the headmaster seen that so easily? Was he wearing a warning sign on his head? He fought the impulse to look the older man in the eyes, knowing he’d run the risk of zoning out.

“I see. Well, that is unfortunate, and you have my sympathies, Harry. Is there any way I can help?”

“Did Healer Mallow find out anything after he returned to St. Mungo’s?”

“Not as far as I’m aware, but I can contact him later,” Dumbledore offered, and Harry nodded approvingly. From what Mallow had told him, his condition didn’t have an official name or anything and was apparently a complete mystery.

“Good. I hope being able to read other students's homework from across the room isn’t too much of a temptation.” There was a twinkle in the older man’s eyes, but Harry fought a blush because, of course, he’d done that — a bit at least.

He felt as if he was standing in a bright spotlight. “I… “

“Don’t mind me, Harry; it was just an idle thought.” Dumbledore stopped for a moment as a group of students passed them by on their way to breakfast. “Now, are you feeling well enough to continue our ‘lessons’? There is still much I want to show you.”

Lord Voldemort hadn’t played a prominent role in Harry’s thoughts as of late, but he knew that despite his lack of enthusiasm, he should take up Dumbledore’s offer, now that he was finally getting some answers. It just felt, though, as if, right now, he wanted to ask the headmaster a very different series of questions.

Yet his gut was telling him not to, and he was inclined to listen.

“I would like that,” he answered neutrally. “When?”

Dumbledore seemed to relax slightly. “Can you see me next Tuesday, at 8 p.m., as usual? I will talk to Professor McGonagall to excuse you for the evening.”

“Yes, of course.” 

“I shall await your arrival, then.” The older man nodded.

He looked around when another wave of early risers passed them by. “Was there anything else, Headmaster? I… I need to talk to my friends.”

“No, please, don’t let me stop you.” Dumbledore nodded. “Stay safe, Harry.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

Harry didn’t need to look back as he entered the Great Hall to know that Dumbledore had vanished from his spot as soon as he’d turned. Something about their conversation felt… off.

Maybe the next lesson would bring more clarity.

“Harry, what’s up? Is the Prophet going at you again for some reason?”

He put the paper down. “No, thankfully not. It’s just… the weirdest thing.”

“What?” Neville leaned closer to have a look himself. “That break-in?”

“Hm.”

Hermione looked up from her homework. “What is it, Harry?”

“There was a break-in in St. Mungo’s yesterday. Someone vandalized a few offices and took several files before leaving without a trace. And one of the healers is missing.”

“Oh.” She held his gaze, which he tried his level best to not get distracted by. “What does that have to do with you or us?”

After making sure they weren’t overheard in the Common Room, Harry leaned closer. “Bryce Mallow, the missing healer, was the one who examined me.”

She blanched, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was thinking.

“Do you suspect it has something to do with you?” Neville asked.

Harry nodded. “It’s just too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? I mean, Mallow couldn’t help me, really, since whatever is wrong with me apparently is a unique case. But Dumbledore told me the other day that they’d begun to look into my case at St. Mungo’s.”

“But who would’ve known?”

Hermione sighed. “Plenty of people could’ve seen Mister Mallow enter the Hospital Wing with the Headmaster that day. It would be easy to track him down after that.”

“When you put it like that… ” Neville leaned back. “Do you think Malfoy or one of the Slytherins told their parents?”

“I bet.” Hermione exchanged another look with Harry. “Everyone has been talking about what happened during that blasted Quidditch match, and after. There’s a lot of speculation, even though nobody really knows the truth right now.”

“Or so we hope,” Harry added. Hearing Hermione talk about truth made him conscious of the fact that he was still hiding a lot from his friends, and it didn't feel great. 

Despite his obvious curiosity, Neville didn’t ask for them to elaborate, which he was delighted about.

They continued reading or staring off into space.

Harry tried to calm his sense of vulnerability and impending doom by listening to Hermione’s heartbeat, which was in sync with his again. He knew he would also have to discuss that eventually, but not this evening.

After consulting Professor McGonagall and Madame Hooch, it was decided that Harry would return to Quidditch practice on Friday. He was excited for it, despite his worries that the yelling and sometimes violent motions would overwhelm him — the prospect of flying was just too promising to let it pass, though.

McLaggen hadn’t brought up Harry’s attack on him or anything Quidditch-related, which in itself was a small wonder but another thing Harry worried about.

There was no way that the git would let go of that incident so easily.

At least Ron was upbeat to have him back and even stopped feeling so inadequate, at least when talking about Quidditch in the Common Room.

Harry smiled as he half-listened to Ron prattle on about a new strategy to try out as they were walking down from the seventh floor. Jimmy, Richie, and Dean seemed genuinely interested, though, and asked plenty of questions. Behind them, Ginny and Demelza were giggling about something; he’d overheard the words ‘stud’ and ‘fit’ and not bothered to listen in more closely. 

Which left him in the back with Hermione, who’d announced she’d accompany them and watch the training for a bit.

Ron had needled her about that for a bit, but, surprisingly, a few acerbic Won-Won comments had seen him shut up. Harry had noticed that his friend had given him a dark look afterward, as if he was to blame for Hermione’s assertiveness.

Right now, he was just glad that things seemed to smooth out at the start of the weekend.

“Harry, I’ve been to the library and made a list of books we should look at,” Hermione said beside him. “No matter what that missing healer said, I believe you’re not the first one to suffer from this condition.”

“That’s great, thank you.” He really was glad to have her on his side, both regarding Malfoy and his strange condition.

Being so close to her, he could actually hear blood rushing into her cheeks as she slightly blushed. This, in turn, caused her warm skin to emit more of her unique scent, and he felt slightly woozy. Harry tried hard to look ahead to his friends and not stumble over his feet.

“I thought we could begin tomorrow?” she asked. “Unless you have other plans.”

“No, I don’t, apart from enjoying a bit of quiet if possible. And the library sounds like a good place for that.”

As she smiled, he could hear a tiny crack as her lips opened and parted.

Merlin, he was in so much trouble.

That nice, warm feeling in his chest was interrupted by a sudden spike of adrenaline, though, and he stopped mid-stop.

Something was wrong…

… there was danger.

He tried to make sense of what his senses told him, noticing that Hermione had stopped as well. “Harry?”

He listened to her voice and the voices of the others as they slowly walked away and tried to isolate that one thing that didn’t belong. He didn’t know what it was, though — a scent, a sound, or a sight?

“Harry? What’s going on? Did you hear something?”

Hermione put a hand on his arm, and suddenly everything fell into place.

Thousands of impressions fell away from Harry’s mind and slotted themselves back into the general background, leaving only one thing — a heartbeat that didn’t belong. No, two heartbeats!

They were coming from somewhere between him and Hermione and the rest of the Quidditch team. Whoever they were, they must’ve Disillusioned themselves, and done so very well, because Harry was sure he would be able to detect an ordinary casting of that charm by now.

Or maybe not.

Then, he heard a familiar sound of wands being drawn. 

Magic was stirring, somewhere in front of him.

It was all happening so fast.

“Watch out!” Harry yelled as he raised his wand, only half aware of what he was doing as he stepped in front of Hermione. “Expelliarmus!”

Someone gasped, and there was a sound of a body being jammed against the wall, but a wand appeared out of nowhere to land in Harry’s outstretched hand.

But before he could do anything else, the second ambusher reacted. “Finite Incantatem!”

Harry felt the spell hit his chest…

… and the whole world dissolved into screeching noises, blinding colors, and overwhelming scents. He gasped for air as he felt his legs buckle underneath him. It was too much, far too much at all, to experience the world without Quietus Animus so suddenly.

He’d made a grave mistake, relying solely on that Charm.

As he began screaming, Harry noticed that someone else was casting spells. Then, his entire mind was drowned in waves of agony, and he writhed on the floor, hoping for the mercy of unconsciousness. His muscles spasmed, and he tasted blood in his mouth because he’d bitten his tongue.

This time, though, there was no darkness to take him away.

Instead, there was a hand on his cheek.

His skin burned as if the very air was a blanket of thorns raked over his body — yet the gentle hand soothed him. Warmed him, cooled him, nurtured him. It was an anchor, one that Harry wasn’t afraid to hold onto with what little power was left in him.

A sweet caramel scent washed over him, and then there was a voice.

Harry noticed that the voice had been there the entire time; he’d just been unable to hear it.

To hear her.

“Tell me what to do, Harry, please. What can I do to make it stop hurting?” Hermione begged him in a hoarse whisper as she caressed his cheek. “Please, help me help you.”

He tried to move his mouth, which felt as if he were chewing glass. All he managed was a mumbling gurgle, which made him cough.

Pain spread everywhere, yet Hermione’s hand made it bearable.

“Harry, what did you say?”

He tried to swallow. “Don’t stop,” he whispered.

When the hallway dissolved into chaos as yet more people and voices arrived and professors ordered students around, Harry pressed his head into her touch, unwilling and possibly even unable to let go.

Her… guidance was all that held him together now.

Chapter Text

Remus stepped out of the fireplace in Dumbledore’s office with practiced ease and vanished the soot from his clothes with a flick of his wand before he took his first breath. Breathing in mid-transit was never a good idea, especially being a werewolf with heightened senses.

But as he opened his sinuses and looked at Albus, who was waiting with two cups of tea already poured, he almost stumbled.

There was an almost overwhelming presence in the air, something that positively told him… off.

He shouldn’t be here.

Hogwarts was…

Remus swallowed and shook his head, trying to get rid of the threatening feeling.

Apparently, Hogwarts was off-limits?

It felt as if another pack had come here and claimed that space, which he knew was impossible, but he recognized that feeling — knew it well, in fact. Places where werewolves congregated and lived for an extended period felt like this, places that were considered territory. It wasn’t impossible to enter those as an outsider, but it was unpleasant. 

The impressions Remus fought against just now were very unpleasant.

“Remus, is everything all right?” Albus’ voice brought him back to the here and now.

He looked up. “Yes, forgive me, I’m feeling… a bit under the weather.”

The older man smiled sadly. “Do you have a stable supply of wolfsbane? I know you suffer more than others from that curse.”

“I do. The quality isn’t what it could be, though. But we get by.” He didn’t feel like elaborating on his current living conditions and hoped that Albus would get the hint and not offer Snivellus’ services again.

“If that changes, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’m here for you.” His old friend motioned to the empty seat in front of the massive desk. “Tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Remus sat down and sighed. He was tired, and his back hurt a bit from being up all night. Also, sitting down made the oppressive feeling slightly more bearable. “Say, has something happened since I came here last time? Something out of the ordinary, I mean?”

Albus gave him a curious glance over his glasses and seemed to think for a moment. “Hm, not that I can recall… but it might escape me at the moment. You’re familiar with the outcome of Undersecretary Umbridge’s reign of this school?”

Remus swallowed a growl. “I am, and that blasted woman should be in Azkaban if you ask me.”

Surprisingly, Albus nodded. “Indeed, she seems to have gotten off that whole disaster with little consequence to her career.”

“But nothing else? What about Harry and his friends? How are they doing?”

Albus smiled as he raised his cup to his lips. “Quite well, as far as I know. No more Dementors, escapees, or magical tournaments. Both young Ronald and Harry had a bit of an accident at the beginning of the month, though, but thankfully nothing major happened. Alas, Gryffindor’s most recent Quidditch game probably wasn’t as successful as they’d hoped for.”

Remus grunted. “Didn’t Harry get the Snitch in time?”

“I believe he fell off his broom.”

“What?”

Albus made a calming gesture. “It’s all right, Remus; he wasn’t seriously injured. But he was taken out early, leaving his teammates a bit distraught.”

“Hm.” Remus took a deep breath and tried to feel into that strange barrier that had seemingly permeated Hogwarts. “Did you hire new staff, or are there new students?”

“Why are you asking?” Steely blue eyes were focusing on him now. “Do you sense something out of the ordinary?”

He shook his head, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know… maybe I’m overreacting. I’ve been up all night, and I feel irritable. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m asking a lot of you, and I know how much you have sacrificed already, Remus.”

“You’re welcome.” He reached into his robes and removed a sealed letter. “I believe this is what you were asking for?”

“Indeed.” Albus reached for it. “You have my gratitude, Remus. I hope they didn’t give you any difficulties?”

“No, the Unspeakables were almost cordial.” Remus smiled a bit.

“That’s good to hear. Maybe we can ask them for another favor when the time comes,” the headmaster mused. “Can I do anything for you right now, other than offering my thanks?”

He tried to muster his Gryffindor courage. “Actually… there is. Would you mind if I took a little tour? Being here, it’s… I thought, since there are no classes today, I wouldn’t interrupt anyone by taking a look at James and Sirius’ old haunts.”

“I understand, and please, you’re welcome.” Albus nodded again. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you.” Remus stood up. “Will you facilitate my departure, or shall I knock at Minerva’s office?”

Albus angled his head slightly. “If you don’t mind, can you ask her to open the Floo Network? I’ll probably be away for a few hours on ICW business now.”

“Of course. It was good seeing you.”

“Likewise, old friend.”

As he left the headmaster's office, Remus folded his hands behind his back like he’d often done as a Defense professor during patrols and tried not to grimace as the feeling of being a trespasser increased.

Whatever — no, whoever — this was… they had to be powerful.

He also suspected that it had nothing to do with magic, not in the traditional way. It wasn’t a particular scent per se that was threatening him so much; it went beyond that. Being a werewolf, even an unwilling one, he was aware of the almost mystical aspects of the curse.

And there were more things out in the world than what Hogwarts’ books described.

Whoever had claimed the castle as theirs, and Remus thought that a person or even a group was more likely than an artifact, they felt… primal. Very primal, and not at all magical, not the way ley lines and ritual circles positively smelled of magic. Moreover, Albus hadn’t been aware of anything, so it probably was something else.

Remus squared his jaw as he wandered through Hogwarts's corridors, not for a trip down memory lane, but to try to locate the source of the oppressive feeling.

He met several students on their way to their Common Rooms, the Great Hall, or outside to go to Hogsmeade, and greeted most of them fondly. His sleuthing attempts were interrupted, though, when a young redhead rounded a corner in front of him, with a pale blonde girl in tow.

Ron’s sister, Ginny, and Luna Lovegood.

Both girls smiled at him.

“Mister Lupin! What are you doing here? Are you returning as a Professor?”

“Hello, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood. I’m afraid I’m not.”

Ginny sighed. “Figures. Well, we miss you; you were a good teacher.”

Luna nodded, and then she eyed him critically. “Are you okay, Mister Lupin? You look like you’ve been chased by Nargles.”

Remus couldn’t help but smile in return. “I’m fine, thank you. I just haven’t slept in a while.”

“Are you here to help Harry, then?” Ginny gave him a serious look now. “Since you taught him so much else, he always talked about how the DA wouldn’t exist without you.”

“No, I… ” Remus stopped himself. There was more to this story, it seemed. “What are you referring to, exactly, Miss Weasley?”

She looked around and motioned him toward an empty classroom a few paces away.

His curiosity piqued, Remus followed the girls and watched Ginny close the door. When she turned around, her mood was furious. “Harry was injured during the last Quidditch game and has suffered ever since. There’s something seriously wrong, but it seems nobody can help him!”

He felt his heartbeat increase. “What happened?”

“Harry sees everything all at once now,” Luna explained, mysteriously. “Same with his other senses. I bet he can smell magic as well.”

“It makes him vulnerable, too.” Ginny wrung her hands. “He’s in the Hospital Wing right now, again, I might add, after that vicious attack. His head is always hurting nowadays.”

“What attack?!” Overwhelmed by the news and the ongoing feeling of being unwelcome, Remus blindly reached out behind him and sat down on the professor’s desk. “Please, tell me everything.”

Why hadn’t Albus shared any of this with him?

Ginny nodded grimly. “Well, the attack happened yesterday, when…”

Yesterday…

Hermione didn’t acknowledge the professors and students in the hallway as she cradled Harry’s head in her lap, holding his right cheek with her hand.

“Don’t stop,” he’d whispered, and that plea was her command now.

She had no idea what was going on with him and her, that unnerving draw he had on her, but now she had finally tangible proof that she wasn’t going insane because her very touch apparently stopped his current agony.

However impossible that was.

Hermione didn’t dare remove her hands from his cheek, and the back of his head. She felt him pressing his face into her, and it felt intimate and overwhelming, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep for a week or so, trying to reflect on all of it.

“Miss Granger, what happened? Had Mister Potter another episode?” Professor Sinistra knelt down beside them, her face a mask of concern.

She looked at the astronomy professor, dumbstruck for a moment. “I… err… yes, but he was attacked. We both were.”

“Are you injured?”

“No, I… I don’t think I am.”

“Hermione defended Harry! When he went down, she covered him.” Demelza still had her wand drawn. “Those gits got away, though.”

“Dare I assume you to have any idea where they went, Miss Robins?” Snape drawled.

Ginny answered for her friend, giving the Potions Professor a dark look. “They were Disillusioned, but they ran that way.” She pointed to where everyone had come from, causing most of the assembled students and teachers to turn their heads.

“I see.” Snape sneered and parted the crowd easily as he followed the direction, drawing his wand and muttering an unknowable spell under his breath.

Professor Sinistra, meanwhile, gave Hermione a once-over, then leaned back to talk to the other professors who had arrived on the scene, McGonagall and Flitwick. “I believe she’s fine.”

“Miss Granger, you need to let go of Mister Potter.” Her Head of House knelt down. “He needs to be taken to the Hospital Wing.”

“But I can’t…” She had no idea how to explain this and not be dismissed out of hand.

“She’s right.” Ron frowned. “He stopped screaming the moment she… touched him.”

The arrival of Madame Pomfrey bought her some time, though. She watched the school matron make her way through the assembled students in the hallway — why hadn’t the onlookers been dismissed already? 

“Out of the way, let me through… Ah, Mister Potter.” Madame Pomfrey only glanced at Hermione as she raised her wand. “What happened here?”

Hermione took a breath and summarized the sudden attack with as few sentences as possible, watching the matron cast a series of diagnostic spells. 

The older woman frowned. “Oh no, the Charm is gone. So that’s why he’s in so much pain. You need to let go of him, Miss Granger, so I can reapply it.”

Professor McGonagall finally realized that this was veering into personal territory and turned to the assembled students. “Everyone not involved in this incident will immediately leave this hallway. All members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team will stay at a respectful distance.” 

She shooed the masses away, ignoring the protests of Harry’s teammates.

Hermione squirmed under Madame Pomfrey’s expectant gaze. “I… I can’t. If I let go, his pain returns. He’s only not screaming because I touch his face.”

“My dear, his condition is entirely contained to his own nervous system. If anything, touching his skin makes it even worse. I know you’re his friend, but you need to let go, or the Charm won’t be as effective since it’ll envelop both of you, weakening its effect considerably.”

She shook her head. “Please! You have to believe me! I can’t!”

“Young woman, I urge you to let go — you’re not helping him right now.” Madame Pomfrey didn’t appear to find her explanations convincing. “That is not how healing magic works.”

Hermione, feeling angry and frustrated, bit her tongue. But she remained steadfast. “No.”

“What is the matter with you? Let go of him, now!”

“Miss Granger, please follow Madame Pomfrey’s command.” Professor Flitwick was a far cry from his usual cheery self as he addressed her. “We need to take care of Mister Potter.”

“Why won’t you believe me?” She felt her eyes tear up as she looked into the stern faces above her, feeling Harry shift slightly as he sought comfort in her touch. Then he opened his mouth and mumbled.

“What was that, Mister Potter?” The school matron leaned closer.

“I need her,” he whispered.

The adults looked at each other. “He must be delirious,” reasoned Madame Pomfrey. “Miss Granger, please do let go. Now.”

Hermione, seeing that Professor McGonagall had also returned to frown at her, felt defenseless. “You’re making a huge mistake,” she said. “He’ll suffer so much!”

But Harry put a trembling hand on hers. “S’okay,” he mumbled. “Let them.”

“This is wrong.” Hermione knew she was actually crying, which didn’t help her case at all because she’d be dismissed as being a typical teenager, no matter her record.

She looked at him down on her lap. His forehead was sweaty, and his eyes were squeezed shut. His breaths were shallow, but the cramps had apparently stopped.

They would return momentarily; she was sure of it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then, glaring at Madame Pomfrey, she gently pushed Harry’s hand away and removed her own.

The moment she lost physical contact with him, he flinched.

And screamed.

“What in Merlin’s name…” The school matron was white as a sheet as she hastily cast another Quietus Animus and two medical spells that went beyond Hermione’s understanding.

Harry’s screams turned into groans and then into labored breath.

“I told you! I told you all!” Hermione snapped as she took Harry’s hand. She didn’t even notice how he immediately stopped moving his limbs, or how his breathing smoothed out.

But the others did.

“Poppy, what is this?” Professor McGonagall stared at them, her eyes widened.

“If only I knew. This… this is completely unheard of. You can’t just make someone stop hurting with a touch.”

Hermione sniffed haughtily.

“Miss Granger, I would like you to accompany Mister Potter to the Hospital Wing.” Her Head of House put a hand on her shoulder. “And I apologize for not believing you.”

“Minerva… I’m not sure what more I can do for him, really. This is getting out of hand.” Madame Pomfrey shook her head. “I’m out of my depth here. Maybe he needs to go to St. Mungo’s after all.”

“I’ll talk to Albus.”

Despite her current dislike for the school’s healer, Hermione agreed silently.

Harry needed help in the same way she needed answers.

This situation… was untenable.

Harry’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “Professor,” he gasped as he slowly turned to the side and tried to sit up. Instinctively, she supported him while holding his hand. “I… I have something.”

“Mister Potter, you are not walking up the stairs in your condition!” said Madame Pomfrey, but Harry ignored her as he stared at Professor McGonagall.

“What is it, Mister Potter?”

“The wand of one of the attackers.” He removed his other hand from his robes and handed her the bright wand that appeared to be made of birchwood.

His eyes then turned to Hermione, and she felt as if she was drowning in them. Her racing heartbeat slowed down. She also knew he was trying to tell her something.

They needed to talk about… this.

But not now.

Harry decided that he was utterly sick and tired of waking up in the Hospital Wing. The déjà-vu was annoying, to say the least, and he felt like an animal trapped in a cage. Nobody knew what to do with him, so they ordered him to stay in bed. Not because it actually helped him — he would absolutely be able to recover in the boys's dormitory — but because that was as far as anyone had planned.

With the renewed Charm, his condition was the same as before. Not perfect, but manageable.

There was no need for him to stay here.

Especially alone — they’d ordered Hermione to leave, which Harry thought was insane since she obviously had some form of power over his current predicament. Wasn’t that worth further study?

And why had the headmaster refused to let him be sent to St. Mungo’s?

It made very little sense. Not that he was actually looking forward to being locked in some special ward while several healers poked and prodded him, but being denied outside help like that made him feel even more trapped.

The headmaster hadn’t even visited him this time.

Harry also didn’t believe in the Voldemort theory anymore, not after discovering the soothing quality of Hermione’s very touch. There was no way that she was connected to the dark tosser, willingly or unwillingly.

So it had to be something else.

But he’d only see her tomorrow, being confined to the Hospital Wing for the day, with strict orders of bed rest without interruption. Harry knew Madame Pomfrey meant well, but right now he was so angry he almost wanted to throttle her.

A tiny part of him was glad for this… grace period, though, because he knew that he and Hermione would have to have A Talk. And it would be awkward and embarrassing, and maybe he would say things that would make her rethink their friendship. He wasn’t at all ready to deal with that.

His other friends barely registered on Harry’s buzzing mind as he stared at the ceiling yet again, trying and failing to unsee the dust particles and the thousands of tiny reflections of himself in the compound eyes of the spider that spun her net above him.

“What are you writing?” Susan asked as she approached her friend at the Hufflepuff table. It was still early enough that only a quarter or so of Hogwarts's population was present.

“I’m making a list,” Hannah said absentmindedly.

“Of what?”

“Causes for headaches, especially ones caused by spells and magical conditions.” The blonde blew a strand of hair out of her face, showing her flushed face.

“Hannah!” Susan didn’t know if she should laugh or despair. “Is this about Harry again?”

Her friend ducked away from her and covered her parchment.

“Hanna?”

“Maybe.”

The redhead groaned and then shuffled closer. “You’ve got it bad, girl. Show me.”

“Please don’t laugh.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Hannah peeked out from under her hair. “You swear?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to do that silly oath that Megan and Juliette did the other night.”

But the other Hufflepuff seemed convinced. “You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“How long have you been up anyway?” Susan asked as she slowly pulled the parchment from her best friend’s hands.

“An hour or so.”

“Hannah…”

“He needs help!” Her friend flinched as she noticed that she’d almost shouted. Blushing, she reached for a jug of pumpkin juice. “I think I can help.”

“Sure you can.”

“Susan!”

“Sorry, I know, no sarcasm.” She scanned the page. “This appears to be very comprehensive, but… Hannah, how many of these spells and conditions do you actually know?”

“Not many.”

Susan nodded, then put the parchment down. “So now what?”

“I don’t know.” Hannah seemed distraught. “Maybe we can go to the library? Hermione frequently does that when something’s wrong with Harry.”

She would rather not crush her best friend’s hopes, but Susan thought that Hermione had likely already scoured the Hogwarts Library for all it was worth, and read everything too. Not to speak of the fact that she was very close with Harry — that betting pool that Fred and George had started almost three years ago was still ongoing.

But as her eyes scanned Hannah’s notes again, she stopped at the entry ‘Cruciatus curse’.

“Why this one?” She tapped the line with a finger.

“Because it looked and sounded like it when he was writhing on the floor just over there.” Hannah shuddered. “I’ll never forget the screams; it was so much louder than during the Quidditch game.”

“I know.” Susan shook her head. “But what do you want to do about it?”

“Finding something that helps with the pain? There are known cases where people who were tortured with that curse experienced phantom pains long after, and occasionally those began way after the incident,” Hannah recited.

“How the bloody hell do you know all that?”

The blonde looked down at the table. “When I tried to find out more about Neville and how to… get closer to him,” she mumbled.

“Oh, Hannah.” Susan put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “You and your Gryffindor boys.”

“I… I can’t help it. Harry is just… he’s so…”

Susan sighed. “Believe me, I know.” Then, she looked around, but the two of them were still relatively alone at the Hufflepuff table. She leaned closer. “I also know something… naughty.”

“What?” Hannah stared at her, equally thrilled and hesitant.

Remembering what she’d secretly read in one of the thick stacks of files at her aunt’s home, Susan tried not to grin. “There’s no official cure for the effects of the Cruciatus other than rest and Pain-Relieving Potions — except for one thing.”

“Oh, stop teasing!”

“The Ministry has done an actual study,” she whispered in Hannah’s reddening ear. “Being… intimate with someone suffering this way actually helps when you’re cautious. An orgasm is said to be the best cure.”

Hannah spluttered, and then they both giggled.

“Are you having me on?”

“No, I swear!”

As she hurried from the library to the sixth floor, Hermione felt exposed, as if someone would stop her any moment now. She’d broken plenty of rules for Ron and Harry over the years, but it hadn’t gotten any easier.

Going behind the headmaster's and Professor McGonagall’s back… she felt terrible.

But she had no choice, not if she wanted actual answers.

So, after finding more than seven references to certain potions about dealing with overstimulated senses, she’d decided that maybe there was one professor at Hogwarts willing to help her.

Someone who'd go out of his way to earn favor with Harry Potter.

Someone who also held her in apparently high regard, no matter how superficial his compliments were.

She swallowed hard as she stopped in front of Slughorn’s office.

There was no other way.

She knocked.

“Yes?” Slughorn’s voice was muffled.

“Professor? Hermione Granger here. I would like your help with something.”

After two nervous breaths, the door opened and the overweight Potions Professor appeared. “Miss Granger! What a surprise. Are you… ” He leaned out the door to check the hallway. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What’s this about?”

She wrung her hands, knowing that she had to play this right and not overstep the bounds of the man’s vanity. “It’s… It’s something for Harry, actually.”

To her surprise, Slughorn’s face immediately darkened. “I see. Well, I already told Mister Potter that I can’t help him, and sending you instead really is…”

“Professor!” She stared at him, shocked at her outburst. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just… he’s in the Hospital Wing again.”

“I… oh.” Slughorn frowned, but then his demeanor eased up. “I didn’t hear about that, to be honest; what a tragedy. Mister Potter really seems to have fallen prey to a most vicious affliction.”

She sniffed, not because she was actually crying but because it would probably help play her role. “He has. And nobody appears to be able to help him. So I went to the library, and I found some references to certain potions.” She looked at the man. “I was hoping that you might point me in the right direction.”

Slughorn shook his head. “My dear, I’m not a healer.”

“But you know potions like nobody else! You told us about your travels; you must’ve seen so many things. Surely you know something? Or the names of books I could read to help Harry?”

The Potions Professor stared at her for a moment. “This has nothing to do with… memories?”

“I… don’t think so?” She was confused. What was he talking about?

But Slughorn was already smiling. “Splendid. Come in, Miss Granger; maybe we can find something to help Mister Potter after all. One should never give up on their friends!”

She followed the man into his office after closing the door.

“You remind me so much of a boy named William Lennox,” he babbled as he moved toward the large shelf next to his desk. “His best friend had been cursed by a Fae of all creatures after an illicit trip to the Forbidden Forest during his fifth year, and he was sure that a potion would be able to break the curse when nothing else seemed to help.”

“What happened? Did he succeed?” Hermione approached the shelf, drawn to the many books she’d never seen or read.

Slughorn turned around. “I’m afraid he didn’t, Miss Granger. His friend fell quite ill and died a few years later; it was a tragedy. But I doubt that Mister Potter ran afoul of a creature of the forest, so you shouldn’t give up hope!”

She nodded hesitantly, slightly dazed from the turnaround.

Slughorn might be an expert in potions, but he really needed to work on his motivational speeches, she thought.

“What are you looking for, Professor?” she eventually asked.

“Something from my first travel…” Slughorn moved down the rows of books, his index finger touching spines and bookmarks. “What was it? I know I remember something… ” He stopped to look at her again. “Mister Potter is suffering from having overly stimulated senses, right?”

“Yes.” Hermione felt hope burst through her worries as she watched the Potions Professor’s face. He’d just remembered something, and he was smiling again.

“Oh, Miss Granger, I believe I have just the thing.” He grinned. “Curious, I haven’t thought about it in years, only now to be reminded of it again…” His eyes stared off into space for a moment, but he shook himself out of it. “Ah, don’t listen to me, Miss Granger, prattling about things from way before you were born. Not when I have something more tangible! And it’s not here; it’s in my old chest.”

She watched Slughorn go to a small, dark chest in a corner of his office that she hadn’t noticed before. He flipped it open and removed several items  — padded robes, a bandolier of potions, a mortar, and a pestle made from red stone… and a small book bound in moss-green leather.

As he turned around to her, she had to force herself not to jump in excitement. “What… is it about?” she asked reverently.

“This.” The older man tapped the book fondly. “This is a book written by an American wizard who ventured into the jungles of South America almost 40 years ago to collect rare herbs and study the local magical communities.”

“What… what does that have to do with Harry?”

Slughorn held out the book to her. “On his journey, he met several local witches and wizards who had… enhanced senses, who could hear the rain coming or find food from miles away in the jungle. He says they're called Sentinels.”

Carefully, Hermione took hold of the green book. There was no title printed on the leather, but when she flipped it open, she read ‘Secrets of the Sentinels: Primitive Magic and Ancient Tradition,’ by Emmet Ossinsky.

“I met young Emmet when he was on his way back, in Buenos Aires,” the Potions Professor reminisced. “We had the most stimulating conversations, and he sent me his book afterward when I was back from my hunt for rare potion ingredients. He’s now working for the American Ministry. We chat once a year, a jolly fellow, really.”

“That’s fascinating,” Hermione mumbled absently, not paying too much attention to Slughorn as she paged through the book.

Maybe this was the key? Did she hold all the answers she needed in her hands? This wasn’t a book about potions per se, but if reading about South American wizards did help find a cure for Harry’s condition, she wouldn’t complain.

“Can I… borrow this?”

“Miss Granger, you can have this book — it’s yours!” Slughorn made a grandiose gesture. “Just remembering those olden days reinvigorated me more than a glass of Ogden’s Finest ever did, haha!” He looked at her. “For that alone, I would give you this book. I can get another copy easily from dear Emmet; we’re about to meet again soon anyway. And if this helps ease Mister Potter’s pain, then all the better. He might not be a Sentinel if such wizards even exist, but maybe there's a connection still.”

“Thank you, Professor.” She tried to show the immense gratitude she felt. “I mean it, thank you.”

“Miss Granger, you’re one of my best students. Thank you for coming to me — we Slugs need to stick together, eh?” He chuckled. “Maybe next time we have a meeting, maybe you can tell us all about finding a cure for Mister Potter?”

She swallowed a sigh. “Sure… I can do that.”

“Splendid! Now, don’t let me keep you from any poignant business you might have.”

He didn’t motion toward the door, yet Hermione knew it was a dismissal. But she’d gotten more than she’d hoped for; there was no reason to complain. “Of course, Professor. Thank you again.”

“A pleasure, Miss Granger.”

As she stepped outside the office, Hermione had to fight her instinct to run to the Hospital Wing. She needed to show this to Harry, as soon as possible. She knew he was to spend today in isolation, but she'd already planned to make another nightly visit to Madame Pomfrey's sanctum. This just couldn't wait. Maybe it would even make the talk they would have less awkward.

Before she reached her destination, she was stopped by the sight of Ron and Lavender, though. They were coming up the Grand Staircase, hand in hand.

When he saw her, Ron blanched and let go of Lavender's hand. “Hey, Hermione.”

She looked between the two of them, irritation creeping into the bubbly excitement she'd felt just a moment before. “Yes?”

“Look… can we talk? Really talk, I mean?”

Lavender only stared at her.

“What's this about, Ron? I'm really busy right now.”

He squared his jaw. “You always are; that's not a reason.”

“Is this about Harry?”

Her roommate huffed, and Hermione tried to suppress a groan. She didn't have the time or energy to deal with this!

Ron scowled. “No. I know he's been in pain, and that attack was the strangest thing this year, easily, and you touching him… no, that was the strangest thing. But this isn't about him, for once.”

She sighed. “Ron…”

“Is talking to me so terrible that you can't spare ten minutes?” he snapped. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“What understanding, Ron?” Lavender had joined the conversation, at last.

“I really don't have time,” Hermione said. “Harry needs help, and I might be able to…”

“To what, cop a feel?”

She positively growled now. “Get out of my way; I can't deal with you being like this.”

“Don't you just run away! Hermione!”

But she ran by them and didn't stop until they were out of sight. Hermione knew that another talk was imminent, and this one she did look forward to even less than the one she was about to have with Harry. Although considering Ron's temper and her stubbornness, it was probably going to be a screaming match.

Chapter Text

Harry heard her coming up the stairs a full minute before she arrived at the Hospital Wing’s doors. Her heartbeat was as familiar to him by now as his own, and that scent… that scent he craved, that he almost needed like he needed air.

He hastily put on some actual clothes to distract himself, and because he was not going to have A Talk with her half-naked and using his bedsheets for cover.

Just as he was about to sit on his mattress to wait for Hermione to enter, he saw the doors open quietly in the dark. To his astonishment, he didn’t see her — there was nothing. 

He smelled her, also a potion or something she was carrying; he heard the blood rush in her veins and the rustling of her robes, but his eyes didn’t see a bloody thing.

Maybe Disillusionment Charms really were his Achilles’ heel?

“Hermione?” he whispered.

“I’m here.” When her face appeared out of nowhere, he wanted to slap himself.

His cloak, of course.

Well, there was a reason his friend was known for being the clever one of the trio, Harry mused. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

“Are you okay?” She looked toward Madame Pomfrey’s office door, knowing the school matron was probably sleeping on her field bed again, since she technically had a patient right now.

“Yeah, the Charm keeps me grounded, and the migraine is gone. I’m utterly bored, to be honest.”

She turned back to him. “I can imagine. I’m so truly sorry that I had to leave, Harry; I didn’t want to.”

He shook his head, hoping she could see him clearly in the darkness. “No, you’re not at fault. Thank you for… just being there when I was down.” He blushed, trying to stop himself from spouting all the things he had on his mind all at once.

This was the first time since the attack that they both were able to just talk.

“About that…” But Hermione stopped, turned to Pomfrey’s office again, and cast a Quietus charm and a Colloportus at the Hospital Wing’s entrance. “That’s better.”

He watched her remove his cloak from her shoulders before she handed it to him. “I hope you’re not angry that I borrowed it without asking. I thought it was the best way to get here undetected.”

“Hermione, you don’t have to ask to borrow it, not ever.” He let the smooth fabric run through his fingers and enjoyed the tingling sensation it caused. Somehow, he couldn’t feel any details in the cloak’s fabric, couldn’t pick out single threads or irregularities in the way it was woven.

But he filed this mystery away for later.

“So,” he said, hoping she would take the initiative.

“So.” She hopped onto the bed and sat down at his side, filling the air with her scent, and the smell of her freshly washed hair. Harry had to fight to keep himself grounded in the present, silently cursing himself for being a creep.

“I guess we need to talk about… you know.” He sighed. “That you touched me… and that I stopped screaming.”

“In so many words, yes.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “What the bloody hell happened there, Harry? And I’m not talking about the invisible attackers, by the way.”

He grimaced. She knew him too well; he would have used that opening to stall a bit more, hoping to make sense of all the feelings and words tumbling around in his head. “Alright.”

“Talk to me, Harry.” She bit her lower lip as she waited for an answer, and he had to look away.

“I… I don’t know if I can really explain it, Hermione.” Harry closed his eyes, feeling her very presence with his other senses. “You probably have a good idea how well I can sense everything around me now. I heard you coming up the stairs a minute before you arrived. I know what’s for breakfast before I’m even down on the third floor, and I can hear the Owlery from the Common Room if I'd like to.”

She absorbed his words silently, waiting for more.

“Thing is,” he continued and felt another blush that the darkness would hopefully hide from her non-enhanced eyes, “I can do that with you… better than with anyone else. Or anything else. I sense you all the time when you’re in my vicinity. You anchor me in some way. But I don’t know why, Hermione, I really don’t.”

“Is that the reason you're constantly sniffing me?” she quietly asked.

Harry gasped. So much for his dirty little secret!

“Did you really believe I hadn’t noticed?” He saw that she was as embarrassed as he was, but she soldiered on. “I didn’t know what to think, really.”

“Hermione, I…”

She licked her lips, and Harry lost his train of thought completely.

“See? That’s another thing. You’re always staring at my lips, Harry.”

He swallowed hard and looked away again. How was he supposed to respond to that? He was awful with stuff like this! Nobody had taught him how to verbally address the concept of… attraction. To his best friend, of all people.

Harry flinched when he felt her grab his hand, but he felt it stopping his mind from spiraling further.

“Does this help?” Her voice was even quieter now. “This one I also do know about, thankfully, even though I don’t know the reason.”

He breathed and felt his panic ebb, focusing on the calming influence of her touch.

Being annoyed at himself, Harry finally managed to open his mouth again. “I’m sorry about that, Hermione. I don’t mean to leer at you; it just happens. I can’t seem to help myself, and I feel like a complete tosser about it because you’re my best friend.” He looked at their folded hands. “I promise to do better.”

“I’m not sure that promise is actually helpful,” she said. “Your control over… this is shaky at best, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I know you’re not a creep, Harry, but it is distracting to get looks like that from you, to be perfectly honest.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Did she understand him that well?

“I can’t help it,” he whispered. “I’m completely lost, Hermione.”

But her bold streak continued. “Do you… Do you fancy me?”

Harry was sure that she would feel his exploding heartbeat in his hand now since his entire body went into overdrive. He was in way over his head, but there was no way out.

She waited, patiently, still holding his hand.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

Her heartbeat increased at his words, as did her breathing. Then she suddenly removed her hand, and he felt like a man lost at sea without a lifeline.

When he dared to glance at her, expecting to be chewed out, her eyes were already fixed on him. They were soft, though. “Okay. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

“Huh?” was all his stupid mind was able to conjure in response.

“I said, let’s leave it at that, Harry. For now. You’re in an incredibly bad situation, and we need to figure out why your senses are so hyperactive and how to control them. Or why I apparently can help you focus. So this… let’s table it for now?”

He couldn’t believe her, couldn’t believe how well she took all of it, or that she would accept it so easily and offer him a way out. In fact, it made his inner Gryffindor angry at himself for being such a coward. To his astonishment, Harry suddenly felt… bold. “Is that the same thing you told Ron, or did you guys finally resolve whatever it is you had since last year?”

It wasn’t fair to ask her that, to make it an accusation, but he couldn’t let her carry all of that on her own. Honestly, he didn’t care a lot about what Ron’s true intentions toward her were right now; this was about his needs.

There would be a time to feel shitty about sort of going behind his friend’s back, but this wasn’t it.

Hermione blinked. “How did you know that?” she whispered, completely gobsmacked.

“Sometimes you forget that I’ve known you for as long as you’ve known me, Hermione.” He clenched his hands. “And everyone in the bloody castle knows something is going on between you two, Lavender or not.”

“I… didn’t realize.”

Harry didn’t quite believe her, but he was done attacking her. There had been enough bickering and sniping this year to last a lifetime. “I’m sorry if I’m an arsehole right now, and yes, I know, language.” He looked at her again, drinking her in. “But… ignore that I’m messed up right now. What… what do you want, Hermione?”

There was a long stretch of silence in the Hospital Wing as they stared at each other in the darkness.

He sensed her finding the courage to answer before she said anything, hearing saliva rush in her mouth and the quiet breath she drew to steel herself. “I think… I think I’m a mess too, Harry. I have no idea.”

That was not what he’d expected.

“Well, in that case, I won’t feel so bad about my current situation then,” he quipped.

She grabbed his hand again. “Do… do you think I’m making a mistake?”

“Err… what do you mean by that?”

But Hermione shrugged, seemingly overwhelmed. “I don’t know, Harry. Everything?”

He got her meaning and knew what she was feeling right now, with things being so complicated and messy and nobody around to tell them how to do this, how to be a student and fight Voldemort and also be a bloody emotional teenager at the same time. And now this whole hypersensitivity thing came on top.

“Then let's figure this out together. If you can so easily accept me being… distracted all the time, and that I need your help more than ever before… what kind of friend would I be to leave you on your own?”

She teared up at his words and bumped his shoulder. “Sometimes, you’re far too empathetic for your own good.”

He smiled.

This wasn’t resolved, not really, but the awkward tension was over, and that felt nice. 

Emotionally, this was about as much as they were able to digest tonight, he decided. There was no need to continue this dangerous path — not when there weren’t actual Unforgivables being flung around.

“Friends?”

She nodded. “Friends. Always.”

Harry almost teared up himself when she said it like that. Yeah, this was a good time to end things, or he’d make a fool of himself yet again.

“Before I leave you be, there’s something super important. I think I might’ve found a clue as to what your condition is, or rather how you can handle your senses.” She reached into her robes and removed a small, green book.

“Oh, that’s what I’ve smelled before; I thought it was a potion,” he mumbled.

She looked at him in disbelief. “It’s from Professor Slughorn.”

“Well, that explains it. But wait… Slughorn?” He shook his head. “How did you even… ?”

“I have my ways.” She held it out to him. “Apparently, there are people in South America called Sentinels who have one or a few enhanced senses. All five — like in your case — is rare, but it has happened before.”

“That’s unbelievable.” He flipped through the book, glancing at chapter titles and catching the occasional sentence with the word ‘Sentinel.’ “Where did Slughorn get this?”

“Professor Slughorn met the author wizard during one of his travels. When I told him I was looking to help you, he gifted it to me.”

“Without any ulterior motives, I’m sure.” Harry closed the book. “Have you read it?”

“About a third. I just got it a few hours ago.” She scowled. “I lost time when I raced here first without the cloak, and when I tried to go back the Common Room was full, and Ron was… anyway, I didn’t get very far with my reading.”

Harry sighed. “Well, you better finish it. You’re way faster than I am anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I can wait another day or two, and you probably won’t sleep otherwise, since you’ll obsess over what is written in here.”

“Prat.” She took it back. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “I’ll probably also save some time since you’ll summarize the contents to me when you’re finished, won’t you?”

Harry couldn’t help but grin as she slightly frowned at him.

When Dumbledore walked toward the golden owl lectern at the end of breakfast the next day, the Great Hall went quiet all on its own. Ever since the last Quidditch game, the rumor mill had worked overtime, but few people seemed to know anything concrete apart from the painfully obvious.

Word of the attack on Harry had also reached the Wizarding World, featuring on the Prophet’s front page. It was, however, pure speculation since neither the Ministry nor the Headmaster had confirmed anything.

Students noticed that Dumbledore’s eyes were not twinkling, though.

And that some Slytherins were glancing at each other rather nervously.

“Good morning, everyone.” The headmaster looked at the assembled students over the top of his spectacles. “If I may have a quick word before you leave for your classes, there are two important announcements.”

The silence in the Great Hall was almost deafening.

Dumbledore nodded slightly to himself. “First, Mister Bletchley has left Hogwarts. He will continue his studies with private tutors and only return at the end of this school year for a few days to take his N.E.W.Ts. The reasons for that are partially private, but I can and will say, however, that his departure is connected to the recovery of a wand after a heinous attack on Mister Potter and Miss Granger two days ago.”

The headmaster raised his hands as furious whispers erupted across the entire hall. Everyone was trying to take a look at the seventh-year Slytherin students, who were now missing one of their own.

“Please, calm down. That was the first announcement. The other one is that the investigation into said attack is still ongoing.” Dumbledore’s brows furrowed slightly. “Whoever the second party is that participated and then fled the scene — we urge you to come forward to one of the professors sooner rather than later. Thank you, that is all.”

As Dumbledore returned to the High Table, the Great Hall dissolved into a cacophony of conversations.

At the Gryffindor table, two pairs of eyes immediately went to the far end of the hall, where Malfoy sat almost on his own at the edge of the Slytherin table. He seemed to stare down at the floor, his face a pale mask of barely controlled anxiety.

Draco looked like shit.

“It’s him, I’m telling you.” Ron squared his jaw. “He probably planned the whole thing and suckered Miles into it.”

“Oh, so now you believe that Harry had a point with his ‘crazy conspiracy theories’?” Color me surprised,” Ginny snapped as she made overexaggerated air quotes.

“I never said he was mistaken, only that he spent far too much time trying to spy on him!”

She huffed. “You have a funny way of remembering your accusations of him being mental.” Then, she turned to Dean and Neville. “What do you think?”

“Before? I was sure that Harry was being paranoid,” her boyfriend admitted. “Now, though… he has just the worst luck, really. I mean, how often can you get attacked in this bloody castle?”

“Every year, it seems,” Neville mumbled. “As for your question, Ginny, I agree. Something’s up with Malfoy.”

“Good. I think we… “

“Where is he, by the way? Shouldn’t he be with us again?” Dean looked around. “And where’s Hermione?”

“Good question. They’ve both missed several breakfasts or dinners lately, don’t you think?”

Ron glared at his sister. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, come on, I know exactly what you…” But he was interrupted when everyone at the Gryffindor table suddenly turned to the Great Hall’s entrance.

Hermione and Harry had finally arrived.

He was whispering something in her ear as they walked, and Hermione was smiling.

Both stopped halfway to the table.

“What is it?” she asked, irritated. “Why are you all staring like that?”

Professor Babbling had ended class early today, and for once Hermione didn’t mind losing out on education. She loved Ancient Runes, but her mind was rather preoccupied with… Harry.

Well, him and his hypersensitivity and… that very tangible thing between them.

She knew he’d given her an easy exit the night before when he’d asked her what she really wanted. First, she’d been too stunned to react, and then she’d been so relieved she could’ve kissed him — as a friend, of course.

Totally as a friend.

To make matters worse, Hermione didn’t know how to react to Ron at the moment. Their truce seemed to be a thing of the past, judging from the encounters in the Grand Staircase and the Common Room, or the dirty looks he was giving her all the time.

But what was she supposed to do, ditch Harry and throw herself at his mercy?

That wouldn’t happen. It might’ve been before this whole crazy episode with Harry had started, but not now. She’d see this through, make sure that he was safe.

Everything else… she’d have to improvise, which was not her strong suit.

As she hurried through hallways and semi-secret passageways, she hoped that maybe, somehow, a miracle would happen and the tension with Ron would resolve itself. Maybe he’d end things with Lavender? Or just come around, same as he’d done during the Triwizard Tournament.

Hermione suspected, though, that she had better chances of recovering the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw than witnessing Ron being reasonable about the whole thing.

Having reached the fourth floor, she stopped to look around, but there was no one around presently to observe her. Hermione walked down the main hallway, took a left turn, and saw the last door on the right ajar.

Harry was already there.

She knew he’d probably already sensed her, but something in her wanted to try and see what he was doing. Being as quiet as possible, she snuck up to the door.

Inside the small, empty classroom, Harry was sitting on a random desk.

The curtains on the windows were partially drawn. He was holding his wand, which was lit by a Lumos, slowly waving it around like a spoon in cereal. He appeared to be utterly transfixed by whatever it was he was seeing in the Charm, his face utterly focused.

Hermione thought that he looked adorable.

“You know that I can see you, right?” Harry didn’t stop his wand waving as he spoke.

“I do. I didn't mean to interrupt you.” She stepped inside and closed the door. “What are you doing?”

He grinned, still staring at the Lumos. “I can sense magic. Not all that well, and not all the time, but this here… I can feel it. Almost like sunlight on my skin. It’s weird but also nice in a way.”

She immediately filed that bit away for later research. “That sounds fascinating. This is why you’re so good at Charms right now, right?”

“Partially, I guess.” Harry dismissed the Lumos and looked at her. “But I can also feel it when someone is about to cast a spell, at least if I concentrate hard. How it manifests in the air, or in a wand.” He sighed. “It’s not even real sound or something visual, I think. Something in between, maybe?”

Hermione decided not to tell him about synesthesia right now but to bring that topic up once she’d read Slughorn’s book. The prospect of yet another possible aspect of his hypersensitivity was both exciting and exhausting if she was honest with herself.

They already had so much to study if they wanted to make sense of it all.

“Have you talked to Ron today?” Harry randomly asked, eyeing her critically.

“No… why?”

“Maybe nothing. He asked me if you had invited me to go to Hogsmeade with you or something, saying we were acting like a couple.”

She coughed, trying to fight a blush. “Well, that’s neither here nor there, is it?”

“Maybe.” Harry smiled tiredly. “But we need to talk to him eventually, Hermione. I’m not keen on sharing everything… why I’m smelling you or what your touch does, although that ship has probably already sailed. The rest, though, I think he needs to know about it.”

Hermione wasn’t happy about it, but she’d agreed for the most part, despite her problems with Ron’s current behavior. “Okay, but we need to get him without Lavender, or I won’t hear the end of it in the dorm.”

“Well, the weekend is upon us; I’m sure a good opportunity will present itself.”

She sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

“Charlie! Glad you could make it. Come in.”

The second-oldest Weasley son smiled. “Thank you, Remus.” They shook hands as he stepped inside the small bungalow.

“How is Romania treating you? Don’t mind the boxes; Tonks has decided that my kitchen needs remodeling, and I can’t seem to stop her.” They walked past stacks of packed dishes, kitchen utensils, and other random bits. “Never mind that she’s due in a few weeks.”

Charlie smirked. “Same old Tonks, but I'm glad at least someone looks after you occasionally. Where is she, by the way?”

“With her parents, I believe. Andy wanted to get some paperwork for the baby done. Anyway, I can offer you some tea at least.” Remus motioned toward the small table as he put the kettle on. “Thank you for coming; I didn’t know who else to talk to, to be honest.”

“Well, you were rather cryptic.” Charlie watched him curiously. “You said something strange is happening at Hogwarts that I would be able to help with? What about Albus and the others? The Order is active again, no?”

Remus stared off into space. “For the longest time, the Order would’ve been my first stop, but I’m afraid it’s more difficult.” His eyes found Charlie’s again. “And Albus… he seems to have his agenda, and I’m not sure that I’m with him on this.”

The dragon keeper frowned. “Did you two have a falling out?”

“Not like that, it’s just…” He sighed. “Albus lied to me, and for no good reason, at least none that I can see. And maybe that wouldn’t bother me so much if it wasn’t related to Harry.”

“Merlin, Remus, what is going on?”

The werewolf took a deep breath. “I believe that Harry is on the cusp of awakening as a Sentinel.”

Charlie blanched. “That is not something to joke about. You of all people should know that.”

“I’m not, please believe me.” He stood up and poured both of them a cup of tea. “I felt it the moment I visited Albus a few days ago — Hogwarts has been fully claimed. And since I doubt that a full werewolf pack would be able to settle down within the school without anyone noticing… well.”

“So you believe Harry did it? If you’re right about this, and I truly hope you’re not, how is that possible if he hasn’t realized his full potential? Can a Sentinel even stake a claim like that if he’s not awake?”

“Don’t ask me; I’m far from being an expert on these things.” He offered Charlie a cup. “Milk? Sugar?”

The redhead shook his head. “No, thanks, I like it black these days.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“So, what is Harry like as an almost-Sentinel? I remember him from the Triwizard Tournament, and he was so young back then… Merlin, my Mum will have kittens when she learns about this.”

“I don’t think countless people outside Hogwarts know about Harry’s… condition, at least at this time,” Remus mused. “As I said, Albus tried to mislead me. I asked him about Harry and Ron, and he lied to my face about them being just fine. If I hadn’t met your sister and Luna Lovegood afterward, I wouldn’t know a bloody thing. And the girls were speculating about plenty of things, so Harry hasn't shared everything with them.”

“Wait, so you didn’t talk to him yourself?”

“No.” The werewolf looked down into his cup. “I… I thought about it, but what is there to say, really? I’m not his teacher anymore, and Sirius is dead. There are so many things I should’ve done years ago, things I should have told him about, and now… I think it’s just too late.”

“That is utter horseshite, Remus, and you know it.” Charlie scowled at him. “If you care about him, you try. That is what being a family means.”

“Says the Weasley son who lives over a thousand miles away from his parents and doesn’t have access to the Floo Network. The only reason you visit England during Christmas is that Molly would just kill you otherwise.”

Charlie looked away. “That isn’t the same thing.”

“If you say so. You’re probably right, and I should go to Harry and apologize, but right now I fear we have bigger problems than my lack of courage.”

“We?”

“You didn’t run for the hills as soon as I used the word ‘Sentinel,’ so I hope you’ll help me help Harry.”

“With what?” The dragon keeper put his cup down. “His awakening?”

Remus made a vague gesture. “Maybe? I was hoping you’d have an idea. I’m pants at this, I told you. Furthermore, I’m just a bloody werewolf, and most of the time that alone is more than I can handle. Meanwhile, you are a…”

“Don’t say it!” Charlie pointed at him. “Don’t you fucking dare say it; you swore!”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“I still need your help, though.”

“Merlin.” Charlie put his head in his hands. “So let me get this straight: Harry is a Sentinel; he is just not fully awake yet. Despite that, he’s already claimed Hogwarts as his territory or is close to doing so. Also, Albus is trying to cover this up, somehow, for reasons yet unknown.”

“That sums it up nicely.”

The redhead groaned. “Anything else?”

Remus tried to remember what Ginny had told him. “Well, apart from that attack on Harry and Hermione… no, they’re not hurt, Charlie. But, ah, yes, Hermione might be Harry’s…. his… well, his Guide, at least potentially.”

Charlie spluttered. “Are you bloody kidding me right now? Remus!”

Chapter Text

“Neville, wait! I need to talk to you.”

Susan didn’t care for the stares from the Gryffindor table as she dodged some departing students in the Great Hall and stepped up to Neville. He was looking at her like a deer in headlights — Amayah Culpepper had explained the term to her at the beginning of the year, and she thought it was very funny.

“Oh… hey, Susan.”

She smiled, trying to put him at ease, but the boy had become stiff as a statue as he seemed to wait for her to deliver a killing blow or tell him he had to retake his Potions O.W.L. in half an hour.

“Merlin, Neville, it’s not that bad; I just wanted to ask you something,” she said in a low voice.

He nodded. “Do you or Hannah need help with Herbology again?”

“Err… no, not right now.” Susan wasn’t sure if he was offering in the hopes of spending time with Hannah, or if it was completely sincere.

But her best friend had left an impression, it seemed, since Neville was glancing at the Hufflepuff table once or twice.

She leaned closer. “This is about Hermione,” she said in a low voice.

“Huh?”

“I… Neville, are Hermione and Harry together?” She watched him blush as he tried to find his words. 

“Why are you asking me that, Susan?”

She sighed and hoped he wouldn’t detect the lie she was going to serve him. If he learned that it was actually Hannah pining for Harry right now… better to avoid any potential drama. She was a big girl; she could take the gossip. “Because I think I’d love to know him a bit better and… and I was hoping to ask him out, if that’s possible.”

Neville looked to his housemates, then back to Susan. “Why… why aren’t you asking Harry yourself? Or Hermione?”

Susan tried not to roll her eyes. “Because that’s not how it works. Also, I’m not a member of the House of the Brave, Neville. So, you’re going to help a girl out or what?”

“I don’t feel… ” He frowned. “Nobody ever asks me for this kind of stuff.”

“Well, I do.”

“Can’t you go to Parvati or Lavender? They know everything.” He nodded toward the Gryffindor table, where said girls were giggling as they packed their things and totally ignored a slightly annoyed Ron, who was waiting for his sort-of-maybe-almost-girlfriend.

“Neville.”

He swallowed as he looked her in the eyes. “Yes?”

“Please?” Susan made the most pleading impression she was capable of, leaning slightly forward as she did so. Playing with Neville like that wasn’t her idea of fun, and she hated girls who did it for random reasons just because they could… but she’d promised Hannah.

As they said in that one book about Grindelwald’s war, it’s for the Greater Good, she thought acerbically.

The tall boy blushed again. “Well, okay,” he mumbled. “But it’s complicated, I think.”

“Great! Well, not that, but… you know what I mean.” She smiled.

“Err… right.”

“Now, since we don’t have any time left right now, how about you meet me after class? In the lounge on the second floor?”

Completely overwhelmed, Neville nodded.

“You’re the best, seriously. I owe you one. See you later!” She didn’t look back as she hurried to the Hufflepuff table, but Susan knew that his eyes were on her. 

Probably on her ass.

If she was honest with herself, she didn’t really mind — Neville was a good guy.

When Slughorn opened the door to the Headmaster’s office — the Gargoyle had just stepped aside and just nodded when he’d arrived at the stairs — Albus waved from behind his desk.

“Horace, please, come in. I’m sorry that I’m bothering you today. I know you have classes to prepare; it’ll just take a moment.”

“Of course.” The Potions Professor only then noticed that Severus was also present, showing his eternal scowl as he lurked beside one of the seats in front of Albus.

He didn’t hold much sympathy for the cantankerous man, but as a Slytherin, he didn’t need to show that for the whole world to see.

“Severus.” 

Snape just nodded and barely suppressed a sneer.

“Please, sit.” Albus waved to the seat next to Snape.

Slughorn stepped toward the table, but he didn’t like the power dynamic of the situation, and he was still feeling on edge after that clumsy attempt made by Harry Potter regarding his… memory. There was no way Albus wasn’t involved in it.

“What’s this about?” he asked, stalling a bit.

Why was Snape still here? He knew the two of them held secret meetings every other week or so. Pomona had once said that the Head of House Slytherin was Albus’ most trusted advisor, but nobody knew what Snape was advising the Headmaster on. Because there seemed to be little that the old Gryffindor wasn’t knowledgeable about himself.

Or maybe that was also part of the trick.

Albus put away a parchment he’d been writing on and fully looked at Slughorn. “Can you tell me how Harry Potter is doing in class at the moment? I know that his… condition has made things rather difficult for him in some subjects.”

Snape grunted and looked away from them.

“I can tell you that he’s a brilliant young man, very much like his mother.” Slughorn smiled at the memories of her, ignoring a snort from Snape. “Now, I haven’t seen him in the days after the attack, but assuming that his sensitivity to certain sounds or smells hasn’t increased, I’d say Mister Potter will be just fine.”

The headmaster was watching him closely. “So there’s nothing out of the ordinary during class? He doesn’t do the impossible, or struggle more than before.”

Slughorn frowned. Wasn’t Harry supposed to be the Boy-Who-Lived and also someone who Albus was close to, by all accounts?

“Harry’s a bit more distracted, or needs longer for certain tasks, but I’ve yet to see him fail completely. There was once an incident where he ruined a Scintillation Solution, but I believe that was accidental.”

“To absolutely nobody’s surprise,” Snape mumbled, glancing at his colleague.

Albus sighed. “Severus.”

“Is there anything else?” Slughorn didn’t feel comfortable remaining between those two.

“Well, yes, one thing — what about Hermione Granger?” Albus smiled in that grandfatherly way of his. “She’s taking Harry’s condition very seriously, from what I understand. Is she doing all right in your class?”

The Potions Professor felt his Slytherin senses rise. Something about this line of questioning was… off. But he needed to remain in Albus’ good graces, especially since he didn’t plan on giving up his shameful lie any time soon, so he needed to play along for now. Part of him suspected that Albus knew that as well, but his personal appetite for deception had a limit. Better to just play ball, as Emmet was so fond of saying.

Thinking about his American acquaintance made Slughorn remember the book.

“Oh, Miss Granger is doing splendidly, as always. I believe she’s on a quest of her own at this moment, trying to help her dear friend.” He chuckled.

Albus leaned forward. “What do you mean by that, Horace?”

“Well, she came to me asking for help regarding Harry’s condition. I remembered my travels back in the day, and I gave her a book that may or may not hold the answers she is looking for.”

The headmaster began to frown. “What book?”

“‘Secrets of the Sentinels: Primitive Magic and Ancient Tradition,’” Slughorn recited. “Why?”

But Albus didn’t answer — he was staring at Severus, his face ashen.

“Are you serious? You gave Potter a book about Sentinels?” The Defense Professor was looking back at Albus, but his snarling tone made it clear he was talking to Slughorn now.

“No, I gave it to Miss Granger, why is that…”

Snape interrupted him rudely. “Those two are thick as thieves. She goes where he goes, and vice versa. In fact, I dare say they’ve even left Mister Weasley behind at this point.” There was another sneer. “So yes, Horace, you did in fact give this damn book to Potter, and now I have to clean up your mess.”

“What in Salazar’s name are you talking about? Albus? What is going on here?” Slughorn didn’t like at all where this conversation was heading.

“It’s… complicated.” The headmaster nodded to Snape, who shook his head in irritation and left the office in a sudden rush, his cloak billowing dramatically.

Annoyance caught up with Slughorn. “Trust goes both ways, Albus. You expect me to share intimate details with you, yet you sit here with… ” He motioned to the odd devices that were quietly puffing or chirping on the desk. 

“It is of the utmost importance that Harry does not learn more than absolutely necessary about Sentinels,” Albus finally said. “The repercussions, should he… wake up… would be most dire.”

“But why? I’m not even sure I fully believe those bloody things exist.”

The headmaster shook his head. “I’d like to share your skepticism, Horace, I really do. But in this instance… please trust me. The risks are too high. The knowledge you handed Miss Granger is actually dangerous, and we need to ensure they can’t ever put it to use.”

Slughorn noted how that hadn’t been an actual answer. “And that’s it?”

“Things are being handled.” Albus folded his hands and looked out of the office’s large window.

“You mean Severus is going after Harry, extending his reign of terror from the classroom to students' private lives now?” He’d heard the rumors about Snape’s bullying, and how the man seemed to harbor ill feelings for Harry Potter in particular.

“Horace, please, you need to understand… “

“I don’t need to do anything of the sort.” The Slytherin didn’t bother hiding his anger anymore. “Keep your secrets, Albus. Meanwhile, I’ll just do the same.”

As he turned and walked out of the headmaster's office, Slughorn wondered what this little victory would cost him. That reckoning he’d feared for decades now would arrive at his doorstep, he was sure of it. But that fear was familiar, an old friend even, and he took it in stride.

Something Slughorn was less sure about was the situation with Harry and his friend, Miss Granger. Should he intervene on their behalf?

But how, and, honestly, what for?

Because he had the growing suspicion that all the recent events did not, in fact, make for good conversation starters, and would end up being yet another secret layered in lies and misdirection.

Knowing that people would be spreading all over Hogwarts now that classes were done for the week, Harry positioned himself close to the Common Room’s door — with his Firebolt.

Just as he’d hoped, that garnered a bit of attention. Not that he was excited to be looked at and speculated about even more than usual, but this wasn’t for himself.

He didn’t like it, but he’d manage.

“Harry, what’s this? Are you going to fly a bit?” Ron came up to him, his chessboard forgotten. Harry had heard his friend’s heartbeat spike the moment he’d laid eyes on the broom, and he took it as a good sign.

Ron was always excited about Quidditch and flying.

“Not alone,” he said and smirked at the redhead. “I was hoping to catch everyone from the team to have a quick chat.”

“Ah. Well, the Firebolt might help with that.” Ron looked around. “Hey, Ginny! Come over here!”

Harry winced as he tried to tune out his ringing ears. Protected by the Charm, his senses didn’t outright assault his mind, but it was still an effort to keep the balance, so to speak. Occasionally, something intense slipped through, though. Such as Ron's voice.

Hermione, who was watching them from her armchair near the fireplace, had of course noticed.

Part of Harry still felt uncomfortable about her… watching over him. Like he was a small child. He knew it came from a place of genuine worry and affection, and that Hermione didn’t think him weak or unfit to handle the truth, but… well, he probably had a crush on her, didn’t he?

His mind really was a mess, and no charm would be able to fix that.

“What, Ron? I have things to do!” Ginny came, though, and she noticed the broom. “Harry?”

“Hey.” He noticed her scent, glad that it lacked that… embarrassing piece of information he’d smelled during her first visit to the Hospital Wing. But Ginny was using a different kind of lotion, something he’d never noticed before, and it smelled good.

“So, what did you guys want to talk about?” She looked between them. “Is this about… you know, the attack?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I suspect that Malfoy was behind it, but I didn’t plan on bringing him down this evening.”

“Day’s not over yet… “, Ron mumbled.

“I was hoping to talk to the team.”

“Oh.” Ginny looked around. “I believe Ritchie and Jimmy are in their dorm. Demelza is with her Ravenclaw friends, but I know where we can find them.”

Harry grinned. “You’re well-informed.”

She returned the grin, but then her face fell. “Oh, but Dean won’t come; he’s serving detention with McGonagall.”

“What? Why?” Harry hadn’t heard a thing about that, which irritated him since he’d been picking up on so many other things lately. It seemed that being hypersensitive didn’t make one all-knowing after all.

“It’s stupid. He got into a fight with some fifth-year Slytherins after the attack, and he drew his wand when they insinuated that someone would be able to knock you out with a simple Sonorus now, and that we wouldn't ever win a game again as long as you remain on the team.”

“Oh no…”

Ginny grimaced. “Of course, McGonagall was close and saw it all.”

Harry took a deep breath, ignoring all the information that this gave to him on the people in his vicinity, and tried to calm himself down. He knew they wouldn’t be able to keep the truth about his condition hidden forever, but it seemed that someone had a pretty good idea about his current vulnerabilities, and that wasn’t good.

He remembered Bryce Mallow, who was probably dead by now.

Whatever the healer had written in that stolen report was now being used against him, Harry mused. Finally, it didn't even matter if it was Malfoy, or someone else with family connections outside the school. He couldn’t rely on the Charm any longer. He’d known that before; the attack had made it painfully clear, but now he felt a very real clock ticking in the background.

Just great.

“I’m sorry, that’s just the worst. Please tell Dean I appreciate it, but he really shouldn’t have gone at them. I’m used to it.”

“There have been really strange rumors about you lately,” Ron added. “It’s like all the crap from our second year and fourth year mixed.”

“Oh, I know.” Harry sighed. “The gossips always whisper to each other when they see me, but I can hear them now, all of them. Even in the Great Hall.”

“Bloody hell.” Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “That must be so useful, to be able to listen in like that.”

“Occasionally? It’s annoying though, mate; it really is. Also, it makes my head hurt.”

“Wait, can you listen in to our private conversations as well? When do I talk to Dean? Oh, of course, you can.” Ginny blushed. “That’s… immoral, Harry. You shouldn’t do that.”

“I’d be glad to, Ginny, but I don’t have a choice; it’s everywhere I go. You could also ask me to stop breathing.” He sighed again. “Sorry. I think I’m going to fetch our Beaters; be right back.”

“No, let me do it.”

Ron and Harry exchanged a confused glance. 

“Why?”

“Yeah, why Gin? Isn’t Dean your… whatever?” Ron crossed his arms as he stared down at his sister.

She scowled. “You’re an idiot; it’s nothing like that. They scared me to death the other day with a stupid prank, and I want to return the favor. Seems like a good opportunity now.”

“As long as they’re still able to follow you back and have a conversation… I won’t stand in your way.” Harry raised his hands in a placating gesture as he tried to hide a smile.

“I don’t like it,” Ron grumbled.

“Too bad,” she snapped. “I’m still going.”

They watched her ascend the stairs, where she drew her wand and then quietly opened the third-year boys's dormitory. Harry could hear her cast a Quieting Charm, which muffled things too much even for his hearing to listen in any further. Whatever she’d planned, it was probably going to be embarrassing, given that she was the sister of George and Fred, and he almost felt sorry for his Beaters… almost.

“Say, Harry…” Ron’s heartbeat had another spike as he stopped to look down at the floor.

“Hm?”

“Why is Hermione staring at us like that? Or rather, at you?”

Harry suppressed a groan. He hadn’t planned for that topic to come up in the middle of the bloody Common Room. When he glanced at Hermione, he found her staring at him over the edge of her copy of ‘Hogwarts, A History,’ which he knew was just being used to covertly read Slughorn’s much smaller book about Sentinels.

Her eyes were full of worry, and he could easily imagine her wanting to possess his superior sense of hearing as she tried to make sense of Ron’s and his body language, gestures, and facial expressions from across the room.

“I think she’s worried,” he said truthfully. He would rather not keep things from Ron anymore, and maybe there would be some awkwardness or even some shouting, but then it would be over, and they could get back to being friends.

Because, so far, their sixth year had been nothing but a slow-moving, agonizing, and ultimately exhausting disaster, Harry thought. Or maybe he’d just lost perspective after all those life-threatening adventures.

Presently, he wouldn’t mind facing the basilisk again, though.

Anything but this.

“About another attack? That’s stupid; we’re in the middle of Gryffindor Tower.” Ron shot their friend another dark look before he turned to Harry. “Or is there something else going on that I don’t know about?”

“Well… sort of?” Harry scratched his neck. “We talked a lot about what happened and what it could all mean. I wouldn’t have minded having you with us when we did, but you and Hermione… you guys seem to have a problem with each other right now.”

“Someone sure has a problem,” the redhead mumbled. “I don’t know what’s up with her. I say one thing, and she smiles. I say another thing, and she throws stuff at my head. I mean, if she’s jealous of Lavender, why doesn’t she just say something?”

Harry removed his glasses to pinch his nose. “Stop, mate. Just… stop.”

“Huh? Why, are you on her side again?”

“No, it’s… Ron, for Merlin’s sake, you can really be an ass sometimes.”

His friend’s eyes darkened. “Why is that? Please tell me, Mister Perfect.”

“You and Hermione, you had this weird dance around each other for months. Don’t deny it! But neither of you knew what it was, or what to make of it all. And when you were all high on our Quidditch success and believed anything was possible, you decided to kiss Lavender. Meanwhile, Hermione had a vastly different experience.” He looked from Ron to his hands, which were clenched. “So accusing her of being too afraid to say something is pretty rich coming from the person who feigned to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to talk to his maybe-girlfriend in the Hospital Wing.”

“That’s not fair; I was just too tired to deal with her during that time.” Ron looked around to see if Lavender was close before he continued. “And just so you know, I did ask her to have a conversation, Harry. Point-blank, in the middle of the Grand Staircase.”

“You did?” But Harry’s senses told him that his friend was telling the truth, because he wasn’t that good a liar, and that righteous anger felt very true to his eyes and ears.

“Yeah, imagine that, Ronald Weasley being in the right for once.” Ron squared his jaw as he continued to stare. “I’m sick of everyone thinking that I’ve done something wrong all the time. Both you and Hermione have kept to yourselves for a while now, leaving me all alone.”

“As if you’re not glued to Lavender’s face most of the time anyway.”

“Typical.” He shook his head. “If you must know, she was actually with me when I tried to corner Hermione. I’d talked her into it, to get this all out in the open and see what’s what.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. “I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you bloody well be. You’ve been a shit friend these past week or so, and I’m not talking about your headaches or the attack. That’s different.”

“Fair, but I wouldn’t rate your behavior any better, Ron. The things you and Hermione did to each other were painful to watch, and you know perfectly well how to rile her up for your amusement.”

Ron looked away. “So, those freaking birds were totally okay then, since I deserved it?”

“I give up.” Harry threw his hands in the air. “Not everything is black or white, mate. I’m not completely crazy, but a bit. Hermione isn’t completely innocent, but she’s not at fault for everything — just like you.” He rubbed his neck again. “Difference is, she’s come to realize that. You, on the other hand, want to point to her to take the blame and then go about your day like you’ve done before.”

“Well, you’re either with someone, or you’re not,” Ron said, obviously fighting to keep his cool. “You sound like Dumbledore. Not everything is a deep mystery; sometimes someone just did something wrong.”

They looked at each other.

“Well,” Harry said. “Do you still want to go out for a bit?”

“What? You think I’m going to toss a throw Bludger with you after all this shite you just said?”

Harry didn’t answer but pulled a sheet of parchment from his robes. “McGonagall gave me special permission to use at least half of the Quidditch Pitch for practice today, should I feel up for it. I didn’t know if one of the other teams was out there today, so I asked her for this.” He saw Ginny and the boys come out of the dorm above Ron’s head — Jimmy and Ritchie were blushing and trying very hard to act normally.

There probably was an entertaining story to be learned here, he thought, after reassuring himself that Ginny seemed okay. Somehow, he felt very protective of her all of a sudden, and not just because his senses gave him such an insight into her state of mind. Maybe it was because her reaction to him was so different from Ron's? Whatever the cause, he felt… steady, knowing where he stood, emotionally. Which was honestly a massive improvement over his previous confusion regarding Ron’s sister. His crush on Ginny had maybe been real at some point, but in hindsight it'd always felt weird.

He really was awful at all of this. Thankfully, Hermione didn't seem to mind, or he'd have another huge problem to handle. 

“So, what do you say? You can still be angry with me, Ron, but I’d prefer you with us.”

His friend opened his mouth, then closed it. “Fine, whatever.”

Harry exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His eyes found Hermione, and he nodded to her ever so slightly. Maybe this was going to be harder than imagined, but he was still optimistic about the weekend.

The tension between the three of them had to end at some point, right?

When Hermione looked at the common room's grandfather clock for the seventh or so time, she noticed that she was nervous. Harry and the others were still outside, flying around the Quidditch Pitch. She was glad he’d managed to get the team together to thank them for everything and maybe relax a bit in the air.

She wondered about Ron, though. He and Harry… it had looked as if they’d talked but also fought with each other. Probably about her?

The uncertainty was eating at her. It was also the reason she hadn’t followed the team outside, because chances were that she’d just end up fighting with Ron again. Better to wait for an opportunity to do that in private. Harry seemed sure they would be able to work it all out.

Thinking of Harry reminded her of the book she’d just finished reading.

Professor Slughorn’s gift had answered plenty of questions but raised new ones in return.

And Hermione didn’t feel comfortable with the supernatural aspects of it all, with the almost religious reverence that dripped from every page. Or the very real rituals described by Mister Ossinsky, things that sounded primal and not at all safe…

Intellectually, she knew that magic in its entirety was so much more than the things taught at Hogwarts or the neat spells and potion recipes found in her books, but the prospect of leaving the confines of a classroom to explore this new… thing… she wasn’t looking forward to it.

She needed to talk to Harry, tell him what she’d learned.

There were still numerous open questions, though.

Going through her notes, she stared at the one that irritated her the most. What was a Guide, and why did it sound like they were important to a Sentinel? The author had only mentioned them in passing and not given much credit to their existence, or what function they served — only to gush more about the prowess of Sentinels.

When she looked yet again at the clock, Hermione groaned and decided to do something instead of just waiting and worrying.

Despite her reservations, she’d thought about asking Mister Ossiensky for help. If he was interested in answering her questions, or maybe even pointing her toward other literature about Sentinels — the Hogwarts Library hadn’t yielded a single usable reference so far — maybe she could really help Harry.

And find out why her touch was able to center him and soothe his pain.

Glad to have decided, she grabbed her writing utensils and carefully drafted a letter. There were still some people in the surrounding room, but none were sitting close enough to see anything.

Hermione wrote down all the praises she could think of since that would probably make the author receptive to her plea and then listed her questions. What had brought Harry’s abilities to the surface? Why didn’t the Quietus Animus cover all of Harry’s senses? How tight would Harry’s control become if they did those rituals — enough to ditch the Charm completely?

She never wrote down Harry’s name, though, since she couldn’t rely on Ossinsky’s discretion, knowing that he was an acquaintance of Professor Slughorn. These things were not something she wanted to read in the Prophet about, so she kept it anonymous.

After a few corrections and one rewrite, Hermione was happy with the letter.

Since Harry and the team still hadn’t returned, she decided to send it right now. The sooner they got answers, the better for Harry… and herself. Both of them, really.

What did she want? Harry’s question was haunting her in the back of her mind.

Hermione left the Common Room and hurried toward the Owlery, cursing silently for leaving her favorite jumper in her dorm. The temperatures in the hallways were going down, now that it was evening.

When she stepped into the Owlery, she almost hissed. So cold!

“Hedwig? Are you there?”

“Hoo.” The snowy owl was sitting on a beam directly above Hermione’s head and looked down at her curiously.

Hey you, would you like to bring this letter to the Ministry’s postal office?” She held out her parchment. “It’s for Harry. He’s not been well, and I want to help him.”

Hedwig flew down to her in three tight spirals and landed on Hermione’s arm. Large amber eyes focused on her. “I know, he hasn’t been around much,” she whispered. “I can yell at him on your behalf if that helps?”

“Hoo!”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Hermione smiled. “Can you help me, then? Please?”

Hedwig held out her leg so she could attach the letter.

“Thank you, Hedwig. Can you bring this to the Ministry’s postal office?”

The owl nodded. “Hoo.” Then she took off, leaving a tiny white feather in her trail that floated lazily in the cold air. Hermione looked at it and was randomly reminded of Christmas. That brought her train of thought to presents and to books.

Oh, but of course.

“I’m an idiot,” she mumbled as she noticed that she’d left quill and parchment in Gryffindor Tower. “I do need more books!” Why hadn’t she made a shopping list to give Hedwig as well? While Sentinel literature was obscure, books about hypersensitivity and anxiety were not, especially in the Muggle world.

She was sure that there were tons of things she could learn that would help Harry.

Now she’d have to go back and…

… Hermione noticed too late that someone was standing behind her. As she turned toward the exit and saw the tall, dark figure, a spell was already being cast.

“Obliviate!”

Chapter Text

“Harry, what is it?”

Demelza and Ginny both had stopped walking the moment he had. The whole team was still watching him like a hawk, even after he’d assured them everything was basically fine now.

He felt as if he was surrounded by suspicious bodyguards on their way back to the Common Room.

Even Ron had been caught up in the group’s protective energy and occasionally threw withering glares at the corridors behind them, even though there was nobody around but them this close to the curfew.

But at this very moment, Harry knew that things were definitely not fine — something bad was happening. It wasn’t that the bloody Charm had failed, but out of the blue a bone-aching pull was now tearing at his very core, and it hurt; it hurt like nothing else.

Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. As if a part of him had been ripped out.

No, someone, Harry corrected himself as the dawning horror of realization crept up his spine.

He knew the feeling of loss in virtually all its incarnations.

Hermione.

Something had happened to Hermione.

“I… I need to go!” he said. “I… no, please.” He started running, leaving his slightly confused teammates behind, as full-blown panic fueled his still-tired muscles and made him race with reckless abandon, trying to outpace whatever terror it was that had gripped him.

He had no idea where he was running to, but Harry didn’t want to think about that.

Whatever it was that had happened to Hermione, or was still happening to her, he would be too late to stop it — also something he tried to shove out of his mind.

There was only a desperate race toward her, wherever she was, and that indescribable feeling of loss that made him want to crawl into a dark hole to lie down and let it all be over with.

He would give anything to trade this ache for the eye-watering migraines from before. Better to faint under the avalanche of his own sensory impressions than to experience… this. Harry noted that there was a metallic taste in his mouth as he rounded corners and jumped over balconies and that his ears were buzzing.

His feet carried him up through the castle, and so he followed, not questioning his body’s decisions.

There were a few students that he dodged during this mad race, but they were nothing but potential hindrances, and he ignored their outcries as he left them behind.

Hermione.

She was all that mattered, now and…

He stopped as he reached the seventh floor and saw a group of Gryffindors that was about to enter the Common Room. His senses were all over the place and felt so muffled, as if someone had doubled the Charm’s effects on him. At the same time, Harry knew she wasn’t here. He knew it with such conviction that he didn’t even question the thought as it manifested itself.

There was no way he’d be able to find her unless he literally ran into her.

This was no good, and if he wanted to stop whatever it was that was happening, he needed to find her now, not in three hours.

Trying to catch his breath, Harry stared at his hands and his palm lines.

Of course.

The Marauder’s Map.

He was such a blithering idiot.

He raced after the other students and caught the door just in time before it closed, ignoring both the Fat Lady and his housemates as he slipped inside and raced up the stairs as if Voldemort himself was after him.

As he entered his dorm, Harry aimed his wand at his chest. “Alohomora!”

It flew open violently and spewed clothes and books on the floor, but he didn’t care. With a swift motion, he grabbed the map, and his cloak that he’d left here again for some unfathomable reason and hurried toward the stairs.

The others had caught up with him.

“Harry, what in Merlin’s name is going on?” Ron stood on the stairs, panting and holding himself on the railing. “Is there another attack?”

“Hermione,” he said. “Something happened.”

“What? Is she hurt?” Ginny stepped up to her brother, her face covered in fresh sweat from the running.

“I don’t know, but I need to find her. Please, let me through.” He didn’t wait for an answer but slipped between the redheads.

“Wait, we can help you!”

“Harry, stop!”

“What’s going on?”

“Hermione’s in danger, or something!”

“Where’s he running to?”

“No idea.”

Harry ignored them all, even though they wanted to help, and he felt even worse for it. But the aching loss he felt was also a pull, and he couldn’t stop. If he were to meet a professor, or a patrolling prefect… well, he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

He banged the Common Room door open, causing the Fat Lady to shriek, and continued his race. He needed a quiet corner to read the map, away from all the voices and distractions. The others would probably try to follow him again or organize their search for Hermione.

But he couldn’t be part of that. It would take too long; he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Harry raced down the Grand Staircase again and, noting the absence of any smells or sounds that indicated human presence, slipped into a corridor on the sixth floor and opened the first broom closet he saw. Even though his senses felt muffled, he smelled dust and old rags and also sweat and something sweet… old perfume.

It seemed this closet had been put to good use over the years.

In the darkness of the closet, he hastily pulled his map from a pocket and unfolded it. There was no need for light, as his eyes were more than capable of making sense of the lines and names on the parchment in here. Sadly, his condition hadn’t also improved his reading speed, and Harry desperately tried to remain calm as he frantically searched for Hermione’s name.

Outside, he heard the voices of Ron and Demelza and others going down the stairs. They weren’t yelling, not this close to the curfew, but it seemed that they had indeed joined the search.

He still thought that he didn’t really deserve friends like that. They were risking detention and worse just on his word, when he was acting like a lunatic. Again.

As he followed the dots of the Gryffindors on the map, Harry noticed movement on the other side of Hogwarts’ floor plan, on the grounds outside.

Hermione.

She must’ve stood still because something had been there the whole time; he’d seen it from the corner of his eye.

He watched her dot move slowly and erratically in a northern direction, away from the castle.

Was she injured? And why was she even outside? His mind only came up with increasingly frightening answers, and Harry swallowed bile as he put the map away with shaking hands.

He stepped out of the broom closet and put on his cloak, then he ran down the stairs once more.

The unbearable feeling of doom and loss intensified with each step, and Harry fought actual tears as he neared the Entrance Hall. What was happening? Hermione was still alive, and yet in his entire being, it felt as if he’d witnessed her death.

Suddenly, he smelled a mix of potion fumes and old clothes and saw Snape coming up the stairs, his face ashen and his nose bleeding. The greasy git seemed to have lost a fight or something, and normally, Harry would’ve been all over that. 

But as much as he appreciated seeing his hated teacher suffering, he couldn’t stop now.

Hermione needed him, and he needed her.

Curously looking at Snape one last time as the man passed him by without noticing anything, he continued his race toward Hermione.

As he stepped off the Grand Staircase, he saw Ron and Jimmy. Both had their wands drawn and were approaching the Great Hall. He knew Hermione wasn’t there, but seeing them taking this all very seriously made his heart ache.

But there simply was no time.

Leaving them behind and hoping they wouldn’t run into a Snape or another professor, Harry hastily opened Hogwarts's tall doors and slipped outside.

It was already dark, and there were just a handful of stars visible through the thick clouds. He shivered as the cool air sapped his warmth, but it wasn’t an unwelcome sensation. Despite the hurt he felt so keenly, Harry felt as if he’d left a stuffy room and could finally breathe freely.

He pulled back the cloak’s hood.

There was no way someone would see him out here without him noticing them first, and he didn’t need another barrier between his senses and the world.

He also removed his glasses, knowing he had no need for them right now.

Looking in the direction where he’d last seen Hermione’s dot on the map, Harry continued running. Even though the wind made enough noise as it rustled between the towers and nearby trees, he tried to be quiet — it was pure instinct at this point.

Following one of the paths that led to the Owlery, he hurried through the darkness.

As much as he tried, though, Harry didn’t pick up anything.

No scent, no sounds, no sight of her. It was agony to know he was so close and yet not be able to feel her, to know with absolute certainty that she was there.

He noticed that his breathing grew more rapid, and it had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. The taste of blood in his mouth increased, as did the prickling sensation on his skin. Harry felt as if the Charm was beginning to suffocate him, suffocate his senses.

The need to feel, to feel her and find her, became overwhelming.

Try as he might, he wasn’t capable of running like this anymore.

Harry faltered and fell to his knees.

The pain he felt in his legs was almost exquisite in its sharpness, and he desperately tried to anchor himself in the sensation. He didn’t know when he’d drawn his wand, but he was already holding it.

He needed to be free.

“Finite Incantatem,” Harry whispered as he aimed at his chest.

Gasping for air, he felt the uncomfortable barrier dissolve, his mind being flooded with millions of sensations. But unlike before, in the castle, his head didn’t explode in white pain — it was still overwhelming, but like a conduit, he just channeled all these intense impressions, somewhere deep inside him.

He was the eye of the storm, and there was no holding it back.

His ears picked up a pair of centaurs, miles away in the Forbidden Forest. 

The wind brought the scent of a scarf someone had forgotten in one of the stands at the Quidditch pitch, and he knew that it belonged to Emily Saunders-Cooke from fourth year. 

He saw a large airplane through a break in the clouds, miles high in the night sky, and noticed the myriad of scratches on its underside.

And he felt Hogwarts behind him and all around, felt it pulsing like a living organism. Magic, so tangible he could almost taste it.

It was like nothing Harry had ever experienced, and he cried and laughed and gasped all at the same time as he opened himself up to what was inside him. He didn't understand why he wasn’t writhing on the floor in excruciating pain; he just reveled in the sensation of being on the cusp of understanding.

Everything was about finally making sense…

… Hermione.

The raging storm of emotions and sensations stopped so abruptly that he almost fell over.

He heard her heartbeat, that soothing beat he’d recognize everywhere, and smelled her caramel scent. She was somewhere in his vicinity, at least what counted as that with his sharpened senses, and he needed to get to her. 

Now.

He’d already wasted enough time.

Harry jumped to his feet and stumbled in the general direction of Hagrid’s hut, following Hermione’s scent.

Behind him, Hogwarts's doors were opened, and people stepped outside. He heard Professor McGonagall and a few others. There would be hell to pay once this was over, but he didn’t care; as long as he found her, everything would be okay.

He continued running, as fast as his legs would allow him.

The ache within him was still there, but it was fading, and Harry didn’t know if he should welcome it or worry even more. He knew he was closing in on Hermione, and not knowing what the hell had happened made it even more unbearable. Why was she out here, wandering off into the Forbidden Forest, all alone?

It made no sense unless she was experiencing something similar to whatever that near-religious episode of his had been.

Was that why he was so drawn to her?

Or why she didn’t pull away from him? Every waking moment brought more questions, yet there were no answers, only more confusion.

Harry heard Hagrid’s deep voice as he passed the hut. It seemed his friend was singing to himself as he cooked a stew that smelled a bit too spicy for Harry’s hypersensitive nose. Fang was snoring, probably lying somewhere by the fireplace inside.

He left the impressions of Hagrid’s domestic bliss behind and focused on the Forbidden Forest in front of him. There was even less light between the tall trees, but his eyes had no problem piercing the shadows.

Taking a deep breath of cold air, Harry almost felt… as if he was home. At least as much as he was in the boys's dormitory back in the castle.

Somehow, he felt more at ease here.

The forest was calling to him.

But he needed to find her first; there was no way he’d indulge himself right now, no matter how much of a rush he felt underneath his skin to just experience everything around him completely unfiltered — and without headaches.

Harry was aware of so many things around him right now, but trying to order them and put them into conscious thought was an effort in futility. He knew that, behind him, McGonagall was accompanied by Professor Sprout and that Ron, Ritchie, Hannah, and Luna were with them; however, they had managed to convince the professors to participate in the search.

He knew that the headmaster was in his office; a series of protective charms didn’t allow him to sense what was going on inside, though, no matter how hard he focused.

Way ahead of him and Hermione, he heard the mumbling of a small stream, and how it poured into a large pond. Something… no, someone was splashing around inside the water, and he felt it was a humanoid being, but not a wizard.

Then, his nose picked up Hermione’s scent again, and he focused on it entirely as he raced through the dark forest, dodging thorny bushes and stepping over gnarly roots.

He knew she was afraid; there was a sour note in the air and a smell of sweat. She’d touched tree trunks and young spring leaves on her way through the forest, and the points of contact he sensed, so clearly they might’ve been painted in glowing colors, were too numerous to be accidental contact.

She touched almost everything in reach.

Why?

Not waiting to find an answer on his own, he continued running.

There was her heartbeat again, and he heard her steps on the soft ground — she was barefoot? Why the hell was she barefoot, when it was this cold outside? Knowing Hermione's low tolerance for cool temperatures, he was sure she was almost freezing to death right now.

The thought that someone might’ve done something to her infuriated Harry like nothing else.

There would be hell to pay indeed should he find that she’d been harmed, but not by him.

As he rounded a tall oak tree, he finally saw her.

She seemed to be in a dreamlike state, walking through the forest like she was taking a stroll. Her hands were outstretched and brushed over twigs and leaves in her path.

“Hermione!” His hoarse voice sounded terrible to his ears.

She stopped and turned around.

His heart skipped a beat as he took in her pale skin and the wide eyes that stared at him as if she was blind, not seeing him by trying to focus on him. She was shivering in the night, her feet indeed bare. She didn’t wear any thick clothes, either.

“Hermione?” He hurried toward her.

“Harry…” she mumbled, her eyes still staring through him into the darkness. “Why… “

“What happened to you? Why are you here?” He stepped up to her. “Hermione? Talk to me.”

“I don’t… Why is everything so far away… Harry?” She held out a hand to him like a blind woman, as if she wanted to touch him and reassure herself she wasn’t alone.

Harry swallowed hard. “You’re safe now; I’ve got you.” Then he closed the distance and softly embraced her. “I’ve got you.”

It was like coming home, and with a shuddering breath, he was finally able to release the terrible feeling of loss that had been gripping his heart. His anxiety faded away, and he filled the void left in its wake with the sensation that Hermione was alive and… here, right with him.

Hermione, for her part, hadn’t reacted to his embrace at first.

But before Harry could muster any thoughts about having overstepped boundaries or being inappropriate, her arms suddenly held onto him as if he were a lifeline. She hugged him for all he was worth, and he felt her sobbing into him.

“Harry… what happened?” she cried. “Why am I here? Where were you?”

“I don’t know.” He teared up again as he sensed her desperation.

None of them let go of each other as their heartbeats slowly fell in sync. He could actually smell her relief, how the adrenaline inside her subsided. Her fingers were feeling his shoulder blades and muscles underneath the cloak as she ran her hands up and down his back.

She was breathing him in as much as he was doing it with her.

Harry felt his all-encompassing senses being pulled together, focused not on the Forbidden Forest around them, but on his best friend in his arms.

He knew that somehow it was all her; she was his anchor.

Slowly, he released her from his embrace. She still held on to him, and he carefully put a hand on her shoulder to push her a tiny bit. “Hermione.”

She let go just enough to raise her head and stare into his eyes. Their faces were incredibly close to each other, and he felt her so intimately and intensely that his mind was spinning. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he also wanted to kiss her.

Her eyes were full of worry and affection. “Yes?”

“What do you remember? How did you end up here?”

She took a breath. “I… was in the Common Room, waiting… for you, I think?”

He frowned. “So how is it you’re in the Forbidden Forest, all alone and without proper clothes, or shoes, I might add?”

Hermione looked down and blushed as she involuntarily shivered. “I don’t know.”

Reluctantly, Harry let go of her. “You’re freezing. Let me help you, please.”

She nodded. Then, she padded herself. “Where’s my wand?”

They stared at each other. “Accio Hermione’s wand!” Harry said, looking back to where they’d come from. As expected, nothing happened. “Damn.”

She didn’t say anything.

He turned to her. “I’ll continue doing that on our way back.” He raised his wand. “Fervens Aeris.”

Since he would rather not blast her with a gust of hot wind, Harry felt into the magic as it built inside his wand, and kept tight control on its way through the wand’s core. It was completely natural for him to do so, even though he had no idea how to describe it.

Hermione gasped as she was enveloped by the warm air and almost immediately stopped trembling. “How… did you do that, Harry? That’s not how the spell normally works.”

“I didn't want to push you over, so I didn’t.” He shrugged. “It’s a bit difficult to explain right now.”

They exchanged another look, and he wondered how well she could actually see him right now. It was so dark that he wouldn’t be able to see his feet without enhanced eyesight.

“Where are your glasses, Harry?” It was as if she’d heard his thoughts.

“In my pocket. I… don’t need them anymore.”

“Why?”

He felt himself frown. “What do you mean? My eyes are as hypersensitive as any other senses, and somehow I can perfectly see when I’m… like this.” He sighed. “One of the few things about this whole Sentinel business I’m actually looking forward to.”

He heard her heartbeat and breathing speed up. “What Sentinel business? What are you talking about?”

Harry felt a cold dread spike in his chest. “Oh no…”

“What, Harry?”

“I think you’ve been obliviated, Hermione.” Her eyes grew large, and she took a step toward him to reach out and reassure herself. He grabbed her hand.

“Are you sure about that?”

“You were the one to tell me about Sentinels since you were the one who got that book from Slughorn. And you don’t seem to know why you’re here.” He grimaced as the implications hit him. “Did someone tell you to come here, Hermione?”

“I… I don’t remember… but I don’t think so.” She stared off into the darkness. He could see goosebumps on her neck despite the Hot Air Charm still protecting her. “It’s all so… muddy… I can’t remember anything clearly. Oh no, I think you're right.”

“We’ll find out, I promise you that.” He pulled her closer and embraced her again. “Whoever it was, they’ll be sorry. That was the second time someone attacked us, and I’m not going to stand by and let them get away with it.”

“I have so many questions right now,” she mumbled against him. “Who would do this?”

Harry hmm'ed. “That's a long list at this point.”

“I… hate not remembering.”

He nodded absently as he smelled her hair and felt her strange powers help him focus like nothing else. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve bet that right now he was still covered by the Quietus Animus Charm. This level of self-control was wonderful, and he wanted to hold on to it forever. Or her.

“I’ll tell you everything I know. We'll get through this. But we need to go back; people are already searching for you. Both of us by now, probably.”

“Oh.” She stepped back but continued to hold his hand. “We’re probably getting a lot of detention for this then.”

“Not when you’ve been obliviated, Hermione. That’s an attack on you as far as I’m concerned.” He removed his cloak with his left hand and held it out to her. “Here, put this on.”

“I’m not cold anymore, Harry.”

“I know, but I still feel terrible about you being barefoot. The cloak won’t help with that, but just in case someone is going to try to attack us again, this will give you an edge. Please?”

Reluctantly, she accepted his gift and covered herself with the ancient heirloom.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Always.”

They locked hands again as they walked back to Hogwarts.

Albus sat in his armchair and worried.

His attempts at leaving a trail of bits and hints across time and space that would lead to Tom’s eventual downfall had been interrupted by recent events, and he didn’t know if his intended successors would be able to pick up the trail again. Harry being, at least potentially, a Sentinel… that was the worst news he’d received since he’d seen the boy return after the Triwizard Tournament, tortured and bleeding.

With the prophecy in play, it was simply inconceivable what this empowerment of Harry would do to Tom. If there was even a chance that, somehow, the metaphysical forces at work between Harry and his fated enemy would level the playing field… Albus wasn’t sure the world could survive a Dark Lord who had that kind of power.

Because his former student would surely find a way to grasp it and corrupt it for his own twisted purposes. If there was one thing he could be sure about, it was that.

His heart ached, though, at the additional burden he would have to put on Harry’s shoulders.

Such a gift was slumbering within the young man, and he was forced to squash it for everyone’s sake. It was unforgivable, maybe even inconceivable, but the alternative was just too dangerous to even entertain the thought.

And now Harry was missing, looking for Miss Granger, no doubt.

There was a strange dynamic at play between the two students that Albus didn’t quite understand. They cared about each other a lot; that was obvious, and he knew that Minerva had put a decent amount of Galleons on them falling for each other eventually — Fred’s and George’s bet was still ongoing at this point.

But there was a draw the young woman had on Harry that transcended mere pubertal attraction. Both Minerva and Poppy had told him about the magical touch that had calmed Harry’s overloading nervous system down.

That was not something to be dismissed out of hand.

Sadly, he didn’t know much about Sentinel lore and was forced to fill in large blanks with guesswork. The Hogwarts Library had been cleansed of books about this topic a long time ago, and he’d never found the time to indulge his idle curiosity and locate other literary sources, his hands always being full of wars and Dark Lords.

It seemed that decisions had come to bite him in the butt since Horace, of all people, had shared more knowledge with Miss Granger than he’d thought possible, likely rendering Harry's attempts at retrieving that vexing memory void.

Yet another problem to deal with in the limited timeframe he had to operate within.

Also, where was Severus?

The absence of his spy was almost as much cause for discomfort as Harry’s, Albus admitted to himself. He wondered what measures the man had taken in dealing with the Sentinel problem. He trusted that Severus knew the stakes and wouldn’t do something too harmful, but in the back of his mind, Albus also knew that there was something twisted about the way the Slytherin perceived the world. Especially concerning Harry.

The headmaster's thoughts were interrupted when one of his devices suddenly stopped making noise.

He leaned over his desk and watched as the newest addition to his collection of unfathomable knick-knacks stopped whirring and began to emit a low light instead. Its color was a bloody red, and it pulsed slightly, like a heartbeat.

“Oh no…” Albus mumbled.

“That bad, isn’t it? I think that’s bad.” Phineas Black sighed from his portrait. “What’s going on?”

But Albus waved him off, absentmindedly. “Not now, Phineas…”

He ignored the chatter of the portraits behind him as they started joining the conversation and took hold of his little spying device. Whatever hopes he’d harbored of containing this new Sentinel situation, it seemed they’d been squashed. That pulsing light… Harry had awoken.

Deciding that he needed answers and that he needed them now, Albus stood up. It was time to leave his office, no matter how weak he was at the moment. His withered hand wasn’t important — but Harry was.

He left without looking back and hurried down the stairs. Nodding to students as he passed them by, he ventured down the Grand Staircase and into the dungeons.

When he knocked at Severus’ office, he didn’t expect him to be there.

“Yes?” the muffled sound of the Defense Professor came through the door.

“Severus? It’s me. What happened? Where have you been?”

The man opened after a few seconds, and Albus saw that the Defense Professor looked as if he’d been trampled by an angry hippogriff. He was also furious and didn’t try to conceal it. “What mess have you dragged me in this time?” he hissed by way of greeting. “Couldn’t you have told me that Granger is a perfect Occlumens?”

Albus blinked. “Come again?”

“She threw me out of her mind so violently, I crashed into a bloody wall!” Severus left him at the door and returned to his desk, where two potions were brewing. “I fainted, Albus, right then and there. When I woke up, I had the worst headache of my life. Still have.”

“I don’t understand. What did you do?”

“Exactly what you asked for, trying to get rid of this Sentinel nonsense in Potter’s mind,” the Slytherin snapped. “Which means getting rid of Granger’s ideas about it as well.”

“Severus, I hope you didn’t try to…”

“Of course, I obliviated her! Well, I tried to. What else was I supposed to do, ask her to let it go?” Snape shook his head and immediately winced. “Your trust in people will kill us all eventually, old man.”

Albus closed the door. “So you’re telling me that the Obliviation failed?”

“Spectacularly so.” The man took a deep breath as he stirred one of his potions with slightly shaking hands. “I’ve never encountered a mental shield like that before, not ever. It didn’t even feel like a real Occlumens barrier, more like… “

“Like what? Please, tell me, Severus.”

Snape grimaced. “It felt as if I was falling into a dark pool, drowning as it pulled me into its depths.” He looked at Albus again, still angry. “There is no way that foolish girl is capable of doing that on her own, no way. So something else is going on. What is it?”

“I’m not sure… all I have are vague suspicions.”

“Don’t give me that speech, Albus! I need to know! She was gone when I came to, and I've got no idea where she is. Or Potter, for that matter.”

The headmaster stared at Snape and wondered if all of this had been a huge mistake. It certainly felt like it. Should he be right… Merlin help them all. He removed his glasses and pinched his nose. “If I’m correct, and what you and Poppy described to me leads me to believe I might be… then Miss Granger might be a Guide.”

Snape’s pale face became white as a sheet. “You bloody fool,” he whispered. “Do you have any idea what will happen if that’s true?”

Albus didn’t answer.

It wasn’t necessary since, even with their limited knowledge, both of them knew that a failed attempt at Obliviation of a Guide could make a Sentinel… feral.

Completely unable to control, no matter his intentions.

And only the Founders knew what that meant regarding Tom Riddle.

They needed to find Harry as soon as possible.

Hannah shook her friend as she tried to wake her up. “Susan! Susan! It’s all a dream.”

She watched the redhead slowly regain consciousness.

Her forehead was covered in sweat, and her bed was a mess. Susan had been twisting and turning when Hannah had woken up from the noise. 

She’d cast a Quietus Charm before the whole dorm would be awake. Hannah knew from experience how bad a nightmare could be and how embarrassing it was when others noticed.

There was no need to expose Susan in any way.

“Hannah?” her friend mumbled. “What… oh.”

“You had a nightmare,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I… I think so.”

She held out a glass of water, and Susan took a few sips.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Susan shook her head. “I don’t… I’m not sure. It’s all so confusing.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I think Harry and Hermione are in danger,” the redhead eventually said. She looked at Hannah. “They were in my dreams, but it felt so real… so real.”

“How so?”

Susan stared at her blankly. “They were in the Forbidden Forest, searching for something. Hermione was barefoot, and Harry… I don’t know… he was a hunter or something. He felt dangerous, but not for Hermione.” She looked at Hannah again. “Or us.”

“You were there with them?”

“Not really, it was more like… as if I was a bird… and then there was this lake? No, smaller, maybe a pond. I think they were trying to get there. A hidden place.”

“Susan, that sounds like a typical dream.” She reached out and held her friend’s hand. “It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just things that are on your mind.”

“I know, but Hannah… I felt what they felt. Hermione was somehow lost, and Harry… he was so angry at someone… and I wanted to help them so badly.” She shuddered. “And there was something behind them or someone. Danger, but it was vague.”

“I’m sorry if I caused you to dream about this,” Hannah whispered. “I know I’ve been obsessing over Harry a bit the past few days.”

Susan shook her head. “I don’t think it’s you.”

“Well, they’re missing, that much is true, but it’s not the first time Harry has gone somewhere after curfew, is it?” Hannah closed her eyes. “Wherever they are, they’re probably fine, even with Harry’s hypersensitivity or whatever it is that haunts him.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, Hannah.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, just… me talking about Harry all the time, now they’re missing again, and the attack… have I pulled you into something like a hysteria?”

“Unlikely.” Susan smiled tiredly. “Don’t forget, I’m used to you by now. And don't discuss your anxieties like that, please.”

They held hands for a moment.

“Do you need… company?” Hannah asked.

Susan opened her mouth, then stopped and exhaled. “Maybe,” she admitted.

“Scoot over then.” Hannah slipped underneath her friend’s blanket and snuggled up to her. Susan took her hand, turned around, and pulled her close.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t mention it.” She sighed. “Normally, I’m the emotional mess between the two of us. I’ve never seen you this… distraught, Susan.”

“I know.”

“Sleep well then.”

They stopped talking.

Hannah reflected on how much calmer she was whenever Susan was close, and how much she needed her friend to keep her grounded. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her suffer from a nightmare, or anxiety in general — the youngest Bones was made of sterner stuff than many other Hufflepuffs.

So what had caused this? And why was she having goosebumps listening to Susan’s nightmare?

Hannah vowed to help Harry and Hermione in every way possible, no matter what. Maybe by doing so, she could also help her best friend.

Despite everything, she fell fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Hermione couldn’t sleep.

Her body was so tired, she could feel her arms and legs aching even now, hours after she’d crawled under her sheet. But her mind was ever-racing, didn’t stop, and threw hundreds and thousands of questions and thoughts at her. So she tossed and turned in her bed without finding any rest.

Strangely, the thought — no, the knowledge! — that she’d been obliviated today by an unknown person wasn’t even the worst thing, all things considered.

Of course, it was absolutely terrible, and she was equally furious and afraid of what that event meant, both for her and Harry and their current situation in Hogwarts or the Wizarding World in general. Hermione wasn’t blind; she’d long seen the signs of where England’s magical society was heading, and it was a sobering sight indeed.

How long had she thought that she’d stay, fight the good fight with Harry, and have everyone see the light eventually…

Now she felt silly for being so naive. This Sentinel stuff, and her strange role in it all… it was scary. Terrifying, really, and not because she feared bodily harm — her chest scar was a daily reminder of that. No, it was the metaphysical aspect, the connection between Harry and herself that was both tangible and, at the same time… not. Somehow a bit like Harry's connection to Voldemort, only way less terrible, or so she hoped. Her Sentinel notes that she’d found on her nightstand and in her bag, had only helped partially to make sense of it all—again. Seeing her handwriting, and reading about Sentinels and possible cures for Harry’s migraines and anxiety attacks… it had felt surreal.

Underneath it all, there’d been this emotional side of things, though. But feeling her way toward the truth, and magic for that matter, just wasn’t Hermione’s normal style.

And that was what made her more afraid than the questions about her lost memories. She felt as if she was losing herself, losing what made her… well, herself. Looking back at the past few months, Hermione was forced to admit that she’d behaved strangely at times, especially when dealing with Ron and Harry. Was it puberty, a phase she imagined she’d just avoid altogether and be a reasonable young woman until her 20s began, at which point she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore? Or, as she suspected in the back of her buzzing mind, was it this strange thing… the Sentinel thing?

Feeling this much, and this deep, was exhausting.

She liked Harry, never wanted to lose him as a friend and a fixture in her life, and maybe… maybe even more than that. But she wasn’t built to be an emotional mess all the time, turning into a more educated version of Lavender Brown. The unkindness of that thought gave Hermione pause.

There was little love lost between her and her roommate, but comparing herself like that to others was something she’d tried to stop after their third year. When even she, mighty Hermione Granger, had been bested by a Time Turner, which she had returned upon being shown the limits of both her body and her mind. A mind that, even sans Time Turner, was slowly going mad right now. Because as she was lying in her soft bed, Hermione felt her skin itch… from ambient magic.

It had to be that; it was the only thing left that made sense.

After being chewed out by Professor McGonagall, being prodded by Madame Pomfrey, receiving an apology from Professor McGonagall, and eventually convincing her that, no, she didn’t need to spend the night in the Hospital Wing, Hermione felt… dirty. And not just dirty, but actually… defiled. Not sexually, but spiritually.

She’d snapped at people all night, except Harry, and she'd been irritated by all the spells being cast around her. The pressure she’d felt behind her eyes and in her ears… was that how Harry felt nowadays? Hermione had sensed it the moment they’d entered Hogwarts. Ancient wards, charms, and ambient spellwork with purposes both known and unknown.

It was everywhere.

In contrast, the actual casting of spells in her immediate vicinity felt… sharp. Something she could focus on but also ignore when necessary. Still annoying, though. Everything else felt strangely… slimy. Unnatural, even. Just being inside the castle had made Hermione scratch her skin raw in a few places. It was irritating, nonsensical, and above all so very frustrating in its inconsistency — when Harry had cast that aberrant Hot Air Charm at her, she’d shivered with pleasure. His magic was entirely different from anyone else’s, and she didn’t know if that was another aspect of their esoteric bond or if she was going insane and had simply begun projecting her sexual fantasies onto him. Because she wanted to feel it again… how that warm magic enveloped her, inside and outside. It’d turned her head into complete mush, and Hermione briefly considered stealing another Time Turner just to go back and just die of shame in that moment because it’d aroused her so much that Harry must’ve noticed. There was no way he hadn’t… as if things between them weren’t embarrassing enough.

Turning around on her mattress, she groaned into her pillow in frustration. She was tired, annoyed, and irritable, and she felt unclean.

Maybe she should take a cold shower. Sleep wasn’t coming anyway, and it might help get rid of the itching sensation all over her body or the roundabout of inane thoughts that was spinning in her mind. But as she sat up on her bed, Hermione suddenly remembered something. Something from before… when she was in the Forbidden Forest.

Water… there had been water.

Cleaning.

Clearing.

Cleansing.

She saw herself walk up to a pond somewhere deep in the shadows of the forest, a hidden place no paths were leading to, but something you had to know was there to find it. Hermione watched herself slipping out of her shoes, also laying down her wand before she stepped into the dark water. Had she actually visited that place?

Harry had found her somewhere not far from Hagrid’s hut, so it seemed unlikely. Her feet had been dreadfully cold, but not wet. So where was this image coming from?

Hermione noticed that her breathing had become labored and that she was sweating. Holding the image in her mind… was strenuous, and she had to focus hard to not lose it. Why was she seeing the two things that had gone missing — her wand and her shoes — in a vision? What did it all mean? But there was another thought… a pull, even. Towards the water, the pond. Or her shower. Anything, really, as long as it was… water.

She knew water was a powerful conduit, magically and physically, and while she looked down at disciplines of magic such as divination, where talking about spiritual rivers and connections between spheres and whatnot was part of daily business, she also knew that water held a special place in Arithmancy, or in advanced magical theory. Was that why she was drawn to it? Was her mind just trying to make some sort of connection to things she understood?

No.

She needed to feel water on her skin right now; she needed to drink it, drown in it… Hermione stood up.

The pull wasn’t as strong as the night she’d run after Harry only to wake up in the Hospital Wing, all alone. This time, she was in control — but she desperately wanted to feel clean again, so she let herself be pulled. She wouldn't go outside or to the bathroom, but to another place within reach where she could take a bath.

Observing herself like she was a passenger in her body, Hermione quietly removed fresh underwear from her drawers and grabbed a towel. Normally, going out of the dorm this late at night, she’d feel exposed without a wand. But she knew she wouldn’t miss hers now. This transcended ordinary magic by orders of magnitude. No wand carved by an old man’s hand would be able to aid her now.

Some part of Hermione wanted to yell that it was all complete nonsense and tea leaves, but the pull was stronger — as was her need to get rid of that disgusting feeling. She traipsed down the stairs and exited the Common Room so carefully that the Fat Lady didn’t even wake up. Just because normally she was a stickler for rules didn’t mean she hadn’t listened very closely to the things Fred and George had told the other boys over the years.

Walking down the stairs, she wasn’t worried about encountering anyone, either. Her path was clear, and there would be no more delays or disturbances. Hermione didn’t know where that thought had come from, but she didn’t have an opportunity to dissect her mind because things were now in motion. This was something she needed to feel, something for herself, not as an exhausting burden but… freedom.

Freedom, at last. Not to be the Hermione she’d imagined herself to be, but the one she actually was.

On the fifth floor, she thought she could hear the rushing water as she neared the door to the Prefect’s Bathroom. As if a waterfall had erupted within the ancient castle, cascading white waters that would wash away the oily feelings of magic that touched her from all sides, uninvited and unwanted. “Tranquility,” she mumbled the password at the door and walked in. There was no waterfall, of course.

The bathroom was completely silent, but the pool was already filled with water. No soap, though, or salts, or any other additives. She instinctively knew the water to be pure and cold. As she stepped closer to the pool, Hermione let her clothes simply fall to the floor. Being neat wasn’t relevant now. She felt a slight shiver as the cool air touched her skin, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and looked up.

Somehow, it appeared as if tiny motes were floating in the air, gently moving in an invisible current. She held out a hand and watched one of the glowing dots touch her finger, only to be absorbed by her skin with a tingling sensation. It felt like… Hogwarts.

Except without the magical detritus smeared all over its surface. There was power within this castle, something deep and resonant, and it had been lying dormant for a very long time. Hermione gasped slightly as she was overwhelmed by emotions that didn’t feel entirely like her own. She stepped into the water.

It was cold, but it was also soothing.

As she sank into it, she felt her itching skin relax, her very being no longer defiled by magic that wasn’t her own. She let herself simply float on the surface as her hair fanned out around her and stared at the tiny dots above that might’ve been completely imaginary. Hermione could finally breathe. She closed her eyes, listening to the murmur of the water. Then she felt a gentle tug at her core, something that nudged her to go… down below.

Hermione wasn’t afraid of it, even though the Prefect’s Bathroom was shrouded in twilight. The shadows here were kind, and the dark depths of the pool underneath only held the monster she’d brought in here herself. But regardless of what residual fears lurked in the corners of her mind, Hermione didn’t allow them to manifest as she let herself just… be. No thinking, just pure feeling, without worry or judgment. She took another deep breath, and let herself sink below the surface.

And then…

… Hermione remembered.

Deep within the pool, her eyes teared wide open, but she wasn’t seeing darkness.

She saw the place she still had to go to, physically.

Where she had to guide Harry.

Something was different; Harry was sure of it.

He hadn’t reapplied the Charm, but his head wasn’t bursting from pain and agony.

Instead, he was… almost focused. The sounds and sights all around him were still very annoying most of the time, but he was able to tune them out. Not as well as the Charm did, but still… it was a massive improvement. Spectacular, even.

And it had everything to do with Hermione.

They still didn’t have answers for the why or the how, but they both knew she was his anchor, the person who allowed him to keep himself in check. They just had to figure out… well, everything else.

As he brushed his teeth — vowing to order the most tasteless toothpaste available as soon as possible, since the intense mint flavor made his eyes water — Harry thought about how to proceed.

The second attacker still hadn’t been found, although he was sure it was Malfoy.

Likewise, the person who’d sort of obliviated Hermione was still at large. She did remember more than she should, which meant the person responsible had messed up, or removed very specific memories from all over her mind.

So they would have to look into that and the Sentinel stuff.

And they still had to bring Ron up to speed on the things that Hermione and he had kept to themselves for the moment.

Harry sighed.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he could see stubble on his chin and cheeks. He’s only shaved twice before, cutting himself both times. The other boys were pants at it too, so he wouldn’t get any pointers from them. With another sigh, he decided to table that problem for now and work his developing roguish look as best as he could.

At least that’s what he thought it was called, half-remembering some of Parvati’s and Lavender’s conversations.

He heard Ron stir in the dorm and decided to try to tackle that problem right now. When he stepped up to his bed, his friend was slowly waking up. “Hey,” Harry said.

“Morning,” Ron mumbled. “You’re up bloody early.”

“Sorry if I woke you. Couldn’t sleep.”

The redhead yawned and cracked his neck. “You rarely do these days, unless you’re knocked unconscious or something.”

Harry grunted. “Can’t really disagree with you there, I’m afraid.”

“At least your nightmares seem to have stopped.” Ron yawned again and rolled over to look at Harry. “Do you have anything planned for today?”

“Well… ” Harry looked to the other beds and listened to the heartbeats and slow breaths of Seamus, Neville, and Dean. They’d probably wake up shortly, but for the moment he and Ron had some privacy. “I wanted to ask you if we could talk. Us three, I mean.”

Ron frowned. “Why?”

“Something happened yesterday, something other than Hermione being obliviated by a random arsehole.” Harry decided to put on jeans and a jumper and dug through his chest. “This hypersensitivity thing is messed up, but she’s somehow… connected to it, Ron. It’s really weird.”

Also wonderful, but he couldn’t say that loud and keep a straight face.

“Connected how?” Ron seemed to give this real thought. “Oh, you mean her touching you and you sniffing her? Yeah, that's really weird.”

“Not that weird. She… somehow it helps me get through it.” Harry sighed again. “It’s difficult to explain, and maybe we should all be there. Without fighting, if that’s possible.”

“I’m making no promises. If she snaps at me, I’ll defend myself,” Ron grumbled.

Harry gave him a deadpan stare.

“Fine.” The redhead rolled his eyes as he sat up on his bed. “Will this afternoon do? Lavender said she’s busy anyway, so I’ve got time.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Let’s meet in the old classroom on the fourth floor, left-side corridor, last door on the right.”

Ron frowned. “You mean the corridor with the missing suit of armor? Where the hidden staircase from the second floor sometimes leads to?”

“That’s the one.” Harry nodded. “Nobody’s going to disturb us there.”

“Are you sure that you will be able to make it, Harry?” Ron gave him a skeptical look. “I simply can't believe that you’re getting out of last night’s episode scot-free. Someone has to give you detention eventually.”

At Harry’s surprised look, Ron shrugged.

“What? I’m sorry if I sound like an arse, but it’s completely unfair that some of us get extra homework and detentions for breathing too loud in class, and you… can just do your thing, or whatever.”

Harry grimaced. “I didn’t really have a grand ol’ time doing ‘my thing,’ Ron. I’d gladly give up this whole Sentinel shite if someone showed me how to.”

“I’m just saying.”

He shook his head. “All right, then.”

Hearing that the other boys were about to wake up, he motioned to the door. “Breakfast?”

“Go ahead,” Ron mumbled. “I still need a few.”

“See you downstairs, then.”

“Harry?”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“Is… is she all right? Hermione, I mean.” Ron didn’t look at him. “I mean… you know.”

“I guess she’s as fine as one can expect. She’s angry.”

Ron nodded. “Good. Not that, but… ah, forget it.”

“Okay.”

But his friend had one final question. “Is she now your… girlfriend? Don't say it's nothing; I'm not stupid.”

“No, she's not.” Again, he wanted to add 'not yet.'

“Yeah, sure.”

“Later, Ron.” He had to get out of the dorm, or his growing anger would get the better of him.

As he turned toward the door, Harry heard someone enter the Common Room down below. He breathed in and smelled… a woolen cardigan, black tea, and a hint of cat — McGonagall. There was only one reason why she’d be in Gryffindor Tower this early on a Saturday.

Harry sighed yet again as he walked down the stairs.

“Ah, Mister Potter.” His Head of House looked up. “I was hoping to meet you here.”

“Good morning, Professor.” He tried to calm his senses and tune out everything irrelevant, such as the scent of spilled Firewhisky that was coming from one of the armchairs or the conversation about female anatomy that Szymon McDonald and Caelan Bythesea were having in the third-year boys's dormitory. The term ‘boobs’ came up a lot.

McGonagall looked at him critically. “Are you feeling well, Mister Potter? I have to say, these past few weeks have been… taxing.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” He knew she cared, even though she rarely said so.

“The Headmaster would like to talk to you, if that’s possible. He is awaiting you in his office after breakfast. The password is ‘Curly Wurly’.”

Despite himself, Harry grunted as he tried to suppress a grin at the ridiculous phrase.

He wasn’t really looking forward to another talk with Dumbledore presently since he had his problems to figure out, but maybe the Headmaster would be able to explain why he felt so strange about being inside the castle nowadays.

Because the feeling of some threat lurking in the background was still present.

Harry had pushed it aside because of all the things happening between Hermione and himself, but it was still there. The Charm hadn’t done anything to squash it, either.

“All right, I’ll go and see him.”

McGonagall nodded as if she’d expected nothing less. “Good. There’s also another invitation I’ve been asked to relay to you, Mister Potter.”

“Oh?” He looked at her again and felt that his Head of House was… nervous. Her heartbeat and her eye movements told him so, anyway, impossible as the conclusion seemed to be.

The Transfiguration Professor looked around as if making sure they were not overheard by anyone. “It’s from Remus Lupin,” she said in a low voice. “He’s sorry that he didn’t visit you when you were in the Hospital Wing, but he wants to meet with you.”

“Remus…” Harry hadn’t thought much about his former Defense Professor lately. He’d liked the man, not just because of the connection to his dad. But he'd almost completely pulled away after his brief stay at Hogwarts.

“He’s inviting you to have lunch, tomorrow, in the Three Broomsticks Inn.” McGonagall raised her eyebrows as if trying to emphasize the irregularity of this invitation.

Harry’s thoughts stumbled. “But Professor… it’s not a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Remus told me it’s a family matter,” McGonagall said. “He asked me to grant you special permission because of that, which I’m not entirely comfortable with, to be honest.”

Harry remained silent, knowing that she wasn’t finished yet.

“Nevertheless, your… situation is special, Mister Potter, despite my levels of discomfort.” Something shifted in McGonagall’s eyes, and Harry thought for a second that he’d detected… mirth. “We must, however, not forget that you blatantly broke curfew last night, as well as several other important Hogwarts rules.”

Harry frowned. “Professor, you said yourself that…” He stopped when she raised a finger.

“I said ‘for the time being,’ Mister Potter. I remember it well. Don’t you?”

He hung his head. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well then. Tell Remus that he is to give you extra homework for your infractions, which you will tell him about in full. I’ll see to it that he receives whatever assignment he gives you for evaluation.” There it was again, that slight twitch around her eyes — his Head of House was messing with him!

Ron would fall off his chair laughing when he’d hear of this.

“Of course, ma'am,” Harry said stiffly. He couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed for being punished a day after the fact, but maybe Ron had been right. Maybe he deserved it, somehow. Thinking about Remus made Harry remember Sirius all of a sudden. He, too, would probably be roaring with laughter upon hearing how McGonagall had used Remus to dole out Harry's punishment.

“I’ll tell Remus that you’ll arrive at one o’clock then. The fireplace in my office will connect to the inn for a few hours. I think the Floo Network is a lot safer than having you wander around on your own, don’t you think, Mister Potter?”

“Yes.” He was clenching his teeth slightly. He hated Floo travel, but she had a point. It didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

McGonagall nodded. “Have a good day, Mister Potter. See you tomorrow.”

As she exited the Common Room, Harry thought that there’d been something strange about this invitation. It seemed that, again, he was missing something.

Hoping to meet Hermione in the Great Hall, he steeled his senses again. Today would show if he could walk around without the Quietus Animus Charm or if he was in even more trouble than he thought. 

The upcoming talk between all three of them notwithstanding.

When she became aware of Harry a minute before he stepped into the Great Hall, Hermione considered for a second that she herself might be a Sentinel.

But as frightening and exciting as that thought was, she knew that she wasn’t.

She was something else. She didn’t know how, or why — and Hermione was thoroughly fed up with that being the standard answer to literally all their questions ever since this whole mess had begun — but she had changed alongside Harry. Well, maybe with a small delay of a few days, give or take.

Had that been her destiny all along? Or had the prolonged exposure to Harry and the strange workings of his prophecy warped her path in some way?

They’d never be able to answer that, she was sure.

But she was able to sense him, coming down the Grand Staircase. Just not with her eyes or ears, but with that other feeling she’d first experienced after waking up from a nightmare and running into an empty Hospital Wing.

An analogy she’d come up with after climbing out of the pool in the Prefect’s Bathroom last night was magnetism. Magic, especially long-term charms and wards, already shared many general qualities with this aspect of one of the universe’s four fundamental forces, electromagnetism. Both she and Harry were like two poles of a magnet, eternally attracted to one another. Not on a romantic and sappy understanding, although Hermione knew that was very much in the cards right now, but in a more scientific sense.

She was the Yin to his Yang — well, at least now.

Hermione had left the pool being a different person. Before, she’d been so confused and unable to tap into the potential slumbering inside her, trying desperately to wake up. Now she realized that she wielded power of her own. Not as flashy as Harry’s hypersensitivity, but maybe a necessary moderation of his ability.

The dark waters that cleansed.

Consideration instead of Instinct.

Hermione hadn’t been able to test it until now since her wand was still missing, but she was reasonably sure that she’d be able to simply shrug off several minor spells now, maybe even some darker charms they'd learned about in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The ambient magic of Hogwarts wasn’t able to touch her skin anymore, being repelled by whatever it was that'd awoken inside her.

She’d never felt so clean in her entire life as she did right now.

Further testing was also needed to determine how exactly she was able to anchor Harry’s senses, but Hermione believed that she was able to just absorb all the excess… energy that he emitted. That was why she felt so drawn to him. It had to be.

Could she utilize all that power of his?

As she felt Harry approaching, sensed his pull on her, and saw how it overtook the vague impressions her new feeling had picked up in the Great Hall around her, Hermione took one last look at the reading list she’d compiled. They needed books, a lot of them. Not just about Sentinels and Guides, but also about meditation, coping techniques for anxiety, and other areas where she knew the Muggle world would probably be a better source than magical libraries. She did hope, though, that Emmet Ossinsky would respond to her letter, now that she’d remembered everything.

When Harry finally slipped through the large doors, she was already looking in his direction.

Upon seeing her, he stopped, obviously stunned.

She knew he’d been able to sense her from as far away as she’d been able to feel him, but she didn’t understand why he was so surprised. Because she’d known he would arrive? Or was it something else?

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk a bit when she watched two Ravenclaws almost run into Harry, who was still standing at the entrance. He excused himself, embarrassed, before finally making his way to the Gryffindor table, where she was sitting with a handful of other early risers.

He was staring at her the entire time, not blinking once.

She’d planned to just chat with him as they normally did, but, following a gut feeling, Hermione spontaneously decided this was too special a moment. She stood up and intercepted him a few steps in front of the table. “Good morning, Harry.”

He swallowed, still staring. “Hermione.”

“How are you feeling?” She knew she had to ease him into this, to her new understanding.

Harry breathed a few times before he answered. “As if I’m falling… toward you. It began on the third floor and increased with every step. It’s… incredible, really. My head is… Hermione, did something else happen last night?”

She nodded. “Yes, but not in the Forbidden Forest, although I believe it was supposed to.” She stepped up to him, noting how his eyes roamed her face and her lips and how her heartbeat sped up to sync with his.

“I took a bath since I couldn't sleep, and… I’ve seen something. In me, and around me, around all of us. I think I found myself, Harry.”

His eyes rapidly darted back and forth between hers as he tried to follow along. “What do you mean by that?”

Hermione smiled at the feeling of happiness within her. They still had a lot to discover, but this was progress — and tangible. They’d do this together, always. She took his hands. “Harry, I think I’m your Guide.”

He stared at her, and she stared back, trying and failing to memorize the patterns of brighter and darker flecks within his green irises.

“You know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I was hoping that you'd be.”

She felt unshed tears in her eyes at his words and tried to blink them away. “Good,” she whispered.

Then they hugged and didn’t care one bit about the stares and the whispers all around them.

Charlie noted how quickly Remus noticed him in the overcrowded pub. What he wouldn’t give for werewolf senses sometimes, considering his work… As he absently rubbed a thick scar on his left forearm, he nodded to the two pints in front of him. “Remus.”

“Hey, Charlie.”

“I already ordered. Hope you’re up for an early beer?”

The werewolf smiled. “Normally, I’d say no, but Minerva just got in contact. Harry confirmed our lunch date tomorrow.”

“That’s excellent news!”

They raised the tall glasses in unison. Despite the worn-down look of the place, the beer was rather good, Charlie thought. The far end of Diagon Alley had more to offer than many wizards and witches believed — and provided a measure of safety, away from the prying eyes of Ministry drones. It wasn’t a place for Death Eaters, either, but for the folk that didn’t live in mansions or follow Voldemort.

Normal people, really.

“Did you find out anything?” Remus asked as he observed Charlie. “You seem a bit nervous.”

The redhead sighed. “To be perfectly honest with you… I am. This is all completely bonkers.”

“Did something happen?”

Charlie took another sip of beer. “Not since Hermione has been attacked, I don't think so. But I did manage to get close enough to Hogwarts to feel a bit into that barrier you’ve been talking about.”

“And?”

“You did not exaggerate when you described it, and I can only sense it… well, you know.” He glanced at Remus. “I wonder if there are any other students with latent talents at Hogwarts right now. They’re probably in for a ride.”

“You mean nightmares and constant anxieties,” Remus said. “Not exactly ideal.”

“Well, we can’t help everyone, not all at once. You asked me to help Harry, and I will. Everyone else… we’ll have to see.”

The werewolf suddenly looked over his shoulder, but nobody paid them any attention.

“Did you sense something?”

“No, just my nerves, I think.” Remus shook his head. “So you’d agree the castle is claimed?”

“Oh, it’s claimed all right,” Charlie snorted. “I don’t know how far along Harry is, but he must be able to focus on other people inside Hogwarts right now. Or the grounds outside… well, especially the grounds.”

“Good.”

“Is it?”

Remus frowned. “Of course, Charlie. Harry… never had a real home, not before coming to Hogwarts. That he can claim it like this, I believe it’s a good thing. A safe place, one that Voldemort won’t be able to infiltrate so easily.”

Charlie didn’t share the other man’s optimism. “Well, someone attacked Hermione and Harry, and then someone also tried to obliviate her, probably even the same person. If anything, the enemy is already inside.”

“For now. When Harry wakes up, when they both wake up… I think that’ll change.”

Both men stared off into space as they thought about what sort of event the awakening of a Sentinel and his Guide would be. They’d never witnessed such a thing themselves.

“What about Hermione? Is she… how bad is it?”

Remus pushed his empty glass away. “From what Minerva told me, and she’s quite upset about how Albus has been handling things so far, it’s actually not as bad as it should be. The girl is confused but didn’t lose a complete chunk of memories as far as anyone can tell. Which isn’t much, I know, but… maybe the attacker botched it.”

“Or she’s further along than we think,” Charlie noted, trying to make sense out of Remus’ descriptions. “It all depends on what sort of conduit she’s chosen, how strong its pull is, and how far Harry’s subconscious protections go at this point.”

Remus looked unhappy. “All things we know precious little about.”

“Just for another day, hopefully. We'll see what Harry has to say. And if things go bad, we’ll take them off Albus’ chessboard entirely.”

“As much as I want to improve Harry's situation, I hope it never comes to that.” The werewolf looked at him. “How are you feeling, by the way, being this close to a true pairing, and to Hogwarts? I hope it’s not too uncomfortable… I would never ask you if you…”

“You don’t have to worry.” He smiled at his friend. “Sagi might not be here, but the bond is strong enough to cover the distance. I’m not exposed.”

“Does anyone from your family actually know about it?”

Charlie snorted again. “Please, Mum wouldn’t just kill me; she’d make a spectacle out of it and invite the whole family to participate. There’d be screaming, and some cake, and a bit more screaming.”

Remus chuckled. “Well… I’m just asking because keeping that kind of thing secret… that is a lonely life, Charlie.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

The older man waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, deflect all you want. Take it from someone who knows, it’s not good to become a recluse in the hopes of doing other people a favor. I hated being alone the past years. Your family probably misses you.”

“Kettle, meet pot.” Charlie gave Remus his best shit-eating grin.

The werewolf squinted at him. “Maybe I should talk to Sagrissenthel about it next time I come and visit you. She does understand English, doesn't she?”

“Don’t you dare.” Charlie waved his hand. “And don’t call her that; she hates that name. It’s Sagi, full stop.”

“Alright, alright,” Remus mumbled. “Reminds me of Tonks in a way; she dislikes her name as well.”

“Maybe she should have a meeting with Sagi, then?”

“That is the worst idea since the invention of Unforgivables, Charlie. A Metamorphmagus who loves pranks and the largest known Romanian Longhorn matriarch, having a face-to-face? Probably exchanging thoughts about us? How do you think that’ll end?”

Charlie frowned as he realized that Remus was right. “Merlin,” he mumbled.

Chapter Text

For once, Albus wasn’t sitting behind his desk as his visitor arrived. He was already too nervous to do that, and also the pain of his withering hand was slightly more bearable when he walked around.

But as he watched his office door open, he couldn’t help but frown at the sight of Hermione Granger walking in right behind Harry.

He should have foreseen her eventual involvement in the boy’s current affairs, and he felt slightly annoyed at both his oversight and the resulting fact that she was now here — likely to stay as long as Harry did.

“Good morning, Harry, Miss Granger,” he greeted them. “I wasn’t aware that I had an appointment with two of my students today.” He looked at Harry’s friend, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly to coax her into explaining herself.

Her facial expression gave him pause, though.

She was cross with him, that much was clear, but unlike other instances where Hermione Granger had feared for Harry’s well-being, she wasn’t visibly fraught with worry. No, she seemed remarkably calm, all things considered, her eyes being like deep pools he couldn’t see through at all.

Harry surprised him as well — he wasn’t protected by the Quietus Animus, yet he didn’t seem to suffer from hypersensitivity. Albus didn’t quite believe that this particular problem had solved itself overnight, and he found himself utterly curious as to what was going on with his favorite student.

He glanced toward Miss Granger again, then back to Harry.

Of course… they were bonding. 

A Sentinel and his Guide.

So his suspicion had been right all along, and now the problems he was facing had grown virtually insurmountable. His hand began to ache as he tried to push his fears aside.

“I want Hermione to be here, if it’s all the same to you, Headmaster,” Harry said.

Albus suppressed a sigh. “I understand that, but the nature of the things I want to talk to you about is highly sensitive.”

“I’d tell her anyway, afterward.” Harry’s stare told the Headmaster that the boy expected him to tell him off and that he wouldn’t take it well. “So she might as well stay and provide additional insight.”

“Harry, I can’t say I enjoy being ambushed like this,” Albus said. “But Miss Granger can stay, with the understanding that none of the things said here today are to be repeated to your classmates or other people.”

“I’m not stupid, Headmaster,” Hermione answered in a low voice. “I also don’t gossip.”

Albus nodded. “I appreciate that. Well, please take a seat then.” He moved behind his desk but remained standing as he watched both students sitting down in front of him. The way they looked at each other was… notably different from all the instances he’d observed in the Great Hall during the previous years.

He should probably try to be as delicate as possible. “Harry, Miss Granger, I… “

“Why are you doing that, Headmaster?” Hermione Granger interrupted him. “You call Harry by his first name, yet he still has to refer to you by title.”

Harry remained silent, his eyes unerringly fixed on Albus.

The Headmaster had the distinct impression that the boy was cataloging every move he made, every breath, and every blink of his eyes. It was a bit unnerving, really, and it was proof for Albus that Harry’s senses were still operating on Sentinel levels.

So either the boy had found a way to censor his mind in a way that belied what Severus had told him about those ill-fated Occlumency lessons, or Miss Granger’s role and associated abilities provided Harry with a mental dampener of some sort.

And she, it seemed, was watching Albus’ every move as well.

“I’m sorry, Miss Granger,” he said, acknowledging her reprimand. “It seems my involvement with Harry’s… life, well before he came to Hogwarts, has led me to develop a perceived familiarity with him. It wasn’t my intention to make him uncomfortable, or cross any boundaries.” He hadn’t intended to utilize Harry’s name as some sort of leverage to make the boy trust him more, but from a certain angle it certainly might look that way.

“It doesn’t upset me, Headmaster,” Harry finally said. “I did wonder why you’re doing it, though.”

Albus believed that giving the duo an easy win now would only benefit his search for answers. “My intentions were honest, Mister Potter, even though it might’ve seemed different at times.”

Harry nodded. “All right. Why did you ask me to meet you today?”

“Because of your recent development and that of Miss Granger. I’m concerned about what it means long-term that you’re so hypersensitive after that Quidditch accident, Mister Potter, and the vulnerabilities caused by this condition.”

The boy moved his jaw slightly, then looked at Miss Granger for half a second. “I don’t think my headaches will be a problem anymore, although I’d love to know more about what is happening to me.”

Albus thought he had an opening now. “I’ve noticed that you aren’t using the Charm I taught you anymore. Why is that?”

“I found another way to stop being overwhelmed by everything.” Harry broke eye contact and stared at the headmaster’s desk — specifically the newest addition of strange devices that Albus used to monitor various things around Hogwarts. He couldn’t read the boy well enough to see if it was random curiosity about the red pulse that had drawn his eyes, or if Harry somehow knew what the device actually did. “I believe I can manage without the Charm.”

“Are you quite sure, Mister Potter? What if you find yourself in direct opposition to Voldemort's followers without the assistance of Miss Granger?”

Both of them glanced at each other, instinctively trying to reassure themselves.

It warmed his heart, as much as he was able to indulge in such sentiment, but the stakes were entirely too high to be left to a bond shaped by teenage attraction, no matter how much it might be influenced by the calling of the Sentinel or Guide roles.

“Would you mind a small test, then?” he asked, gauging their reactions carefully.

But Harry, as expected, just nodded. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

Albus didn’t answer but silently cast a Quietus Charm on his office door, then a Sonorus on himself. “I remember how loud noises caused you quite a bit of discomfort, Mister Potter,” his voice droned, waking up all the magical portraits behind him and causing one of his knick-knacks to spin into overdrive and then just die with a tiny puff of smoke.

Hermione Granger flinched and immediately reached out for Harry.

Harry, for his part, also winced — but he wasn’t knocked out or overwhelmed in such a capacity that he couldn't defend himself if necessary.

“I hope that the volume wasn’t too painful,” Albus said after dismissing the amplifying Charm. “But you really seem almost unaffected, Mister Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth as if he was trying to pop his ears. “My head is ringing a bit, to be honest,” he mumbled. “But I guess that’s a normal response, all things considered.”

The Headmaster couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the boy's laconic tone. “You’re right, of course. Thank you for allowing me to satisfy my curiosity.” He finally sat down, trying to ignore his charred hand. “Now, Miss Granger, Mister Potter, would it be fair to say that both of you are experiencing a substantial change in your respective capabilities? Maybe also your personality? And that said development is also the reason for Mister Potter's new self-control, which he demonstrated just now.”

His students exchanged another glance and apparently decided nonverbally that Hermione would speak. It reminded the Headmaster of the Weasley twins. 

“Headmaster, are you aware of what’s going on with Harry? We’ve only recently learned that his hypersensitivity isn’t a random outcome of his Quidditch accident, but the manifestation of a potential that he might’ve possessed all along.” Her slightly disapproving eyes almost dared him to deny knowing anything about it.

But, tempted as he was to reach out with a featherlight touch of Legilimency, Albus hesitated..

He had no idea why Severus had been repelled so violently, so it was entirely possible that he would suffer a similar fate even with a less forceful approach.

Right now, the risks outweighed any benefits by far.

“Knowledge about these things is difficult to come by nowadays,” he said, trying to stall a bit to allow himself more time to observe Miss Granger. “Very much like the things Harry and I have recently discussed about Voldemort and his mad quest toward immortality. But I suspect that Harry’s… excuse me, Mister Potter's condition isn’t a malady at all but the calling of a Sentinel.”

“You knew?” Harry gasped. “Why didn’t you… how?”

The Headmaster made a placating gesture. “All I had — all I have — are vague suspicions. My knowledge about Sentinels is superficial; it is one of many mysteries I never had the time to study in full. So your surprise awakening, Mister Potter, caught me completely off guard, and I wanted to be certain before I told you something that wasn’t true.”

“In some way that sounds like a repeat of last year when you wouldn’t look Harry in the eyes, fearing him to be a direct conduit to Voldemort.” Hermione Granger’s voice sounded more sad than sarcastic, but Albus felt it hit his heart nonetheless.

“What would you do, Miss Granger, if so much is unknown, and your decision may affect the lives of hundreds of wizards and witches? Had I been wrong last year, and Mister Potter, through no fault of his own, had given Voldemort insights into what I was planning and thinking at the time — the outcome would’ve likely been devastating.”

He let her chew on that for a few seconds.

“So I chose caution. Maybe too much so, but hindsight tends to be unkind to every plan, no matter how reckless or carefully conceived. And, even though I was wrong about Mister Potter and underestimated his willpower last year, was I wrong to be cautious again?” Albus sighed. “Because the fact that he is on the cusp of becoming a Sentinel isn’t the blessing it might appear to be. Indeed, I fear it will be another hardship for Mister Potter, on top of what fate already burdened him with.”

Her brown eyes flicked toward the array of knick-knacks on his desk. She, too, seemed to be able to identify his newest device with ease, and the Headmaster thought it was an unlikely coincidence.

“So you decided to spy on him, rather than talk to him when he was lying down in pain, Headmaster?” She pointed to the device with the scarlet pulse. “I can feel it nibbling at Harry’s… aura, lacking a better term. It’s… irritating.”

“It also smells like my pillow, I think,” Harry mumbled, his eyes unfocused. “Why is that?”

Albus tried to suppress the anger he felt at being found out like this.

It was his fault for not considering the strength of Harry’s senses, or his acumen, no matter how surprising Miss Granger’s capabilities were right now. “This is a device I inherited from my predecessors, and which I activated after I first suspected Mister Potter of becoming a Sentinel. I used a hair from his pillow to do that, hence the scent.”

“And what does it tell you?” Harry seemed transfixed by the slow pulse now.

The Headmaster followed his gaze. “That you’ve either awoken as a Sentinel or are about to, Mister Potter. That is all it can measure, though.”

Miss Granger huffed slightly. “I’m sorry if I sound rude, Headmaster, but I find it a bit too convenient that you just happened to have a device lying around that is a Sentinel-monitor of all things, yet at the same time knowledge about Sentinels is scarce, even for people like yourself?”

Harry looked at her, then at him.

“I can’t explain that coincidence, Miss Granger; I can only reassure you I didn’t create this device myself — I wouldn’t actually know how without an intense study of the subject, to be honest. You two might actually know more than I do right now, thanks to Professor Slughorn.”

Two pairs of brown and green eyes stared at him, but the tension in his office faded after a moment.

Albus didn’t know if they fully believed him; they seemed to accept his explanation for now, though. “May I ask how you can sense this monitor, Miss Granger? My understanding is that you’re not suffering from hypersensitivity, is that right?”

She appeared to debate her answer with herself for a moment. “No, my… condition is different. I can feel things, though, that I couldn’t feel before. Especially regarding Harry. My personal analogy to how we are connected to each other is magnetism, although it might be flawed since I know very little still.” Her eyes went cold all of a sudden. “Even less if that Obliviation attempt had been successful.”

Albus carefully tried to control his emotions since even the slightest twitch might give him, or rather Severus, away. He already regretted his line of action, thinking back to how he’d reacted to Horace’s revelation in this very office.

The way Severus had decided to enact his wishes was problematic at best, but despite all his personal flaws, he needed the man.

They all did.

Harry was boiling in his seat, though. The hate rolling off the young man at the mere mention of the attack on Miss Granger was almost palpable, and for once Albus found himself at a loss at how to moderate the confrontation between Harry and the Head of House Slytherin that, despite his best efforts, would likely still happen at some point.

“The investigation into this attack on you is still ongoing, Miss Granger. Without real progress, I’m afraid. We’re also still looking for the second person who fled the scene during the other attack on both of you.” He didn’t have to hide his frustration, although it was rather about being unable to do anything about the latter incident rather than not knowing the assailants’ identity.

But Draco Malfoy needed to remain in play, at least for now.

Albus had come to regret the plans he’d made in the past three or so years, though.

And now dominoes kept falling that he didn’t even know had been part of the game to begin with. Albus felt as if this year’s spring would decide the entire outcome of his mad gambit, and he didn’t like his odds right now.

He wasn’t afraid to die, but it had to lead to something for the others.

“You said that me being a Sentinel is more of a problem than a boon,” Harry said, cutting the Headmaster’s line of thought. “Why, exactly? I think we all know by now that Hermione is a Guide… my Guide. Isn't that a good thing?”

This was a question Albus had been afraid of because he didn’t know how to answer it satisfactorily without setting fire to his entire gamble.

He didn’t exactly know for certain that self-sacrifice would get rid of the Horcrux within Harry, and enable Voldemort’s ultimate defeat. There was circumstantial evidence, lots of it even, but nothing he’d convince a pair of young students with — not when both of them were suddenly experiencing life and magic with an intensity that he would probably never fully understand himself.

A lone Sentinel? Harry could probably be convinced to let go at the most crucial moment. But with a Guide at his side? If only a quarter of the tales he’d heard over the years were true, they’d never go through with it.

They simply wouldn’t be able to, really, both physically and magically.

So, what should he do?

And, more importantly, what should he say right now?

Hermione was so deep in thought as she wandered to the old classroom on the fourth floor that she didn’t notice Ron until she almost bumped into him in the lone hallway.

“Ron!” she gasped. “You startled me.”

He scowled. “I’ve been standing here the entire time; I even called your name as you came up.”

Hermione sighed. “I didn’t notice… sorry.”

That seemed to give him pause. His eyes roamed her face as if Ron were trying to decipher something hidden underneath her skin. “Are you feeling okay? I bet that Obliviation sucks.”

“Ron, language!”

“You know what I mean.”

She shook her head, trying not to let him irritate her beyond reason. “It’s not fun, but that’s hardly surprising, is it? But, to be honest, I barely remember anything, only that someone was behind me.”

“Yeah, well, you were obliviated, Hermione — I think not remembering is the basic idea.” Ron seemed to notice how that sounded, though. “At least for whoever it was that attacked you. I do hope they find out who they are. My Galleons are on Malfoy.”

She just nodded, being unconvinced that anything would come out of the headmaster’s ‘investigation.’ Dumbledore had been hiding something during their conversation, she was sure of it, mostly because Harry shared her suspicions.

As if he’d read her mind, Ron looked over her shoulder. “Where is Harry, by the way? And why are you carrying his schoolbag? Did he get detention after all?”

“What? No, he didn’t. Professor McGonagall asked to see him when we left the headmaster's office; he said we should start without him.”

“You guys saw Dumbledore? What about?”

She looked over her shoulder as well. “Let’s go inside the classroom; I don’t feel comfortable talking out in the open like that.”

Ron mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘mental,’ but he followed her and sat down at one of the few tables. “Wow, this room is tiny.”

“It was probably being used for alchemy or some other electives that only a few students chose,” she wagered, having wondered about the room’s layout herself.

“So… Dumbledore?”

“He wanted to see Harry, and I tagged along.” She saw genuine respect on Ron’s face as he tried to visualize standing up to the Headmaster during a conversation only meant for two people.

“That’s… it worked?”

She nodded. “In a way, but we didn’t get the answers we were looking for. Dumbledore knew, though, that Harry’s condition wasn’t caused by his accident; rather, it was… unlocked.”

“What, he has superpowers now that were always inside him, somewhere?” Ron snorted. “Sounds like one of those comics Dean is trying to get Seamus to read, something about Spiderpants.”

“Spider-Man,” she corrected him automatically. “But Harry… well, it might look like a superpower, being able to see and hear so well, and maybe it is, but it has serious downsides as well.”

The redhead frowned. “Can’t Madame Pomfrey give him a potion or something to make it go away? Being like that isn’t normal, and it also leaves him wide open to the Slytherins.” He snapped his fingers dramatically. “This right here is enough to make him flinch really hard most days unless he’s using that Charm.”

“Not if he…” she began, but Ron interrupted her.

“Yes, yes, I know, or if he lets you touch him.” He looked at her with a certain curiosity. “How does that work, by the way?”

She tried to suppress a blush. “I don’t really know; I can… sort of feel him, like the flow of water. His magic reacts to that in a way that allows him to focus and not be overwhelmed by his senses.”

“So, what, you have a magical touch all of a sudden?” Ron snorted. “When did you fall off a broom and crack your skull?”

“If we’re right about it, then I also always had… this within me,” she mumbled.

Where was Harry? She found herself utterly fed up with Ron’s attitude. Why couldn’t he try to see her perspective for once? Her frustration grew by the second. Despite that, Hermione also noticed that she was able to read the redhead better than ever before. She didn’t have Harry’s senses, but her gut feeling, that strange tug at her core, that was Ron’s… aura.

It felt notably different from Harry’s, although not completely so. Both of them were potentially volatile and unafraid of flying or physical confrontation. As for the rest — Ron’s emotions read much more chaotic to her. Although that also might've been because of her rather intimate connection to Harry, she didn't know how foolproof this new sense was.

But she felt his growing frustration, which mirrored her own.

Things weren’t going the way Ron had thought they would, and Hermione suspected that included her current state of mind, and her focus on Harry.

“Oh, come on, Hermione. What are you saying… that you’re a Chosen One, too?” Ron’s smirk wasn’t actually evil, but she felt its sting regardless.

“That’s not what I meant, or what this is about, Ron!” she snapped. “I would rather not be sucked into all of this or have Harry be in so much pain. You see you being poisoned! It’s all perplexing, especially since Dumbledore himself doesn’t seem to have answers.”

“Or he doesn’t want to share his secrets with Harry or with you.” Ron shrugged. “If you think about it, that would actually make sense.”

Hermione found herself agreeing with him on this, which felt odd.

She remained silent, and Ron stopped talking for a moment as well. He did look at her, though, not even trying to be subtle about it.

Where was Harry?

She hoped that Professor McGonagall hadn’t actually given him detention, but stranger things had happened at Hogwarts during their years. She also hoped that he didn’t dally, wherever he was at the moment.

“Is there anything specific you’d like to know about… Harry’s abilities? Or mine?” She looked at Ron, trying to convey her seriousness without rolling her eyes or being overly hostile. “He wanted to tell you everything today. Hence his schoolbag, in case he needed his cloak and other stuff.”

Ron seemed to chew on something as he stared back. “So you two have kept secrets, eh?” he eventually spat. “Why am I not surprised?”

She felt his emotions running hotter, unable to force them back into the well, so to speak.

“The moment I show interest in another girl, suddenly it’s snippy comments and hidden powers being awoken and Merlin knows what else. It sounds utterly ridiculous!”

“We didn’t make that up, Ron!” She was losing her patience. “Harry is a Sentinel; I’m his Guide. Don’t ask me why or how; we’re trying to figure it out ourselves. But there is something about the castle as well, and I think it’s all connected. Maybe — once Harry is fully within his powers — he can…” She stopped. What would Harry be able to do then? She’d never found a satisfactory answer; she only felt as if there was something else yet to come.

“He can do what, Hermione? Snap his fingers and turn the Slytherin Common Room into a Hippogriff enclosure? And what in the name of the Founders is a bloody Sentinel?”

Hermione tried to swallow the acerbic retort that was on her mind. “A Sentinel is a person with highly developed senses, someone who can smell, touch, see, or listen to things other people can’t, and who is usually a protector of their community. At least that's what Professor Slughorn's book told us.”

Ron scowled again. “That nutter almost got me killed, so I'd throw that book as far away as possible.”

“Stop being silly, he didn't write it himself, Ron. It has been the only real source of information so far; the topic of Sentinels seems to have been purged from the library.” She took a deep breath.

“What is that even supposed to mean, that Harry's a Sentinel? Because his hearing is excellent now? Being the Boy-Who-Lived isn’t enough anymore?”

Hermione saw red. “Shut the fuck up, Ron!” She aimed at him with her finger, since her wand was still missing — which was probably good, given her current mood. “Stop being so contrarian for one second! I’m really trying to be patient here, but you're making that quite difficult. Shut up and listen, for once!”

“What are you saying, then?” he roared, rising to her challenge. “Nothing I’ve heard so far makes a Merlin-damned lick of sense. I know Harry can hear whispers from the other end of the Great Hall, and that it might not ever go back to normal. I’m not daft, regardless of what you like to think. That doesn't make him anything but a lucky bastard, though.”

“Could’ve fooled me with the daftness,” she bit back.

“Here we go again,” he said, suddenly much quieter. “I don’t get you, Hermione. Or Harry, for that matter. You’re both completely mental. Instead of trying to get better, you’re on and on about some hidden destiny that manifested itself after a bloody Quidditch accident, of all things. I mean… really?”

She looked at the ceiling, trying not to cry in front of him.

Why did it hurt so much to realize what a futile effort it was to have an actual deep conversation with Ron? She’d known this would happen, had expected it, really. And yet it felt like a fresh betrayal, and somehow worse than what’d happened during their fourth year when Harry’s name had come out of that thrice-damned Goblet.

“You can tell Harry that…”

But it was her turn to interrupt him now. “Tell him yourself, you damn coward! Go on, run off to Lav-Lav then; we’re used to having to figure problems out for ourselves when things get serious,” she snapped at him.

“You’re just jealous of me, and you know it.” He glared at her, and this time there was an evil smirk on Ron’s face. “Because even though Harry might fancy you in his own, twisted way, he’ll never be your boyfriend. You two have nothing in common.”

“And we do? Or are you denying that you were jealous of me as well, and of every boy I’ve looked at since the Yule Ball?” Tears were blurring her vision now, and Hermione hated herself for it. “Where is the Ron I talked to in the Great Hall when this all began? He didn't try to get one over on Harry or me, for once.” 

Ron walked to the door. “I have no idea what you’re on about, Hermione,” he said. “But I’ve got a girlfriend to get back to. Give Harry my best — or don’t. I don’t really care. There's probably a word for that; maybe you should go to the library and look it up, before it gets purged or something.”

Then he was gone, stomping away through the empty hallway outside.

Hermione suppressed a sob by holding her mouth closed with both hands. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t just because of Ron’s words and his complete unwillingness to listen, but also because she felt as if she’d disappointed Harry by being unable to stop his best friend from leaving.

It felt as if she’d broken something that’d shown just a few cracks before, something a more capable person would've been able to preserve or maybe even repair.

Maybe that was the reason her tears didn’t stop running.

“Neville, there you are! We’ve been waiting for ages!” Susan waved the Gryffindor boy toward the lounge and closed the door behind him, locking it with a Colloportus even.

“Err… why is nobody else around?” 

Neville looked around in the deserted room, whose soft armchairs and sofas, combined with the stained-glass windows, made for a comfy retreat for all students who couldn’t find a free seat in the Hogwarts Library, or simply wanted to escape their respective Common Rooms.

He couldn’t remember not seeing at least a few older Ravenclaws sprawled into a corner here at all times, stacks of books to their sides.

Susan grinned and locked eyes with Hannah for a second. “We might’ve talked about… women’s stuff loud enough to make Marcus Belby, Dan Corran, and Saskia Fawcett vacate the premises.”

“Women’s stuff,” Neville echoed, not understanding the meaning.

Hannah sighed. “You know that girls eventually have a period, Neville?”

He blushed. “Yeah… sure.” He glanced at the Hufflepuffs. “But why did that cause a bunch of seventh-years to flee the lounge?”

“Ravenclaws are very delicate creatures,” Susan said somewhat haughtily. “There's nothing shameful about it, really; we're all just witches and wizards with bodies that have their minds, in a way. Some folks like to pretend otherwise, though, and it's not deemed polite conversation material, either. Especially when your entire House consists of folks who prefer words to be written rather than spoken.”

Hannah nodded emphatically. “So much potential, wasted on dusty books.”

“Ah. I… I see.” Neville looked back and forth between the girls. “But you wanted to talk to me again?”

“Yes, we need your help. Or rather, we think Harry and Hermione do.” The blonde motioned them to one of the comfy alcoves, and they sat down. “

“How so?”

Susan grunted. “You heard about their hug this morning?”

“Yes.” The whole school had talked about it at this point, and Neville had been exposed to at least seven different major theories as to what was going on, how Harry and Hermione were a couple — or not — and how Ron, Dumbledore, Michael Corner, Malfoy, Lavender, Ginny, and even Hannah and himself featured in a complicated web of love triangles and betrayals related to those two.

The fourth-years in Gryffindor had begun to map out the most likely relationship theories on a wall, and one of the Common Room’s walls now looked like a conspiracy nut had been left alone there for too long. At least that’s how Dean had explained it, but Neville didn’t know what a conspiracy nut was, or why it would pin woolen threads to a wall.

Susan nodded. “Good. Now, we’re not so much interested in the romantic drama as the things that go on behind the scenes.”

“Okay?” Neville didn’t know if he believed Susan since she’d confessed to being interested in Harry before, but if she was upset at Hermione’s public display of affection, she hid it well.

“We’ve heard that the two of them had a falling out with Ron,” Hannah added.

He leaned back, flabbergasted. “Merlin’s pants, how did you hear about that? That happened… not even an hour ago!”

Susan cocked her head. “Well, Parvati told Ginny who told Luna, and Luna told us.”

“Sometimes I think there’s so much going on at this school that completely passes me by,” Neville mumbled as he tried and failed to visualize Hogwarts' rumor mill being at work.

Susan blew a strand of hair from her face. “So, it’s true then?”

Neville grimaced. “Yeah… something happened. I only saw Ron coming back to the Common Room a while ago, but he was angry and grumbled about Hermione being a bloody fool and how Harry is a glory hound or something. It didn’t make much sense, but I’d wager they had a fight.”

“But you don’t know where Harry or Hermione are right now?”

Neville shook his head. “As far as I know, Harry had a meeting with the Headmaster earlier, and some other secret family meeting tomorrow, but apart from that… maybe he’s hiding from all the gossiping.”

Hannah leaned over and put her hand on his. “Neville, I hope you know we’re not talking to anyone else about this. We’re not looking for gossip material, I swear.”

He blushed again and stared at her hand, which felt soft and warm. “I know,” he mumbled. “It’s just so strange seeing you guys being so… involved. Ginny’s on the warpath as well, saying that the Quidditch team should be Harry’s bodyguards until everything is resolved.”

“That’s good,” Susan said. “Because we want to help as well. Maybe we should talk to Ginny?”

Neville shrugged. “Sounds reasonable to me.” He removed his hand from the table and tried to summon the courage to ask a question that had been on his mind for days now. “Can you tell me… why exactly you two are so interested in helping Harry all of a sudden?”

He watched the Hufflepuffs exchange a worried glance.

“Because even though you participated in Dumbledore’s Army, and I remember how you apologized to Harry back in fourth year after he’d almost been killed during the first task — I never thought you were actual friends of his.” He swallowed hard, expecting Susan and Hannah to blow off.

But they didn’t.

The girls looked at each other again, and then Susan nodded at him. She appeared to be dead serious. “Neville, this may sound very strange, but you didn’t have… nightmares recently? Dreams about Harry and Hermione? Or the Forbidden Forest?”

“Not as far as I remember, no.”

She sighed. “Okay. Well… I have. And I believe it’s somehow… connected. Or rather, I think that I feel it is.”

He remembered something Hermione had mumbled to herself, reading a strange green book right before she’d been obliviated. “Does that have to do anything with… Guides?” he asked carefully.

Hannah looked at her friend, then at him. “What is that, Neville?”

He grimaced again. “I don’t really know, but I believe it has something to do with what’s going on with Hermione and Harry.”

“Then maybe it’s time we talk to them directly, and not about them.” Susan stood up. “Let’s go find them.”

Neville found that he liked the idea and followed the girls into the castle’s hallways.

Chapter Text

Her scent told Harry that Hermione had been crying and that she was upset — there was a sour note underneath her unique sweetness.

As he exited the Grand Staircase and tried to block out the multitude of noises and smells in the large hall, he tried to focus on her heartbeat, but there were too many thick walls between them still.

She must've gone down to the second level of the Hogwarts dungeons.

Nodding to a few Gryffindors amidst the wandering students and wondering why two fourth-year girls started blushing as they saw him, Harry went to the smaller staircase that went down to the Potions classroom and the Slytherin Common Room. He was following a hunch as much as his nose, but something told him it would get him to Hermione just a few steps earlier.

Carefully, he descended into the bowels of the castle, expanding his senses as much as possible to pinpoint not just his friend but also other people who might interrupt them — and Harry didn't want to be interrupted when she told him what the hell had happened in the old classroom, as he'd been delayed by Professor McGonagall.

The answer was probably Ron.

Quiet as a ghost, he snuck down a dimly lit corridor, noting how cold and damp the air was down here.

Of the three doors he could see to both sides of the corridor in front of him, one was marked by Hermione's scent. It was also infinitesimally warmer than the others since she was in the room behind. Knowing that she'd probably sensed him by now, he didn't linger to eavesdrop but carefully knocked on the door and opened it without waiting.

Inside, Hermione sat on the floor, her back to one of the damp walls, her knees pulled up.

Her face was blotchy from crying.

She looked up from the Marauder's Map that she was studying, a small pebble charmed with a wandless Lumos her only source of light.

“You found me quick.” Her voice was still upset, and Harry felt his simmering anger heat up.

“What happened?” he asked as he shut the door and went over to sit by her side. The cold wall made him shiver.

Hermione stared off into the empty room. “I don't know, Harry. I tried to explain it to him and answer his questions, but he was so angry and accused us of being completely out of our minds. I… ” She sniffed. “I wanted to make him understand, but maybe I was the wrong person, since Ron and I still have this… issue with each other.”

“He's snapped at me a few times as well,” Harry added, trying to control his breath. “I explicitly asked him to not start anything today so that we could talk.”

Sensing how much Hermione blamed herself for Ron's sour mood, he hesitated only for another second before he reached out to grab her hand. She immediately threaded her fingers with his and seemed to calm down a bit.

“It wasn't your fault, Hermione.”

“I know, but…” She looked at him, still upset. “I can't help but feel that you'd have been able to salvage the situation. He would've listened to you instead of storming off.”

Despite her lowered heartbeat, she was still fighting tears — Harry saw it in her eyes. The involuntary movements of her fingers that he felt also told him that her mind was still reeling from something, and he knew that Hermione was regularly upset about Ron, but not shocked like this. “What… he said something, didn't he?”

“Harry,” she whispered.

“What was it?”

“It's not relevant. Leave it be.”

He frowned. “No way, Hermione. You told me we're going to get through this together. This is part of that, so… spill.”

She looked away from him and almost removed her hand as well.

“Don't try to mince words now, Hermione.” Harry was furious, imagining what sort of obscenities Ron might've thrown at her to make her this upset.

His dorm mate tended to get under her skin when they were fighting.

“He said…” She stopped. “He said that you and me… that we have nothing in common.”

He shook his head. “What?” That didn't make sense, even as a statement coming from Ron. “How do you mean? How can we have nothing in common? We're in the same bloody House, and what about all the crazy things we've had to deal with over the years? As in, together? And now we’re… Sentinel and Guide?”

Her breath hitched. “He didn't mean it like that,” she mumbled, still not looking at him.

“Then what?” Harry genuinely didn't understand, and his enhanced senses didn't help him one bit to untangle her words. “Hermione?”

“It's nothing,” she whispered.

Harry took a deep breath. “Why aren't you looking at me? Did I do something?”

She turned around immediately. “No, Harry, no! Of course not.”

He fixed her with his most intense stare, trying to keep her from evading his questions. He knew his eyes had that effect on people, and since he'd stopped wearing his glasses all the time, the effect had only grown. “Then tell me, please.”

Hermione stared back at him, and a single tear rolled down her face. “He said we have nothing in common… romantically. That you might… fancy me, but that we, that the two of us… would never be…” She sniffed and left the sentence unfinished.

Harry took it all in: her emotional turmoil, the meaning of Ron's words, his anger, and where that left all of them right now. He remembered their hug this morning. And the one in the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't even an open question on his mind, not after all that had happened.

Harry let go of her hand and leaned closer to wipe her tears away and cup the side of her head. Then he leaned closer, breathed in her scent, and put a soft kiss on her cheek. “That's just silly,” he mumbled.

Hermione stared back at him, dumbstruck.

Then a tiny smile broke through her tense facade, and she grabbed his hand to thread their fingers again before leaning her head on his shoulder. “Can you cast that Hot Air Charm, please?” she whispered.

“Sure.” He drew his wand with his left hand and enveloped both of them in an invisible warm blanket. “You shouldn't have gone to the dungeons. I mean… it's freezing down here.”

“I think it's because this level is closer to the water,” she said absently, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb.

Harry felt some of his anger ebb as if she was absorbing it — which she probably was, quite literally.

“So,” he said, trying to change the topic. “Why were you looking at the map?”

Hermione picked up the Marauder's Map from the floor. “I needed something to focus on, and I wanted to see where you were.” She shook the map to unfold it completely. “And Malfoy.”

“Huh?” Harry hadn't thought much about his nemesis in the past… days? Which probably wasn't wise even if his suspicions turned out to be false, which he doubted at this point. “Did he vanish again?”

“Not today, but I've seen his name disappear from the map on the seventh floor,” she explained. “He's using the Room of Requirements, just like you said. He's careful about going up there, though. I've seen him wander around the castle once or twice and get close to the seventh floor, only to walk away when other people were around.”

Harry nodded, trying to see where Malfoy was on the map right now. “Yeah, he's doing that a lot. I'm not sure if his plan, whatever it is, is so dangerous that he tries to keep it a secret, or if he simply doesn't know what he's doing and wants to prevent being embarrassed.”

“He didn't have a problem fighting with other Slytherins in prior years,” Hermione reflected, deep in thought. “Which makes your first theory more likely.” She pointed to Malfoy's name in the Library — close to the Restricted Section, where Harry hadn't bothered to look before. “But I'm not sure if that explains his rather haunted appearance as of late.”

“Maybe his father is putting pressure on him?” Harry wagered. “I believe he's meeting with all sorts of Death Eaters, and they might've asked Draco to do something.”

Hermione suddenly looked up and stared at him. “Harry… what if it's not just Death Eaters meeting at Draco's home?”

He realized what she was saying and felt a shiver crawling up and down his back. “You mean… Voldemort?”

“After everything we've learned over the years and the fact that the Malfoys are wealthy and influential, wouldn't that be a rather obvious choice for him to stay?” Her fingers closed around Harry's. “Lucius participated in the Ministry attack, and he was there when Voldemort was resurrected.”

Harry's mind was abuzz with thoughts and speculations. “If that's true, then maybe Malfoy is up to something really dangerous, Hermione. Not just his usual awful ways to make us miserable, but…”

“A Death Eater attack, here in the castle? I don't know. It seems preposterous, considering that the headmaster is also here. But it's probably still something truly terrible,” she whispered.

The question remained as to what exactly this plan looked like and why Draco needed the Room of Requirement for it to work. Thinking about the room, especially the defense lessons he'd supervised during the days of Dumbledore's Army, reminded Harry of something rather important, though.

“And if I'm right, Snape is also involved somehow, since he made that Unbreakable Vow… Hermione, we need to get you a new wand immediately,” he said. “Maybe it'll still turn up, but I don't like the idea of you walking around unarmed until then. A wandless Lumos is impressive, but it won't help save your life.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I miss it terribly, but at the same time, I don't feel as exposed as I should be? It's strange… like when I went to the Prefect's Bathroom — I wasn't afraid at all.”

“Maybe you can sense danger better now, as a Guide?”

Hermione shrugged. “It's possible. I did feel safe, but I'm not sure if I can summon that… sense or whatever it is on command. It came to me on its own.”

“All the more reason to get you another wand,” Harry thought about tomorrow. “Shall I ask Remus for help?”

“Actually… Professor McGonagall asked me yesterday if she should take me to Diagon Alley tomorrow and visit Mister Ollivander. She didn't say your name or anything about the Sentinel stuff, but I thought that she was rather nervous about what's going on with us right now.”

Harry couldn't help but grunt. “At least one professor who's doing something other than spying and speculating on us.”

“You know, I can't even be cross with you for saying that,” she said, slightly exasperated. “My fourteen-year-old self wouldn't believe any of this.”

He smiled. “Even though she just woke up from being petrified by a Basilisk and had to deal with an escaped mass murderer on the loose?”

“Back then, I still believed all these crazy events to be singular events, that things would slow down eventually.” She leaned her head back onto his shoulder. “I'd give a lot to be able to go back to that time, if I'm being honest.”

Harry was inclined to agree, but he also knew he wouldn't give up their special connection for anything. And the world might've been a bit easier and a bit brighter at the start of his third year, but Hermione had just been a friend back then — one of his two best friends, of course, but not… his Guide.

Also, the most significant person in his life, period.

He put an arm around her as they enjoyed a moment of quiet in the empty room.

“They won't be there, I'm telling you.”

Neville wasn't convinced. “You heard Mike; he wasn't sure where he'd seen Harry, and Hermione often reads on one of the sofas during weekends.”

“Says you.” Hannah panted slightly from going up the stairs again. “Why is your Common Room so high up, anyway? How do you people find the energy to do anything but sleep?”

He grinned at the Hufflepuff. “You're getting used to it.”

“Unless he's snogging Lavender in some broom closet, won't we encounter Ron there?” Susan interjected. “He might not appreciate us snooping after Harry and Hermione.”

“I'll… we'll see.” Neville sounded unconvinced, though. “Normally, he's just angry at one of them and leaves the rest of us alone. We should be fine.”

When they finally reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Hannah had almost regained her breath. Neville nodded to the Fat Lady and tried to remember the password, which of course had vanished from his mind again the moment he'd approached the portrait.

“Who are these two?” the Fat Lady asked.

“They… err… are friends of Harry Potter,” he stuttered. “We're trying to find him.”

“Good luck with that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He's not in, though.”

“Figures,” Susan mumbled. “What about Hermione?”

The portrait raised an eyebrow at Neville, who just nodded enthusiastically. “No idea, darling.”

“Well, we're going to have to take a look then. Matriarch.”

“That's not the password.”

“Malady?” He cringed, knowing he was mistaken. Those damned passwords all sounded the same to him.

Susan and Hannah watched with amused interest.

“Do I need to call a prefect again?” The Fat Lady was visibly annoyed.

“Majestic!” Neville blurted, suddenly remembering the phrase from being told to him yesterday.

“It's not, but you may enter,” the portrait said. “I'll have to change it again now, though, you do realize that?”

“Sure,” he mumbled, waving the two Hufflepuffs in.

The girls had been here previously since most of the Gryffindor parties were open to friends from Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff — although the Quidditch victory events tended to be mostly in-house for obvious reasons. Still, Hannah and Susan looked around the room like ickle firsties. 

Meanwhile, Neville had seen Ginny at a table at the far end and walked up to her. “Ginny, do you… sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

She looked up from a parchment that was full of some indecipherable doodles. “What's up, Neville?”

“We were hoping to find Hermione here. Do you know where she is?” He waved toward the other two girls, who came over, causing a bit of a stir among the resident Gryffindors.

“Susan? Hannah? What are you guys doing here? Did something happen?” Ginny put her quill away.

“No, nothing like that.” Susan sighed. “We need to talk to Harry and Hermione urgently. But they seem to have vanished.”

“They do that a lot if you count the times they spent in the Hospital Wing.” The youngest Weasley eyed the trio critically. “What's this about, really?”

“We can't say,” Hannah whispered at the same time as Neville said, “It's about Harry's… abilities.”

As a result, three rather stern pairs of eyes focused on him, and he began to blush. “Well, it's not as if that's a secret anymore.”

“That's true, but we…” But Ginny was interrupted by her brother, who just came down the stairs.

Ron dropped his Quidditch magazine on a nearby table as he approached. “What the heck is this? Hufflepuffs in the Common Room?”

“I invited them,” Neville said. “We're looking for Harry and Hermione.”

The tall redhead squared his jaw. “Don't waste your time with those two. And they're not around.”

“Do you know where they are?” Susan asked.

“Not that it's any of your business, Bones, but no.” Ron looked at the girls. “Don't you have your Common Room to go to?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Don't you have someone else to bother?”

“Shut up, Gin.”

“Stop being a tosser.”

“Where was Hermione when you guys split?” Neville knew he was playing with fire, but Susan had sounded very convincing in the lounge. He didn't like the idea that two of his friends were dealing with something serious alone while he and the rest of Hogwarts enjoyed a regular weekend where the worst thing happening was having to write a Potions essay for Monday.

“Why do you care, Neville? Are you fancying her now as well?” Ron sneered.

“What? No, I…”

Susan looked at Ginny. “Is he always like that?”

“Yeah. Every so often I think he was dropped as a child,” she mumbled.

“Hey, I heard that!” Ron shouted.

“Stop making such a fuss. Go and bother Lav-Lav or something.”

Neville tried to get back on topic. “Ron, please, we need to talk to Hermione. Can you just…”

“I said it's none of your business!” And before anyone could react, Neville found himself being shoved away so hard that he fell. “Stop pestering me about that insufferable Know-It-All! You guys are all mental!”

But as Ron turned around to throw more barbs at his sister and the Hufflepuffs, Susan's fist connected with his jaw. Dazed, the tall redhead fell into a chair and then onto the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“If you attack my friends again, I'll give you a real thrashing, you stupid git.” Susan blew a strand of hair from her face and looked around at the astonished faces around her. “What? He started it!”

“You're right,” Ginny said grimly as she looked at her brother. “And I'll cherish this moment for as long as I live. But let's get out of here; he'll be even more insufferable once he's managing to stand and breathe at the same time again.”

They walked around Neville's roommate as he stood up gingerly, holding the side of his face. “What the hell, Bones! You hit me!”

“Stop crying, you deserved it,” Ginny spat.

As they walked back to the entrance, leaving an outraged Ron behind, Hannah touched Neville's shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“It's nothing.”

“Okay.” She looked up as they passed a section of the wall where dozens of woolen threads connected a chaotic assembly of notes and sketches. “What is that, by the way, and why does it feature our names?”

Neville blushed again. “Err… that is a long story.”

“Maybe you can explain on the way out,” Susan added.

None of them saw how Jimmy Peakes removed a random note from the wall to write Susan's name on the empty spot or how Raza Mohammad and Rionach O’Neal connected her entry with Neville and Ron as another new addition to the relationship map while the rest of the Common Room gossiped about the hilarious knockout of Gryffindor's resident Keeper by a Hufflepuff girl.

Ron wasn't seen again until dinner, much to Lavender's disapproval.

Even from a distance, Hogwarts turned out to be rather nostalgic, Charlie decided.

He was on the prowl again, probing the strange aura that'd told Remus that this place was… off limits. It extended all the way to the edge of the school's grounds, even beyond. It pushed against him and made him very self-aware, but it was still manageable — he wouldn't want to camp here without some serious warding against this effect, though.

As a student, he'd have cursed the cold drizzle that came down from the overcast sky, but right now he actually preferred the bad weather. It would keep students from swarming the Hogwarts grounds to play Quidditch or snog behind some bushes; meanwhile, a sturdy cloak and a simple Impervious Charm allowed him to conduct his investigation completely undisturbed.

He cast a few diagnostic spells as he made his way along the edge of Hogwarts' border.

If Harry still hadn't fully awoken as a Sentinel, this aura was… almost more frightening than amazing. It felt too strong, considering the two other claimed spaces Charlie had entered in his life. One by a Sentinel much older than Harry, and the other one had been a werewolf lair, at least four generations in use. Nothing had ever pushed against him like this metaphysical signature did just now.

As he continued his probing, Charlie wondered what Albus was doing and how the rift between Remus and the headmaster had begun. His family was considered to be fervent supporters of the Chief Warlock, but Charlie knew the old man had always loved his secrets — his own time at the school hadn't featured life-threatening adventures of the kind Harry and his little brother were having annually, but there'd been plenty of mysteries and shenanigans still.

He was hoping to talk to Ron and Ginny eventually to gain a few more insights into what was actually going on inside the castle and how that Sentinel business was being handled. Maybe he should write them a letter tomorrow when Remus and Harry would be out to have lunch?

Charlie stopped waving his wand when he noticed another sentient creature somewhere in his proximity.

He scanned the surrounding bushes.

A few birds were chirping in a tree in the distance, but that wasn't what he'd felt.

He relaxed as he saw a cat staring at him from the shadows of a holly bush. “You scared me, little one,” he mumbled, already turning away when he felt something else.

That wasn't a normal cat.

But the moment Charlie focused on the tiny animal again, it was already shifting — into the form of his former Head of House. Professor McGonagall aimed her wand at his face as he gave her the most intimidating stare. “Who are you and what are you doing on the Hogwarts grounds?” she asked.

“Minerva, it's me.” Slowly, he removed the hood of his cloak. “Charlie.”

McGonagall lowered her wand slightly, but not completely. “What did I tell you during your final year when you served detention with me?”

He remembered that day well. “To never poke someone just because they appear to be harmless and weak, and to not be such a bloody Gryffindor all the time.”

The older woman relaxed visibly and approached him. “Thank you, Charlie. Now, my question remains. What are you doing here?”

“I'm here on behalf of Remus.”

McGonagall looked at the castle in the distance. “Is this related to Mister Potter's current… situation?”

“Yes, I'm here because we think we can help Harry and also Hermione. Remus isn't exactly happy with the way this Sentinel problem is being dealt with.” He was careful with his words on purpose because even though his old Head of House had offered Remus her help, he couldn't remember a time when she didn't stand directly behind Albus, regardless of what decisions he was making.

“He's not alone in that regard.” McGonagall cast her own Impervious Charm now. “Is that the reason you're sneaking about the grounds instead of asking to see Albus or me for tea inside?”

Charlie nodded. “I'm trying to get a feel for the strange aura that Harry's created — subconsciously. He probably doesn't even know it's there currently.”

“I've been told about it, but I can't feel anything myself, apart from being a bit nervous and on edge lately,” McGonagall. “What does it tell you, Charlie?”

“That something's off.” He shook his head. “It's far too strong, Minerva. Harry's powerful, no doubt, but he's not even awake yet. There's no way his claim is this powerful, not without external influences. So either Hogwarts itself is reacting to his presence, or something within it is.”

“What about Miss Granger? She's clearly involved, against her will, I might add.” McGonagall was clearly concerned. “Her very touch can now soothe Mister Potter's pain when he has one of these… migraines. And I'm sure that her presence also influences his hypersensitivity.”

“Beautiful girls tend to have that effect,” Charlie joked, unable to stop himself.

“This is no laughing matter, Charlie!” She looked exasperated. “And I'm not talking about a simple teenage romance here. They care a lot for each other, but their connection is entirely different from what the majority of students experience between broom closets and their dorms.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it.” He made a placating gesture. “Is there any way for me to see both of them and get a better feeling for what level of power and awakening we're talking about here? From a distance, that is. I can't… I shouldn't reveal myself just yet,” he added hastily, hoping she wouldn't ask why.

Minerva shook her head. “Not without Albus noticing, and as much as I dislike the way he's been handling all of this so far, I won't go behind his back and smuggle you into the castle. He had a talk with Mister Potter today, and I don't know how that went, but maybe he'll take on a more proactive and protective role now. I'll see Albus later this evening, and I intend to raise this issue again.” She looked at Charlie. “Until he gives me reason to fear for Mister Potter's and Miss Granger's well-being, my hands are tied. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Charlie stepped closer to her. “I'm uncomfortable about all this sneaking around as it is, and I wouldn't want to drive a wedge between you and Albus. You're friends.”

“If you plan to continue this surveillance of the castle, I'd advise you to be more discreet, though, Charlie. I saw you from my window, and I'm not the only person to look outside during a day like this.” She smirked a bit. “I'm sure Filius would be devastated to learn that you've forgotten all about Disillusionment Charms.”

Charlie blushed slightly. “They interfere with my ability to read the environment.”

“I wasn't aware that Guides are sensible that way; I'm sorry.”

He winced as he heard the role name spoken about himself, but Minerva knew almost nothing about how he'd almost died of heartache and the reasons why he'd fled Britain in the aftermath. “We don't advertise the fact, for obvious reasons.”

She was looking at him curiously now.

“What? Did you remember something?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. If you're interested in seeing Miss Granger, I'm accompanying her to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get her a new wand. If she's agreeable to the idea of a meeting, I think that could be arranged.”

Charlie thought about it. He'd kept his distance from other Guides for a good reason, but he knew that wasn't a real long-term solution. Also, he'd promised Remus to help Harry, which now involved Hermione as well. And he liked the girl, remembering her from previous stays over Christmas or the Triwizard Tournament.

So he would have to swallow his pride, hide his anger, and open his senses to how far she was right now. Maybe even answer a few questions, which she probably had by the dozen.

He sighed. “A meeting would be great if she's open to the idea. Tell her I might be able to help explain some of the things they're experiencing, her in particular.”

Minerva smiled at him. “I was hoping you'd say that, Charlie. Maybe it'll help you as well, lighten the burden I still see on your shoulders.” She patted his chest slightly. “Despite being such a Gryffindor at times, you were one of my favorite students. And easily the most level-headed Weasley to ever sit in my classroom.”

“I thought that'd be Percy?”

“Please.” She grimaced. “He believed so religiously in the letter of Hogwarts' rules that he failed to notice they have a spirit as well. Your brother was wound tighter than some of Slytherin's snakes.”

“Minerva!” Charlie sputtered.

“If you tell Molly that, I'll deny ever saying it, and I will tell people about that incident with Miss Tonks and yourself in the Clock Tower.” There was that tiny smirk again as she regarded him.

“Please, there's no reason to ever mention that… event ever again. My lips are sealed.” If that story ever came out, he'd be dead. Tonks would use necromancy to kill him twice, at least.

“Good. Now, how can I reach you in case Miss Granger accepts my proposal?”

Chapter Text

After spending much of the afternoon talking in some of Hogwarts' hidden corners, Hermione and Harry went to the library to check out a few books from her list. They also learned from passing students that Ginny, Neville, Hannah, and Susan were looking for them — and that the latter had decked Ron in the face.

Since Harry was still angry at Ron about exploding at Hermione, and she worried about an altercation between the two boys in the Great Hall, they both decided to skip dinner. After asking a third-year Ravenclaw in the library to deliver a note to Professor McGonagall or the headmaster at the High Table that would excuse them, Harry went to the kitchens to talk to Dobby and grab a plate of food while Hermione brought the map and their books back to her dorm in Gryffindor Tower.

Tomorrow, after Harry met with Remus and hopefully got some outside advice from an adult, they'd begin digging through the pile.

But now they ate in the deserted lounge on the second floor, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Harry still felt slightly uneasy, though — whatever danger his subconscious was picking up since he'd cracked his skull hadn't abated yet.

“What do you think Gin and the others want from us?” he asked after they'd emptied the large plate.

“Maybe something happened while we were hiding?” Hermione licked the last crumbs of the apple crumble dessert from her spoon, which was all sorts of distracting for him. He managed to focus on her eyes only with heroic effort. “But… no, that doesn't feel right. You'd have picked up something if that were true, and none of the professors came looking for us.”

Harry hmm'ed. “I got the impression that Neville and Gin were in our corner, so to speak. They might've heard something they think is important to our… Sentinel quest.”

“It's a quest now?” She played with her spoon, tapping it against her nose. “I'm not sure.”

“Hermione, where's your sense of drama?” Harry asked, grinning. “We have a Dark Lord, no, a necromancer lurking in the shadows, and a prophecy, a Chosen One — that's me, by the way — and of course a damsel in distress, plus a few mysterious goings-on in an ancient castle. This search for what Sentinels and Guides do, or how we became those things in the first place… it's totally a quest.”

“Damsel in distress?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I found you barefoot in the forest.”

Hermione grumbled and put the spoon away. “Fine. It's a ridiculous quest, though.”

“Nobody said anything about this being a top-tier operation,” he quipped.

She snorted and then eventually giggled alongside him. “That's not even funny, Harry.”

“Yet you're the one laughing.” He chuckled once more, but he suddenly stopped and looked at the stained-glass windows. There'd been something outside, a voice.

“Harry?”

He stood up and tried to see through the glass, but even his enhanced eyesight had trouble with the irregular patterns that warped all the details beyond recognition. “I heard something from this side of the castle somewhere outside. A heavy step, as if someone stumbled.”

Hermione stood up but didn't say anything. She stepped up to him.

Then Harry felt her hand on his shoulder and found that his focus increased tenfold. All the details he'd been able to tune out rushed into his conscious mind, but he was able to separate and sort them as they came up.

No headaches, no white pain.

There was a tiny piece of apple crumble on her lips, and its scent called to him to lick it away, maybe put his tongue into her mouth while he was at it. He tried hard to push that thought away.

One level above them, someone was walking through the main hallway. The steps were too heavy for a girl but too light for a male professor either.

Behind one of the sofas to his right, there was a piece of parchment on the floor.

And outside, someone was walking through the rain and along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry saw a tall figure underneath a gray-green cloak, wielding a wand, but it vanished behind a copse of trees and didn't come out again. “There you are,” he mumbled.

“Who is it?” she whispered, mindful of his sensitive ears.

“No idea, but he didn't look like someone from Hogwarts. Maybe a Death Eater or someone sent to spy on us?”

She removed her hand, and Harry immediately missed the feeling of it. “We should tell one of the professors.”

“Yeah, but… whoever it is, he'll be long gone by the time McGonagall or Flitwick come out looking.” He looked at her, seeing the colors of the windows reflected in her brown eyes. “I reckon I could get to him before he vanishes.”

“Harry….” She wasn't happy about it, but he knew that she knew he wasn't wrong either. “It's dangerous.”

“Which describes every year we've spent in this school. I'm not trying to play the hero, Hermione, but… maybe I can finally put these weird abilities to good use.”

She took a deep breath. “Figures this happens when we don't have the map with us.”

“Yeah, that's a bit annoying. At least we'd know the name…”

“Also, I'm missing my bloody wand.” Her eyes locked onto him again. “I'll come with you, and I'm going to stay just outside the castle doors, underneath the cloak. If anything goes wrong, or I don't hear from you within ten minutes, I'm going to raise hell, Harry. Is that understood?”

“Okay.” Harry knew that arguing with her about this was pointless, but he also didn't think her plan was bad. A small part of him wanted to put her inside the castle, of course, but even without a wand, Hermione knew how to take care of herself. Or him. And having her relatively close to him would help him focus — this would indeed be a good test of that ability.

His immediate agreement surprised her a bit; he noticed it in the way her heartbeat changed or how she blinked twice. But she didn't argue the point any further and accepted his cloak as he gave it to her.

They made an excellent team, Harry thought.

When she held the cloak open, he raised his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm at her, then at himself — the times when two or even three of them would fit comfortably underneath the priceless heirloom were long gone. They couldn't risk anyone seeing one or two pairs of feet walking around the castle. He didn't plan to squeeze himself underneath it with her just now, but it was better to prepare for that eventuality.

Not that Harry would mind finding himself in that position.

He approached her near-invisible form and took her hand. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Lead the way, Harry.”

With practiced ease, they descended the Grand Staircase quickly and quietly.

A few students were returning from dinner when they reached the first floor, and Harry gently pushed her to the side to let the Slytherins and Ravenclaws pass them by. Then, sensing a window of opportunity, he hurried to the great doors and opened them just enough so they could slip through.

It was still raining outside.

“Harry.” Her voice was close, and he felt her touch his arm. “I can't see or hear anything in this weather. I need to follow you a bit further.”

He didn't like it. “Hermione…”

“I'm not letting you run off without some sort of backup. I may not have a wand, but I can still be your lifeline.” She grabbed his arm. “Let's go.”

Since every second spent arguing was an opportunity for the unknown man to vanish from the grounds, Harry relented. “Okay. But if someone starts flinging curses, I want you to drop to the ground, Hermione,” he whispered.

“Unless you drop them first,” came her reply. “Focus, Harry. What do you hear? What can you feel?”

He followed her advice and let his senses flow out into the darkness.

The Disillusionment Charm turned out to be surprisingly annoying, though — he could almost taste the magic on every breath he took, and it colored the things he heard or saw as well. “I need to dispel the Charm,” he said in a low voice. “It's blocking me.”

They stopped behind a single tree, and Harry got rid of the Charm.

He breathed in the cool air, noting a whole new range of impressions that flooded his mind now that the bothersome magic wasn't in the way anymore. He heard the sounds of a dozen or so animals, smelled candles and fireplaces through open windows high above them, and… and the scent of a man.

The spy was still out there.

Harry took three steps before Hermione reacted. “Hey!” she hissed. “Where are you going?”

“Sorry, I was in the zone,” he mumbled as she grabbed his hand again. “He's this way.”

“Just one man?”

“Hm-hm.” He tried to pierce the distance and the darkness in front of them, but there was no direct line of sight. “He's standing still right now, I think.”

“How far?”

Harry shrugged absently as he breathed in again. “Three hundred feet or so.”

“Okay. Let me come with you until we're halfway there.”

He didn't answer as he began walking.

The cold drizzle was beginning to soak his clothes, but Harry didn't care much. The cool feeling helped sharpen his awareness and was a welcome change from the somewhat stuffy atmosphere inside the castle. Out here, the sense of impending danger wasn't quite as strong, either.

Carefully, they walked into the night.

“I don't know where he is, Hermione, but he's just not here anymore.” Visibly frustrated, Harry rubbed his neck and shivered as several drops of cold rain ran down his back. He was completely soaked by now.

She sighed, feeling annoyed as well. “So either he's excellent at Apparition, equal in skill to the Headmaster in fact, or he has cloaked himself magically somehow.”

Harry looked at her. She'd asked him to dismiss her Disillusionment Charm a while ago when he hadn't found anything for what had felt like a small eternity, and she'd grown tired of waiting alone in the darkness and had run after him. “Basically, yes.”

He seemed to take it personally, as if it was his fault that the mystery man had vanished. Which was ridiculous, of course, and Hermione knew that Harry knew that as well, but that just made everything even more frustrating.

They'd been over the most obvious questions by now.

She would rather not annoy Harry unduly, so she tried to be patient. 

To her, it was clear that they should just go back and inform a professor about this and be done with it for today — but Harry hadn't accepted that yet. He wanted to solve this mystery at all costs. Yet part of her also believed that this sort of vigilance was actually justified and that, maybe, being this unrelenting would uncover something they'd otherwise only learn about after another series of life-threatening encounters or equally terrifying events.

She felt Harry's strange magic — his Sentinel aura, she believed — rush off him as he continued his prowl. It washed over the dark Hogwarts grounds around them and all over her.

Hermione's body absorbed most of it, and the sensation was so intense and odd that she'd stumbled over roots and small rocks once or twice now because it distracted her. There were no words to accurately describe what she felt inside her body and on her skin.

It was an entirely new Harry-sense she was developing.

Even in complete darkness, she'd be able to pinpoint his location without fault.

It was weird and intoxicating at the same time, and the way Harry had brushed over her fears about Ron's hurtful comment earlier with an actual kiss on her cheek had done something to her as well. Hermione tried telling herself that the constant flutter in her stomach was entirely caused by the Sentinel-Guide dynamic being at work, and nothing else.

She'd never been good at lying to herself, though.

Another question she was pondering underneath Harry's cloak was if she would be forced to make up her vocabulary, or if any of the Sentinel and Guide literature out there — such as it existed — would eventually help her with that. Hermione hated being stymied by a lack of guidance; it caused her personal notes to be so long-winded that she was tempted to take House points from herself for a lack of focus.

“Hermione… you don't happen to know where Ron is right now?” Harry had stopped and turned to her.

She couldn't help but huff. “No, I've been with you almost the whole day, in case you forgot.”

“I know, I know, it's just…” He sniffed the wet air again. “It smells a bit like him. I thought it did before but dismissed it. It's stronger now… ah, he put his hand on the tree over there.” 

She watched as he proceeded to investigate a spot on the nearby trunk. To her eyes, the tree was nothing but a huge, black shape at night, and if the rain were a bit stronger, she'd probably run into it without some light or his guidance.

“No, it's not Ron, but something like… the Burrow? That doesn't make any sense,” Harry muttered under his breath in the darkness.

Hermione thought about it. “Isn't Bill a member of the Order? Maybe he came here to send a message to the headmaster without being seen.”

“Why not use an owl, then? Or the Floo?” Harry sighed and walked back to her. “And why was he walking alongside the edge of the Forbidden Forest? Look where we are right now — we've been on his trail the entire time. If you need to send a message, wouldn't you just pop in and out as quickly as possible?”

She had to admit that he did have a point there. “You're right… we've been out here for an hour at least. Did he walk all the way around the castle?”

“Maybe, but why?” Harry raised his wand and began drying himself with a charm. “Just another bloody mystery, as if we don't have enough problems right now.”

Since she didn't have a good answer, Hermione looked around.

The Forbidden Forest loomed like a black wall of black nothingness to her side, too dark for her to make out any details. To her other side, Hogwarts waited in the distance. Dozens of windows flickered with warm lights and made for a welcoming sight, she thought — although she hadn’t forgotten her aversion to the ambient magic of the place, and Harry was also still feeling uneasy about the castle, or something within it.

Another unresolved mystery, that.

Then her eyes fell on the small lights coming out of Hagrid’s hut.

She remembered that night… when Harry had found her.

Hagrid had hummed something to himself as she'd wandered past his hut. She hadn’t knocked, though, being drawn to that… place she’d seen so clearly in her mind.

The pond.

Hermione looked up into the overcast night sky and closed her eyes as she felt the soft rain hit her face. It was water, and water called her now. The place she’d seen — it was still there, closer now that they were at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

“Do you feel it again?” Harry’s voice seemed to echo from everywhere, an illusion of her senses for sure.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I almost forgot about it until… now.”

“Maybe this little expedition wasn’t for naught after all,” he said, coming closer now. “I don’t think we’re going to solve this Weasley-related mystery right now, but we might just as well see what this pond of yours looks like.”

Hermione’s rational mind forced her other thoughts and feelings aside for a moment as she realized what he was saying. “Harry, it’s late, and someone is going to look for us soon. I don’t think Professor McGonagall would be pleased if she had to collect us outside yet again.” She wiped the rain from her face. “Also… it’s the Forbidden Forest. I may have tried to sleepwalk my way to somewhere in there, but being… your Guide doesn’t give me supernatural protection. Or you.”

He stared at her, his face an unreadable dark gray mask in the darkness. “I actually sensed the place when I found you. I didn’t think much of it, since you’d just come out of a trance, but when you told me about seeing a pond… I’ve heard it, Hermione. It’s that way.”

She saw his silhouette raise an arm and point to somewhere near Hagrid’s hut.

“Harry…” Hermione hated how he eroded her very sensible arguments by teasing her to let her actually see that strange place. Well, more like vaguely discern it since it was still a rainy night, and she didn’t have Sentinel eyesight.

“Someone or something was there, by the way. Not a wizard or witch, I think. Maybe a dryad.”

That got her attention, and Hermione felt her resolve crumbling even faster. “Harry…”

“Just saying.”

“I see what you’re doing.”

He chuckled. “Hermione, I suspect you don’t see much of anything right now.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing he’d be able to see it. “Don’t be a prat. Nobody wants to be Guide for a Sentinel who is a prat.”

Harry didn’t answer but took one of her hands. “Shall we go back then?”

She hesitated. He was earnest and would follow her lead should she wish to go back to Hogwarts now. But Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if they didn't at least try to take a look at this place that she'd seen in a vision.

“Hermione?”

“I'm still thinking.” She had to suppress a smile since she was quite aware of her ridiculousness.

Harry's hand was warm and comforting.

Knowing that her heart had already decided, she gave in. “Okay, let's go. But Harry… we need to be cautious. I would rather not stumble into an Acromantula or anything else that has claws or fangs.”

“I'll be extra vigilant then.” He pulled her a bit closer. “Do you need another Disillusionment Charm?”

“It's probably a good idea. You can sense me anyway, and without a wand… yes, please.”

She shivered at the feeling of egg on her head as he cast the charm, but the feeling was soon forgotten when he followed up with a Hot Air Charm. Hermione had to forcibly stop herself from groaning from the pleasure and knew she was blushing. He probably had no idea what that spell did to her new sense and her… more sensitive areas.

“Lead the way,” she said in a slightly hoarse voice and let him pull her along into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

What they were doing… it was complete madness.

But Hermione also felt that it was part of her new normal. The times when she'd solve supernatural mysteries with Harry and Ron and then go to bed like every other girl in the school were over. Harry's destiny had drawn her in, or maybe she'd always been part of it, being a latent Guide.

And even though she'd only read a single book about the subject, Hermione knew that Guides and Sentinels were not the types who walked the safe roads.

This was her life now.

As they left Hogwarts behind, Harry felt both relieved and anxious.

He was taking Hermione's point about monsters lurking in the darkness seriously, but he was also sure he'd sense anything coming close. There were dozens of animals all around them, most of them sleeping or hiding, and he could even hear tiny spiders weaving their nets under the cover of the canopies above them.

No way an Acromantula would get the drop on him. Not when he was still holding her hand, which didn't just make his heart beat a tiny bit faster but also increased his focus by an untold degree.

But his nervousness was also related to their destination. He couldn't hear the waters of the pond right now, since they were still too far away at this point and the constant drizzle masked plenty of noises. What would they find there? Would it be another disappointment?

Or indeed a magical place, as Hermione seemed to envision?

He hoped she was right, even if just for her sake — to maybe end this day on a high note.

That made him think about Ron, and Harry had to stop himself from hitting branches in front of him on purpose. There was something off about his friend, and he was conflicted about how to proceed. He knew Ron could be insensitive and stubborn in his anger, just like he still had a problem keeping his temper in check occasionally. But the jealousy and insecurities of his friend, which had surfaced over the years… it never seemed to get better.

Or cause Ron to reflect.

Harry knew he wasn't a neutral party in all of this, his strange new connection to Hermione — his Guide! — didn't really allow that. He wondered if all Sentinel-Guide pairs out in the world had feelings for each other, or eventually ended up developing them. Maybe he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed if he knew for a fact that he wasn't alone in his struggle to not simply snog Hermione's face off.

Because he also still felt bad for developing such a strong crush since Ron also had this… thing with her.

Not that it seemed to be going anywhere, seeing how his friend was fine keeping Lavender around — weren't they officially boyfriend and girlfriend by now? He'd never understood the minutiae of relationship labels. But Ron was still acting weird with Hermione, and Harry knew it wasn't because of real antipathy but because his friend didn't actually know what he wanted.

Very much like himself, at least until he'd broken his skull.

Now, there was only one person on his mind, and it wasn't Ron's sister.

Thinking about Ginny — and the others who were probably still looking to speak with Hermione and him — somehow brought Dumbledore to his mind. That man was another can of worms Harry wasn't exactly thrilled to have to deal with right now.

Judging from the way Hermione had avoided talking in-depth about their meeting this morning, he knew she shared at least some of his reservations. They'd analyzed this and that and spoken about her dreams and his hypersensitivity, and the connection they both felt, but not Dumbledore's parting words.

Since their way through the forest was relatively easy, Harry thought it was as good a time as any to discuss it.

“Hermione?”

Her grip on his hand intensified. “Did you sense something?”

“No, I just… do you think Dumbledore was right about me?” Harry didn't look around, but he knew she hadn't expected that topic; her hand had slightly twitched as he uttered the name of his mortal enemy.

She took some time to think about her answer. He heard her heartbeat slow down as her rational mind processed everything they'd talked about with the headmaster. In his mind's eye, he imagined her making a list of pros and cons and weighing them against each other.

“No matter how much I don't like the way he lied to you, to both of us… I can't deny that he's studied Voldemort his entire life.” She stopped. “Or at least for many decades.”

“True. So he's the only real expert in this matter.”

She shook her head, and he heard his cloak's fabric rustle as her hair brushed over it. “The only one we know of and have access to. And please note, there are things he doesn't know about. Why else would he ask you to retrieve that memory from Professor Slughorn?”

Harry remembered his past lessons with the headmaster. “Slughorn edited his memories because he's ashamed of something terrible he did, probably unknowingly at the time. It's all connected to the question of what Horcruxes are and how Voldemort ended up on the path to becoming… what he's now.”

“Listening to how Dumbledore tried to avoid using the term 'Sentinel' at all, one might think it was something worse than becoming a Dark Lord,” she muttered. “I don't believe that being aware of everything around you makes you categorically more vulnerable, or empowers Voldemort. That's… it sounds like tea leaves to me.”

He chuckled at her apparent dislike of Divination and all the aspects of magic that couldn't be put into charts and reliably tested to her heart's content. It was a wonder how well she took that whole Guide thing since apparently it involved a lot of this sort of feelsy stuff. Not that Hermione didn't have a heart, or feel deeply about the world and the people around her, but… she was a bookworm.

“Well, I thought it actually made some sort of sense,” he offered. “It reminded me of your explanation of Yin and Yang, to be honest. If you and I are connected in this Sentinel-Guide relationship, then it's undeniable that Voldemort and I are also bound by fate or whatever you want to call it. I'm being sarcastic when I refer to myself as the Chosen One, but… I truly believe there's something that binds me to him.”

Harry touched his scar, remembering the many times it'd hurt or sent him impressions of Voldemort's state of mind.

Or allowed his enemy to send him false visions and cause Sirius to die because Harry was too stupid to recognize an obvious trap.

Hermione stopped. “What was that?” she asked.

“What was what?” He turned around and expanded his senses beyond their immediate surroundings.

Things were stirring around them in the Forbidden Forest, but he only sensed small animals and two heartbeats of larger creatures sleeping somewhere down below the ground in a hole.

“I had this feeling just now when you stopped talking.” She let go of him, and he briefly saw the outline of her Disillusioned hands as she hugged herself. “It felt bad, Harry. Like magic, but… soiled. It made me think of Voldemort, actually.”

“Well, we were talking about him just now. I don't think someone is lurking in the shadows, though.” He looked all around them, to reassure himself. “Just a few insects and animals.”

“But I'm sure that I…” She approached him. “What did you do when you spoke about being the Chosen One?”

Harry winced. “I wasn't serious about that moniker, Hermione.”

“I know, Harry. Now, tell me.” She looked at him; he could tell by the way her cloak rustled and the blurry spot of nothingness that was her head moved ever so slightly in front of the Forbidden Forest around them.

“When I said I feel bound to Voldemort, I remembered my scar, of course, and I touched it…” He repeated his motion from before and put his index finger on the small, irregular ridge that the Wizarding World knew him by.

Hermione hissed and stumbled away as if he'd revealed himself to be a Death Eater.

“What the hell, Hermione?”

“That… feeling. Harry!” A blurry hand pointed at his face. “It's your scar!”

He didn't like where this was going — he felt fine? Better than he'd done in many days, for sure. “But… that's been with me forever.”

She hesitated. “Do… do that again, please.”

Harry did as she asked and watched her silhouette recoil yet again. Seeing her flinch like that felt terrible, and the fluttery feelings in his chest died as he tried to keep himself under control. She was overreacting, or seeing things that weren't there. Maybe this pond — they were close enough he could actually hear the mumbling waters far in front of them — affected her mind somehow…

“Harry.” Her voice brought him back, and he watched her come closer again. “I'm sorry. I know how that must've felt.”

“It's fine, I… I was just surprised. It doesn't hurt.”

She approached him, took his wand hand, and put her other hand on his cheek. “I'm talking about seeing me shy away, Harry. I may be half-blind in this darkness, but I know you.” She caressed his face. “I'm not afraid of you, you dummy. Just of the feeling I have when you touch… this.”

Her almost invisible head went up as she looked at his forehead.

“Are we really safe right now?” she asked.

Harry looked around once more and nodded. “Yes.”

“Can I have your wand for a moment?”

He hesitated only for a second before dropping the holly stick in her hand. She carefully raised it and waved it around a few times. “Interesting… it feels like you, Harry.”

“How so?” He'd noticed that her voice had dropped to that husky tone again she'd used after the Hot Air Charm. If he had to guess, he'd say that Hermione was… turned on by his wand? Realizing that he should never ever voice that thought, Harry desperately tried to think about Mister Filch's underpants or something.

“It feels like the magic I sense coming off you, especially now since we're outside. It's a bit like fire, but not really, and a bit like wind. Quite different from the way my magic feels to me, but… comfortable at the same time.”

“Okay?” He had no insights to add, only a notion to maybe try to taste or sense her magic as intimately as possible when she had a new wand. Or whatever other situation might allow him to do so.

“I'd like to see what's up with your scar, Harry. Are you okay with that?” Her Disillusioned outline shifted slightly in front of him.

Harry did feel uncomfortable, but it had little to do with her being so close to him, or her intention to poke him with his wand. “Go ahead,” he whispered, focusing entirely on her. Her scent washed away some of the anxiety he'd been feeling just now.

Hermione mumbled spells Harry had never heard before as she held his wand to his forehead — but she didn't touch his scar. It was a bit strange to see the holly wand being used by an almost invisible person, and someone who wasn't as close to Hermione as he was right now or who didn't possess Sentinel senses would in fact think it was acting all on its own.

One minute passed, then two.

Harry began to fidget, causing Hermione to stop. “I'm done anyway,” she mumbled and handed his wand back. “I can't see anything out of the ordinary, but my knowledge of detection charms is limited.”

He smiled at her assessment. “Sure, Hermione.”

“I'm not fishing for a compliment here, just being honest.” She sighed. “But I know what I've felt, Harry. There is something in your scar, and I believe it might be the very thing that allowed you to sense what Voldemort was feeling at times. That, and more.”

“My connection to him.” He thought about it. “Are you saying I'm tainted that way?”

“No…” She put a hand on his chest. “I'm sure I wouldn't be able to touch you if that were the case. The ambient magic in Hogwarts is benign for the most part, and yet it repulsed me when I had my little bathing episode. Dark magic… my body reacts almost viscerally to it now. Which is not as beneficial as I thought it would be — it's very distracting.”

He grunted. “Said the Guide to the Sentinel.”

She bopped him. “Stop it, you know what I mean.”

“So, what now?” He felt exposed but unable to do anything about it since his oh-so-brilliant senses hadn't picked up a bloody thing on himself this entire time. And even though he wanted Hermione to be wrong and shrug this off, he knew there was something. She'd never failed him, and her new senses… if she said there was something dark lurking underneath his skin, it probably was.

Suddenly, Hermione grabbed his robe. “Harry!”

“What? Did you think of something? What can we do?”

“Maybe…” She swallowed. “What if Dumbledore knew about it? Think! He said that you and Voldemort were moving in 'realms of magic hitherto unknown and untested.' That bloody prophecy, and the way you survived the Killing Curse — leaving that very scar.” She let go of his robes but left her hand on his chest. “What if… what if a Horcrux is what made Voldemort… the Dark Lord?”

“How do you mean?” Harry vividly remembered his nightmares with the green flash and his mother crying out in the background, or the fuzzy quality of Slughorn's altered memory that stood out so much against the sharp details he'd seen in Dumbledore's recollection of meeting a young Tom Riddle.

Prophecies, dark magic and old curses, necromancy… what indeed were Horcruxes?

“We don't know anything yet, other than Slughorn being so ashamed he would rather not remember telling Voldemort about Horcruxes back then.” Hermione was still standing incredibly close to him, as if she knew he needed her to hold him upright. “Since he's a curious man who seems to know plenty of things other people consider exotic or hidden lore, we can assume from his reaction that Horcruxes are bad news, right?”

He nodded again, agreeing with everything she'd just laid out.

“And we also have to remember that Voldemort didn't die when he tried to kill you, Harry; he was 'destroyed.' That has always bugged me, to be honest.” She raised a blurry hand, and Harry watched in astonishment as she wandlessly dismissed his Disillusionment Charm. Her brown eyes stared at him as her head became visible again above his cloak. “Harry… what if that scar is what allowed him to return, leading to that night you were abducted to the graveyard?”

Harry's vision began to blur as he tried to process her words, and it took him a few seconds to realize that he was tearing up. “But… you mean I had him inside me? Or still have?”

Instinctively, he stepped away from her. If that was true, he couldn't be around people; he needed to…

“Stop! Harry, stop!”

Her voice was pleading, but it also was a command. Catching his breath, he stopped and looked at her. “I need to… Hermione, if you're right, I have to…”

“You are not Voldemort, Harry, and you don't carry a disease. Stop running away from me. You're stronger than that.”

“Are you sure? Dumbledore doesn't seem to think so.” It was unfair to throw the headmaster's attitude at her like that, and Harry immediately felt bad doing so.

“That's my point exactly, Harry.” Hermione looked up toward the dark skies as if she was hoping for help from above. “He was hiding something from us, maybe several things, but I'm sure that line at the end of our meeting about Sentinels being drawn too much to the presence to see the bigger picture… and now that feeling from your scar… it's connected. I know it.”

“But how? Let's say you're right, and I believe that you are, by the way, that my scar allowed Voldemort to come back because it was created when he tried to kill me but was destroyed himself instead… and that Dumbledore knows or at least suspects as much, since that would explain his behavior toward me last year, wouldn't it? Then that means he didn't tell me about my scar, didn't tell me on purpose because I did ask him about it, directly.”

Hermione lowered her head again, and Harry sensed that she was tearing up as well. “And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord does not know,” she recited the prophecy that'd echoed in his mind ever since he learned its entire content. “I knew it, Harry; I knew it when you told Ron and me that it meant something terrible for you.” She sobbed once and wiped her tears away. “And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives — oh, I'll kill him! Harry, I'll kill that man! He knew, he knew this entire time and didn't do anything!”

“But… our lessons… Hermione, I'm angry with Dumbledore, believe me, but he is opening up! He told me that everything I learned, everything about Voldemort, has to do with the prophecy that only he and I knew in full until recently.”

He approached her, drawn by her scent and her crying. He wanted to make it all better, despite feeling as if he'd been dunked into a vat of icky Dark Magic. But the connection between them was stronger than his need to be a martyr.

She welcomed him with open arms, and they hugged.

Harry lowered his nose into her damp hair.

“As much as I appreciate that he wants you to learn things for yourself, Harry, I can't help but notice that this isn't the bloody time to play games with hazy memories and hidden meanings.” She pulled him closer as she talked into his chest. “If everything is indeed related to the prophecy, I'm even more worried because it all makes perfect sense.”

“What does? Please, tell me, I… I don't see it.”

“Your scar, Harry. It was an anchor for Voldemort, and it retains something of his… spirit? Enough to make you both be able to sense each other. And he did come back from the dead, or whatever state of being he was in.” She breathed him in. “Dumbledore knows about your scar, and he didn't tell you, because he believes that it is the power the Dark Lord does not know.”

Harry shivered as realization kicked in.

Of course.

“So I need to die because if I live… if my scar lives, he'll always have this anchor to hold onto?”

“Yes.” She sobbed once more. “And there's more.”

“How?”

“Your scar… it's an accident, Harry. At least from what we know, Voldemort never meant to be destroyed that night. But even though Professor Slughorn has edited his memory, it shows that a young Tom Riddle was already investigating how to become immortal — it was probably his life's quest. He asked about Horcruxes because he wanted to make one.”

Harry could bear not seeing her eyes, and he pried himself off her to hold her arms. “So there might be another one? I'm a walking accident, and somewhere out there is a real Horcrux?”

“I believe so,” she whispered. “And by the prophecy's logic, Harry, you need to die so Voldemort can finally be destroyed, once that other Horcrux is gone as well.”

“But why is my being a Sentinel such a problem? Wouldn't that make it easier to hunt this thing down? Or actually fight Voldemort?” Harry wiped his tears away. Emotionally, he was completely overwhelmed—somehow, all of this had been looming in the background for a while, and it was just his luck that he'd have a revelation in the middle of the Forbidden Forest of all places.

“Because of me,” Hermione said, and she reached out again to touch his face. “Because I'm your Guide, Harry, and I'll never ever let you go. For as long as I live, I'll see to it that you won't die, least of all for a sodding prophecy.”

Harry swallowed hard and leaned slightly into her touch.

“I wouldn't want to go and leave you behind either,” he said. “Maybe I would have before, but I… “

Her eyes grew harder. “And therein lies a problem for our headmaster, Harry. If you won't sacrifice yourself and that Horcrux in your scar, and if I wouldn't let you even if you wanted to, the prophecy… it would be broken.”

“So what do we do now?” He felt weak and useless asking her that, but he wasn't able to stand up straight and pretend to be fine about learning what Dumbledore hadn't quite told them this morning. And Hermione's strength… it felt comfortable to know he could lean on her, be vulnerable, and never have to regret showing that to her.

Her thumb brushed over his cheek. “I say we break that stupid prophecy in half and never look back. You won't die, Harry, not for this. If I'm your Guide, I'll find a way.”

He stared at her, trying to calm down.

“How do we do that? Other than hoping that Hedwig returns soon with an answer and maybe another book list?”

She nodded toward the Forbidden Forest around them. “I think we need to go to that pond, Harry. Not for me — that was my mistake. It's for you. There's something for you there, and I need to accompany you.”

He thought it sounded a bit too easy, but he couldn't deny being curious about the place.

The murmur of the stream that ended in the pond had grown louder.

They weren't far away at this point.

Following a gut feeling, Harry drew his wand and held it out to her again. “Show me the way, then.”

Chapter Text

“What are you going to do about it, Albus? Potter struts around like he owns the place, and we're just sitting on our butts?” Snape was gesturing with his hands, which would've been cause for alarm for anyone apart from the headmaster — the cantankerous Slytherin just wasn't known for being expressive in that way.

“The fact that Harry overcame the initial challenge of his awakening so quickly is concerning, but it doesn't make Harry arrogant.” Albus sighed. “I'm growing tired of your prejudice, Severus.”

Snape whirled around to stare at the older man. “I know what I'm seeing in my classroom! This whole Sentinel mess…” He put his hands back under his robes. “The Dark Lord has taken note of the situation.”

“How so?”

The Slytherin scowled. “He has other spies in the castle. I suspect some of my students are writing regular letters to their families. I haven't been summoned yet, but the other day Lucius made a comment as we passed each other by that leads me to believe the Dark Lord knows about Potter's awakening.”

Albus leaned heavily on his desk, his brows furrowed. “About Miss Granger as well?”

“I'm not sure. It's possible… but unlikely. He has known about Mister Weasley's and Miss Granger's affiliation with Potter since their first year of school but has never taken it seriously. Unless that Healer was way more observant than us, the Dark Lord won't know that there's also a potential Guide present. Not yet, at least.”

“I agree.” The headmaster leaned back and put his aching hand on his lap. “This might give us a window of opportunity unless Harry's connection with Voldemort is already active again.”

Snape sat down and looked at Albus. “What are we going to do? I don't see any way how we can proceed with Potter being a Sentinel. Not when that girl is by his side.”

“It does complicate matters, but we still can adapt.” Albus carefully steepled his fingers as he stared off into space, gingerly moving his right hand. “We have a choice to make. I believe there to be two ways to resolve this situation, but they are rather mutually exclusive.”

The Defense Professor nodded as he tried to follow along. “One approach would be to isolate Potter and remove Granger. That won't be easy, though, not unless you're willing to take… drastic measures.”

There was an expectant pause in the headmaster's office.

“Yes, it would come at the risk of causing Harry's protective instincts to take over.” Dumbledore glanced at the other man. “And to be honest, Severus, it's not just the ethical dilemma or Harry's likely reaction that causes me to worry about this idea.”

Snape grunted. “Granger's mental shields are impressive, but she doesn't have the same… bite as Potter. There's no killer instinct in her.”

“Is that an actual praise of Harry that I am hearing?”

“As arrogant and insufferable as that boy is, I can't deny his reflexes and willingness to fight back.” The Slytherin smiled sardonically. “He is, of course, headstrong and easy to read in his anger, so don't take this as the glowing recommendation you would love to hear, Albus.”

The older man sighed again. “Of course not.”

“What are you seeing in her, then? Other than being able to cause Potter to go feral, she's not an actual threat.”

“Your bias blinds you, Severus.” Albus inspected his desiccating hand. “When Miss Granger and Harry sat here to quiz me about all the things they still don't know about, I felt as if I was looking at a human-shaped null field. She doesn't give off anything, magically — I couldn't read her at all. I'm reasonably sure that certain spells won't work on her anymore, since there's nothing for them to hold on to. I believe that to be the reason your Legilimancy didn't work. And it may be only the beginning. She was completely focused on Harry the entire time, almost feeding off him. As his Guide, she might be the key to unlocking both of their full potential. And that possibility alone elevates Miss Granger to being a threat — to us or anyone else considering separating Harry and her.”

“That is utter nonsense, Albus.”

“We possess very little factual knowledge about Sentinels and even less about Guides. Dark Lord doesn't know everything, Severus, and neither do I.” The headmaster gave his spy a stern look. “Or you, for that matter.”

“I refuse to be afraid of her, Albus. Or Potter. This Sentinel-Guide business is a serious headache and nothing more. Stop worshiping our ignorance — nothing is gained by glorifying the unknown. We need a solid plan. If you say going after Granger poses too much risk, that's one thing.” Snape huffed. “But she's nothing more than a bothersome student possessing a unique innate ward and too many feelings for Potter.”

Albus appeared exasperated but didn't comment.

“And your second approach?”

The old man remained quiet and looked out of the window into the rainy night. He seemed to age at that moment as if years heretofore uncounted suddenly caught up with him. The lines of sorrow around his eyes and mouth deepened. “I would rather not contemplate it, Severus,” he whispered eventually.

“Yet here we are, standing at the precipice of where your planning leads us to. Either you share everything with me, Albus, or you don't — but rest assured that I'll make my own decisions if need be.” Snape's appearance had shifted as well, and he appeared almost manic.

“Promise me… I want you to listen carefully and think about all the implications.” Albus removed his glasses and covered his eyes with his left hand. “Because there won't be any forgiveness for this, none.”

The Slytherin laughed without humor. “I've been damned for twenty years now, old man. I know exactly what's waiting for me.”

They regarded each other.

“The second option would be to provide Voldemort with as much information about our resident Sentinel and his Guide and sell him on the idea that their magical bond transcends the physical world.” Albus took a long breath. “And then make him aware of the fact that the ring is gone, that it is destroyed.”

Snape frowned. “Albus… what would that…” He looked at the headmaster, suddenly understanding. “You want him to panic so he'd consider making another Horcrux.”

“Yes.”

“And not just any Horcrux, you want him to… to repeat what he did accidentally almost sixteen years ago.” The Defense Professor swallowed hard. “Only this time… with Granger.”

Albus nodded. “If he strongly believes in the supernatural strength of the Sentinel-Guide bond, following the principles of dark magic, he would immediately see the possibility of gaining another living anchor that's well-protected.”

Snape blanched. “That is dark, Albus.”

“Yes. It might still be necessary, though.”

“It also relies on several factors we don't control or have any chance to reliably influence if they don't go our way.” The Slytherin put his head in his hands. “Are you certain that the Dark Lord has deduced the true nature of Potter's scar by now? Isn't this mad gamble way worse than getting rid of Granger? I can't even say anymore. We're talking about handing everything to the Dark Lord. Everything!”

Albus didn't answer, thinking about the secret he hadn't told Severus yet, which he hadn't told any living soul.

How, if the worst were to happen, Harry's undeniable love would give this new second human Horcrux a layer of protection similar to the one the boy himself was wearing.

With all the things that implied — Voldemort's complete and utter defeat by the hidden arcane mechanics of love and sacrifice being one of those things. Even if the prophecy were to leverage Harry's new powers against him and cause the Dark Lord to ascend as well… Hermione Granger's Horcrux would likely end up being the hidden blade that cut the snake's head off.

Or so Albus desperately hoped.

Hermione wondered if this was what Harry felt like all the time now.

The Forbidden Forest around them was still so dark that she could barely see her hands, but with every step they took, she was more aware of how… alive it was. There was a presence all around them made up of hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny impressions, for lack of a better word — trees, animals, and other things living in the shadows.

She felt as if they were stepping into the yawning throat of something infinitely older and bigger than their human minds could ever fully comprehend, and it humbled her rational mind that tried to analyze the experience.

But they had left Hogwarts and its books way behind.

This was like when she'd wandered to the Prefects' Bathroom. There were other rules at work now, and it wasn't necessary to factually or actually know anything as long as she followed this feeling in her gut.

Harry, his magic bleeding off him like a torch in the darkness, followed her quietly.

Hermione felt him shifting his focus to various spots around them as his Sentinel senses picked up the forest's unique atmosphere. It was a necessary reassurance for her because even though their path might have taken on a mystical quality that belied all rational thought, this was still the Forbidden Forest — in more than one meaning.

There would be a challenge here, she knew.

Not for her, but for Harry. She still hadn't fully allowed herself to sink into this new feeling of being a Guide to him, but the residual thin veil that continued to separate her true self from the world was a reflection of Harry's state of mind.

He wasn't fully himself, not yet at least. It wasn't a question of ability or force of will but of circumstance. Some things just couldn't be realized between the Quidditch pitch and the Hogwarts Library.

Hermione wondered what site another Guide would've chosen in her place since her newly awakened affinity to water was a very personal thing. Were there Guides drawn to the other elements? Or something entirely different? She imagined a person sitting in Trelawney's classroom, trying to clear a Sentinel's mind with incense and hogwash, and had to smile.

From her perspective, that would be a disaster waiting to happen, but someone else would probably find her attempt to bring Harry to a pond in the middle of the forest nonsensical at best.

“Hermione.”

Harry's voice had that pressed tone she knew meant danger, and she stopped immediately to turn to him.

“I… there's something close to us. I thought I sensed it coming from the right, but it's… everywhere.” He approached her. “Be ready.”

“Should we run?”

Harry continued to look all around them. “No…” he whispered, and she suddenly realized he wasn't in full control of his senses right now — his focus was slipping. Not dramatically like before, but gradually. His magic roared like wildfire now, licking her skin as Harry's subconscious tried to compensate for the loss with more raw magical power. It was beautiful and also insanely hot, as if someone was pouring liquid light all over him that she couldn't actually see but could feel on every inch of her skin.

Being so close, she could make out his face and his glowing eyes, a few wet curls of his wild hair plastered onto his forehead, covering up that evil scar.

He'd never looked more handsome, and Hermione would've loved to kiss him right here and now if the situation didn't demand full attention.

Because this wasn't a threat to her life, not in the physical sense.

Whatever Harry was sensing wasn't an Acromantula, but something different that would never brush against surrounding twigs or draw a real shadow. Following her instincts, deciding that trusting in her trust of Harry was the best approach, Hermione raised his holly wand and softly pressed it into his hand. “Be aware, Harry,” she whispered — and then she stepped back from him, leaving him in the small open space they'd stopped in.

“Hermione?” He noticed her leaving him, but there was no recognition in his eyes as he continued to stare at things around them that only he could see.

Her heart ached to close the distance, stand by his side, hold his hand, and hug him, but Hermione forced that feeling down. This was why they'd come here. The pond was still a bit away, but… this would be a trial.

The first one.

So Hermione stepped back, not looking behind her and trusting that her role's instinct would guide not only Harry but herself as well. She stopped when she felt the back of a tree on her back and noticed how the irregular trunk extended to both her sides as if she were standing on the mouth of a cave. She'd be safe here.

Harry meanwhile was turning around frantically. She couldn't see him, but she sensed his anxiety and felt his intense focus was over her again and again.

The impulse to call out to him, to reassure him that everything would be alright, grew stronger. Hermione bit her lip and clenched her fists. She needed him to fight this one on his own — he needed to, or he'd never gain full control of his Sentinel abilities.

And Harry seemed to understand, or more likely feel, that as well. He didn't call out to her anymore but took on a defensive stance, wand at the ready. Hermione felt how his power coiled inside him, ready to spring at whatever was about to ambush him.

She wondered what he was sensing in the darkness and noticed that the drizzle had stopped. When had that happened? The Forbidden Forest was still wet, but it was hushed now. Only a few leaves rustled in soft air currents high above them, and the whispers of raindrops continued to echo between twigs and trunks before they fell onto the soft forest floor.

“Show yourself, I know you're there!”

Harry's voice rang like a shot in the night, and Hermione flinched. But she remained in the half-embrace of the ancient tree behind her, knowing this to be her place for now.

A bright light flashed on her retinas as Harry let loose a volley of stunners into the surrounding undergrowth.

“I can feel you, so stop hiding. I'm not afraid.” His aura's intensity increased yet again.

Hermione bit her lip harder to suppress her urge and closed her eyes. Standing still was harder than she'd imagined. It felt as if she was breaking his trust in some way, but her gut continued to tell her this wasn't her fight. She needed to trust him.

Still, she hated the feeling.

Harry threw another series of spells at invisible enemies around him and suddenly stepped to the side, as if he was dodging something Hermione couldn't see.

“Nice try.” He responded with more spellfire and moved to the other side of the open space.

The fight picked up pace, and Hermione felt him dodge back and forth, continually firing at someone or something that was always just unreachable. Branches around them were ripped from trees by the violent spells, and dirt rained down on the surrounding forest whenever one of Harry's curses hit the ground in the distance.

It must've looked like a small thunderstorm from the distance, but she had a suspicion that this… event wouldn't even be visible from Hogwarts' highest towers.

Harry fired so fast now that it appeared as a strobe effect through Hermione's closed eyes. She heard him mumble incantations under the sounds of destruction all around the small opening, or groan slightly when he tumbled on the uneven forest floor.

He was exhausting himself, and fast, as the Forbidden Forest around them continued to shed bark and leaves.

Hermione opened her eyes again as she felt him approach her position. Not a single spell Harry had cast so far had even come close to her or the massive tree she was standing at, and she didn't believe that to be a coincidence.

She felt that his focus was on the far end of the open space, away from her.

He stepped back, making sidesteps as he dodged imaginary spellfire.

But then…

… he fell.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she saw his dark silhouette stumble and fall toward her. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but she was unable to do anything but watch as his body hit the forest floor hard. Harry grunted in pain and rolled to the side, just in front of her.

His head had missed the nearby massive tree trunk only by inches.

It broke her resolve to stand aside. “Harry!” She stepped forward and knelt by his side, cradling his sweaty head. “Are you hurt? I'm here.”

He twitched and aimed his wand at the darkness with a trembling hand. “Hermione, run! There's…”

She watched him stare at the imaginary danger and saw his confusion when nothing happened. His frantic heartbeat calmed slowly as she pressed him into her lap and caressed his face. “I'm here, Harry,” she whispered.

“But…” He lowered his wand, and his eyes finally found her.

Hermione tried to appear as serene as she could to provide him with an anchor.

“It… it was all in my head, wasn't it?” he asked. “There was no enemy.”

Her fingers brushed over his cheeks. “Not a physical one, no.”

“Then why?”

She remained quiet, enjoying the sensation of feeling his skin and believing him able to find the answer to this conundrum himself. It wasn't her place to speak now.

Harry continued to stare at her. Then, he smiled. “You.” He laughed. “Of course.”

“Of course, what, Harry?”

He moved slightly in her lap. “You were there all along. I just… didn't see you anymore. I was so focused… on myself.” Slowly, he raised himself up from the ground, and she let go. “I forgot I wasn't alone.”

Hermione nodded.

“Did you know?”

She shook her head. “No, I just knew to let you be… this wasn't my trial. I'm sorry I didn't help you.”

Harry rubbed his neck and looked around once more. “Don't be, please! But… this is a bit spooky, Hermione.”

“Maybe.” Now was a good time to smile, she decided.

He caught on immediately. “It's not over yet, is it? We're still not at that pond, but I can hear it. It's close.”

“Something's still waiting, I think.” She looked at her wet clothes — and noticed that she was rather cold. Kneeling on a soaked forest floor would do that.

Harry immediately began drying her with one of his… intense Hot Air Charms, and she shivered again.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“You're welcome.” He was already standing and held out his hand to her, which she gladly accepted.

As they approached the pond, Harry didn't know what to feel.

It was a beautiful sight, but it also had a haunted quality that reminded him of the graveyard where Cedric had died and where he'd witnessed Voldemort's rebirth. Not that actual Death Eaters were present here, the pond seemed too pristine a location for that sort of damned soul — but there was something eerie about how small wisps of fog drifted over the dark waters while the tall trees of the Forbidden Forest loomed in the background.

“Wow,” he said, and meant it.

“Just the way I imagined it would look.” Hermione stepped up beside him, and he breathed her unique scent again. “There is a path around it, almost like a fairy ring.”

Harry knew she wasn't able to see that far into the night, but she was right — he saw a thin line of bare earth near the bank and several mushrooms in the thick grass. “So we're not the first people to visit this place after all.”

“Not necessarily. You said you heard someone splashing in the waters here before? Maybe your dryad did it.”

He smiled to himself. “I don't believe a dryad would walk a literal hole into the grass, Hermione.”

“Is she present?”

That had been something he'd wondered about as well, but so far he hadn't smelled or heard anything that would lead him to believe such a fey creature was close. Not that he had the first idea about what that would smell or sound like, anyway. But there wasn't another heartbeat in immediate range of the pond — at least none he could sense.

There was, however, a sweet smell in the air that reminded Harry of flowers and honey. It was too early in the year still for most flowering plants, so maybe that was a hint?

“I don't think so.”

Hermione hmm'ed but didn't say anything as she stared at the dark pond.

Harry extended his senses again, but there was nothing suspicious to pick up around them. He smelled the strange mushrooms that didn't look like anything growing in Professor Sprout's greenhouses, and the strange flowery air. He also heard a few small fish in the pond. The surrounding forest was moving ever so slightly because of a soft wind that had picked up since the rain had stopped, but the pond itself seemed to sit in the eye of the storm, so to speak.

The twigs and leaves around them remained utterly still, as if the whole place was holding its breath.

He just didn't know what for.

Hermione slowly approached the bank and stood at the edge of the water. “Harry.”

“Yes?”

“What's that over there?” She pointed to the far end of the pond. “In the grass, I believe.”

Again, he knew with absolute certainty that she wasn't able to actually see something that far away in the darkness, but as different as her Guide sense was from his Sentinel focus, she somehow managed.

Following the direction of her finger, Harry saw… a pair of shoes.

And a wand, lying on top.

“What?” he asked, intelligently. Those were, of course, Hermione's things, but he knew they had no business being here. She'd never made it this far when he'd caught up with her the other night. More mystical stuff, then.

“So it is my wand,” she answered. “I felt something familiar from over there.”

“But how?”

Hermione laughed a pearly laugh that echoed across the pond. “Magic, Harry.”

“That's not funny.”

“No, but it's nonetheless real. I can't explain it either; I really can't.”

He looked around. “Now that's a neat trick, but… was that it? I almost believed there would be a monster here to fight or something.” The atmosphere seemed to thicken as he voiced his thoughts. “There is something about this place that makes my skin crawl.”

Hermione turned to him, and her eyes were larger than before. “This place is untouched, Harry. But it reflects everything we carry with us.”

He didn't like the sound of that. “So what, the creepy feeling I have right now, that's me? Am I the monster?”

“No.” She motioned for him to come closer. “You're not a monster, Harry, but… you carry one with you.” Her eyes turned to his scar. “Take off your shoes.”

Harry was inclined to ask her what for but suppressed the impulse. She knew what she was doing, what they were doing. Asking Hermione Granger if she was sure of something she'd just said was a waste of breath even on her bad days, because she'd be the first to voice all concerns she had herself. Without breaking eye contact, he slipped out of his worn sneakers and socks and kicked them to the side. Following his gut, he also took off his robes.

“Like this?” He was curious about what she had in mind, but he suspected that she would ask him to wade into the pond.

“Draw your wand.”

He did as she asked.

She put her hand on his chest again and came so close he could feel her hips and her breasts against him. Slightly overwhelmed, he just stared as she stood up on her tiptoes and put a featherlight kiss on the edge of his mouth. “Believe in yourself, Harry,” she whispered.

And before he could answer or follow the impulse to keep her close and kiss her back, Hermione pushed him into the water with surprising force. The darkness swallowed him, and Harry felt himself sink into its depths as if the pond didn't have a bottom at all. As he thrashed around to regain his orientation and swim back to the surface, Harry felt his control slip again — his senses went into overdrive, and his mind was unable to keep up.

White pain erupted behind his eyes, and he screamed underwater, swallowing cold water in the process.

His immediate need for air allowed Harry to fight the agony — enough to keep thrashing around, at least, so as not to sink even further into the surreal depths. In the back of his panicked mind, Hermione's voice tried to calm him down, but he couldn't stop to listen to her, couldn't stop hurting.

Then Harry noticed that he was bleeding from his head.

Only it wasn't blood that darkened the black waters around him even further; it was an oily, inky substance that looked like a corrupted version of old memories watched in a Pensieve. It bled from his forehead, and Harry believed his scar to be the origin of all the pain he was feeling right now.

But he still needed air, immediately.

Harry fought through the black substance, which seemed to congeal into a cloud or something, and managed to get a bit closer to the surface. His lungs felt as if they would explode any second, and his vision became blurry as he teetered dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness.

Hermione's voice came up in his mind again, and this time, even though he moved frantically, he found the capacity to listen.

“Believe in yourself, Harry.”

Her lips touching his… almost.

He couldn't just drown here; he had things to do and a Guide to kiss back.

With a final desperate effort, Harry managed to break through the surface and take a breath of air…

… and found himself standing up to his hips in the shallow pond.

Taking deep breaths of air, he turned to see Hermione's silhouette on the bank. His Cloak of Invisibility shimmered like liquid silver around her and didn't hide her features at all. Her face appeared serene, but her eyes were full of worry as she stared at him, wordlessly.

She reminded Harry of an old painting of the Lady of the Lake he'd seen years ago.

Suddenly, his throbbing head was assaulted by a loud noise as something broke out of the water just to his left side.

As he turned around, Harry saw…

… himself.

His mirror image didn't cough, though, and it didn't look as if it was hurting either. Its eyes were the color of the icky substance he'd seen underwater, and Harry instinctively touched his forehead. The scar was still there, but it felt like an open wound, and he saw that his fingers were now smeared with blood and more of the tar-like stuff.

Despite his pain and confusion, Harry let his instincts guide him and raised his wand that he'd been holding this entire time.

The other Harry mirrored his movements and regarded him with those unnerving black eyes.

There was no heartbeat, no body heat, or any other sign that this… thing was alive, except it moved as if it was.

“Who are you?”

“That is a stupid question.” The voice sounded almost like him, but Harry heard echoes of Voldemort's laughter underneath it. It was a voice devoid of fear, but also of warmth or happiness.

Harry wiped a few drops of water from his eyes and tried to read the other… thing.

This felt like another mystical challenge, albeit more visceral. Unlike the dreamlike encounter with that shadowy opponent in the small clearing before, Harry felt as if the threat was much more immediate. And imminent. This wasn't something where he'd turn around and simply see the meaning of it all. No, this would be painful.

He'd even known that without any Sentinel sense to guide him.

“You or me, then,” he said.

“Quite.” His dark mirror grinned evilly, and Harry almost shuddered at the emptiness behind the expression. “You're still stupid.”

“And you're childish.” He didn't feel like taking shit from a mystical doppelganger, no matter how creepy it looked.

They slowly circled each other in the pond while Hermione continued to stand vigil at the edge of the water.

“I'm going to take her while you're drowning,” the thing spat. 

Harry tried to swallow his anger. “No, you won't.”

“Who's going to stop me — you?" Dark Harry laughed again. “Please.”

“You're just a reflection. Without me, you wouldn't exist.”

The thing stopped smirking. “And you're just repeating her words. Who's the reflection now?”

Harry grimaced. “You sound like an old memory I once killed.”

“That version of Tom Riddle was nothing but a pompous ass. Like you.”

They continued to circle each other, wands ready to fire but unwilling to do so lest the other one use the opening to retaliate. Harry suspected that his mirror image knew all the spells he did, maybe even more. It wasn't as if he was looking at a version of Voldemort shaped like the Boy-Who-Lived, but rather a possibility of what he might look like if the scar had corrupted him, made him like… that.

No wonder Hermione had flinched away; this other Harry gave him the creeps as well.

He also knew he'd spoken true that only one of them would leave this pond alive.

It wasn't really a question at this point.

As if it would read his thoughts, the thing in front of him narrowed its eyes. Harry saw the tip of its wand — a perfect mirror of his wand — move ever so slightly for a nonverbal casting.

“No,” he said as he threw up a wandless and nonverbal Protego, feinted a dodge to the right, and stepped left.

His opponent fired a purple hex into the water to Harry's side and also changed position.

They exchanged a few quick spells in rapid succession, but the thing had also cast a Protego now, and they were both equally adept at evading being hit. The surrounding water didn't help, though.

But then one of his feet caught on a root or something on the bottom of the pond, and Harry stumbled.

His opponent didn't hesitate. “Expelliarmus!” Harry felt his stomach drop as his wand flew away across the pond, and the adrenaline pushed his senses to their limit. He saw the thing already taking aim to finish him off — there wouldn't be any grand speeches to delay the inevitable. 

Those black eyes flickered toward Hermione for a split second, and Harry's stomach churned even more.

No way would he let that thing get out of the water and near her, no way.

Unable to cast anything even remotely impressive without a wand, Harry did the only thing left to him and flung himself at his dark mirror.

Any lingering doubts about the materiality of his opponent were smashed when he hit a solid body and felt his raised fist being deflected by a rather strong hand before they both fell into the dark waters.

Harry didn't hold back anything this time. He scrambled like a wildcat as he tried to subdue the thing and prevent it from pointing its wand at him to cast something deadly. He didn't know up from down anymore as they both struggled for dominance. The thing adapted immediately, though, and gave as good as it got. Harry managed to get in a chokehold but received sharp punches in his stomach and genitals.

Despite the pain, he held on, afraid that if he slipped just for a second, the thing would escape and finish him off.

Since he hadn't paid any attention to where the pond's surface or bottom was right now, he was quite surprised when they came out of the water again during their chaotic fighting. Unfortunately, in that moment he let go just enough to allow the thing to slip out from his hold.

A vicious blow to his head sent Harry flying into the water again, and then inhumanly strong hands grabbed his throat to strangle him.

But he wasn't done fighting yet.

As he felt panic in his chest from being pressed underwater, Harry yanked his opponent's legs to the side with one foot and turned around at the same time, so they'd switch positions.

His mirror image was still choking him, but now Harry returned the favor and held his evil twin underwater.

He saw how the black eyes began leaking into the surrounding water.

The skin on his forehead ached and pulsed.

Harry felt how the lack of oxygen put him on the edge of falling unconscious again, but he didn't care. He'd kill this thing, unmake it, and rid the world of its existence, even if it'd be the last thing he ever did. Nothing mattered more to him in this moment, because it meant Hermione would be saved. His throat hurt so much he wanted to vomit, but he suppressed that urge as well because it would mean his death right now. If he needed to die, it would be after extinguishing this evil presence once and for all.

He remembered Hermione's vote of confidence.

The feeling of her lips.

Her scent.

He choked the thing harder as the Sentinel inside him roared in defiance. Whatever residual essence Voldemort had left in his forehead, Harry would exorcise it right now. Focusing on the panicking face of his dark mirror underwater, Harry increased the pressure of his hold.

The hands around his neck let go as the thing tried to escape. It probably didn't even need air to breathe, but, being a mirror of Harry, it might not have a say in how its body reacted in this situation.

He wanted to project his anger and fear of Voldemort, years of neglect and abuse, and all the terrible things in his life onto his dark mirror, but Harry held back. Those were the very things his opponent was made of and thrived off. As he choked the unlife out of his opponent, he thought of Hermione instead. He wasn't doing this for the thrill, or to feel good about vanquishing his foe — he was doing it out of love for her.

The thing began to scream underwater, but instead of air bubbles, it vomited more of the oily black substance.

Harry's scar felt as if someone was pushing a hot iron into his skull, but he still didn't stop.

The waters around him churned as the thing threw its arms and legs around in a blind panic, and something was also screaming in the distance, a keening sound that made Harry's ears pop.

And then…

… the frantic motions stopped, and with it all the noise.

Harry kept his hands around the thing's unmoving throat as he gasped for air. His larynx hurt so strongly he felt tears on his face, but it didn't matter.

After what felt like a small eternity, he let go.

The body of the Harry-shaped thing floated in the water, partially concealed by the inky substance.

As he stared at it, Harry noted that it was dissolving. That didn't come as a real surprise to him, but it was still a strange thing to behold. He saw his own dead face disappear in a dark cloud of fading… nothingness. Even the oily patches on the pond's surface slowly vanished in front of his eyes.

Satisfied that the thing really wouldn't come back, he finally turned back to Hermione.

She was still standing at the bank, but her fidgeting hands betrayed her nervousness.

Unable to resist her pull, Harry waded in her direction.

But his muscles screamed from exhaustion, and he was still fighting to breathe again, so he stumbled and staggered. He fell to his knees right in front of her, splashing muddy water everywhere.

“Hermione,” he gasped. “I… “

She came up to him, into the water, and hugged him to her chest. “Harry.”

He let her hold him, being too weak to return the gesture. Her warm and steady heartbeat from underneath the Cloak of Invisibility promised safety and love, and Harry felt himself crying from relief. “My scar…” he whispered.

In response, Hermione moved his hair to the side and ran her fingers carefully above his forehead. There was no blood or oily substance, just a slight ridge. It felt smaller now, unimportant — until she pressed her lips to it. “You are yourself again, Harry, in body and mind.” She kissed his head again. “Whatever was inside you, it's gone.”

“So… now… I'm a full Sentinel?” Harry felt so weak right now he might've fallen asleep in the pond if she hadn't been there.

“You have been this entire time; you just had to… wake up.”

Harry coughed into the cloak and tried to calm himself by breathing her in. “But I feel like death warmed over,” he said. “There is no difference.”
 
Hermione knelt down and held his head with both of her hands, but the true anchor was her eyes, vulnerable and full of love. “Then you haven't woken up yet, Harry,” she said. “Do you want my help?”

He nodded weakly.

He wanted her, all of her, forever. 

She smiled.

Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

Having completely forgotten both about the book she'd dropped and the wine spilled across paper and clothes, Aurora Sinistra stared at her bleeding hand. She'd cut herself when — out of nowhere — she'd flinched hard enough to shatter the glass.

The pain, although the cut wasn't deep, was exquisite and… exhilarating. Aurora had never felt so alive, never felt so connected to… everything around her. She stared at her bleeding palm, noting tiny irregularities on her skin and how the red of the wine mixed with her blood to create a rich crimson color that she could almost drown in.

And why, by the bloody Founders, was she thinking about Mister Potter of all people just now?

Aurora shook her head and continued to stare at her hand.

She was so alive!

Susan awoke with a gasp and blindly thrashed around in her bed as if she was drowning. Choking and coughing, she came to her senses and noticed that she wasn't, in fact, underwater but in the safety of her dorm room. By some miracle, Hannah was still asleep, and Susan listened to her friend's quiet breaths in the darkness.

As intense as her dream had been, it was already slipping… all she remembered was water… and Harry.

In her heart, she knew that this wasn't random, and it wasn't something she should ignore.

Something was calling, and Susan was inclined to answer.

She just didn't know how.

She'd dreamed of being underwater before, but Sally-Anne had never felt so sad… as if something was missing, something that was part of her as much as her skin or her eyes. Lying in her bed, she cried quietly and let herself be completely suffused by a deep melancholy. It felt like one of those things her dad had told her to never feel ashamed of, things that one should cry over and not bury inside.

The other thing Sally-Anne couldn't make sense of, though, was… Harry Potter.

He'd been in water, half-naked and not half-bad looking, even though it hadn't been one of those dreams. And she wasn't smitten with Harry or anything — Luna Lovegood was the one she kept fantasizing about.

So, what did it mean?

When Hugo Mattingley awoke, already panicking because he thought he was being held underwater, he breathed in so hard the book lying on his face — he really should stop doing that when falling asleep — sealed his lips and made him choke.

It fell off as he rolled around, desperately trying to breathe, just breathe, but the shock stayed with him, and Hugo panted on his bed as his heart raced and he tried to reconcile his fading dream with reality.

He always feared the dreams where he fell down, drowned, or burned to ash.

It had never felt so visceral, though… Hugo could almost taste the waters that had swallowed him — a pond, he was sure.

Why had Hermione Granger been there, though? With Harry Potter? Not that he was surprised by the pairing, but he'd never dreamed of those two people before.

Trying to ignore his racing mind, the young Ravenclaw punched his pillow back into shape and tried to sleep again.

Since she hated crying or any other form of weakness, Amber Reynard-Richardson pressed her palms so hard into her eyes that she saw white spots. The tears didn't stop, though, and Amber was beginning to panic.

The nightmare hadn't been so bad — sure, being underwater literally sucked when one wanted to breathe, but she'd immediately recognized it being a dream, causing the need for air to just stop.

All the other things, though… a half-naked Harry Potter and someone pushing him into those dark waters… what was that about? She didn't even like him! Pansy had told her all about the Boy-Who-Lived, so she wouldn't get close to that Gryffindor, thank you very much.

Amber couldn't help but notice that she was still crying and didn't know why.

Albus stared at the ceiling of his private chambers and tried to make sense of his dreams or the fact that he felt so sad he wanted to cry.

Normally, he didn't have any problem controlling his dreamscapes and had used his sleeping hours for many years to ponder various problems or work on magical projects.

Tonight, though, he'd been swallowed by chaotic images — among them Harry and Miss Granger and a small pond in what appeared to be the Forbidden Forest. Albus had walked the forest extensively during his time at Hogwarts, and he'd never encountered such a body of water, not in walking distance from the castle.

Yet he didn't believe those images to be random, but related to actual events. Maybe Harry and his Guide were outside again or had been earlier, just like the other day…

Whatever it was they'd been looking for there, Albus knew in his bones that it was already over by now.

Hopefully, Voldemort hadn't been a silent spectator to the whole thing, thanks to Harry's scar.

Thinking about his sister and his family, the old man randomly noticed that his sadness had a different quality from his usual regrets as well. It felt as if he'd lost something, or someone, just now. The pain was fresh and sharp.

Had he overlooked something?

Or rather someone?

Chapter Text

As he approached Hogwarts Castle in the darkness, Harry felt vulnerable and exposed. The flickering lights that illuminated dozens of windows lacked any warmth and felt like the small evil eyes of an impossibly large… thing that was waiting for him. He didn't understand why he was even going there other than knowing he was supposed to. It also had something to do with water, he knew, somehow.

Suddenly he found himself near the landing stage, down at the lake. Three boats were floating in the black waters, their lanterns reflecting thousandfold on the rough surface. When he noticed that he was sitting in one of the boats, Harry became half-aware of the strange dream logic of his impressions, but the thought came and went without him being able to hold on to it.

A gust of wind rocked the boats, and he instinctively grabbed the gunwale on both sides to stabilize himself. Immediately, he felt numerous imperfections under his fingers where generations of Hogwarts students had left their marks in the boat’s wood. He could almost hear them, sitting here with him, laughing and talking excitedly about going to Hogwarts… 

Within the blink of an eye, Harry found himself in the Great Hall, surrounded by noisy first-years and unable to do anything but let himself be swept inside. The yelling and the smells made him dizzy, and he fought to keep his focus, only to distractedly notice that there were far too many children around him; no way the new year had this many students…

Someone was missing, though.

Harry felt his focus slip and touched a nearby wall, fearing he might fall unconscious as thousands of blabbing kids rushed into the castle, unaware of his plight. He tried to concentrate on the smooth, cool stone underneath his fingertips, the slight wear of centuries of people occasionally brushing over the surface as readable to him as the Prophet’s headline. He took a deep breath and forced his mind to turn the impressions of sweat, damp clothes, detergent, hair, and leather into something else. Something more natural.

It all came together in one perfect moment. Harry opened his eyes, knowing what he’d see but unable to perform the motion as if he were part of a ritual. His hand still on the ancient stone wall, he turned to the opposite side of the corridor, ignoring the ongoing stream of babbling first-years. There was an empty spot in front of the opposite wall. None of the children stepped onto it; they went around it as if something or someone invisible was blocking their path the same way Harry did on this side.

His nose caught a faint scent of something sweet and earthy, although he probably just imagined it because how would he ever smell that over the ongoing rush of first-years… Harry knew that scent.

Someone was indeed missing.

Hermione.

She should be with him here.

His elation was immediately tempered by a renewed feeling of vulnerability. Hogwarts wasn’t safe; it was… occupied by something anathema to him, Harry knew instinctively. Anathema to her as well. And it was somewhere behind him!

As he whirled around, all the children stopped yelling and dissolved into ash and dust that was quickly swept away by a supernatural wind Harry couldn’t feel on his skin. He watched as the hall towards the castle’s exit stretched out in front of him like in a horror film, a few dozen steps elongating and twisting themselves into several hundred yards.

As the last specks of dust vanished into thin air and he was all alone, Harry decided to let go of the wall. Hogwarts itself wasn’t evil, he knew, but it had little say in who or what decided to make themselves at home here.

He made one step towards the great doors, knowing he needed to run outside to find Hermione, knowing he needed to get there quickly because something evil was after her, and the corridor almost doubled its length. Harry tried to ignore the surreal sense of doom that came over him and focused his formidable senses on the doors themselves. He could still see them in the distance as if they were right in front of him, hear the wood creaking ever so silently as the wind outside pushed against them, and feel the ancient spells on them.

Harry knew these doors could draw them blindfolded, down to the latest scratch on the left door’s surface where Mr. Filch had banged his lantern against the wood the other day. He knew exactly what it felt like to stand close to them, one hand almost touching one of the brass rings to pull a door open. There would be a tiny draft from behind and an echo of his breath from the left because of the tiny alcove in the wall.

This was his home, more than any other place in the world, evil occupants or not.

Harry decided that he would use the stupid dream logic of this current experience, or whatever this was, to his benefit. If he knew a spot in the castle this well, wasn’t that the same as being there in person? What did it matter how long a corridor was if he didn’t need to cross it at all? Focusing on the great doors so hard that his eyes began to water, he raised his right arm and made another step, and…

… touched the right door. It was good that he did, since a feeling of vertigo came over him when he realized that he had essentially apparated inside Hogwarts right now.

Hermione’s scent brought him back to the here and now, and Harry pulled the door open with as much force as he could muster.

Behind it, the owlery opened up to him, impossibly large and shrouded in shadows that even his supernatural sight couldn’t pierce.

Harry saw wet footprints on the floor and then noticed Hermione in the middle of the tower, running away from him. She somehow didn’t gain any ground, though, no matter how hard she tried. Her shoes were missing, and he knew she wasn’t carrying her wand.

Then, stupidly, he realized she wasn’t running away from him but from the dark shape that moved between them! How hadn’t he seen it before? Harry began to run, raising his wand…
A bright flash, a sickly green light that he knew in his bones, knew better than he even knew Hogwarts.

“Noooo!” Harry yelled.

His voice echoed all around him as he suddenly found himself somewhere on the Grand Staircase. Where was Hermione? He had to save her!

Just as he was about to take the first step down, having forgotten all about his recent dream logic exploit, Harry saw Snape coming up the stairs with a bleeding nose, and his plan to get to Hermione drowned in a strange feeling of déjà-vu… hadn’t he seen the greasy git just like that before? Just when and where? The memory was tantalizingly close, but it remained barely unreachable.

Then, he caught a whiff of Hermione on Snape, and something else as well.

Fear.

His and… hers.

Finally, understanding dawned on Harry, and he distantly noticed that he was raising his wand again as the hated Head of House Slytherin passed him by…

Never again.

He’d paid more than enough for the absolution of this man that Dumbledore had doled out so easily. Snape had done something to Hermione, threatened her…

The obliviation!

Harry watched spellfire manifest at the tip of his wand, even though he hadn’t consciously cast a spell…

Someone slapped his face, and Harry gasped for air.

“Harry, for Merlin’s sake, stop!” Ron’s voice, deep from being half-asleep and annoyed.

“Wha… where is Her… Ron?” He sat up, trying to make sense of the tangled mess of impressions and thoughts in his mind. “I’m… “

“You’re loud as fuck, is what you are.” Ron didn’t wait for an answer and stomped back to his bed. “Some of us would like to sleep. If you’re having nightmares like that, why don’t you go to the Hospital Wing again?” The redhead punched his pillow into shape and turned away from Harry. “Or cast a Silencing Charm,” he added venomously.

Looking around in the gloomy dormitory, Harry noticed that Dean was awake, too.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he tried to shake himself free of his nightmare.

“S’okay, Harry,” Dean whispered. “Where have you been?”

“I… was outside.”

“People have been looking.”

“People also like to sleep!” Ron snapped from his bed.

Dean and Harry exchanged a glance in the darkness, even though the former probably couldn't see anything.

Harry swallowed an angry reply and rubbed his face.

He knew it’d been nothing but a bad dream, that he was indeed back in Gryffindor Tower, same as Hermione. Still, Harry’s mind was unable to form a coherent line of recent events. Everything was superimposed by nightmare-vision of twisting corridors and a churning fear and anger in his stomach, and Harry genuinely didn’t know what parts of the images his memories conjured up right now were genuine.

That strange trip into the Forbidden Forest?

Oh, that happened. He carefully felt for his scar, noticing with great relief that it was nothing but a faint impression underneath his fingers. At the same time, he recognized that even in his befuddled state, his mind was clearer than before. There was something of an empty spot inside his skull, where a particular sort of fear and pain had been situated ever since he’d been one year old.

Had he really drowned his dark side in a mysterious pond?

Noting that he could still smell duckweed underneath his fingernails, Harry decided to go with a yes. Compared to what he’d experienced in prior years, did he really have reason to feel exasperated?

Thinking about Hermione’s guidance throughout the bizarre experience — she was his Guide! - made Harry chuckle. If he’d ever tell her about the empty spot inside his skull, he’d be setting himself up for some ribbing. Or lots of homework to fill the freshly liberated mental real estate with useful stuff.

Probably both, knowing how Hermione felt about this sort of stuff.

Harry noticed that his hand had moved down to his lips as he thought about her and randomly thought that he should’ve remembered the kiss earlier. It’d been such a strange and wonderful thing to do, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

How was he supposed to act tomorrow and all the days after that? Were they together now, boyfriend and girlfriend? Holding hands, blushing all the time, and exchanging love-struck glances to the annoyance of everyone around them?

Maybe?

Hermione had kissed him. How was that even… real?

Strangely, Harry wasn’t bothered by the thought of being emotionally intimate with Hermione. They’d been close for years, and recent events had already brought them closer to each apart from any other ordeal in years prior had. He knew he wasn’t good with emotions, if maybe a bit better than a couple of weeks ago? But Harry felt he needn’t be worried about being close to her or that she wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings; it was just… all the other stuff, like holding hands.

Even if all these things were less important than knowing what he — what they both — felt inside, Harry knew that acting his part towards the rest of Hogwarts wasn’t completely optional. Partly because he didn’t want Hermione to feel awkward around him, she deserved much better than that.

But if he was honest with himself, Harry wanted to experience this boyfriend thing for himself. For the longest time, he’d imagined Ginny being the girl he’d end up with, hopefully, eventually. That line of thought felt very silly now when he remembered her visiting him in the Hospital Wing. He still liked her, very much, but there was something of a void between them that no amount of sexual fantasies could fill.

Hermione knew him inside out. And even though she was so highly intelligent, she’d decided to be almost stupidly loyal and apparently not even once considered abandoning him — a scarred freak that’d crawled out of a cupboard to attract all the evils the Wizarding World had to offer. No, she’d stayed with him, even during that thrice-damned tournament…

And now she was his Guide, bound to him in ways that surpassed mere friendship or physical attraction by a mile. Even knowing as little about the Sentinel-Guide bond as they did, Harry felt as if, for once, fate had thrown him a bone.

After all, his Guide could’ve been Pansy Parkinson.

Harry shuddered, but the thought remained and then evolved. Were there others like him, like Hermione? Even if what they were going through was rare, books had been written about it. Just how rare was a Sentinel then? Or a Guide? Was one a one-in-a-million chance, and the other much more prevalent?

Maybe there were other students in Hogwarts right now who had the potential. Was there a way to find out? Maybe if he paid attention in the Great Hall, he might notice something…

Harry’s reverie was interrupted by Ron’s snoring, and he noted that Dean was asleep again, too.

Feeling restless, he glanced at his bedside clock and saw that it was still three hours until breakfast.

With a heavy sigh, Harry stood up. He wouldn’t sleep another minute tonight. Better to get up early and make plans for… whatever was next.

As he came out of the shower and grabbed a towel, trying to breathe through his mouth because the soap’s scent was biting his nose, Harry heard something outside, in the Common Room. Voices.

That one was Ginny, and… was that Susan Bones? And Hannah?

Harry glanced at the nearby clock, but it was still way early. What were the girls up to at this hour? Intrigued, he dried himself and found some acceptable clothes in his trunk. It was Sunday, after all, so nobody would mind if he looked a bit crumpled.

Over Ron’s and Neville’s snores, he listened to the furious whispers down below and was half-amused and half-annoyed that he couldn’t make out enough to get a clear sense of what the trio was planning. Something about going outside and looking for someone?

Oh, they were looking for him! And Hermione?

Just what for?

Harry closed his trunk and exited the dormitory.

He’d been right — he noticed three heartbeats and three different scents from below. That summer smell was Ginny, and the herbal scent was unmistakably Susan’s. Oh, and Hannah was very anxious or excited to be here; he could smell her… Harry harrumphed to break his focus because he still didn’t want to know things like that about his friends and fellow students.

“Harry!” Ginny was looking up from where the girls were sitting. “There you are! Come down here, we need to talk to you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with faux seriousness and went down the stairs, noting that Hannah was furiously blushing and that Susan had grabbed her friend’s hand. What was with those two?

Ginny stood up as he arrived at the first floor. “Where in Merlin’s name have you been, Harry? We’ve been looking all over the place.”

“Well, here I am.” He nodded. “Hey Susan, Hannah. What’s up?”

The trio exchanged glances, and Harry imagined how many times Hermione, Ron, and he had acted like that. He felt a pang of guilt, or maybe loss, and tried to push it aside.
Susan broke eye contact with the others and focused on him. She blew a strand of hair from her face but didn’t say anything.

“Err… is everything all right?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“Harry.” Susan took a deep breath. “What in the Nine Hells happened in the Forbidden Forest, and why do I have dreams about you and Hermione being in danger?”

“Susan!” Hannah gasped. “We said…”

Harry felt his curiosity grow and remembered his thoughts from before about other people in Hogwarts being in the same boat as Hermione and himself.

“That was bollocks. If we don’t come clean now, we might as well not have run after them in the first place.” Susan shook her head. “I’ll tell Neville myself.”

“Neville?” Harry looked between the three girls, cursing his lack of insight. Being able to listen to heartbeats or read micro-expressions on faces were powerful abilities in any conversation, but they didn’t allow him to read minds.

“It’s a long story,” Ginny sighed.

“Okay… ?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Harry, please sit.”

He did as she asked, keeping his mouth shut.

“Can you please explain to me, to us, what is going on? Did you guys go to the Forbidden Forest?” Susan rubbed her neck, unconsciously mirroring Harry’s trademark gesture of nervousness. “And why do I feel so… exposed?”

Harry couldn’t help but stare at her. He let go of his focus, allowing the sensations of the room to overwhelm him, expecting a headache as his mind tried to catalogize the entirety of the three girls in front of him. He was glad he’d decided to forgo casting Quietus Animus on himself before, even if that meant imminent discomfort.

Except no headache came.

His senses were drawn to Susan, her entire being, and Harry felt how she held his outpouring senses, his very magic, similar to what Hermione had done since his strange awakening. It was just a smidgen of Hermione’s ability at work here, but notable to him all the same.

Realization dawned on Harry.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, staring at the Hufflepuff girl. “We need to raise Hermione right now.”

Severus Snape awoke with a dry throat and cold sweat on his skin. Fumbling blindly in the dark, he tried and failed to make a light as he attempted to shake off the nightmare.

It hadn’t been torture by Voldemort, or finding Lily’s corpse, for once.

No, he’d dreamt of… Harry Potter.

After he finally managed to light the candle on his bedstand, the Slytherin clenched his hands into fists and tried to pry his mind from the grips of terror back into the safe routines of Occlumency. It was a good trick to get a hold of oneself after an ordeal, even when it was something as mundane as a nightmare.

Over the years, Severus had become an expert in the daily use of Occlumency.

Tonight, though, his skills failed him, and he felt anger and frustration rise within him, even though he was still slightly shaking from the terror of… Potter hunting him?

The very idea was laughable.

Yet, in the loneliness of his room, Severus couldn’t help but admit that, ridiculous as it was, the idea of Potter running after him through some empty corridors felt more terrifying than anything he’d experienced in the past sixteen years.

He grunted loudly to exorcize his train of thought.

It didn’t help.

Potter’s vividly green eyes were staring at him from seemingly everywhere, all righteous fury and murderous intent. They mirrored the shame that Severus felt for attacking Granger. He didn’t like the girl much, but he’d known that trying to obliviate her was crossing some line.

And that was before Albus had divulged that the bushy-haired Gryffindor might be Potter’s bleeding Guide!

His shame was laughable compared to what he’d done over the years in pretend service to Voldemort, but still. He’d never attacked a student like that before, and no amount of mental posturing would make Severus believe his justifications.

And no matter how much he belittled Potter, if the boy ever found out…

There was something about Harry Potter that he loathed, and it wasn’t the boy’s lack of cunning and skill, or his father. No, it was the knowledge that Albus and he had trapped themselves into some sort of insane reactive scheme a long time ago that never saw them winning anything of value. Instead, they’d just learned to deal with one loss after another.

Except now Harry had awoken as a Sentinel of all things, probably to piss all over years of painfully endured defeats for the so-called greater good. All assumed rules and carefully laid plans were null and void. Or at least useless until someone found out what exactly a Sentinel was and wasn’t and how it could be incorporated into ongoing schemes.

That was if Harry didn’t kill Severus first.

If he went feral, as the term went in this obscure field of study, then no amount of well-reasoned arguments would stop him. At that point, it would be him or Severus, period. To make matters worse, if the damned boy managed to mark Hogwarts as his territory — which he might’ve already done, albeit unconsciously — then all bets were off. From what little Severus knew, a Sentinel on his home turf was an even more terrifying foe because standard laws of magic didn’t apply in a situation like that, not reliably.

Potter might be able to sniff out his dark deeds, quite literally.

And if the attempted obliviation of Granger was made public, even Albus might be unable to shelter him any longer. No, the old man would probably find himself suddenly at odds with the castle itself…

Severus suddenly screamed as his mind was assaulted by blinding energy. There was a vague image of Potter leveling his wand at him, somewhere on the Grand Staircase, and then…

Pain.

Unbearable pain that felt entirely different from the Cruciatus Curse and yet hurt much like the same. The Slytherin clasped his head as he screamed into his mattress, hoping for a quick end.

Eventually, he found himself on the floor, drenched in urine and sweat.

His hands and feet didn’t hurt in phantom pains like after a Cruciatus, Severus noted absentmindedly as he tried to raise himself and reached for his wand. It was more like his core, his very essence, had received a thorough thrashing.

With short breaths, Severus eventually managed to get up and cleaned himself with a grimace and a flick of his wand. Founders help him. What was going on? He felt as weak as a kitten.

Potter’s eyes still seemed to stare at him from the dark corners of the room, but Severus had long learned to act in the face of terror and managed not to lose control of his limbs again.

Slowly, he staggered to his potions cabinet.

It didn’t open.

Both terrified and fascinated, he tried again and managed to open one of the cabin doors — almost as if the piece of furniture was resisting him.

Severus felt distinctively unwelcome in his room all of a sudden.

It wasn’t just Potter’s eyes all around him… the very room seemed to disapprove of him. Angles around him suddenly were too sharp or too twisted to make any sense. His bed would swallow him, should he lie down again; the former Potions Master was sure of it. He quickly grabbed two vials from the cabinet. As he turned away, the opened door slammed shut so hard something inside broke with an audible crack.

Severus closed his eyes and downed one of his potions, throwing the empty vial away.

He had to get out of here, fast.

If he was right, Potter was in the process of claiming Hogwarts. And even if the boy didn’t know yet what Severus had done, he’d soon learn of it from the castle’s very walls.

There was just one good thing about all of this, Severus thought as he picked up fresh robes from an open basket near his bed.

Potter was back in Hogwarts.

They hadn’t found him in the evening, although not for a lack of trying, but Severus felt it as clear as he felt the metaphysical bruises on his inner self.

Potter was back in Hogwarts, and they had to act quickly now.

He managed to pry open his room’s door after the third try and began running up the stairs towards the Headmaster’s Office.

Harry watched Ginny race up the stairs to wake Hermione, his mind abuzz.

The implications of Susan being a potential Guide… where in Merlin’s name would they even begin to dissect that? And was there anyone they could ask for help?

“Harry, are you okay?” Hannah’s voice was barely more than a whisper, and Harry shut down his olfactory senses that told him about her crush on him. It wasn’t fair to know that, to both of them. For once he’d prefer to remain oblivious.

Part of it was that he felt guilty for not reciprocating Hannah’s interest. She was nice and pretty, and before all this Sentinel stuff, he probably would’ve tried and then bungled any attempt to become romantically involved — even without his former interest in Ginny. But now?

There was only one woman on his mind, and she was a member of House Gryffindor.

It made him feel like shit, though, knowing all of this, being aware of both his emotional state and Hannah’s reaction to his very presence.

He sighed. “I’m fine… I think. No, that’s a lie, obviously, but… I don’t know; for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not completely overwhelmed.” He gave Hannah a slight grin to assure her of his well-being. “There’s some clarity in all this madness, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?” The blonde blushed again under his scrutiny, but for once she didn’t shy away.

Harry noted that Susan was observing him with keen interest. She was leaning into him, probably because she felt his Sentinel ability providing some sort of anchor for her own latent abilities.

“Without going too much into detail before Hermione is here to correct me, I believe I’ve finally… awoken.” He grimaced, expecting the Hufflepuffs to snort at his exclamation, but they nodded as if he’d shared a great piece of wisdom. “Huh,” Harry said. “That wasn’t what I expected, to be honest.”

“Trust me, we had lots of conversation beforehand.” Susan looked down at her hands and interlocked her fingers. “Lots of conversation.”

“And dreams,” Hannah added.

“You saw us?” Harry tried to ignore the apparent discomfort that Hannah’s comment had brought and soldiered on. “I mean, you saw Hermione and me in the Forbidden Forest?”

Susan nodded. “Yeah…”

“What did you see?”

The redhead stared at her fingers. “A pond,” she eventually said. “Somewhere deep in the woods, I think. You were both there, at least… for a time. It’s weird.”

“It doesn’t matter; every bit helps,” Harry offered.

Susan nodded. “You were… I don’t know, a hunter or something? It sounds so ridiculous.”

“It’s okay, Susan.” Hannah scooted over to her friend and put an arm around her. “He’ll understand.”

Harry remained silent, trying to read the Hufflepuff’s body language. They were close, those two; that much was apparent. He’d known that on some level, but never before had he really observed Hannah and Susan like this, not even in the DA.

Susan was tougher on the outside, more prone to action, he thought. Hannah was more emotional, but no weaker for it, quite the opposite. What an interesting dynamic.

“I saw you hunting something.,. or someone… I get the feeling it was very dangerous,” Susan continued. “And you were in the pond with Hermione. I saw you…” She stopped, now blushing for the first time.

“Well, if you went for a swim…” Hannah looked at Harry, then down his body.

He blinked a few times. “What?”

Hannah looked down as well. “She saw you naked,” she mumbled.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Wait, what? Hold on now. Nobody was naked!”

Both girls looked up at him.

“It’s the truth,” he said emphatically. “I was still wearing jeans and my shirt when I went in.”

“Which is a shame, now that I think about it,” a new voice added from somewhere above them.

Hermione.

Harry turned around to look at her coming down with Ginny in tow and took a deep breath.

There it was, her scent, that sweet and earthy note that was so uniquely Hermione’s…

… and suddenly he remembered.

His churning stomach.

Snape’s bleeding nose.

Her missing memories.

Something in the owlery.

The attempted obliviation.

His stupid dream had told him, had shown him, and he’d just forgotten when Ron had woken him?! That would never happen again, Harry swore to himself as he stood up, unable to stop himself.

“Hermione, I know what happened!”

She stopped a few steps above the first floor to stare at him. Ginny grabbed one of her hands but remained quiet.

“Snape! It was him!” Harry realized he’d drawn his wand. “He tried to obliviate you in the owlery!”

“What?” Susan stood up as well. “Are you serious?”

Hermione’s face grew ashen, but she nodded, hesitantly. “Oh no.”

Harry swallowed hard and looked at her, saw her forming a memory — she’d probably never clearly seen him, but her subconsciousness might’ve picked up enough clues to know what he knew.

“You’re right, Harry.” She touched her forehead with a slightly shaking hand, seeking comfort in Ginny’s grasp. “He tried to make me forget… not just my attempt to contact Emmet Ossinsky, but everything about… Sentinels. About you.”

“Why would he do that?” Hannah asked, almost timidly.

With some effort, Harry broke eye contact with Hermione and turned to the blonde. “Because he feels that I — that the both of us — are becoming a threat.”

“How so?” Susan shook her head. “I mean, what does all this dream stuff and your overloading senses have to do with the fight against Voldemort? Assuming that is what we’re talking about?”

“Because Harry isn’t a pawn anymore,” Hermione answered. “We don’t know yet what it all means, other than he’s a Sentinel and I’m his Guide and, together, we might be able to defend Harry from Voldemort better than before.”

Ginny gently guided Hermione down the stairs. “What is a Sentinel?” she asked. “And why is that something Snape doesn’t like?”

“I don’t particularly care for his reasoning right now,” Harry snapped. He knew she was asking the right sort of questions, but he couldn’t bottle his anger anymore.

He had to do something.

“I’m going to make him pay,” he whispered as his wand began to quiver. “Hermione, he will pay for what he did.”

“Harry, please don’t do…”

But whatever she wanted to say was drowned by the sudden gust of wind that swept through the Common Room, extinguished all lights, and opened the door to the castle with a bang. A few tiny motes of light floated in the darkness like embers, and they formed a line as they drifted out of the room, into the hallway outside.

Over the sound of five racing heartbeats, Harry noticed something else.

Snape was somewhere on the Grand Staircase.

He smelled fear.

Before he knew it, he was running out of the Common Room, following the motes of light. It was as if the castle itself was showing him the way.

“Harry?! Harry! Please stop!” Hermione’s voice made him aware of the increasing distance between the two of them, but he couldn’t stop.

Snape had attacked Hermione, and he wouldn’t stand for it.

Not just Hermione, his Guide.

His… girlfriend?

It was time for a reckoning.

All his supernatural senses focused on his quarry somewhere below him, and Harry jumped over the next balcony.

Chapter Text

“Albus, wake up! There’s been a fight in the Grand Staircase! Severus is wounded, and Harry Potter attacked him! Albus!”

The portrait of Hayward Fiddlesticks tried its level best to raise the sleeping headmaster, but it was to no avail. No matter how loud the pudgy wizard shouted from his canvas, egged on by a frantic Danica Strix, who’d crossed eleven portraits to arrive here with a warning — Albus Dumbledore continued to sleep like a stone.

Little did Hayward know about the charm the headmaster had cast on himself after waking up to an overwhelming sadness hours before. It wasn’t so much the loss of sleep that Albus had feared in the dead of night, but the things his ever-working mind might’ve shown him until sunrise.

There was only so much sorrow the old man could stomach, no matter how much it was caused by things he had or hadn’t done himself.

And so Albus missed — as he would discover much later — crucial hours on what would turn out to be a pivotal day in all Sentinel-related matters. This, he’d reflect upon in the future, would be his greatest folly ever since he'd cast aside his initial suspicions about one Tom Riddle.

“Albus, for Merlin’s sake, wake up!”

“It’s no use, Hayward.” Danica’s brushstroke turned frizzy for a second as she became overwhelmed by anxiety. “Maybe he’s been hit with a curse.”

“Come on! By whom?” Hayward threw his arms up and winced as he hit the left side of his frame. Somehow he could never exit the painting in that direction.

The woman shrugged. “The Dark Lord acts in mysterious ways.”

“Stop quoting old Muggle literature, my dear; it’s unbecoming.” Phineas Black entered Hayward’s portrait frame from the right side and sneered at his audience. “Now what is going on here, and why haven’t I already been informed of whatever it is?”

Minerva was happy to be woken from her dreams, since they’d been about the family she’d lost long ago. Not exactly nightmare material, but even after all those years it broke her heart anew every time she remembered them. As she hurried to the door, she quickly dried her tears and cast a wordless charm to clean up her face. It just wouldn't do to have colleagues or students see her in such a vulnerable state.

As she grabbed the doorknob, the old Gryffindor had an inkling she’d see either Harry or Hermione on the other side.

She was right.

“I apologize for waking you like this, Professor McGonagall, but there’s an emergency,” Hermione prattled as soon as the door opened.

“Miss Granger.” Minerva looked around, but there was nobody else around. “What happened?”

“Harry and Snape… I’m sorry, Professor Snape… they had an…” Hermione wrung her hands. “An altercation. On the stairs.”

Minerva stopped herself from sighing. “Are Mister Potter’s senses overwhelming him again? We need to call Madame Pomfrey!” She drew her wand but stopped when Hermione shook her head.

“No, we already did that, and… it’s not Harry who needs medical attention.” The girl actually winced as she said those words, as if they were harmful if spoken aloud.

The older woman blinked. “Come again?”

Hermione swallowed and then looked her in the eye. “Harry found out that Professor Snape was the one who attempted to obliviate me. When… when they met on the Grand Staircase, they… fought.”

Minerva knew she should be running towards the stairs as fast as possible right now, but something held her back. And it was just the image of Severus — who, despite all his flaws, she’d always pegged to be a formidable duelist — being beaten by Harry James Potter.

Or the serious accusation Miss Granger had just leveled against the Slytherin professor.

No, it was the strange look that Hermione was giving her. Underneath the visible anxiety of breaking such uncomfortable news to her, the girl was… observing her.

Waiting.

For Minerva’s reaction to that accusation. This was a test, and the older woman didn’t like being on the receiving end for once. Because she didn’t exactly know where she was standing right now, all things considered. Strangely timed coincidences continued to take place in Hogwarts ever since Harry Potter had set foot in the ancient castle. And recently…

Everything was escalating. Minerva didn’t need to recall the image of a distraught Hermione being brought back from outside, wet and shoeless, or of Harry lying in the Hospital Wing again, to know in her bones that there was more going on right now that she’d been privy to.

And in that moment she decided that she wasn’t done breaking Hogwarts’ rules just yet. She’d already arranged meetings for her favorite Gryffindors behind Albus’ back, and now she’d continue to give those two troublemakers a helping hand. Serious as the accusation might be, if both Harry and Hermione claimed that Severus tried an obliviation… How many metaphorical trolls did those kids have to defeat before she’d stop questioning their motives at every turn?

Albus and his beloved secrets be damned.

“All right, show me the way, Miss Granger,” she said.

The girl’s eyes grew wide, then she nodded. “Yes, of course, Professor. They’re slightly above the third floor.” If Minerva wasn’t mistaken, there was a ghost of a rueful smile on her face.

As they hurried up the stairs, she began compiling a list of hard questions for Albus and Severus. For when they’d have a talk. And this time she wouldn’t stay quiet, no matter what. They continued to run, much faster than was proper, but this was an emergency. Several portraits were awake and called out to her that a professor had been attacked on the third floor. A few frames were empty. Minerva just raised her hand as she ran by, acknowledging the warnings.

Then she heard voices from above.

Poppy was cursing, loudly. Someone was groaning in pain… She hoped it wasn’t Harry Potter again, despite what Miss Granger had said.

She noticed that the air smelled burned all of a sudden, and then she saw black marks on the walls and stairs in front of her. Those weren’t just signs of a duel.

No, Minerva had seen places like this numerous times — during the war. Her inner cat, as she liked to call that aspect of herself that’d never completely let go of her animagus form, became defensive and nervous. The property damage was substantial. Argus Filch would probably have a fit. Finally, she saw Poppy’s head.

And then Severus, behind the mediwitch.

She gasped, involuntarily, as Hermione stepped aside and gave her a full view of the landing between the third and fourth floors. The railing was gone, as was most of the carpet. The stairs going up were missing a few steps, and the nearby balconies appeared to have been demolished by a band of giants. Ten feet above her, several broken bits of marble hovered in the air, slowly rotating around all axes and refusing to fall down.

Severus was lying on the landing’s floor, badly wounded. Under Poppy’s barrage of spells and bandages, Minerva could see that his ribcage appeared to be… flattened. He was bleeding from his eyes and ears but thankfully seemed to be unconscious now.

“What… what happened?” she stammered.

Poppy looked up for just a split second. “If I didn’t know it better, I’d say he’s been trampled by an angry hippogriff, or a dragon. If I don’t get him to St. Mungo’s soon, he might die.”

“Did you call Albus?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t answer, so I don’t think we can hope to use Fawkes.” The school matron nodded grimly. “We need to levitate him outside so we can use an emergency Portkey.”

Minerva turned around. “Where is Mister Potter?”

“I’m over here,” came a voice from above. Harry was kneeling at the railing of the fourth floor, observing the scene.

“What are you doing up there?” Minerva demanded, her voice growing sharp.

“Madame Pomfrey and Hermione said I needed to step aside,” he replied, apparently chastised. Unlike Snape, he didn’t look half-dead; only slightly dirty, and his hair was a wild mane.

Poppy sighed. “I sent him away because he’s interrupting some of my spells. At least when he’s close to Miss Granger.” She wiped a bit of sweat off her face.

Minerva turned back to the school matron. “So, her being able to lend him focus isn’t the whole story, then?” Wordlessly, she raised her wand and levitated Severus in sync with her friend. They’d done this more than once.

“As I said before, this goes beyond anything I've ever seen in all my years,” Poppy answered and began going downstairs. “Once we’ve made sure Severus will be alright, maybe we should bring Mister Potter to St. Mungo’s as well. It’s long overdue, if you ask me.”

Minerva turned towards Hermione. “I’m sorry that I spoke as if you weren’t present, Miss Granger. We’ll bring Professor Snape to St. Mungo’s. Please wake the headmaster or another professor and inform them of what happened here.” She looked up to Harry. “Mister Potter, I’m asking you to stay exactly where you are until I’m back. I’m not locking you up or accusing you of anything as of this moment, but I need to know you won’t wander off while I’m gone. Do I have your word?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded sharply. “Yes, Professor.”

When Hermione came back from yet another talk with Professor Flitwick, who’d ordered all prefects to be woken and was currently beginning to repair the extensive damage left by the fight, Harry couldn’t help but smile despite everything.

He knew he was in serious trouble, but seeing her walking around being calm and effective somehow gave him… hope? It was hard to say, apart from it felt good.

Still sitting precisely where McGonagall had last seen him, he’d decided to dangle his legs through the ancient railing and lean his head on it to peer through its bars. The height of the Grand Staircase didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Professor Flitwick had just nodded once after he’d arrived and seen him sitting up here. Whatever Hermione had said to the man must’ve been very convincing.

Absently, he watched the floating pieces of debris that hovered a stone's throw away in front of him.

What spell had caused that?

He didn’t know.

Much of the fight was a blur, even though Harry was able to focus on millions of tiny details in his recollection. It was all drenched in his anger, though, and that made it somehow harder to reflect upon his actions. He remembered some things Dumbledore had said to him over the years about anger, but he didn’t feel like separating the knowledge from the man, and so he dismissed it.

Should he be ashamed that the thought of physically ‘dismissing’ Snape still felt immensely satisfying? Harry didn’t know how to judge his emotions, but he felt he didn’t have a choice but to relish his victory. The fight itself had been useless, sure… nothing of value had been discovered by his duel with the cantankerous Slytherin.

And yet… There was a limit to what he was willing to forgive. A mere month ago, the very thoughts that he had now would’ve felt as alien to himself as the occasional insights he’d gotten into Voldemort’s mind in years prior. How quickly things had changed…

Hermione’s scent brought him out of his reverie, and Harry turned his head to the side without raising it from the railing.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

She sat down beside him and, after a moment of consideration, decided to angle her feet as well. He noticed how her heartbeat increased and how her muscles tensed up because she didn’t like the yawning depths in front of them.

“You don’t have to sit here.”

Hermione sniffed. “S’okay. I can’t avoid things that bother me forever.”

That sounded suspiciously like an opening for another topic, Harry decided. He didn’t know how to respond, exactly. Professor Flitwick’s spellcasting distracted him on top of everything because he felt the magic on his skin as if it were warm sunlight.

Seeing some cracks and burn marks slowly disappear was comforting, though.

“Harry.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do now?”

He looked at her again and saw all those hundreds of tiny movements in her facial muscles that made up her current expression. He’d never tire of seeing the multitude of brown hues in her irises, how her pupils dilated whenever she looked him in the eyes…

“Harry!” Hermione smiled. “Focus, please.”

He blinked. “Sorry.”

They regarded each other.

“I’m not sorry I went after him, Hermione,” he eventually said in a low voice. “I know you dislike violence, but after what he did… I couldn’t let it go.”

She took a long breath. “I… understand, Harry.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“No.” Hermione looked more tired all of a sudden. “I don’t like it because I believe he needs to answer in court, if it would ever come to that. And because I don’t know how I feel about… well, everything.”

Harry smelled her growing anxiety. “What do you mean?”

“I’m still working through what happened, Harry. In the owlery, and when you found me. I know I was waiting for you to find me; it was… ” She stopped and licked her lips, drawing his attention to the tip of her tongue.

It took all his might to keep his focus.

“It’s not easy, thinking about it,” Hermione continued. “Or even talking about it. All of it. There are moments when I’m completely overwhelmed. Only to find a center of calm in me the next moment. Being a Guide… I don’t know if it’s supposed to be this hard. And for the life of me I can’t seem to explain…”

“You don’t have to; I understand.”

She smiled again, and to Harry, it was warmer and more intense than any magical energy he’d ever felt on his skin. “Thank you.”

He turned away from her when he noticed a group coming down through the Grand Staircase. His senses told him it wasn’t McGonagall but a few of the prefects going to Professor Flitwick for advice. None looked up to where Hermione and he were sitting. They watched as the Head of House Ravenclaw ordered the prefects to close the stairs between the fourth and the second floor and route all students to a nearby staircase that Berenice Willows had apparently and accidentally discovered at one point between the fight and now.

“What is he talking about?” Harry asked Hermione.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about it. It appears that the castle opened a new staircase, randomly, in that hallway over there.” She pointed up and across the Grand Staircase. “Twenty or so steps down that corridor, just after the enormous painting in the wide alcove on the left side, there’s suddenly an opening in the wall.”

“Err… okay?” Harry wondered if he should’ve noticed that. Normally he felt every movement of the castle, especially when stairs or sections of the wall shifted.

“Professor Sprout already inspected it, and the stairs go down to the second floor.”

“That’s… convenient?” He rubbed his neck.

Hermione shrugged. “Well, according to the professors, it didn’t exist before. Nobody seems to know about it.”

“Not even Dumbledore?”

She gave him another look. “He’s not up yet. Or maybe he’s not in Hogwarts.”

“Huh”. Harry felt himself frown. “Is that… good?”

“Probably not, but what can we do?” Hermione grabbed two bars of the railing and put her forehead against it just like Harry. “I’m tired. I know I should feel more worried about Snape being injured like that and maybe scold you for being reckless and aggressive, and Merlin knows I should continue to investigate Sentinels and Guides.”

He remained silent, letting her find her words.

“But for once, I’m too tired to care about any of that stuff. It wasn’t a supernatural event that caused this; it was just… bad timing with Ginny and the others and Snape going up the stairs just then.” She sighed again. “Still, it adds up, doesn’t it? I feel as if someone dropped yet another weight onto massive scales that we have to balance by ourselves.”

“Hm.”

“Harry, I think I need some peace and quiet.”

Absently, he stretched out his arm through the railing and turned his hand randomly around in the air. He felt her pull on him clearly now, how he was sharper and more present when she was near.

His Guide.

And his girlfriend… maybe?

“Are you going to the Prefect’s Bathroom later?” he asked.

Hermione turned to him. “How did you know that?”

Harry shrugged. “Intuition? I don’t know. Maybe you did tell me, just not with words. I feel… so many things when you’re close to me.”

She began to cry.

He smelled her tears before he even saw them rolling down her cheeks and heard how the drops moved across her soft skin. “Hermione, I’m sorry, I…” He stammered, not knowing what to do. He only wanted to comfort her.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered.

His heart stopped for a second as he tried to regain his senses. “Wha… we… err…”

“Don’t answer. Just… accept it, please.”

Harry nodded, still dazed. Wasn’t he supposed to say it back? He couldn’t just let her say something like that, could he? And how would he phrase it? “Love you back” wasn’t exactly dripping with romance, even to his uneducated mind. All of which reminded him that he was completely pants in the romance department.

Just great.

“Can I… can I say something?” he asked after a breathless moment.

Hermione smiled as she wiped away her tears. “It depends.”

“You’re… the most important person in my life.” Harry drew a ragged breath and wondered why that had been so hard to say out loud. “Just so you know.”

“I appreciate that, Harry.”

“Okay.”

They remained silent for a while, watching Professor Flitwick’s progress. Somewhere down below, Argus Filch had begun to sweep away soot and debris. His angry mutterings echoed through the Grand Staircase.

Eventually, Hermione stretched out her hand through the railing and folded her fingers with his. “I have to ask you something.”

“Hm?”

“Should we tell the headmaster about… what happened in the Forbidden Forest?” Her eyes wandered to his forehead. “What did you do to your Horcrux?”

The answer was pretty obvious to Harry. “No.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Why?”

“Because I don’t trust him. Remember how he was hemming and hawing during our last visit? Something wasn’t right. Still isn't right. I can… feel it.” Harry slightly increased the pressure of his grip on her hand. “And I don’t believe for a second that Snape went after you all on his own.”

“Harry, you can’t think that…”

“Do we know?” He stared at her. “What do we really know? Are you willing to take that bet, Hermione? I know you're the Guide in this relationship, but I don’t think I am willing to give the benefit of the doubt to anyone right now.” In her eyes, he saw his anger and hurt reflected back to him.

Footsteps from above broke the moment. But then Harry recognized those steps, and he smelled summer, and herbal essence. “Ah, the cavalry is on its way,” he joked lamely.

“How so?” Hermione turned around.

“Ginny and the others are coming down. The lockdown seems to be lifted? I bet folks already know what happened here.”

She looked up. “It’s really unfair how good your hearing has become.”

“Yeah, that’s me, all the perks of being a natural-born Wizarding World superstar and a celebrity life on top of it,” Harry deadpanned.

She let go of his hand to slap him lightly. “We never finished our conversation with them earlier,” she mused. “Maybe we should do that now?”

Harry shrugged. “I can’t move. McGonagall said to wait here, so I’ll do just that.”

“You have a hilarious way of deciding when to obey a professor’s orders to the letter, and when not,” Hermione said, slightly annoyed.

“Well… you could bring me a plate up here?”

“You believe Professor Flitwick will enjoy a whole crowd of us sitting here at the railing, having a jolly good time?”

Harry smiled. “Oh, I believe he’ll be too busy figuring out that floating debris over there to worry much about us.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed for a second. “I think I have a better idea,” she said. “Where’s the Marauder's Map? We might also need Dobby’s help.”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Dobby's help?”

“Don't you even dare say something about S.P.E.W. right now.”

“I would never.”

She huffed. “Stop smiling at me like that!”

Neville woke up because being poked in his sides wasn’t something he was used to. Thrown pillows and kicks against his bedpost didn’t raise him anymore, but this was… new. New things were potentially bad things. His eyes opened, only to find much larger eyes staring at him from the edge of his bed.

“Whaaa!” he yelled and scooted away from the monster…

… and noted it wasn’t a horrible creature from his nightmares but an elf. Not just any elf, it was Dobby. He hadn’t seen the little guy in a while, but he remembered him well. “D… Dobby?” Neville asked hesitantly. In the background, the other boys were tossing in their beds.

Harry’s bed was empty.

“I’m sorry, Mister Neville-friend-of-Harry-Potter, sir,” Dobby whispered in his high-pitched voice. “I was waking you because Harry Potter asked me to do it.”

“Err… Harry said to wake me up.” Nevill sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Okay? What for?”

Dobby shook his head, but then he put a finger in front of his mouth. “Shhh! Neville-friend-of Harry-Potter! We is being on a secret mission.”

Neville immediately wanted to ask one or seven questions, but then he decided things would probably clear themselves once he saw Harry. If anything, being roped into some crazy scheme right now was good — at least he could ask him what in the name of Merlin’s pants had happened before, and then hopefully relay the answers to Susan and Hannah.

With Harry’s permission, of course.

“Yous need to be quick now,” Dobby whispered again, eyeing him expectantly. “Everyone waits in the Come and Go Room.”

“The what now?” Neville had decided to begin putting on clothes, but that comment made him stop.

Dobby shook his head. “Grangy-friend will explain it once we arrive. But we must hurry now!”

“I thought you said Harry sent you?” Neville felt more and more confused.

The elf nodded enthusiastically. “He has, with great urgency!”

“Oh, so they’re both there? That’s great.”

But Dobby began pulling his ears. “No, no, no, ‘s all wrong. Grangy-friend is awaiting our return!” the elf whispered furiously.

Neville took a deep breath and massaged his forehead. It was way too early to try to decipher Dobby-Speak without Harry being present. And in the end, it didn’t matter. If he’d meet one of the wayward Gryffindors in this weird Going Room, the other was bound to be nearby.

“I’m ready.”

Albus instantly woke from a dreamless sleep and felt several school wards tugging at his consciousness. How long had he been out? It couldn’t be…

Only after he double-checked the time did the headmaster remember casting a spell on himself to find rest after that unnerving experience of waking up in the dead of night. Harry and Hermione had done something outside the castle, likely in the Forbidden Forest. He didn’t know how or why, but the old man was sure that the temporary feeling of loss he’d felt prior was connected to whatever news was waiting for him outside his chambers. The castle somehow felt… busy.

Yet at the same time, it was strangely quiet.

And for some reason, the enchanted portraits near his beds were empty. That had only happened once before, in 1963, and Albus hoped he wouldn’t find butterflies in the Great Hall after going down. There was too much on his plate to have a repeat of that particular disaster. After a quick morning routine where he decided to bandage his desiccating hand, he went downstairs to his office, eager to make up for the lost time. It had been a while since he slept so long, even on a weekend.

His thoughts were interrupted by several of the portraits behind his desk. Phineas was notably absent, though.

“Albus! There you are! Where have you been?”

“Severus Snape has been attacked! He might be dead!”

“Someone fought in the Grand Staircase, and half the castle is on fire!”

“Harry Potter turned evil while you were asleep!”

Trying to ignore his rapidly growing irritation, Albus raised his hands. “Slow down, dear colleagues, please. That can’t all be true. What happened?” At that moment, his fireplace flashed green, and a letter came flying out of it — and landed on a pile of mail on the floor that he hadn’t paid attention to before. “Founders,” Albus mumbled.

“No, Albus, you need Fawkes!” one of the paintings yelled. “Severus is in danger.”

The old Gryffindor nodded. Fawkes’ stand was empty, though. “Fawkes?”

Nothing happened. “Fawkes? Fawkes! I need your assistance!” But no phoenix materialized in the Headmaster’s Office. This wasn’t good.

Albus drew his wand.

But, as he hurried towards the door of his office, he almost crashed into it. The door didn’t open in front of him as it’d reliably done for so many years. “Open,” he said with strained calm. The doors, meanwhile, remained thoroughly unimpressed by his command.

At the same time, he still felt the school wards pulling at his consciousness.

Albus’ mind was racing. Something exceedingly strange was happening right now, and his presence was desperately needed outside — people might’ve been trying to reach him for hours! He didn’t have the time to break the enchantments on his doors, though, or at least he felt hesitant to destroy such ancient spellwork. Luckily, he still had other means of egress. Turning on his heels, the headmaster stepped to his fireplace. “Minerva McGonagall’s office!” he exclaimed as he threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames.

The moment they arrived, Neville decided that elves really knew how to facilitate Side-Along Apparition. He only stumbled slightly as they materialized in a giant room he’d never seen before. What was that odd name Dobby had used before?

It didn’t matter.

“Neville! Glad to see you!” Hermione came to give him a quick hug, and he felt slightly overwhelmed. “Thank you so much, Dobby.”

The tiny elf almost saluted. “Grangy-friend is also Dobby’s friend. Glad to be of service.” He vanished without a sound.

Only then did Neville notice the enormous piles of old… stuff everywhere around him.

Tables, chairs, nightstands, lamps and lanterns, books, stacks of paper, tools, and thousands of different other things that he didn’t immediately recognize.

Literal tons of crap.

“What is this place? It’s enormous.”

“Actually, you know it well.” She smiled. “It’s the Room of Requirement.”

“What?!”

“Hey Neville, are you guys coming over or what?” Susan’s voice sounded from behind a mountain of old books. Hannah, Ginny, and Loona were also there and busy polishing off a couple of trays with breakfast that someone had brought.

“Are we having a picnic?” he wondered. “Here?”

Hermione nodded. “Something like that. Please sit and eat something. First, though, you need to know that Harry and Snape fought earlier in the Grand Staircase.”

Neville, who’d been in the process of eating a small sausage, stopped mid-motion. “Fhcome agfhain?”

“He gave that evil git a thorough thrashing,” Ginny added grimly.

“It’s actually pretty bad,” Hannah said. “Snape’s at St. Mungo’s. He was seriously wounded.”

Neville swallowed his food unchewed and winced. “Are you having me on right now? Is Harry… is he okay?”

“No, and yes.” Hermione gave him a serious look. “It’s all true, and it’s part of the reason you’re here, since you tried to help Susan and Hannah find us.”

“Where is Harry?”

Susan sighed and grabbed a pumpkin juice pitcher. “Still at the crime scene, so to speak. He’s been ordered to stay where the fight happened until Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore come and get him.”

“And that hasn’t happened yet?” Neville tried to remain calm. He’d never imagined that anything he’d ever experienced would compare to that night in the halls of the Department of Mysteries. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“No. Dumbledore hasn’t been seen for hours, and our Head of House is still at St. Mungo’s.”

Neville looked around. None of the other girls appeared as if this was news to them. But they tried to include him, and he liked that feeling he’d developed during their unsuccessful hunt for Harry and Hermione.

To be involved, to… matter.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“Harry and I… we don’t believe that we can trust the adults in the castle right now.” Hermione looked down on the dusty floor they were sitting on. “Someone doesn’t want us to know about what’s happening to Harry and to me.”

Neville frowned. “To you? Are your senses hyperactive as well?”

“No, dummy, she’s his Guide,” Ginny said.

“What’s…”

“Just listen, alright?”

Hermione smiled at their exchange the same way Harry often did. “What I’d like to ask you, if you’re willing, is to be Harry’s and my safety net. In case someone tries to obliviate me again, or Harry, even though I’m not sure whether that’ll work against him right now, we need to…”

“Oh.” Neville stared at the bushy-haired witch as some pieces of a giant puzzle fell into place. “Snape tried to obliviate you, didn’t he? That’s why that tosser wasn't present when Harry found you wandering outside barefoot, and that’s probably why they fought on the stairs!”

Hannah and Susan exchanged a look, eyebrows raised. “That was quick,” Susan said.

“Told you he’s sharper than he lets on,” Hannah mumbled.

Ginny waved them off. “So you’re going to tell us what you know in case you’re obliviated so that we’ll be able to help you afterward?”

“Almost.” Hermione leaned over to her beaded handbag and rummaged inside. Then she removed a few books and notes. “I thought we’d make copies of my findings.”

A collective groan answered her, and she winced.

“Please?”

“Okay, okay… but you owe us a real explanation, Hermione.” Susan pulled out one of the notes. “I’ve been running up and down this castle like a crazy person for the past few days, not to mention the detention we got for our troubles.”

“I appreciate that; I really do. It’s all so…” Hermione stopped talking.

“Complicated?” Hannah offered.

The Gryffindor witch nodded. “That’s an apt description.” She pulled out ink and quills. “Tell you what, if you’re willing to help me make a few copies of the things I wrote down so far, I can multitask and answer any questions you might have.”

“If you’re a Guide and Harry’s a Sentinel, what does that mean, exactly?” Ginny immediately asked without missing a beat.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Maybe not every single question…”

Neville raised an arm. “Can I ask why we’re sitting between piles of old junk, then? What happened to our training room?”

“Oh, that’s an interesting one. See, Dobby was the first one to tell Harry about the Room of Requirement, and it appears that it has different… configurations.” She made an all-encompassing motion. “We only learned of this one earlier, about an hour ago, when Dobby mentioned it.”

“Who’d want a room like this?” Hannah looked around. “Neville’s right, this place is a dump.”

Hermione’s smile turned almost impish. “Well, did you never have something on your hands that you wanted to get rid of? Or hide? Maybe desperately so?”

“Oh.” Hannah nodded slowly.

“Precisely.”

Neville looked at everyone in turn. “I don’t get it.”

“I haven’t told you about Malfoy yet.” Hermione reached into her bag again and removed the Marauder’s Map, which she gently put on the floor so that everyone could see it. “Do you remember when Harry was suspicious about him being up to no good?”

Susan grunted. “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down…”

“Malfoy’s been looking almost ill these past weeks, and he often vanishes, alone. Harry followed him via the Marauder’s Map and saw him use the Room of Requirement more than once.”

“Damn, the ferret knows? That’s bad!”

Ginny hmm’ed. “We should be glad that this didn’t all happen during Umbitch’s reign.”

“And you think Malfoy uses this… configuration of the room?” Neville asked.

“It’s a possibility. Harry and I have been so busy with existential crises and nervous breakdowns and spiritual awakenings that we forgot about him, and now that time is of the essence, I thought, why not catch two birds with one stone?”

“So you expect that Malfoy might come here at any moment, to do… something?” Susan looked around. “Is that why we’re not sitting in line of sight to the door?”

“Yes.” Hermione pointed to a name tag in the Great Hall. “He’s having breakfast right now, but with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall still being absent, he might try to sneak up here.”

Again, Neville felt slightly overwhelmed. On one hand, it was great to be included in all these life-shattering events, but listening to Hermione almost made him dizzy. How could any one person apart from Dumbledore string so many things together in their mind?

“What is our plan?” Ginny asked. “Stun him and put him in one of the old cabinets here?”

“First we need to find out what he’s actually doing when he comes here. If he even comes to this… version of the room, that is. We suspect he might try to bring Death Eaters to Hogwarts. Or something equally terrible.”

“Death Eaters?” Neville reached for his wand. “Merlin.”

“Maybe. Like so many things, we don’t know for sure.”

Hannah grabbed one of Hermione’s quills. “Then we shouldn’t waste time.”

“Just one more thing,” Susan added. “What did you mean by spiritual awakening?”

Hermione started blushing.

Harry smelled the Potions Professor’s robes long before he saw the rotund Slytherin coming up the stairs. Slughorn didn’t hide his curiosity and inspected the property damage around him with wide eyes — Flitwick’s efforts were still ongoing.

Apparently, repairing parts of the castle wasn’t as easy as with any other random medieval building because Hogwarts was literally soaked in magic.

That’s at least what Harry had taken away from the tiny Ravenclaw’s mumblings.

“I can see you already did a lot of work, Filius,” Slughorn said as he arrived on the landing.

“It’s fascinating, to be honest.” The tiny man continued to wave his wand. “I’ve never had the chance to analyze the castle’s structure quite like this. I need to be both gentle and firm with my Charms.”

Slughorn nodded. “The Arcane Balance of Archimedes’ Bindings.”

“Would you like to give me a hand? I understand everyone’s still busy until Albus returns from wherever he is, but…”

“Oh, Albus is back. He never left Hogwarts but was… delayed?” The way the Slytherin said the word sounded to Harry as if the man didn’t quite believe the headmaster’s explanation.

He remembered what Hermione had told him about Slughorn helping her by giving her Ossinsky’s book. Maybe he was looking at an ally? If he’d be able to stomach the simpering, that is.

“That’s good news, Horace. He’s probably on his way then?”

Slughorn nodded. “As far as I know, he left to check on Severus but intends to return posthaste.”

“Good, good.”

“Is Mister Potter here, by the way? I was told he was ordered to remain somewhere around here.”

Professor Flitwick pointed up to Harry’s dangling legs.

“Good morning, Professor.” Harry waved neutrally.

“Is that safe, Harry?” Slughorn began climbing the remaining steps. “I’m sure your Head of House would've had something to say about sprawling against the railing like that.”

“Leave him be, Horace,” Flitwick said. “He hasn’t moved an inch since I got here.” 

“Alright, I was just making a point.” Slughorn breathed heavily as he reached the fourth floor and turned around to approach Harry. “You can sit, Harry, m'boy.”

The man then seemed to notice the empty breakfast tray next to Harry.

“Ah, I see you still prioritize even in these troubling times! Nothing should come between a wizard and a hearty meal.” Slughorn chuckled. “If anything, you might’ve earned a rest, eh? I won’t tell anyone.”

Harry didn’t know what to make of that. The Slytherin was surprisingly difficult to read because his increased heartbeat was probably caused by the stairs, and the nervousness he detected was the same the man had displayed in his presence ever since that botched attempt to recover the stupid memory. 

What did Slughorn want from him?

The man stopped in front of him and looked over the railing. “What a curious thing,” he said, nodding to the floating debris.

“I have no idea how that happened, Professor,” Harry said truthfully.

“Well, you rarely do ordinary things, do you? Ah, again you remind me of your mother…” Slughorn sighed and shook his head.

“Do you need something from me?”

But the Slytherin waved Harry off. “Founders, no. I was, in fact, hoping to provide you with something, m'boy.”

Intrigued, Harry watched the man look around to make sure they were alone and then cast a Muffliato Charm that wouldn’t even reach Professor Flitwick’s ears due to the distance. He knew there was no one around to spy on them, just a few curious students peering down from the higher floors every so often.

“Harry, I need to warn you,” Slughorn pressed as he looked down at him.

Harry felt the need to finally stand up. His back cracked as he stretched himself slightly, and suddenly he was overcome by a feeling of exhaustion. After this day, he’d be ready to sleep for a week or so.

“What are you speaking of?” he asked.

Slughorn looked around them again. “The headmaster will come to see you soon, and I… I think you shouldn’t tell him about what you know of Sentinels. He already knows that I gave Miss Granger a book, and he didn’t like that.”

Harry stared into the man’s eyes and found a surprising amount of resolve there. “Why are you trying to help me?”

“I have my reasons.” Slughorn nodded to him. “I know you came to me for that memory on behalf of Albus. This has nothing to do with that, however. No, if you really are a Sentinel, then that… that would give me hope.”

“Hope, sir?”

The Slytherin eyed him critically. “There are things in the past I believe should stay forgotten. But this… you… no, I won’t stand for it.” He looked around again. “I must leave you now, Harry. I hope you and Miss Granger will find the answers you need. Something tells me that we might have another talk in the future. Until then, stay safe.”

Slughorn patted Harry’s shoulder, nodded as if he was satisfied with what he saw, and waddled back to the stairs. “Filius, you probably haven’t eaten anything since the dead of night. I’ll see that you get some breakfast,” the Potions Professor exclaimed.

“Oh, thank you, Horace.”

Harry looked down at the men and absently rubbed his shoulder.

What the hell had just happened?

While everyone around him was busy discussing the insane rumors about an epic battle in the Grand Staircase, Lane Bitterwood was busy writing a letter. He’d put his Transfiguration books on the table for cover so that folks wouldn’t look too close since he was known to be an overachiever in McGonagall’s class.

The message he penned was short, but it was important to get the cipher right, so Lane took his time and carefully ran his quill across the small piece of parchment.

He still listened to what everyone else at the Slytherin table was saying, though.

Most of it was rubbish.

Still, Potter and Granger were absent again, and his Head of House was nowhere to be seen — just like the headmaster. Malfoy had even dared to peek inside Snape’s office earlier since the door had been left open.

Also, nobody had been able to check the Grand Staircase on the third floor since it’d been closed to traffic. Lane had only heard about a supposedly brand-new staircase that was used as a bypass for students who needed to reach the upper floors, but he planned to check it out later.

First, though, his cousin needed to know about the current goings-on. The Dark Lord had to be warned, or rather informed, of what was going on. If Snape was really in St. Mungo’s, someone else needed to relay information from inside the castle.

An opportunity like this wouldn’t come along often.

Maybe the Dark Lord would take notice of Lane that way.

After finishing the final line of his coded message, Lane blew on the drying ink and then folded the parchment. “I’ll get some fresh air,” he said to the nearby Slytherins.

“You’re not allowed to wander outside until the headmaster is back, Bitterwood.” Maya, one of the prefects, pointed at him with her fork.

“I won’t run off into the Forbidden Forest, for Merlin’s sake. Just the owlery.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and removed the folded parchment from his pocket. “I need to send a letter to my family. My Mum is sick, and I need to know how she’s doing. Is that alright with you, Miss Prefect?”

“Whatever.” She gave him the evil eye. “If one of the professors catches you, I will deny knowing anything about it.”

He smiled venomously. “Thanks for nothing, then.”

Lane left the table and strolled towards Hogwarts’ great doors.

Before he saw the headmaster coming down the stairs, Harry heard a faint whooshing sound and felt a tiny increase of pressure on his eardrums. Had someone just apparated inside the castle?

That couldn’t be.

Then he felt the impact of heavy steps coming through the floor he was again sitting on. It originated from somewhere above, only he didn’t hear the steps themselves.

Instinctively, he grabbed his wand and stood up.

Then he recognized a familiar smell of lemon drops and hid his wand in the back pocket of his jeans.

At the same time, Dumbledore came into view as he was silently sprinting down the stairs with billowing robes faster than anyone should be able to, especially in his old age. Harry’s senses picked up the shimmer of unknown Charms, though, and he suspected the headmaster had granted himself increased speed and agility.

Dumbledore took in the scenery for a second. “Filius, I’m here,” he said.

“I’m glad, Albus.” Professor Flitwick appeared unbothered about the headmaster’s sudden appearance. “Is everything alright? How is Severus?”

“He’s fine. It was a good thing Minerva and Poppy brought him to St. Mungo’s, though.”

“I see.”

Harry was about to say something when Dumbledore turned around and looked right at him, showing that he knew exactly where Harry was. “Har… Mister Potter.”

“Headmaster.”

Dumbledore’s face remained completely neutral. “Please follow me; we have to talk about what happened between you and Professor Snape.”

“Of course.” For a moment, Harry considered asking if his Head of House was informed about him leaving this very spot, but now wasn’t the time to be cheeky. He’d go along with everything, for now, and he suspected it was partly because, deep down, despite his anger, he felt a little bit… guilty.

Something about Hermione’s disapproval had stuck with him, even though he knew that she knew the violence had been justified, in a way.

“I assume Madame Pomfrey has checked on you before she left?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Dumbledore took a deep breath. “So it would seem. Nevertheless, if you’d allow me…” He was holding his wand now.

Harry felt wary but didn’t see how the headmaster would do anything to him out here in the open. There were currently eleven students looking down from high above, their faint whispers echoing through the Grand Staircase. “Of course,” he said.

Wordlessly, Dumbledore flicked his wand at him, and Harry felt how the grime on his skin and clothes vanished. It was more than a simple Scourgify Charm, and despite his sensitivity to foreign magic, it didn’t feel unpleasant.

“Thank you.”

The headmaster nodded. “You’re welcome, Mister Potter. Now, after you.” He didn’t point toward the stairs going up, but Harry still noticed that Dumbledore’s right hand had been bandaged since he’d last seen the man.

As he suddenly smelled what was underneath the white strips of cloth, Harry knew that Dumbledore was being eaten alive by dark magic. That was a Horcrux’s taint, he was sure of it.

Yet another secret, and a worrisome one at that.

“Filius, please take a rest soon. Someone else can take over the repairs; you should look after your students and get something to eat,” Dumbledore said to Professor Flitwick in parting.

“I will, I will; let me just fix this one balcony over there first.”

“As you wish.”

They ascended the stairs in silence, and the students above them vanished from view. Harry still sensed them in various hiding spots, trying to get a good look at him and the headmaster on their way up. He picked up whispered words like “killer,” “trouble,” or “finally” and tried not to read too much into it.

It was like Hogwarts’ rumor mill to always twist things for the worse.

As they neared the gargoyles in front of the Headmaster’s Office, Harry realized that he hadn’t heard Dumbledore’s footsteps or his heartbeat along the way and turned around. The old man was standing right behind him, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Why have you silenced your steps?” Harry dared to ask.

“Due to the emergency I found myself in this morning, I had to improve my speed,” Dumbledore answered. “Alas, the charm I used does various things, stealth being one of them. I didn’t need it but had no time to find an alternative solution.”

“Ah.” That sounded both plausible and vaguely suspicious, Harry decided.

Dumbledore motioned towards the gargoyles. “Would you mind?”

“Oh, sorry.” He turned around and approached the statues, who immediately turned to the side. As he walked up the stairs, Harry looked at the door in front of him. “If you don’t mind me asking, Headmaster, why did you remove the password?”

“I’m trying to figure something out,” Dumbledore said.

The door to the office opened in front of Harry, and they both stepped inside.

Harry noted that all the portraits were awake and staring at him. In front of the fireplace, dozens of letters had piled up. Fawkes wasn’t on his stand, and there were no ashes either. In the background, Dumbledore’s strange little devices purred and puffed.

Unbidden, Harry took a seat in front of the headmaster’s desk and folded his hands.

Dumbledore strode towards his large chair and sat down gingerly, wordlessly dismissing the Charms that'd made him so quiet.

Without command, the door closed itself.

The old man and the boy regarded each other.

“Why did you try to kill Professor Snape this morning?” Dumbledore eventually said in a grave voice.

“It didn’t plan to kill him. But I had to confront him for what he did to Hermione, and things… escalated.” Harry tried to imagine Hermione sitting by his side, holding his hand, to anchor him. He couldn’t lose his focus now; he had to stay sharp.

“What do you believe Professor Snape did to Miss Granger?”

He couldn’t help but grunt quietly. “He attempted to obliviate her in the owlery, only it didn’t work. Something threw him off her, and she was left dazed and confused outside, wandering into the Forbidden Forest.” Harry resisted the impulse to clench his fists. “Without her wand or her shoes, as you will recall.”

“I do,” Dumbledore said. “I don't, however, recall Professor Snape being outside at that time. He was, in fact, in his chambers, feeling unwell.”

“I wonder why.”

The headmaster shook his head. “This is a serious accusation, Mister Potter. Do you have any proof?”

“How about we check Snape’s wand? That should clear things up fast, I believe. Not only will you find an obliviate in there, but you’ll also see what sort of spells I had to dodge in the Grand Staircase. If anything, he tried to kill me.”

“Something… is different about you,” Dumbledore said randomly.

“What do you mean, Headmaster?”

The old man pointed at Harry’s head. “Your scar. It appears to be fading.” Then his face hardened as if something had just occurred to him. “Harry… What did you do? What did you do yesterday, in the Forbidden Forest? I know you were outside, with Miss Granger.”

Feeling a bit vindictive, Harry decided to play coy. “I don’t know if I can adequately explain that.”

“I need an answer, Harry. I need to… What did you do? What happened to your scar? Did you meet Voldemort?” Dumbledore seemed to be in shock.

“No.” He decided not to make a fuss about the use of his first name right now. “I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Would you even remember?” The headmaster pointed at his temple, looking at Harry. “Our thoughts are easily corrupted, easily fooled. Not so long ago you were quite overwhelmed by your new… sensitivity to your surroundings.”

“Well, you helped me with that, didn’t you?”

“And yet I don’t see the Charm on you, Harry. As remarkable as your mental focus is, it leaves you vulnerable.”

Harry vividly remembered how vulnerable his reliance on that Charm had made him but decided not to comment on it. Dumbledore shouldn’t be privy to all his thoughts.

The old man seemed to take his silence as acceptance. “In fact, I’m wondering if your confrontation with Professor Snape only escalated as it did because you didn’t wear that charm. Can you reliably say you’ve been controlling your senses?”

Anger rose within Harry, and he fought to suppress it. “I am of sound mind,” he said. “I know what I see, or smell, or hear.”

“And your scar?” Dumbledore’s eyes wandered to Harry’s forehead again. “Why won’t you tell me what you did? Or is it that you don’t know yourself?”

The quick change of topic felt exhausting, and even though he suspected it to be a deliberate tactic, Harry felt how his resolve weakened slightly. He was still exhausted, after all.

“I’m not sure if I want to tell you, Headmaster,” he said. He was tired of beating around the bush any longer.

Dumbledore frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’ve decided that me being a Sentinel is dangerous and that I shouldn’t know anything about it. Like you’ve been keeping me in the dark about the Horcruxes.”

A few of the portraits gasped at his words, which made the following silence in the office even more deafening. Harry didn’t even register the array of annoying devices anymore.

Dumbledore stared at him, seemingly lost.

Harry waited. His mind was whirling with all the things said and unsaid, his suspicions about the headmaster’s true plans, and also his worries about how they could go on from here. Having Dumbledore as an enemy wasn’t really something he wanted. There had to be a way to make the man see reason, if only to buy Hermione more time to figure things out.

Finally, the headmaster leaned back into his armchair. “How long have you known that Severus was a Death Eater?” he asked.

“Err… what?” Harry was flabbergasted.

“It only makes sense, if you know about the Horcruxes. You probably can sense it on their arms, can’t you? Yes, the Dark Mark’s magic would be hard to miss in comparison.” Dumbledore sighed and appeared to age in front of Harry’s eyes. “I have to admit, this I didn’t see coming.”

“I… You're wrong, Headmaster. I didn’t know Snape was a Death Eater. Are you serious right now?” Harry couldn’t believe it, even though he was sure Dumbledore wasn’t acting right now and had handed him proof of his long-held suspicions. “I always suspected he was one. Your defense of him, saying he worked for Voldemort without ever clarifying in what capacity… or that conversation with Karkaroff… and him telling Malfoy about success by learning the Dark Arts.” Harry slowly rubbed his nose. It felt strange to see something he'd believed in for so long validated accidentally.

The old man and the boy regarded each other again.

Harry felt his resolve coming back, now that Dumbledore had made some sort of blunder. It hadn’t been the headmaster’s plan to tell him this; that much was clear. But what line of thought had made him do it, then? Had the headmaster overestimated him just now? What assumptions lie underneath the things he's just heard spoken out loud?

Maybe another round of hard truths would clear things up.

“How about I show you what happened between Snape and me in the Grand Staircase?” Harry offered. “We can look at it in your Pensieve.”

Dumbledore hesitated, then nodded. “If you agree to provide a memory, I’d appreciate that. If only to decide how to protect you from the Ministry, because make no mistake, someone will take note of Severus being at St. Mungo's and the rumors already flowing out of this school.”

Harry didn’t care much for Dumbledore’s supposed protection at this point, but it was a salient point nonetheless. Knowing how quickly the Ministry could act if it wanted to, he wondered if his meeting with Remus at noon was still in the cards.

That is if he’d be allowed off the Hogwarts premises to begin with.

“Let me show you,” he said, ignoring Dumbledore’s implied warning for the moment.

They walked over to the ancient device, and Harry watched the reflections in the shallow bowl. It reminded him of Hermione — something about water in general, he mused.

“Are you ready?” Dumbledore asked, wand in hand.

“Yes, go on.”

Harry mentally went back to a few hours earlier, when he’d sensed Snape on the stairs, and tried to remember everything he’d picked up, all the things he’d sensed and said. He felt Dumbledore’s magic touch his mind and allowed it to draw his memories in.

At that exact moment, the headmaster’s wand began to… sizzle.

Dumbledore immediately withdrew it and inspected it. “I believe that’s enough to see what you remember,” he said evenly.

Harry noticed a whiff of scorched wood and… Thestral hair? What a strange material for a wand core. And why in Merlin’s name had he almost set that thing on fire just now?

With a million new questions on his mind, he watched Dumbledore pour his silvery memories into the Pensieve.

“It begins just when I heard Snape on the stairs from the Gryffindor Common Room,” Harry explained.

“Show me.”

Chapter Text

Time seemed to slow down the moment Harry vaulted over the balcony.

He knew exactly where Snape was right now — between the second floor and the first landing on the way up to the third floor. The man was running, his heartbeat so fast he must’ve raced all the way from his chambers in the dungeons, and he smelled of sour sweat.

Snape was running as if he was being chased by a thousand Dementors.

Under his fingertips, Harry sensed the infinitesimal vibrations that the Slytherin’s panicked strides caused within the structure of the Grand Staircase and the surrounding walkways and balconies.

On his skin, he felt movements in the air caused by the man down below as well as two other students on the first and on the fifth floor. Somewhere above him, Peeves, who’d probably been waiting to prank a few late Gryffindors, had just decided to get out of this part of the castle posthaste, and Harry felt a stir caused by the ghost’s ethereal movement.

His hyper-focused mind took note of this curious detail and filed it away, something to ask Hermione about later.

No time to waste, he had to move.

Harry didn’t land on the stairs below but on the railing, which he slid down effortlessly to jump over the next landing. Despite his speed, he was able to deliberately place his hands and feet where they needed to be — parcouring through the Grand Staircase felt as natural to him right now as flying.

He grabbed the railing on the far end of the landing and used it as a lever to flip himself over and around it, dropping an entire level. The moment his feet were about to touch the hard floor, he pushed himself forward and rolled over his shoulder to lessen the impact. Oliver Wood had been quite insane, but Harry would never stop thanking the former student for teaching him the basics of falling down properly.

It took him three long jumps to take the next flight of stairs going down, and, feeling his adrenaline rising, Harry used the far wall as a springboard to round the next landing even faster.

His momentum had developed its own draw upon Harry now. He was in the flow, moving, always moving.

Some portraits were waking up to complain about the ruckus, but he ignored them. He could hear the magic in their voices, sensing how artificial they really were, like a bad tape recording.

In the time that he’d cleaned more than two floors, Snape had just reached the next landing.

Harry had already decided not to stop and pounce on the man from the shadows but just barrel right into him. It might not be the most sound strategy, all things considered — Snape was freakishly good with his wand if he needed to — but something within him lusted for physical violence.

He recognized that he wasn't just concerned about being wounded or not; no, he’d rather welcome being hurt right now. Because physical pain was better than the emotional anguish he felt at the very idea of Hermione being obliviated.

Snape would bleed for that, and no amount of sneering and dismissive reasoning about things too complex for his feeble mind to comprehend would stop it. Every so often, an insult had to be repaid with injury.

Still moving, faster and faster.

Harry was also aware of Hermione above, running after him. She didn’t call out to him, knowing he’d be able to locate her with ease anyway, but she was probably mad that he’d get himself in trouble on her behalf. He heard her drawing her wand as she took the first steps down, Susan and the others on her heels.

Now that she was so prominent on his mind again, Harry also noticed her immediate and calming influence on his abilities as he slid down another railing. His rage and the yearning to hunt down Snape didn’t diminish, but the edge of his vision became less jagged and hazy, his instinctive bloodlust slightly tempered by reflection. He still wanted to run straight into Snape if possible, but now he was imagining what his very next move after that might be, instead of just completely going with the flow.

His racing mind even had time to express a feeling of vertigo now that his Guide was directly above and his prey was directly below, with him smack in the middle of those two pushing and pulling influences.

And somehow, that felt just right.

The sharp perception of an upside-down balance passed as Harry sped down another flight of stairs, jumped, and rolled off the next landing. He still felt anchored, though, and that gave him strength.

All the while he was moving.

Snape was close now; he could hear the man’s greasy hair scratch at his robes as he ran and smell that he must have pissed himself and then tried to vanish it. Harry even felt, just by air movements from down below, that his prey was holding a small vial or bottle in his left hand.

He’d see him any moment now, knowing they’d meet on the first landing going up from the third floor. Following a spontaneous impulse, Harry decided not to run straight into Snape but to let the man run into him.

He somersaulted over the railing at his side, drew his wand midair, and landed in a crouched pose on the landing — just in front of Snape.

The man jerked back but was too slow to react in his panic, so when he took the final two steps, he raced right into Harry’s outstretched hand that was aimed at his throat. He felt Snape’s sweaty skin, tendons, and Adam’s apple against his knuckles and quickly turned halfway to not be hit by the falling man’s legs.

Harry felled the Head of House Slytherin within the blink of an eye and watched dispassionately as his prey hit his head hard on the stone floor, his limbs thrashing as the man gasped for air.

Movement ceased for a moment, and the hunt was over.

Instead, violence was in the air.

Harry felt the wood of his wand, felt how his fingers touched hundreds of minor imperfections on its grip, all the scratches that spoke of years of deadly adventures. His magic began to bubble up and flow out of him. He didn’t stop it, knowing the well inside him was going to burst otherwise.

Part of his energy flew up towards Hermione, who was racing down, and Harry noted how the hairs on his arms and legs stood up as he stood in a temporary vortex caused by his Guide. 

That was new.

Snape, still winded, rolled to the side and then backward, using the first steps going below as leverage to stand up with his face turned toward Harry. It spoke of years of defense training. His watering eyes focused on Harry and narrowed.

Then, unexpectedly, Snape made two quick motions with his wand.

Harry dodged the first nonverbal spell easily but was surprised by the second one because it didn’t come as a single blast but as a thin, wide arc — his shoulder got hit even as he tumbled away as fast as possible.

Intense pain spread through his body, and Harry grunted as he felt the nerves in his wand arm being lit on fire. He was about to cast Quietus Animus on himself but disregarded the thought when he realized he could still use his arm.

It was just magically induced pain, almost unbearable in its intensity. Like a minor Cruciatus.

His muscles were actually fine.

Not knowing how he did it, Harry instinctively separated part of his mindscape and pushed the pain into the smaller part, to shut it out and lock it away. Something poured out and away from him, into the vortex and up towards Hermione, and he knew he’d done it. 

Somehow.

Only a second of real time had passed.

Returning the silent treatment, Harry whirled around and went down to his knees to fire three harmless blasts toward Snape in rapid succession. As the final blast exited his wand, he preemptively dodged to the side and cast a Shield Charm.

“Protego!”

Snape, who’d deflected Harry’s attacks with an erratic motion of his wand the latter had never seen before — the blasts impacted loudly on the surrounding walls — returned fire.

“Stupefy!” The Slytherin’s voice croaked terribly thanks to his bruised throat, but the command echoed sharply in the Grand Staircase.

Harry was glad to have followed his instincts. He decided to try to trick Snape, not expecting immediate success but to establish a pattern he could exploit a few moments from now. “Expelliarmus!”

Snape moved his wand arm out of the way but stayed in position, three steps down from the landing, staring at Harry.

“Harry, stop! Stop fighting!” Hermione’s voice echoed from above as she rushed down the stairs, the others scrambling to keep up with her.

Their footsteps were still far above the third floor, though.

Harry noted how pieces of stone and plaster were falling from the surrounding walls, raining down and filling the Grand Staircase with faint echoes from below. The air smelled of magic cast in anger.

“Listen to them, Potter,” Snape spat. “I don’t know what madness to hold of your feeble brain this time, but you will…”

Harry angled his head. “Stupefy!” he replied.

“Stop it!” Snape hissed, dodging the spell. “Or I will put you down, Potter.”

“Petrificus Totalus!” Another tame spell, to continue the pattern.

“Depulso!” Snape’s wand moved really fast, despite the man’s visible exhaustion. Harry didn’t dodge, though, but used his wand to redirect the charm over his shoulder. The wall behind him shook, and several portraits called out as two frames fell down and vanished from sight.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape escalated, and Harry noted that the man’s heartbeat spiked at the same time, almost as if he either found the very act exhilarating or as if he was afraid. “Glacius! Confringo!”

Harry tripped on the suddenly slippery landing, but his supernatural reflexes allowed him to hold himself upright with his left arm. He used his momentum to whirl around, almost like a breakdancer, to fire at Snape from below and then tumble to the side and onto his feet. “Stupefy!”

He caught Snape's chest, and the man shortly vanished from sight as he was pushed down the stairs. But Harry hadn’t taken more than two breaths when he saw him return, this time coming up all the way to the landing, the tip of his wand unerringly aimed at Harry’s center of mass. “Ligatura Tenebris!”

Harry narrowly avoided dark tendrils that tried to grapple him and heard the already damaged railing behind him crumble as it was hit instead.

“Diffindo! Reducto!” he fired back. Snape ducked away, and the Grand Staircase boomed with another impact.

“Ventus Vortex!” Debris was thrown up by the sudden whirlwind that surrounded Harry, but he didn’t try to dodge or dispel it — the flow of his outpouring magic was still strong, and he simply dedicated part of his focus to tracking every chunk of stone currently flowing through the air. Unconsciously, he moved his leg to the side when a fist-sized rock flew along, and he saw Snape’s pupils widen at his display of control.

The man reacted immediately, though, and aimed his wand down at the landing itself. “Sonorus!”

The sudden loudness caused Harry’s vision to blur, and he almost lost focus but soldiered on. “Reducto!”

Snape yelped as he was showered by shards when part of the staircase exploded behind him. Harry wasn’t done yet. “Fulgaris!” Lightning arced from his wand and caught the Slytherin straight in the right leg.

As he momentarily lost control of his limbs and went down, Snape yelped, “Exanimo!” His aiming was surprisingly accurate, but Harry never felt the curse's impact; it instead simply evaporated in front of him. Its glowing remains flew upward, following the flow of energy that Hermione was absorbing.

His Guide was at work, it seemed.

“Bombarda! Bombarda Maxima!” Snape croaked from the ground where he tried to stop his limbs from shaking. Harry whirled around and ducked three large pieces of debris simultaneously as his surroundings exploded.

The Grand Staircase boomed and echoed.

Harry winced, but he already knew what he’d do now and how his actions would sequence. Snape still tried to get up, but he’d be too slow. Time seemed to slow down again as adrenaline rushed through his veins. He pretended to attack with another curse, swinging his wand widely, only to switch hands when its tip was aiming at Snape and cast something else instead.

“Expelliarmus!”

The Slytherin lost his wand, but Harry just stepped aside as it came towards him and let it fall down into the open space behind him. He took one step toward Snape and pointed his wand at his right hand. “Telum,” he whispered.

Then he sucker-punched Snape in the guts, the spell causing the impact of his fist to widen to more than three feet. An audible crack went through the Grand Staircase, and Harry heard bones break and organs being squashed. A cloud ring of dust and debris formed around them as the force of his attack dissipated to the sides.

Slowly, he returned his hand.

It was over.

The depression that’d formed underneath Snape was filling up with blood, and Harry found that the faint trickling sounds somehow reminded him of the pond in the Forbidden Forest. His anger dissipated the same way his Horcrux-self had when he’d drowned it and was absorbed by Hermione above.

Harry felt his focus decrease as she arrived with the rest of the group.

Around them, the castle woke up. Portraits raised alarm, and doors were opening.

He’d killed — or rather almost killed — a professor of Hogwarts, and Harry knew there’d be fallout. But he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he’d shown Snape he wouldn’t tolerate the man’s actions any longer.

Hogwarts was his home. His, not Snape’s.

“Harry! Are you alright? What… oh no.” Hermione jumped across a few missing steps of the stairs above and landed next to him. The touch of her hand on Harry’s back felt like scorching fire, yet it soothed him.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Really, it’s okay.”

Ginny swallowed audibly above them. “Merlin, Harry…”

“It had to be done.”

Hermione knelt beside Snape. “He’s… still alive. But we need Madame Pomfrey now.” Then she turned to Harry, her face strangely unreadable as she masked her emotions.

Harry senses that she is upset, and angry. Her irises narrowed, and her heartbeat slowed down notably. He heard her tongue move inside her mouth as she mentally built the sentences she’d speak to him next.

She smelled so lovely compared to the carnage around.

Snape’s breathing stopped.

“Harry! He needs help, now!”

“Harry!”

“Harry?!”

“Haaaarrry!”

He was confused since he knew it wasn't how that scene had ended; Hermione hadn't called his name like that, but instead…

The moment dissolved into vague shapes and silvery mist of swirls inside the Pensieve.

Harry felt Dumbledore’s left hand on his shoulders as he was being dragged out of the memory. The headmaster hadn’t done that deliberately, though — he was falling unconscious, blood pouring out of his nose and ears. Letting his reflexes take over, Harry caught Dumbledore and let him down gently.

“Dammit,” he mumbled.

Dumbledore’s heart was beating slowly, but Harry could almost hear the man’s mind short-circuiting underneath his hat. Something in that memory had completely overwhelmed him. He noticed the stench of Dumbledore’s desiccating right hand and saw that the bandage had partially fallen off. Yeah, that taint was definitely caused by a Horcrux; he’d recognize that nasty impression any time.

“What did you do?” He repeated the headmaster's words from before.

He needed to help him.

Harry rushed to Dumbledore’s desk and turned to the portraits. “Dumbledore’s fallen unconscious,” he said. “Is there something here to help him, or do I just call Madame Pomfrey.”

The former heads of Hogwarts immediately began admonishing him for being reckless or a bringer of misfortune or bickering among themselves. There was an older woman with long gray hair who eyed Harry critically, though. Her portrait frame labeled her as Gillian Slorah.

“Go to the left side of his desk, and open the cabinet. Second drawer from the top, there should be three identical potions. Feed him one of those quickly.”

Harry nodded and followed her commands, ignoring the other portraits. He grabbed one of the three vials and saw that they were some form of Pepperup Potion.

Giving Headmistress Slorah another nod, he rushed back to Dumbledore and carefully poured the liquid into the old man’s mouth.

As he held Dumbledore’s head, Harry felt his fingertips prickle.

Something in the back of his mind woke, something primal that’d gone to sleep after the fight with Snape.

Rival, it screamed at him.

Opponent.

Danger.

The impulse was so strong that Harry stumbled backward, letting go of the potion vial as Dumbledore’s ears emitted steam and the headmaster woke with a shuddering gasp.

There was a pressure in the office now, the very air suddenly stiff and oppressive.

Harry’s eardrums crackled.

Then he felt it all over his body.

Dumbledore’s magic was pouring out of him like a spring. The headmaster's bloodshot eyes, unfocused at first, fixed on the ceiling above and then moved to Harry in one motion. He saw how those blue eyes took in every detail of his face, how the pupils focused on pores in Harry’s skin, and the tiny cracks of the fading scar on his forehead.

He saw Dumbledore’s nose widen at the smells of battle on Harry’s robes.

Saw how the man moved his fingers almost imperceptibly over the floorboards of his office to feel the marks left by thousands of boots over the centuries.

His animalistic side hissed.

Another Sentinel, right here, in front of him.

In Hogwarts. His home.

Foreigner.

Intruder.

Enemy.

But just as Harry was about to raise his wand, Dumbledore’s eyes glazed over as a well-practiced mask of Occlumency shut everything down inside the man. The oppressive feeling in the office stopped so instantly that Harry gasped at the backlash.

“It’s okay, Harry,” the headmaster said and raised himself. “Thank you for helping me. It seems the intensity of your memories was a bit… overwhelming.”

He stared at Dumbledore, trying to find cracks in the mask he was seeing now, waiting for a sign of falsehood, of turmoil behind the pretend-calm exterior the man presented. But even his supernatural senses didn’t pick up anything.

The Sentinel he’d so clearly seen and felt was just gone.

“Are… what are you?” Harry whispered, his wand still partially raised.

“What do you mean, Harry?” Dumbledore smoothed his robes and readjusted his glasses.

“I saw you just now, Headmaster. You… you are like me!”

The old man gave him a curious look. “I appreciate the compliment, but nothing could be further from the truth, Harry. I’m neither as young nor as brave or talented as you are.”

Harry swallowed an angry reply since he didn’t know if the headmaster was fucking with him right now or if he maybe really wasn’t aware — however impossible that might seem. “You are hypersensitive; I sensed your focus on my face. Just now. Don’t deny it.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. While I’d love to claim some level of proficiency in the art of observation, I’m nowhere near your ability to sense minute details, Harry.”

“But…”

The headmaster raised a hand, and Harry stopped. “While I appreciate your concern and your yearning for answers that someone with the same capabilities as you might be able to provide, I’m afraid we must return to the business at hand.”

Sentinels were off the menu for now, it seemed.

“From what I observed…” Dumbledore stopped momentarily to touch his forehead as he stared off into space. “It seems that you attacked Professor Snape without provocation, Harry. That’s not just something I can’t let slide.”

“Did you also see what he threw at me? He tried to drown me in my deepest sorrows!” Harry’s anger returned. “That spell should be an Unforgivable! Not to mention his attempt to claw at my mind.”

“I will talk to Severus about this.”

Harry snorted. “Of course. Everything’s going to be fine because that bastard is totally going to behave if you give him a stern warning, just like every other time.”

“Mister Potter, I don’t appreciate your tone.” Dumbledore’s gaze turned to steel as he peered down at Harry.

“That’s too bad. I don’t appreciate your lack of action or the fact that you’re deflecting. What must Snape do so that you’ll finally punish him? What?” Harry shook his head. “And we haven’t even begun to talk about the attempted obliviation of Hermione.”

His eyes found the Headmaster’s.

“I won’t let that assault slide. Punish me all you want; I won't let it stand.”

The headmaster didn’t seem impressed by Harry’s words, but he nodded. “I understand, Mister Potter. However, meanwhile, I’m afraid that you have detention. I’ll speak with Severus when he regains consciousness and with the other professors, before I decide how Hogwarts will handle this. Until then, you’re confined to Gryffindor Tower outside of classes and meals. Professor McGonagall will assign you your extra work later.”

Dumbledore removed his glasses and pinched his nose. It almost looked as if his eyes and ears were still bleeding. “I’m sorry, Harry, but you… I don’t have a choice. Someone needs to protect you from yourself.”

Harry’s anger spiked again. “I understand,” he said with barely suppressed rage.

It was all useless. This… was useless. The headmaster wouldn’t help him, wouldn’t provide answers. Sure, he’d initiated the fight with Snape, but Hermione… and everything else? Stronger than ever before, Harry felt the urge to defend his home.

Something was wrong here, and he had the increasing suspicion it wasn’t him.

“Shhh! Did you hear that?” Ginny whispered.

Everyone stopped moving, quills hovering over half-written copies of Hermione’s notes.

Somewhere behind the large pile of old stuff next to the group, a door closed.

“Nobody move,” Hermione hissed and grabbed her wand. Then she cast Disillusionment Charms on Ginny, Hannah, Susan, Neville, and herself in rapid succession.

“Wow,” Neville mumbled.

Susan’s blurry shape leaned over the Marauder’s Map. “It must be Malfoy; his name isn’t in the Great Hall or anywhere else.”

“I see him,” Hannah answered in a low voice, and the group carefully shuffled to her position for a better look.

A few dozen yards away, Draco Malfoy stalked through the room. He was holding his wand, looking quite suspicious as he constantly turned to check his behind.

“He’s up to something,” Ginny said.

Susan hmm’ed. “Well, he’s breathing.”

“You sound like Harry,” Ginny added.

“Stop it!” Hermione took command. “Let’s follow him and see where he goes.”

Slowly, the group snuck between the mountains of bulky refuse around them, trying to keep their distance from Malfoy, who wandered off toward the left side of the giant room. They watched him turn around every so often, but he didn’t seem to notice them.

Then, the pale Slytherin stopped in front of an old cabinet with sharp angles. It appeared positively gothic and didn’t look like something you’d use to store cloaks in.

“What’s that?” Neville asked.

Susan shuffled and moved slightly to get a better look. “Now that’s a strange cabinet.”

“What’s he doing? Is he… trying to cast something?”

They watched Malfoy begin an eerie chant, and suddenly the cabinet began to shimmer, lines of runes along its edges suddenly visible.

“Oh my.” Hermione leaned forward. “What is that?”

“I think it’s…

“That’s a Vanishing Cabinet,” Neville excitedly interrupted Ginny.

Malfoy stopped and turned around, staring directly at their position. Nobody said anything as the Slytherin made a few careful steps toward them, his wand raised. “Who’s there?”

His voice was pressed, more afraid than commanding.

“I said, who’s there? Show yourself!”

When no answer came, Malfoy quickly moved the tip of his wand. “Sectumsempra!” he yelled. Behind Hannah, a pile of books was shredded by the curse, and pieces of parchment fell down in a wide radius.

Hermione heard Susan take a deep breath, and steeled herself.

Malfoy looked around once more and then turned back to the strange cabinet…

… only to whirl around and point his wand at Hermione.

“Crucio!”

The Unforgivable raced toward Hermione’s blurry face, but when it was about to hit her, it just dissolved and made her silhouette shimmer as the magical energy was drained away.

Neville gasped. “What?” 

“Stupefy!” Hermione hadn’t stopped aiming and hit Malfoy square in the chest. “Petrificus Totalus! Stupefy!”

The Slytherin didn’t even have time to gasp as his immobilized form fell backward and hit the floor with a resounding thunk.

Hermione shook her head as if she was trying to get rid of something and wordlessly dismissed her Disillusionment Charm while she approached Malfoy.

“Hermione… what? That was remarkable!” Hannah sounded excited. “How did you do that?”

“Yeah.” Susan came up to Hermione. “That was an Unforgivable! How did you just… absorb it? That’s not possible.”

“She’s a Guide, Susan. Maybe that’s why she didn’t dodge.” Ginny’s voice was low. “Remember that she just told us about being able to absorb magic?”

Hermione looked at the blurry silhouettes around her. “I wonder what gave us away.”

“I know.” Susan came closer and picked something out of Hermione’s hair. It was a tiny piece of parchment that had landed on her. “He probably saw this.”

“My stupid hair again.” Hermione sighed.

“Well, if Neville hadn’t yelled like that…”

The Gryffindor blushed. “I’m sorry about that. I’m useless at these things.”

“Don’t worry,” Ginny said. “Hermione got the ferret anyway.”

Hannah turned around. “Well, what should we do now? Why is Malfoy trying to enchant a Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Maybe it’s broken?” Neville crouched down beside the magical furniture. “I don’t know anything about how they work, though. Only heard of them from my nan.”

“Why would he need one in working order, assuming you’re correct?” Hermione looked around. “And why here, of all places? Sure, it’s secret because nobody’s supposed to know about the Room of Requirement, but… oh. Oh!”

“What?” Hannah’s silhouette came closer.

“I think we just confirmed that this room, this… configuration, exists even if nobody’s present.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “When we began using it for training, we were discussing at one point how the Room of Requirement works and what it looks like when nobody’s here. Does it dissolve? Or is it just the door that vanished, and the room is left in the configuration last used?”

Neville turned around from the cabinet. “I never thought about that, but… that’s slightly unnerving.”

“I thought so as well,” Hermione nodded. “However, I could never find evidence for any one theory. Until now.”

“Because of the Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Oh,” Ginny said. “I get it! Because, if someone comes through and arrives here, in the Room of Hidden Things, they don’t know if someone’s already here to have called the room into existence, so to speak.”

Hermione gave Ginny’s blurry form an appreciative smile. “Exactly.”

As if on command, everyone turned toward the Vanishing Cabinet.

“Since we don’t know where the other piece is, and if this one works, anyone could just step inside this room, right?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.” Susan sighed. “And wards don’t stop it from functioning.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Neville added.

“Me too.”

“Yeah.”

Hermione eyes the cabinet. It wasn’t that big, but that didn’t matter if people just went through in a line, one after another… one could bring an entire group here. She glanced at the dark color of the ancient wood and the sharp angles of the faint runes that ran alongside the corners.

This thing was old.

Likely expensive.

Something that’d become rare nowadays, something that only the older families in the Wizarding World still possessed. It wasn’t difficult to see where that line of thought would end. “So the answer really is Death Eaters,” she whispered, remembering the fear that she and Harry had shared days ago… ages ago, it felt like. “He’s planning to bring them here through that thing.”

For a short while, nobody said anything.

“Then we should destroy it,” Hannah mumbled eventually.

Ginny turned to Malfoy’s unconscious body. “But what about the ferret?”

Hermione looked at the ceiling, playing out scenarios in her head. “Oh, I’ve got an idea.”

As soon as the door to the Headmaster’s Office closed behind an angry Harry — without anyone’s command — Albus leaned heavily on his desk.

Blood was pouring out of all his body’s orifices. He couldn’t remember feeling so miserable since after his duel with Grindelwald; not even touching the cursed ring had been this painful.

Harry’s memories had shredded his mind.

Occlumency was all that kept him standing upright.

“Albus, what is happening? Are you sick?” Headmaster Burrwick’s portraits behind him appeared rather concerned. “Did Harry do something to you?”

“No, I’m…” He waved the portrait off. “It’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Gillian Slorah interjected. “Albus, where is Fawkes?”

The headmaster looked over to the phoenix’s empty stand. “I haven’t the faintest idea, Gillian.” His mind felt bruised from the millions of sensations that’d almost choked him in the Pensieve and brutally silenced the memories that experience had awoken.

“What will you do now?”

Albus turned to the drawer Harry had left open and took another Pepperup Potion. “I need to ask questions and find answers. There’s no time to waste.”

He knew drinking another one of these potions so quickly was dangerous, but there was no choice. Harry didn’t seem yet aware of his control of the castle, but he’d caught a glimpse of Albus’ shameful secret.

Now he was forced to do something drastic, something that would burn several plans years in the making.

Albus knocked back the potion and ran out of his office, only to be stopped at his door again. With a resigned look, the headmaster turned toward his fireplace as steam painfully shot out his ears. “No time to waste, indeed.”

He noted that his vision was becoming slightly blurry as the Pepperup Potion burned through his system. His joints ached, and his right hand pulsed uncomfortably. Albus only now noted how his bandage had come loose and ripped it off.

That turned out to be a mistake, and he hissed as he leaned against his fireplace. His entire right arm felt as if it were being hit with a Cruciatus Curse.

His left hand shaking from the pain, the headmaster grabbed some Floo powder and threw it into the flames. “Mi-Minerva… Mc… Gonna… Gonagall's… Office,” he wheezed as his Occlumency barrier began to slip and his mind was overcome by millions of impressions of Harry racing down the Grand Staircase.

As he fell into the green fire and was being pulled in three directions at once, Albus thought that the sheer momentum he'd felt through Harry's senses had been the most… intense thing he'd ever experienced in his life.

Then he lost consciousness again and was swallowed by the Floo's entry point.

A large whirl of red fire appeared in the middle of the headmaster's office. When it vanished a moment later, it left behind a man.

Remus stumbled slightly, but it was more out of his old habit to counterbalance the violent movement of the Floo network — he'd never traveled via phoenix before.

“Oh… wow. Thank you, Fawkes.”

The fiery bird on his shoulders preened. “Screee!”

It took flight and glided over to the empty stand and sat down, visibly pleased with itself.

Remus turned around the empty room and saw that virtually all the portraits were staring at him. “I apologize for the interruption. I was… Fawkes… can one of you tell me where Albus is? I must speak with him.”

“What did you do to Fawkes, Lupin?” One of the old headmasters sneered. “Did you abduct him?”

“Don't be silly.” Gillian Slorah rolled her eyes. “Mister Lupin, the headmaster used the Floo to go to Professor McGonagall's office. He'd probably like to speak to you about what happened today, but I fear for his well-being.”

The werewolf frowned. “What is it?”

“Well… Harry Potter assaulted and almost killed Severus Snape. Albus looked at Harry's memories and seemed rather shaken as he left his office.”

“That damn boy also set the castle on fire earlier. Expulsion, I say!” Another portrait shook its hands angrily.

Remus ignored the bickering that began behind Albus' desk and turned toward the door. He shortly hesitated when it opened in front of him, unbidden. He felt goosebumps as the feeling of entering forbidden territory grew stronger, just like last time.

It might've even grown stronger.

He was entering another's domain.

And even if he knew Harry probably didn't dislike him as a person, his inner werewolf didn't enjoy Hogwarts's strange aura at all.

Also, what about the door? Had Albus added him to the list of people with priority access? But why? Had the old man really not seen Remus' mistrust earlier? And why had Albus apparently used the Floo instead of… Fawkes?

Remus turned back to the phoenix, but the bird had already fallen asleep on its stand, and he had the distinct feeling that Dumbledore's familiar wouldn't help him any further. Fawkes, for reasons that he didn't quite understand yet, had warned him before that the boy was in imminent danger. Remus had heard its thoughts and intentions clearly after it had appeared at his home to screech at him. He had to find out what was going on, and, more importantly, find Harry and somehow spirit him away.

Hermione as well, since both Sentinel and Guide were in danger.

He ran out of the office and down the stairs. His nose immediately picked up the scent of burned things, of carnage. Remus leaned over the next railing to peer down the Grand Staircase and saw destruction down below.

“Fuck me,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

“Minerva, where in the world is Albus?” Pomona was visibly upset as she came up to the landing in the Grand Staircase, where Filius was still busy doing repairs with small, elegant movements of his wand.

The Head of House Gryffindor, equally upset but still keeping a façade, just sighed. “I haven’t the faintest idea, to be honest. He’s neither at the Ministry nor in Hogsmeade, and his office — which for some reason refuses to be locked at the moment — is empty.”

“Well, he was here before; he arrived rather hurriedly when I was still repairing the damage.” Filius shrugged. “He took Mister Potter to his office, but that's the last I saw of him.”

Pomona shook her head. “To vanish in a crisis like this, I mean… oh. Remus?! What are you doing here?”

The still slightly haggard-looking werewolf gave his former colleague a tiny smile. “Hello, Pomona. It seems I picked the worst day for a surprise visit.”

McGonagall huffed slightly, her lips suddenly thinner than usual. “Don’t be ridiculous. In fact, your presence is appreciated since it appears Albus gave Harry detention, so we can sort out this spectacular mess before the end of the day. Because make no mistake, the Prophet is likely already writing tomorrow’s headline. The attack on Severus was very public, even if only a handful of students saw what actually happened.”

“How is he?” The Head of House Hufflepuff wrung her hands. “Severus, I mean.”

“He won’t leave St. Mungo’s for at least a week,” Minerva said dejectedly. “Thankfully, Horace already agreed to fill in as temporary Head of House, and we can probably split Severus’ Defense classes between us so that the children won’t miss too much.”

Fililus, who’d been content to listen as he cast one slow spell after another, stopped. “Remus, what about you? Can’t you fill in?”

The werewolf frowned. “I don’t think the parents would appreciate my return after what happened three years ago…”

“I don’t like to speak ill of someone who’s in the hospital, but that man is just insufferable,” Pomona mumbled.

Minerva didn’t disagree, and the entire group of professors just grimly nodded to each other.

“What about Harry?” Filius asked. “I arrived here after the deed, but I had a chance to observe him while he was waiting for your return, Minerva, right until Albus came to pick him up.”

“What about him? Did he misbehave?”

The tiny professor shook his head. “Not at all; he was, in fact, so compliant that I began to worry. I’ve never seen him be like that, all… quiet? No, that’s not the right word.” He twirled his wand elegantly as he looked at the ceiling above. “He didn’t just wait like a frightful first-year; he also watched me like a hawk. Not threateningly, mind you, but it felt rather intense.”

Pomona’s face darkened. “So he didn’t show remorse? That’s not a good sign.”

“Indeed,” Minerva agreed. Then, noticing that Remus appeared rather uncomfortable being witness to the current conversation, she sighed again. “Remus wanted to see Harry, and I believe I need to ask him about his meeting with Albus earlier, so we’ll go up to Gryffindor Tower. I can’t believe he’d attack Severus like that, completely unprovoked. Something must’ve happened, and we need to know what it was.” She didn't mention what Hermione Granger had told her, hoping that the girl had been mistaken but fearing that she'd been truthful. But it wouldn't do to tell her colleagues that without proof.

Filius stopped moving his wand. “The Board is most likely to ask for the boy’s expulsion, you know that, right?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you plan to protect him?”

The Head of House Gryffindor stared off into space, her eyes unfocused. “I want to, but I’m not sure if I can. To be honest, I still hope for Albus’ timely return from wherever he is right now.”

Remus couldn’t help but quietly disagree. Wherever the old man was, his absence made for an opportunity to get to Harry. He still hadn’t told Minerva everything, but he planned to once they were out of earshot.

He had to, really, since he would rather not deceive her.

“Harry! How are you? Is… are you… I mean, how are you?” Ginny sat down beside him in the Common Room.

He could smell dust and old furniture on her, as well as… slightly burned paper? And of course, Hermione’s scent. It meshed rather nicely with Ginny’s unique smell that reminded him so much of summer, Harry decided.

“I think I’m fine?” He shrugged. “It’s weird. I don’t feel bad for what I did, and maybe I should, but… you know.” He looked around, and students around them were outright staring.

It was almost like back in the second year after he’d been ousted as a Parselmouth. His housemates had looked at him the same way then, partially frightened but also slightly intrigued by the mystery and what terrible thing he’d do next.

“I know,” Ginny said, not elaborating on Snape’s attack on Hermione as per Hermione’s earlier request. They wanted to wait and see what the professors did, what Dumbledore would do, before going public with what had happened in the owlery.

Also, there were too many students trying to listen in right now.

Suddenly, Harry felt his arms and legs prickle.

Something… no, someone was close, someone who shouldn’t be here.

Was it Dumbledore? The feeling was different from the oppressive feeling he’d experienced when the headmaster's mask had slipped to let him catch a glance at the Sentinel underneath, and he still didn’t know how to process that.

No, this was someone different.

Not a Sentinel, but also… other.

Harry took a deep breath, and suddenly he recognized the scent.

He couldn’t help but smile.

“What?” Ginny was observing him closely. “Did you think of something right now?”

“No, it’s Remus.”

“Where?” She turned around quickly.

“He’ll be here shortly, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.”

The redhead smirked. “Show-off. But it’s good that he came back, I believe. He’s probably still worried about the aftereffects from that attack on you.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to say, “What?”

Her pupils narrowed. “What do you mean, what? Didn’t he visit you in the Hospital Wing?”

“No, he didn’t,” he replied rather forcefully as he recalled his prior conversation with Professor McGonagall. She’d facilitated his meeting with Remus, which apparently had just been rescheduled, but Harry remembered the slight sting at the thought of being avoided by his former Defense Professor.

“You don’t need to bite my head off, Harry.”

He frowned. “Sorry? Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Ginny nodded, and then she suddenly appeared stricken. “So he didn’t see you, and we didn’t tell you? That’s just great… I’m sorry, Harry, but so much happened in such a short while after you…” She didn’t finish the sentence and swallowed, almost forcing him to listen to the sound of her saliva rushing down into her churning stomach as her heartbeat slightly increased.

It appeared she was honestly distraught.

Harry heard Remus and McGonagall come up the stairs outside the Common Room, but he decided he still wanted to know Ginny’s story, if only to try and see if there was something he’d missed. “So Remus was here before, in Hogwarts?”

She nodded. “Yes, it was right after you were attacked. I believe he had a meeting with Dumbledore or something, and he stopped to chat with Luna and me afterward. We told him about your sudden… sensitivity. He looked so worried, almost shocked, that I was sure he’d go and visit you in the Hospital Wing.”

“That’s… huh.” He absently moved his tongue across his teeth as he tried to recall how McGonagall had first allowed him to go to Hogsmeade, and then assigned him extra homework that was to be checked by Remus.

After all that had happened afterward, he had trouble picking out all the impressions of that meeting. His abilities hadn’t grown much after the initial shock of having his skull cracked — but his control had. Sadly, it didn’t allow him to leisurely and retroactively sort through the millions of impressions locked away in his memory.

Maybe it was a good thing.

Remembering every single thing that would ever happen to him from now on sounded like a surefire recipe for going insane. Unless he mastered Occlumency, but the current chaos of the Sentinel-Guide revelations made that an unlikely prospect.

“It’s okay,” he finally said as he heard his Head of House approach the Fat Lady’s portrait outside. “Thanks for telling me, Ginny.”

“Should I stay with you?” she asked quietly, her eyes following his gaze toward the Common Room’s door. “Just in case? I don’t know when… when Hermione and the others will be back.”

There’d been a slight edge in her voice just now at the mention of his Guide and Harry noted how Ginny’s heartbeat spiked. He knew she liked him, really liked him, despite everything that had happened since he’d been hit by that stupid bludger. He needed to speak with Hermione about this, as well as a million other things. He didn’t like the idea of losing Ginny as a friend, but he also suspected there was a non-zero chance she’d walk away because of his intimate bond with Hermione. 

Like he’d probably already lost Ron.

As Professor McGonagall entered the room, he tried to remember when he’d last spoken to his… former best friend. Why hadn’t Ron been with him, with both of them, throughout all of it?

How had it come to this? 

Harry tried to shove his thought aside as the Common Room suddenly grew quiet.

“I appreciate the offer,” he whispered to Ginny, seeing how she hung on to his every word. “But I’m probably going to be punished for the attack, and that’s on me, me alone. Better you stay here and report to the others.”

She wasn’t happy about that, but there was no time for a response, and Ginny bit her lip with a gloomy expression.

He stood up when his Head of House came right his way, Remus in tow.

It was then that he realized that the strange feeling from before originated from the slightly haggard man in front of him. Something within Harry didn’t like seeing the werewolf coming so close, being here, in Hogwarts.

His home.

His.

But why?

He liked Remus!

Harry swallowed dryly. This was perplexing, and he tried hard not to focus on Remus's appearance or the fact that his former Defense Professor smelled of strange fire, something hot that didn’t shed any ash… 

Fawkes.

So that’s where the phoenix had been.

And it meant that he had to be cautious because Remus was probably here on behalf of the headmaster. Likely to try to gather information about his bond with Hermione, or to see what they knew about Snape’s attack — something the man likely hadn’t done on his own.

“Professor,” he said evenly and nodded to Remus. “Mister Lupin.”

The werewolf frowned at being addressed so formally, but McGonagall gave him an appreciative nod. “Mister Potter, I would like to have a word with you. Do you mind Mister Lupin’s presence? He’s here on other business, but I thought it might be prudent to have a third party present, someone who wasn’t here when the… incident took place.” 

Her green eyes seemed to pierce Harry’s very soul, and despite his ability to read her body language like an open book, he found himself slightly intimidated. Professor McGonagall was planning something; that much was obvious, but he couldn’t detect if she believed it would be good or bad for him.

Intrigued, Harry shrugged. “Of course, that sounds reasonable. Where… ” He looked around to emphasize that literally several dozens of Gryffindors were staring at them right now. “Where should we go?”

“Follow me,” McGonagall said cryptically and turned around. “The rest of you, please take note that the Grand Staircase will be reopened in about an hour from now.”

“Professor! Did Harry really set it on fire?” an excited first-year student asked, his face beet-red at the excitement of speaking in front of the entire Common Room.

“Mister Myers.” The professor shook her head with a slightly exasperated expression. “You shouldn’t mistake gossip for facts. And no, Mister Potter didn’t set the stairs on fire.”

“But it smells burned!” Someone else interjected. “We all saw the debris down there! And some of it is still hovering right there! That’s not normal.”

Muttered agreement sounded all around Harry, who enjoyed the situation probably more than he should. He looked around the room, and his gaze fell upon the strange relationship map some younger students had fixed to one of the walls. He’d seen it before, of course, and even noticed the faint scent of old cloth and sour mops that told him the yarn that connected several of the colored pins had been nicked from Argus Filch’s storage room.

He hadn’t given the installation any thought, though.

Harry smirked as he saw Jimmy Peakes elbow Rionach O’Neal so that she would stand in front of the map to shield it from McGonagall’s view as their Head of House addressed the room to admonish them for being rumormongers.

When McGonagall was finished and proceeded to the exit, Harry couldn’t help himself.

“You forgot to add Luna to the map,” he whispered to Rionach in passing, trying to sound serious. “She is Neville’s secret girlfriend — Susan doesn’t know.”

Somehow, the ridiculousness of it all helped him deal with the lingering uncertainty about how this day might end, and Harry suppressed a laugh when he heard the younger students hastily readjust their map as he climbed through the door.

Merlin, how he missed laughing about things. Being carefree enough to just goof around. He was sick and tired of mysteries as well as life-threatening and life-altering experiences.

One level down, he noticed that his Head of House wasn’t leading them to her office. He followed the two adults in front of him to a locked classroom that McGonagall opened with an ancient brass key. His senses picked up decades worth of dust, a few spiders, a book someone had forgotten on one of the tables, and… something inside the teacher’s desk.

It felt like a minor magical artifact.

Something worth checking out afterward, for sure.

Harry closed the door behind him and stepped up to McGonagall and Remus. They were visibly uneasy about this clandestine meeting, but they were also Gryffindors and not easily cowered.

“Mister Potter,” his Head of House said in her crisp voice. “Circumstances have changed, as you well know, and your lunch in Hogsmeade is canceled. However, since Mister Lupin came to Hogwarts, I don’t see a reason to not allow you two to speak with each other here.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

“I hope it’s not too much of a bother,” Remus said, his voice betraying a great deal of stress to Harry’s sensitive ears, and suddenly he imagined that the werewolf felt as uneasy as he did.

“It’s not, Remus.” The old woman gave Harry a tired look. “We don’t know where Albus went, and we really need him to solve the current situation. Mister Potter, before I leave you two, can you tell me what possessed you to attack Professor Snape like that? And did the headmaster say anything to you about where he was going next?”

Harry thought about lying but didn’t really see the point. He didn’t care much about whatever punishment he’d receive — and he wasn’t going to go out on a limb for Dumbledore right now, either.

“I confronted Snape in the Grand Staircase because I thought he was trying to make my life harder, trying to mess with my new… sensibility,” he said.

That wasn’t the whole truth, but it also wasn’t a lie. If Hermione had lost her memories, he’d not only have lost his Guide but something even more precious as well, something both Hermione and he hadn’t really talked about since… since that kiss at the pond.

Harry was perfectly fine calling all that ‘his sensibility’.

“That’s a serious accusation, Mister Potter. What makes you think that?”

Remus quietly observed him, and Harry noted that the werewolf was paying close attention to his body language.

So the man could probably read him rather well.

He couldn’t help but feel annoyed at McGonagall’s words, though. “Why are you always saying that whenever one of the staff is accused of wrongdoing, Professor? I bloody well know how serious things are! This incredulity… after everything that happened here, to me, ever since my first year?” He knew he was laying it on a bit thick, but Harry was just completely fed up at this point — despite knowing that attacking Snape just didn’t look good in hindsight, no matter his justifications.

McGonagall’s eyes blazed, but rather than explode at him, she sort of… inflated. “I… I think you’re way out of line, Mister Potter.” She closed her eyes for a second. “And yet, despite my best efforts, I can’t entirely disagree with you. So please, do tell, what did Professor Snape do? I would rather like to know, seeing what both of you did to the Grand Staircase.”

Should he tell her the same thing Hermione had? It was still possible her words would be dismissed due to the stress of the situation, what with Snape bleeding all over the landing. If Harry were to confirm that the greasy git had tried to obliviate a student… No, it was still too early for that.

“Harry.” Remus addressed him for the first time, his voice still nervous. “Would I be wrong to assume that your hesitation to talk to us is caused by fear about some sort of retribution?” The werewolf’s calm voice aside, Remus’ eyes didn’t shy away from Harry’s gaze. His heartbeat was steady, and his skin didn’t suddenly smell sour. This wasn’t an act; he really was concerned.

So maybe not Dumbledore’s man after all?

Harry decided to nod slowly. “Yes,” he whispered, focusing on Professor McGonagall’s reaction. He saw how she frowned when she noticed his stare, and something in her demeanor changed  — something Harry couldn’t really put his finger on.

“Mister Potter, I assure you, you’re completely safe here…”

Harry wanted to pull out his hair but opted to snort instead. “Really, Professor? Safe? Here, in Hogwarts? That’s not how I remember the past weeks, or years for that matter.”

She just stared at him.

He decided to give her a bit more rope, just to see what she’d do. “But that’s not what I meant,” he added in a low voice. “I doubt that the… the headmaster would appreciate my words if I were to speak now.”

Remus was about to say something, but McGonagall put a hand on his arm, and the werewolf sighed instead. Her eyes were shinier than before, and Harry realized he was seeing unshed tears, and couldn’t help but… admire her.

“Mister Potter,” she said, her voice slightly brittle. “Whatever you’re afraid of talking about, I promise you, it’ll remain between us. I won’t tell anyone else, let alone the headmaster, unless you want me to.”

Harry knew she meant what she said with every fiber of her being, but he also remembered how often she’d been the obedient assistant of Dumbledore, always telling him about all the things that happened in the House of Gryffindor. Maybe Professor McGonagall just wanted to make him believe her so that she would believe herself? It was a rather contemptuous thought, but Harry knew he didn’t have the luxury of being naive at this point.

And yet… his heart was telling him that he could trust her, both of them.

Randomly, Ron came back to his mind — as well as a yearning to just trust someone, anyone, to get out of this murky mess that was his life as a newly awoken Sentinel.

“Dumbledore kept many things from me over the years,” Harry finally said in a monotone voice. “But when he discovered that Hermione and I knew that there’s a name for my… condition and that we both share a strange bond, he tried to dissuade us from investigating it any further.” He clenched his fists to channel the anger he was feeling inside again. “He’s always confiding in Snape, and when I found Hermione outside, I knew immediately she’d been obliviated — unsuccessfully, that is.”

“Harry…” Remus gasped.

“I know it was Snape who attacked her, waiting for a moment when she’d be alone in the owlery,” he added bitterly. “That’s why I confronted him. I couldn’t before because I wasn’t yet controlling all my faculties, so to speak.”

To hell with hesitation.

Snape had done it, and most likely on Dumbledore's orders.

He'd just have to wait and see what happened from now on.

McGonagall’s face was ashen. “What… what do you mean, Mister Potter?”

“I’m a Sentinel, Professor. I can hear your last cup of tea sloshing inside you, and I can smell on your fingers that you held Snape’s hair when you and Madame Pomfrey brought him to St. Mungo’s. I know you’ve cast spells today; there’s a faint odor of magic on it, and I’d hazard a guess that the last spell was a Charm.” He looked her up and down. “You’ve cried this morning, and you’re close to doing so again right now. And I know that… that you believe me, Professor,” he ended in a whisper. “Because your heart tells me so.”

She was holding her face now, staring at him with wide eyes. “Harry…” she said, a lone tear rolling down to her chin. It was the second time ever that she’d used his first name, and he took solace in the fact. Minerva McGonagall might've let him down in her own way before, but she'd never not been in his corner, and he knew that.

“What about you? Do you believe me?” He turned to Remus.

“I do,” the man answered, and there was a ghost of a smile around his lips. “I also know that you’re not just sharing any bond with Hermione; she’s your Guide.”

“Wha… how?” Harry stared at the werewolf. “How can you possibly know that?”

“That’s less important than me being here.” Remus looked at McGonagall, who’d regained control of herself but seemed still shaken. “You’re in danger, Harry, and not just from misguided attempts to make you stop looking into Sentinel lore. Fawkes came to me, on his own, to deliver a warning. Both you and Hermione are in danger, and I need you to come with me.”

“I…”

McGonagall raised a hand. “Remus, he can't, not until the attack on Severus isn't officially resolved.” Her eyes found Harry again. “Despite everything, Mister Potter — despite everything — the fact remains that you assaulted a Hogwarts professor and wounded him so badly that he'd have died without intervention. I can't… we can't let that slide, no matter how much I believe you. Because I also believe that you know what you did was wrong.”

Harry bit his tongue in annoyance.

She was right.

He knew he was at least somewhat justified in his action, but at the same time, it hadn't been a fair fight, no matter how much experience Snape had in the Dark Arts. As long as he was at Hogwarts, he couldn't simply unleash Avadas at Harry — unlike Voldemort and his Death Eaters. That, alongside Harry's Sentinel abilities, had given him the edge in the Grand Staircase.

No, it hadn't been fair; it'd just been… retribution.

“I know,” he said.

“Minerva, I hope you know I’m not enacting some sort of petty vengeance against Severus when I tell you that all this actually pales in comparison to what might happen if Harry stays here.” Remus crossed his arms and stared at the floor. “Something’s coming, I know it in my bones… Fawkes wouldn’t have come otherwise, without Albus even.”

McGonagall sighed. “Where is the headmaster, Harry?”

He looked at McGonagall. “He was in his office when he dismissed me after giving me detention. I don’t know what he did afterward.”

“You didn’t pick anything up on your way out? Your senses are remarkable. Please, think,” Remus said.

Harry remembered the stench of Dumbledore’s desiccated hand but decided that he’d already spilled enough secrets. He could not in good conscience talk about Horcruxes right now, because Hermione would likely turn him into one should she get wind of it.

No, for now, Horcruxes would remain a semi-secret between Dumbledore, Snape, Slughorn, Voldemort, Hermione, and him. Six people, yes, but none of them willing to tell the Wizarding World what was going on anytime soon.

He shrugged. “I didn't; I was still… angry.”

Remus shrugged. “Well then. Albus could be anywhere, even though he left Fawkes behind, and we don’t know how to contact him.”

“That’s incorrect, Remus, as you should remember,” McGonagall replied and raised her wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

A silvery tabby cat appeared in the dusty classroom and rubbed herself against Remus’ and McGonagall’s feet. “Go and find Albus Dumbledore; tell him we need him in Hogwarts, urgently,” she ordered the Patronus.

The cat blurred out for a moment, but then it sat down and looked at McGonagall with an unhappy expression, its tail lazily curling behind it.

“Merlin, that rarely happens. Where is he?” Remus mumbled.

“What is going on right now?” Harry asked, slightly confused but mostly intrigued. “Can a Patronus go and search for a person? That’s… awesome.” He was staring at the incorporeal cat, feeling into the invisible threads of magical energy that kept it active.

“It’s how the Order kept in contact during the war, when it was too dangerous to send notes,” Remus said to Harry in a low voice. “Albus didn’t mention that to you before?”

He answered the werewolf with a tired, deadpan stare that made the man shake his head in silent disbelief.

Of course, nobody had seen fit to tell him that.

“Well, I’d hoped this would work.” Harry's Head of House appeared slightly angry as she dismissed the Patronus with a jerky move of her wand. “So wherever Albus is, he’s not nearby and not somewhere out in the open, or anywhere accessible, really.”

Remus folded his hands, deep in thought. “Where does that leave Harry? I still believe it’d be best to bring him to a secure place now. Him and Hermione.”

“What, to 12 Grimmauld Place?” Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to hang out in Sirius’ house. Too many painful memories, both his own and those of all the people that once lived there. His senses would probably go haywire over all the ancient wards and questionable enchantments in that place.

The uneasy feeling of being in Remus’ proximity returned with a vengeance, and Harry drew a deep breath to steady his nerves.

“No, Harry. You said you don’t trust Albus in this, and I have my reasons to not leave you somewhere he could enter and leave at will.”

McGonagall gave Remus a rather irritated look.

“I have something else in mind.” The man nodded to himself and then turned his attention back to them. “And Minerva… you won’t like it.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t feel good about this,” Neville mumbled as he looked around nervously. There was no one else around in the corridors, though, since they’d passed the busy sections of the castle by now.

Most students were still trying to mingle around the third floor to catch a glimpse of the spot where Harry supposedly had killed Snape and set the castle on fire.

Susan rolled her eyes. “You’ve said so several times now, Nev.” She adjusted her grip on her wand so professors wouldn’t immediately see that she was maintaining a Dangling Jinx as they went down into the dungeons. “You wanted to help; this is how you help.”

“I know, but…”

“We’re not actually hurting him; we’re just locking him away for the moment to embarrass him,” Hannah added in a low voice as they passed a pair of younger Slytherins who looked at them suspiciously. “He’d do much worse to you if the roles were reversed.”

“He did much worse, remember the… ” An audible thud interrupted Susan as they turned a corner, and the trio looked around at each other in panic.

“What was that?” Neville whispered.

Hannah looked around. “I think it was…”

“Malfoy.” Susan rolled her eyes again and then moved her wand slightly back and forth.

There was another thud, somewhere above her.

“He’s bumping into the wall,” she added with a sardonic smile. “I forgot he’s hovering to my side as well, not just above.”

Neville winced and looked up at the blurry, almost invisible shape of Malfoy, who was hanging upside down above them. “That must hurt.”

“He’s still out of it.”

“But when he wakes up… “

Susan sighed. “Should we revive him then, right here and now? Tell him how sorry we are to have interrupted his evil plan to smuggle Death Eaters into the castle to attack Harry or the headmaster. What do you want from me, Neville?”

The boy blanched. “It’s not that! I’m just not sure…”

Both girls looked at him now, one curious and one with exasperation. A moment passed, and Neville noticed he didn’t actually have an alternative plan, or know what his reservations were really about. They had the arrogant ponce dead to rights, but Hermione’s plan was to see that Malfoy would only be inconvenienced and embarrassed, not harmed. Susan was right.

And since the Slytherin most likely was the second attacker who’d tried to knock out Harry by dispelling his Quietus Animus Charm back when all this strange Sentinel stuff had just begun…

“You’re right,” Neville said. “Let’s do it. No more pussyfooting around.”

Hannah gasped slightly. “Neville!”

“Sorry.” He blushed as he took the lead.

“No, please, don’t apologize for being a Gryffindor,” Susan added, and they all snickered as they proceeded back to the Grand Staircase — now below the busy levels — to head down to the school dungeons. She only bumped Malfoy into walls and ceilings two or three additional times, completely accidentally, of course.

By some miracle, the trio, and their passenger made it to their destination without interruption. They stopped when Snape’s office door came into view.

“Hermione was right, it really is… open?” Neville shook his head. “How… I mean… what?”

Hannah hmm’ed appreciatively. “I mean, she suspected that Snape was in a great hurry when Harry caught him… but this is so cool.”

“It’s like we’re like chess figures in someone else’s plan.” Susan recast her Dangling Jinx and moved Malfoy slightly. “Hermione’s, to be precise. So let’s do this.”

“Why is it that you always get pushy when we’re doing something illegal?” Hannah whispered.

The redhead waved her off, causing the still unconscious Malfoy to forcefully bump into the hallway’s ceiling. “Let’s discuss this after we dump this idiot inside. Neville, you’ve spent some time doing detentions here — where does Snape store ethanol or alcoholic solutions?”

Now it was Neville’s turn to smile. “Oh, I’ve got this. Follow me!” He opened the door to Snape’s office with more confidence than he’d ever felt during the previous years.

“No… I… I can’t.” Charlie swallowed dryly and tried to turn away from the fiery phoenix in front of him, but the bird just apparated around him in a burst of flame.

“Screee!” The cry sounded more annoyed than angry as the phoenix hovered in front of him.

“I don’t… Fawkes, no. I don’t want to risk it. I can’t. You have no right to ask me that.” Charlie raised his hands to ward off the phoenix’s intentions. “I’m bound and never asked to see another Sentinel. Meeting Hermione is one thing, but I can’t meet… him.”

“Screee!”

A female voice joined the conversation. “Somehow, this isn’t even the strangest thing I’ve seen since I went to Hogwarts.” Tonks’s hair turned to flaming reds and oranges as she watched Charlie being accosted by the phoenix. “It’s not even the strangest thing I’ve seen this year, and that includes Remus doing his laundry for a change.”

“Not funny,” Charlie pressed.

The Metamorphmagus smiled. “It very much is.”

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

Fawkes landed on a nearby chair and eyed the wizard in front of him critically. It appeared as if the phoenix was pondering a new tactic, not letting his parry out of sight.

“I remember being slightly jealous when Ronnikins told us about how Harry was being rescued by Fawkes in their second year, not to mention my sister being in the thrall of Voldemort,” Charlie said in a low voice. “And I thought, why didn’t stuff like that ever happen to me?”

Tonks’ smile vanished. “We had our own misadventures, as you damn well remember.”

“I know, but… they feel inadequate in comparison. Lesser.” He made a vague gesture. “And I know how stupid that sounds, believe me.”

“So, what does Fawkes want from you, Charlie? Really?” Tonks crossed her arms, making her baby bump more prominent in the process. “What’s causing you so much distress?”

“He… he doesn’t know what he’s asking of me.”

Fawkes burst into flames at those words but didn’t take flight. “Screee!”

“He appears to disagree,” Tonks replied nonchalantly, ignoring the fact that her furniture was being set on fire. “Tell me.”

Charlie sighed and flexed his hands, feeling the turbulent energies in the room wash over him and trying to find his calm space. “He asks me to show Harry how to truly open up to his Guide. To… Hermione.”

“Why are you acting like he’s asking you to propose to McGonagall, then? Didn’t you say that Sagi… that you’re being taken care of? That it’s better now?” She approached him, her steps slow but deliberate.

Charlie shook his head. “I… I don’t know what happens when I’m facing Harry. I can’t risk damaging my bond.”

Tonks’ hair turned brown and grew longer. “Charlie…”

“Nym, I… I just can’t. I can talk to Hermione, sure, but that’s it.”

She put a hand on his arm, and he drew a ragged breath. “Breathe, you stupid Guide, breathe,” she mumbled. “Merlin help me, it’s like we’re back in our sixth year and Melissa Gerble dumped you all over again.”

Charlie closed his eyes and felt his friend’s aura, greedily absorbing the chaotic energies that the Metamorphmagus emitted. “It’s not that bad,” he muttered.

“Charlie.”

“Hm?”

“Albus Dumbledore’s magical familiar came here all on its own, without the leader of our esteemed order, mind you, to try to recruit you as a mentor of sorts because it fears that whatever went down at Hogwarts these past few days didn’t allow Harry to fully realize his potential, let alone bind with his Guide. Meanwhile, you’re standing in my living room, crying like a little wuss because you think Sagi won’t… what? Approve of it?” She flicked his ear. “Do I have that right?”

“Ouch!” He looked at her, shocked. “That… that was a really long sentence.”

“Don’t call me that.” She pointed at Fawkes. “You call yourself a dragon handler now… I don't know, act like one.”

“That’s something entirely different, and you know it.” He gave her a deadpan stare.

“Screee.” Fawkes was back in the air now, circling them.

Tonks smirked. “See? You upset your House’s mascot.”

“You know damn well that our emblematic animal is a lion, you muppet!”

“I’m a proud Badger; what do I care about what you weird Gryffindors get up to in that tower of yours?” She stuck out her tongue at him.

Charlie sighed again. “This is completely ridiculous.”

“Then do something to change it,” she said. “You’re stronger than you think, Charlie. Always were. You can help Harry, I’m sure of it.”

“Screee!” Fawkes’ fiery tail drew a circle around them, and they both watched in awe when Charlie touched it with an outstretched finger and caused an explosion of bright but harmless sparks.

“I’m not like you or Remus, and I can only imagine what it must feel like to be in Harry’s proximity, but this might be a good thing, Charlie,” Tonks continued as she held on to him. “Look at this! This is… magical, in the purest sense of the word. You said our childhood adventures aren’t up to Harry’s standards? Now’s your chance, Gryffindor. Just do what the bloody phoenix asks of you already!”

He grinned as he continued to touch Fawkes’ harmless fire. “Nym, you do have a way with words. Well, sometimes.”

She huffed. “That’s it, I’m finding another godfather for my child.”

“ Screee! ”

Charlie closed his eyes. “Merlin help me. Alright, you two.” He lowered his hand. “I’ll do it. I… I’ll face Harry. Talk to him, I mean.”

There was a bright flash, and then Fawkes was gone.

“Okay, maybe this was slightly more impressive than Remus doing his laundry the other day,” Tonks said thoughtfully as she hugged her baby bump.

Charlie didn’t respond.

“You know how I am with serious moments,” she continued. “I don’t mean to make light of your situation. I actually believe this might help you, Charlie.”

“I sure hope so.” Charlie nodded absently. “I mean… did this just happen? Did Fawkes really come to me? Me, of all people? Not Bill, or the twins?”

“Why wouldn’t Fawkes come to you?”

He turned toward her with a melancholic smile. “You know why.”

“How about you shut up and accept a compliment for once?” She threatened him with her thumb and index finger ready to flick his ear again.

But Charlie ignored her antics. “We need to prepare for them. Somewhere remote works best, but I need to ask Hermione about her elements first before we select a location… Ah, but there’s still something else I can do.”

“I can help!”

He grunted. “Remus will probably eviscerate me if I let you tag along to where I’m going. No way.”

“Charlie, pleeeeease?” She made puppy eyes. “I feel like I’m trapped here. Messing up Remus' kitchen is all good fun, but now you boys get to have mystical adventures, and I’m just… pregnant? Not that it's a bad thing, mind you, but I feel like I'm missing out.”

He remained unmoved. “Nice try, but I’ve seen adult dragons doing that number on me, so how about No.”

“I can probably also breathe fire if need be? Moody was very thorough in his lessons.”

Charlie groaned. “Tonks…”

Hermione didn’t know how long she’d been standing at the shores of the Black Lake when she heard the distinct pops of Apparition in the distance. It’d come from somewhere far behind her, from the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. 

So the Ministry response that Dumbledore had warned Harry about had finally come.

Either that or the Board of Governors had decided to intervene.

Or both.

Strangely, Hermione found that she didn’t care much for the actual answer to this temporary mystery because she didn’t plan to face whoever had come just now. At least, not without getting back to Harry and the others first.

A sudden gust of wind made the Invisibility Cloak billow out around her, and she immediately thought back to Harry’s Hot Air Charms — she’d love to receive one of those now.

Maybe something else as well…

Alas, this wasn’t the time to indulge in those kinds of fantasies, even though Hermione was painfully aware that she and Harry needed to have a talk about their relationship, and soon. She’d been all over him in the Grand Staircase, alternating between reprimanding him and touching his body to reassure herself he was unharmed.

Part of her was still wincing at the memory of seeing Snape being flattened into the actual stone floor of the landing… like an insect that someone had stepped on.

Was it wrong to not feel bad about it?

Did that man’s attempted obliviation really justify being uncaring and… petty?

Hermione wasn’t sure, but she also knew she didn’t have the time and energy to worry about her uncharacteristic lack of compassion right now. This wasn’t an academic problem she could pursue quietly without bothering anyone apart from Ron; this was still a crucial point in Harry’s and her development.

Sentinel, and Guide.

She felt the mighty wards of the ancient castle at her back and shuddered, even though the wind had stopped for a moment. Not for the first time since Harry had been hit in the head by that stupid Bludger did she feel like things were spiraling out of control. Every other moment, something insane happened, something life-threatening and life-altering, with only brief moments of respite in between.

In her mind’s eye, she saw herself forcefully pushing Harry into that mystical pond. It’d been so eerie, and yet so right.

The moment her lips had met his…

And still, no time to let all these things truly sink in. She knew she wasn’t hallucinating current events; the changes in her mind and in her awareness were too profound for that.

Yet it felt like a dream, something nonsensical she’d only remember for a minute or so after waking up, only to forget all about it afterward.

“If only…” Hermione sighed.

She knew she needed to go back.

When the wind billowed Harry’s cloak again, she pulled a small wooden object from her robes and inspected it. Shrunk like this, the former Vanishing Cabinet had lost much of its antique charm and looked like a slightly warped piece of dollhouse furniture.

Absorbing the magic that Malfoy had woven into the ancient wood had felt strange, but it’d been the easiest thing Hermione had done since her awakening.

She thought about keeping the item as evidence once again, but her decision remained the same. The authorities wouldn’t do a thing about something like this, apart from simply giving it to some Death Eater once asked to do so.

And the headmaster? He hadn’t appeared too worried about the prospect of Malfoy being up to something in the castle. She remembered Harry’s frustration and her dismissal of his suspicions back before…

Before she’d been a Guide.

The path was clear, and there was no going back if she wanted to help Harry find meaning in the madness. Too many threats remained in Hogwarts at this point.

Hermione crushed the shrunken Vanishing Cabinet in her hand and watched the pieces fall into the Black Lake with detached interest. “No Death Eaters coming through the back door, not this time,” she mumbled. “Not on my watch.”

It was done.

Soon, Malfoy would be found in Snape’s office, reeking of alcohol and having no good excuse for his presence there. Since the ferret was a decent liar if need be, she didn’t expect him to get into any serious trouble — just enough to keep his name connected to Snape’s encounter with Harry.

What would Malfoy do when he saw that his little side project had vanished?

Would the Room of Requirement be able to provide him with a replacement, or an alternative?

Hermione frowned as she realized she didn’t know, and this time she very much cared for an actual answer because Merlin knew how desperate the insufferable Slytherin really was in his attempts to sic Voldemort’s followers onto Harry.

She probably didn’t need to act upon this right now, but they had to keep an eye on Malfoy.

Ginny and the others would most likely help out if asked.

How strange and wonderful it had been when Hannah, Susan, Neville, and Ron’s sister had revealed themselves as allies. Literally running after Harry and herself, trying to solve the riddle that was Harry’s hypersensitivity. There was another angle, of course.

If Hermione were a betting woman, she’d put money on Susan having latent Sentinel or Guide abilities. And she might not be the only one inside the castle.

The timing indicated that Harry’s and her awakening had caused some sort of ripple effect.

Was that a good thing?

She remembered Slughorn’s admission of ignorance concerning Sentinels and Guides, and Dumbledore’s cagey answers to her questions. Was it possible that they weren’t actually alone, that Wizarding Britain housed more of their kind than anyone publicly knew?

Food for thought, that.

Hermione looked over the Black Lake one last time, glanced at the wooden splinters that were drifting away from her spot, and turned back to Hogwarts. Immediately, she felt its ambient magic on her face, almost like sunshine — only less pleasant.

As she made her way back to the school, shielded from unfriendly eyes by that wonderful Invisibility Cloak, she ticked off items from her mental list of things to investigate and threats to eliminate.

It was at this point that she noticed a white spot up in the sky, approaching from the direction of Hogsmeade. It was a bird, and it was carrying something big.

Hedwig!

Hermione looked around but didn’t see anyone around — whoever the people were she’d heard earlier must’ve already entered the castle — and then turned toward Hedwig’s direction and opened her cloak.

“Hedwig, here!” she called out.

The snowy owl had been seen here and changed course, away from the owlery. She was carrying a large brown package in her talons, and Hermione wondered how heavy it was.

She held out her hands when the owl was in front of her and caught the package. “Ooof. Hedwig, how in the world did you manage to carry this?”

“Hoo.” The owl landed on her arm and bristled her feathers, then looked Hermione in the eye. “Hoo!”

“You’re such a good girl. Thank you so much.” Hermione carefully patted Hedwig’s head, and the snowy owl preened.

Then something occurred to her.

“Wait a moment… I asked you to bring a letter to the Ministry’s postal office, didn’t I?” Hermione’s mind was racing. “That was days ago. You don’t need that long to… Hedwig, where have you been? What is this?”

Hedwig bobbed her head excitedly. “Hoo! Hoo!”

“I see.” Hermione drew her cloak around the owl to shield her from the castle’s windows behind her. “Well, even if it’s something sent by Mister Ossinsky, however impossible I find the prospect of such a quick reply, I can’t open it out here. Also, it might be best if nobody sees you, Hedwig. Harry’s fine, for now anyway, but some people want to stop us from finding out what’s happening to us.”

“Hoo.” Hedwig turned her head around as if she suspected attackers to sneak up on them at this very moment, but she remained on Hermione’s arm.

“Let’s find a secluded spot, you and I,” Hermione mumbled as she picked up the package and held it under her arm with some effort. “Whatever Harry’s doing, I’m sure he can wait another five minutes for this. It's probably books, isn't it? That'd be so exciting! Quick, let’s go.”

The Guide, the owl, and the package vanished from sight.

Chapter Text

McGonagall’s office was deserted when its fireplace suddenly came alive and spat out an old wizard in a cloud of greenish flames and black smoke. The man — clad in ostentatious robes — bounced off the hard floor like a ragdoll and was eventually stopped by the sturdy desk of the Head of House Gryffindor. The fireplace belched a few more times, spraying sparks and soot everywhere, then it fell silent.

Unlike the headmaster's office, there was now near absolute silence in the room. No clocks, no strange devices that puffed and whirred, not even talkative magical portraits. The office wasn’t devoid of magical portraits, though; it just so happened that their occupants had wandered off to chat with their neighbors or try to get to a frame hanging in the Grand Staircase, where Harry Potter had done something or other a few hours before.

So maybe it was the absence of sound that caused Albus Dumbledore to regain consciousness. He groaned as he felt a massive headache coming on between his temples. Gingerly, he sat himself up and reached for his wand. His nose was bleeding again, painting his beard in scarlet colors. The old wizard realized what had happened as he looked at the fireplace, recognizing his friend’s office. It was dangerous to fall unconscious during Floo travel — or falling into it while unconscious — because the magic wasn’t gentle.

Broken bones were equally as possible as lost limbs or even more horrendous bodily harm, or simply getting lost in the metaphysical in-between of the Floo network. Legend had it that in the 16th century, a Hogwarts professor had entered his fireplace drunk and never come out on the other side, still being in transit… somewhere.

That he, Albus, would make a blunder like this, on a day as pivotal as today… The headmaster didn’t quite believe in fate as having independent agency, but the thought entered his mind that somehow things were conspiring against him, that reality had aligned behind Harry, but not him.

Or maybe it was just the castle itself, although there was nothing about this observation that put him at ease. Harry had begun to claim Hogwarts as his own, even though he wasn’t quite aware of that fact, as far as Albus could tell. It made things much more complicated, though, since wards and other magical installations would eventually stop working in the headmaster's favor, no matter his position in the school’s hierarchy. A stubborn office door would be the least of Albus’ problems if this continued, and that in turn would spell disaster for his plans regarding Voldemort. But there was still time. No matter what Harry and Hermione had done in the Forbidden Forest — he granted himself to feel a slight discomfort at the thought of those two being physically intimate with each other since they were so very young — there was still a window of opportunity.

Albus hadn’t lied to Severus when he’d admitted a lack of knowledge of Sentinel lore, but he suspected that some basic mechanics of the bond between Sentinel and Guide shared similarities with other magical bonds and contracts. Hence the entire idea to cause Voldemort to make yet another, more… special Horcrux. He stood up but stopped mid-motion.

Similarities… there’d been an old text about werewolves and Sentinels he’d read decades ago… something about being able to sniff each other out?

Remus!

So that’s why Harry’s former teacher had been acting so strangely during his recent visit. He’d probably already sensed the presence of a Sentinel in Hogwarts. Why hadn’t he said anything? Was Remus trying to protect Harry? But of course he was. Still seeking absolution for something that wasn’t his fault. Albus had to stop the werewolf before he’d turn other members of the order against him. Things were hanging by a thread at this point, and an intervention on Harry’s behalf — no matter how well meant — would pose a serious threat to the trap that Albus had been building for Voldemort.

The Sentinel-Guide bond had changed things, and they absolutely needed another fallback. It was unthinkable, yet inevitable. The necessity to act had become too strong to fall back into the familiar routine of hesitant speculation. With some effort, Albus found his footing again and cast a Scouring Charm as well as a few other spells on himself before he gingerly walked out of McGonagall’s office. Outside, students were milling about, and he nodded to them in passing. He was used to their whispers.

In the Grand Staircase, he noticed that countless folks mingled around the third floor, pointing to the surrounding walls or the floor. There were, in fact, patches where the stonework appeared to be fresh, and some magical portraits had switched places. A few pieces of debris floate in the air.

Albus stopped to take in the sight.

“Headmaster?” A young Hufflepuff student had worked up the courage to talk to him. “Did you punish Harry? Did Snape… did Professor Snape really die?”

“I fear you have me disadvantaged, Miss Atkinson,” he said to the raven-haired girl. “I just came back from an unexpected trip that kept me rather busy. What do you mean, exactly?”

The Hufflepuff stared at him wide-eyed as her friends gasped a few steps above them. “I… I think… Professor Sprout would know… You don’t know what happened? Weren't you here before?” she stammered. “Harry set the castle on fire!”

“He didn’t!” said an older student from above. “Stop spreading lies, Summer!”

“Am not!” she yelled back. “Totally happened!”

Albus tried to stay calm and not give in to his rising panic. A fire? Severus… dead? That simply couldn’t be. No, he knew the man wouldn’t risk everything on a gamble until he was sure of it, and Severus had obviously not been on board with Albus’ plan regarding their resident Sentinel-Guide pair. Outside interference was, however, a possibility.

“Please, everyone, stay calm,” he said and raised his hand — glad to have fixed his bandage and to have shrouded the grisly sight with a minor Illusion Charm before. “There’s no need to work yourselves up like that; I’m sure Miss Atkinson firmly believes what she told us to be the truth.”

He nodded to the girl. “I will seek the other professors, but for now please explain everything to me, and start from the beginning.”

“It's probably a test,” someone whispered.

Harry heard and smelled Hermione approaching long before she stepped into sight. Her scent told him that she’d been in the owlery and that she’d either run or exerted herself somehow. Her heartbeat was fast but regular. There was also something papery… no, parchment and leather? Definitely books.

He turned away from the group of fidgeting adults who were pacing about the empty classroom like first-years who’d skipped classes for the first time. In a sense, it was even true —  neither Professor McGonagall nor Professor Flitwick had ever tried to help students literally escape Hogwarts before, and Remus certainly hadn’t ever conducted a friendly kidnapping of his kind either.

“She’s here,” he said in a low voice, his senses focused on his approaching friend and Guide.

Also girlfriend? Maybe.

No, probably.

McGonagall turned toward the door. “Are you sure, Mister Potter?”

“Quite.”

Remus frowned but nodded. “It’s true, I can… sense her as well.”

“What's the matter with you, Remus?” Flitwick gave his former colleague a critical look. “You appear to be almost in pain? Is everything alright?”

The werewolf nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s just…”

“It’s me,” Harry mumbled, still focused on Hermione, who’d open the door any second now. “I’m making him uncomfortable when I’m concentrating on my surroundings.”

“But why?”

Remus was about to reply but then stopped when a blurry silhouette opened the classroom door. Despite Harry’s announcement, the professors and Remus all reached for their wands when Hermione dismissed her Disillusionment Charm and closed the door.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” she nodded. “Professor Flitwick, Mister Lupin.” Her eyes landed on Harry, and there was a visible shine to them when she tried and failed to hide a loving smile. “Hey.”

Harry noted that his right hand had jerked toward her, his impulse to touch her almost overwhelming. But that wouldn’t do with such a crowd present. “So I was right,” he quipped instead. “You won’t ever again forget to bring the Marauder’s Map, eh?”

“Never.” She carefully folded the old map and handed it to Harry. “I’m sorry that I’m so late. I came here as fast as possible when I saw all your names in this room. Did something new happen while I dealt with… while I was away?”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she refrained from commenting. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for arriving in a timely fashion, Miss Granger. The situation hasn’t changed since last we saw each other. Professor Snape is still at St. Mungo’s.”

Hermione was absorbing everyone’s reaction, and also the room’s energy. Harry felt himself being calmer already as his excess energy flowed towards his Guide. Things became a bit clearer now, and he didn’t feel like he had to constantly hold back a flood.

“Did you know that the headmaster has returned?” Hermione asked.

“Horace told me that Albus is back, but I haven't seen him yet.” Professor Flitwick looked at Remus and McGonagall. “Are we sure that avoiding him is the best course of action now? I believe what you told me, and I’ve seen Harry’s development with my own eyes, but still.”

“I’m taking full responsibility, Filius,” the Head of House Gryffindor replied. “And we’re not permanently spiriting Mister Potter and Miss Granger away; we’re simply helping them make it to a meeting outside of school. I still have misgivings about that, but considering the circumstances, it might be the best for now.”

Remus frowned again, but this time it wasn’t caused by Harry’s Sentinel aura. “If you plan to bring them back to Hogwarts in the afternoon, that’s unwise. There’s danger here, Minerva.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged a secret glance, both annoyed at being talked over. Wordlessly, they decided to remain quiet for the moment, though.

McGonagall sighed. “I believe that you believe that, Remus and I’m willing to help. If both Miss Granger and Mister Potter are comfortable having a talk with you and Mister Weasley, I’ll gladly facilitate your exit. But I don’t plan to see them permanently leave the safety of this school on something that borders on a whim.” She finally turned to the Sentinel and Guide. “Because even if there is someone here who plots against Mister Potter, it’s still Hogwarts, with all its safety measures. It is much too dangerous to just run off into the countryside when we don’t have any idea about… You-Know-Who’s whereabouts.”

Hermione perked up at that. “Oh… that might actually explain it.” She turned to Harry and mouthed “Malfoy” to him.

Harry understood her meaning immediately, and he shivered.

Of course! Malfoy, looking like a man on his way to the gallows, always sneaking around, trying to do something — Hermione probably knew at this point what the Slytherin had done — could all be explained with Voldemort giving the orders.

He was likely staying at Malfoy Manor at this point. What kind of life must that be for Malfoy’s family? To house such a monster, not just repeat its hateful words?

He shuddered again.

“Explain what, Miss Granger?” Flitwick asked.

“Voldemort,” Harry said, causing the adults to flinch. “He’s probably hiding in Malfoy Manor.”

McGonagall blanched. “What makes you say that, Mister Potter?”

“Malfoy — Draco, I mean — has looked physically ill for weeks now, and he’s acting very suspiciously.” Harry knew it sounded weak, but he wasn’t ready to mention the Room of Requirement to his Head of House.

“I don’t believe that justifies an accusation such as this one, Mister Potter.” McGonagall’s face hardened as she spoke. “Please don’t ever repeat it publicly unless you have solid evidence for such a serious claim.”

Harry nodded, tired of the routine reaction. “Yes, Professor.”

But then McGonagall surprised him by nodding back. “Don’t mistake my words for not believing you, or Miss Granger,” she said more evenly. “There are schemes afoot in Hogwarts, always have been and likely always will. These days, they seem, however, to revolve around you in one way or another.” Her eyes darted from Harry to Hermione. “We must be careful, though. I will find out what I can from Albus; he owes me more than an explanation at this point.”

“But we’re still leaving?” Remus motioned to the door.

McGonagall sighed. “Yes, Remus, you can have your talk with Mister Potter.” She turned back to Harry. “I trust that you know a way to get out of the castle without being seen?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to frown. “Err… yes, Professor!”

“Very well. I won’t ask how so I don’t have to deduct House points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall continued, and there might have been a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Filius, let’s you and I find Albus and have a talk about what the bloody hell is going on in Hogwarts.”

The tiny professor smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Gladly.”

“Remus, I will contact you this afternoon. Miss Granger, Mister Potter, I hope you do find some answers or at least a measure of clarity.” McGonagall’s eyes locked onto Harry one last time, but she didn’t say anything.

He understood the message anyway. He wouldn’t run away and hide, no matter the fallout from his fight with Snape. They watched the two professors leave.

“Harry, I’m glad that you trust me enough to accompany me,” Remus said. “There is much I want to talk to you about, and time is scarce. Now, originally we’d planned that Charlie would meet with Miss Granger in London and —”

She interrupted him. “Please call me Hermione, if you like.” Then she blushed slightly at being so forward, which in turn caused Harry’s focus to waver as he heard the blood rush to her cheeks and also smelled her anxiety.

Remus chuckled once. “Of course, Hermione, it is. So our original plan has changed, and we’d like to talk to both of you at the same time. It’s easier and safer that way.”

“That sounds reasonable. Where are we going?”

“Yorkshire, specifically York,” the werewolf said. “To my house. Charlie’s already there.”

“Oh.” Harry hadn’t known about the house, but he’d never really thought about it after essentially losing contact with the man who’d once been his father’s close friend. Of course, Remus had to live somewhere.

“Now tell me, how do you plan to get us out of here?” Remus unconsciously took on a professor’s pose. “Disillusionment Charm, the way Hermione arrived here? That was an excellent casting, by the way,” he said to her. “The way you dismissed it so easily and wordlessly also speaks of a certain proficiency.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. I’ve had some practice.”

“Too much of it, if anything,” Harry added in a low voice. “But yes, I think we should disillusion ourselves and then sneak down to the third floor and use the secret passageway that leads to the Honeydukes cellar.”

“Ah, of course.” Remus nodded. “That might be our best option. I trust that you’re able to notice anyone who might observe us?”

“Harry!” Hermione stepped closer and reached out to hold his arm. “There are still countless students around that area. Maybe even Dumbledore; at least he was in the Grand Staircase when I came over here.”

In response, he unfolded the Marauder’s Map, and they all inspected the area she was referring to.

“Albus is back in his office; Minerva and Filius are joining him at this very moment,” Remus observed. “So that’s good news… Wait, who's that?”

They inspected the two additional name tags in the headmaster's office.

“Lionel Kowalski and Catherine McNabb,” Hermione read out loud. “I don’t think those are students.”

Harry shook his head. “Never heard those names before.”

Suddenly, Remus drew a sharp breath, causing Harry to flinch. But the werewolf pointed towards the map. “Look!”

The name tags of Dumbledore’s visitors had changed. There were still five people in the office, seemingly conversing in front of the headmaster's desk, but now the map told them that Dumbledore was entertaining a certain 'Mafalda Owler' and a 'Sebastian Nightingale' in addition to Professors McGonagall and Flitwick.

“Maybe they used the Floo?” Harry wondered.

“I don’t think so…” Hermione stared at the names. “They’re too far away from the fireplace…”

They watched as the names changed again.

“I have an idea what this is,” Remus finally said. “Or rather, who.”

Hermione nodded as if he’d already told her something she’d already suspected. “Unspeakables?” she asked.

“How did you know?” The former Defense Professor stared at her in admiration.

“I think I heard them arrive when I was outside, down at the Black Lake. They apparated to the Entrance Gates.”

Harry angled his head. “Are they here because of me? Wouldn't the Ministry rather send aurors?”

“In all likelihood? Yes.” Remus stepped back. “Which means we need to go, now.”

“I agree, but Hermione’s right, it’s rather busy around the third floor.” Harry pointed to the numerous name tags that moved around the area of the Grand Staircase. “I mean, the second staircase you told me about might still be there?”

Hermione indicated another entry on the map that hadn’t been there yesterday. “It is, look here.” She turned to Remus. “This map is simply brilliant. How does it display recent changes to Hogwarts’ layout? That must’ve been an incredibly complicated set of enchantments you cast back when you made this.”

The werewolf was staring at the Marauder’s Map. “We were so proud of it,” he said. “I mean, we really did work our butts off to make this work, but we didn’t expect it to end up being this good.”

Harry was still investigating the new staircase. “So we go down to the second floor, then what?”

“There’s supposed to be a narrow set of stairs going back to the floor above. Here, at the end of this eastern corridor.” Her finger moved across the map. “I remember the twins talking about it years ago.”

“I’m familiar with those stairs,” Remus said. “They’re seldom used and probably full of cobwebs, but they exist. I used them during my student days, occasionally.”

“Then… then I think we have our escape route.” Harry folded the map again and stuffed it under his robes. “Ready?”

Hermione had already drawn her wand. “Ready,” she said.

Having finally found the latest issue of his Quidditch magazine, Ron decided to ditch the deserted dormitory in favor of the Common Room. It was always nice to have other people around, especially now that Harry and Hermione were off to do… who knows what. Probably making out. He tried to swallow the hot anger he felt at that vivid image. 

Hermione wasn’t supposed to look at Harry like that… she was just… a friend? Harry’s friend, not his girlfriend! There’d been something between him and Hermione, and he had problems putting his finger on what exactly that was — other than being unable to simply accept her as part of his surroundings, the way he did with, say, Parvati. It was maddening, if not more so than the image of Hermione kissing Harry.

That was just wrong.

He needed to distract himself, maybe find someone to play chess against. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Ron scanned the room for potential matchmates, and his eyes fell on his sister. Ginny sat alone by one of the windows, staring off into space while biting her nails. The last time he’d seen her like that was back in her first year when she’d been tormented by that bloody diary. Ron took a breath. He would rather not get involved in some boyfriend drama or whatever was bothering her, but he didn’t like seeing Ginny like that. All alone, forgotten — like Harry and Hermione had left her behind, too. Her lack of support when that bitch Bones had decked him still rankled, but he was willing to overlook that for now. Time to be a brother.

“Hey Gin,” he said as he walked over to her, ignoring Seamus and Dean on the large sofa.

She didn’t react, and he sat down at her side, his mood now somber.

“Gin? What’s up?”

“Hm?” She blinked a few times before focusing on him. “Oh, it’s you.”

Ron’s anger came back with a vengeance. “Sorry to disappoint, but the Boy-Who-Lived isn’t here,” he snapped. “Just little old me.”

Ginny nodded absently, unbothered by his words. “Hm.”

“Are you angry with Harry, or what’s this about?”

“No…”

Ron crumpled his magazine in frustration. “Sure, and I’m Godric Gryffindor. You look like something’s eating at you, Gin. Spill.”

She turned to him. “I don’t think you’re interested in my worries, Ron. Lavender’s probably missing you already; why don’t you bother her instead?”

“She’s trying out a hair charm with Padma and Parvati, trying to improve it or something.” He waved her off. “So I’ve got all the time.”

Ginny shook his head. “Nice to see how much you value your girlfriend's interests, dear brother. But don't worry, it's… it's nothing.”

“Yeah.” Ron tried to swallow his anger. “Well, have fun brooding then; I’m off to do something fun instead.” But when he tried to get up to walk away, Ginny reached out and held his hand.

“Wait.”

He stared at her, then at her hand. They’d never been really intimate with each other as siblings. Ginny hugged his older brothers, or even held hands with Bill or Charlie during one of their rare visits at home, but never with him. He’d noticed, of course, but never wished it to be different — it just felt weird to think of Ginny’s body touching him like that.

She must’ve sensed his thoughts because she quickly let go of him. “I… I think something bad is happening right now. No, I know it is.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I don’t have any idea what to do. I’m powerless.”

Ron’s first instinct was to ask her what in Merlin’s name she was talking about, but he suspected he already knew. “Is this about Harry’s sensitivity? Or the way Hermione’s been throwing herself at him?”

Ginny winced slightly, and he knew he’d hit a mark, or however that expression from Dean went. Thinking about his sister's on-and-off-again boyfriend turned all the emotions in Ron’s stomach sideways. He didn’t exactly know how to feel about it.

“It’s not that!” she said hotly.

“I know you’ve got feelings for Harry,” he continued. “Everyone knows, Ginny. I think even Dean does.”

She winced again and turned to look over Ron’s shoulder. “Since when do you pay attention to what goes on with the people around you?” she mumbled. “I thought your awareness these days begins and ends with Lavender’s face.”

“Jealous much?”

She turned away from him to stare out of the window again. “Nah,” she said. “I’ve got more serious problems than snogging.”

Ron didn’t get the exact meaning of her dismissal, but he felt it all the same. “Now wait a minute. What’s that supposed to mean? And what’s my girlfriend got to do with your moping?”

Ginny smiled. “Nothing.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

She nodded again. “I know the feeling. It’s all so bloody complicated.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Okay, Miss Drama Queen, ponder away then. If that’s all, I need to find…”

“You know that Harry’s a Sentinel and Hermione’s a Guide? What does that mean? Not just for them, as friends and as… a bond, but also for us?” Her voice was eerily similar to Loony's when she was muttering about dreams about Nargles.

“Please,” Ron groaned. “That Sentinel stuff sounds completely ridiculous; I don’t know what Hermione’s thinking…”

Ginny then gave him a rather strange look that was both sad and exasperated. “You have no idea, do you?” she whispered. “There’s this huge thing happening to your best friends right now, and you’re simply fooling around to fill your days instead of trying to help them?”

“I tried to, but they won’t let me!” he yelled back. “I’m the odd one out, always the third wheel. Now if they’re so bloody special all of a sudden, they can have it! I don’t need some Sentinel shite in my life to ‘fill my day’!” Ron was aware they had the entire Common Room’s attention now, but he didn’t care. It felt good to finally have an outlet for his anger. “But sure, you’re still Harry’s biggest fangirl, eh? Right after Hermione, of course, so you guys need to find an arrangement for who’s allowed to polish Harry’s wand first.”

He heard the smack of his sister’s hand on his cheek before he felt a sharp pain.

Ginny stared at him angrily and wiped away a tear. “One of us was bound to be a rotten apple, I guess. I always thought it was Percy with his feverish reverence for the Ministry, but maybe it’s you, Ron. I’m ashamed to share a House with you, you fucking coward.” 

She stood up but leaned close to him with such a hateful expression that he jerked back. “I was going to tell you about how you can’t stun Hermione anymore because she somehow absorbs spells like that; I've seen it because she showed us, but those words would be wasted on you. And I sure as hell won’t tell you about my feelings, Ronnikins. Go play with your chess figures or wank off to some Quidditch stars; the rest of us are busy having to deal with life.”

She stormed off, ignoring Dean calling out and then running after her.

“What the fuck are you all staring at me for?” Ron asked loudly at the students in the Common Room. “Laughing at Weasley getting hit by a girl again? Ha-ha, so funny.”

“If the shoe fits,” someone on the far end of the room stage-whispered

“You mean his dress robes? We still have nightmares from those,” came the answer from another corner, and a few people laughed nervously.

“How about you shut your mouths!” Ron angrily flipped the speakers off but remained where he was sitting.

Seamus said something to him from the sofa, but he was too distracted to listen. What the bloody hell did Ginny mean that Hermione was absorbing spells now? Speaking of, where were Harry and she right now? If the rumors were true, Harry had beaten Snape so badly they’d brought the overgrown bat to St. Mungo’s, but people hadn’t really seen his — former — friends since then. McGonagall was also missing. And Remus Lupin apparently had been seen walking the Grand Staircase earlier.

Ron thought back to when all this nonsense had begun, when Harry had been screaming his lungs out. The days of uncertainty, of not knowing. Then there’d been that bloody attack in the corridors with a Sonorus Charm. A pattern emerged now that he looked back at all those events. Hermione’s strange behavior in the Grand Staircase. That disastrous meeting in the classroom that had left her crying — not his proudest moment at Hogwarts, for sure. And then Harry constantly being in the Hospital Wing, or in some professor’s office, or out in the Forbidden Forest.

Bones and the others were running up and down the castle, trying to find Harry and Hermione. 

And what was he doing right now? 

Ron stared at the crumpled magazine still in his hand and didn’t know how to answer that question. And he hated the empty feeling in his stomach that reminded him so much of fourth year, when he’d realized that Harry hadn’t put his name in the goblet. Intellectually, he knew where this line of thinking was going, but he didn’t like it. Before, he’d turned away and done anything but face his rather complicated emotions. Now, he was unable to… because he felt stuck. Stuck with nothing but his anger and his issues. Harry, being a martyr again but getting something special in return — again. Hermione, being difficult and seeing connections he couldn’t follow.

Him being… nothing, really. Just another Weasley running around in Hogwarts, and a rather mediocre student at that. There was no one around to laugh with him but Lavender, and Ron’s stomach churned painfully when he realized that for all the things he felt for her, she still wasn’t Harry, or Hermione. Was there some other mystical role besides Sentinel or Guide he could take? Anything to make it go away, to make everything like it’d been back in summer?

Where’d his friends gone?

Former friends?

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Charlie felt the Sentinel approaching about a second before Harry and the others apparated into the alleyway next to Remus’ bungalow. It should be quite impossible for him to do so, but he was intimately familiar with the way his stomach twisted whenever one of… them was in his vicinity.

Some old wounds never heal, and Charlie had finished his fifth year at Hogwarts not only with a broken heart but with a certain hypersensitivity that in some way rivaled a Sentinel's.

So he clenched his fists and bit his lip as he tried to brace himself before he heard the familiar sounds of Apparition coming from the outside.

“Charlie? I think they’re here!” Tonks’ voice rose from the kitchen.

He didn’t answer because the feeling of being close to a Sentinel was overwhelming now. He should’ve never stayed here; his visit to Hogwarts had shown him that Harry’s aura was too strong. Charlie took deep breaths and tried to steady himself, leaning on the nearby bookshelf for support.

Bile rose in his throat as he felt himself absorbing some of Harry’s energy.

It was too hot, too strong, too much motion and intent, and… something else. Not unlike the feeling most people had when faced with old dragons, Charlie felt vulnerable and exposed as Harry approached the house from the outside, as if everything he felt would be laid bare any moment now.

He desperately tried to focus on his bond with Sagrissenthel, but his anxiety made for an effective blocker — he was close to panicking now.

Tonks came over. “Charlie? Where are you? What is…”

He saw her coming around the corner and raised his arm to stop her from approaching.

He couldn’t bear to feel her warmth now since the heat of Harry’s overwhelming aura still burned on his skin. But he stopped mid-motion when the door opened and everyone came in. There were steps, and voices, much too loud — but there was also water.

Cool, deep, refreshing water, like a stream that mumbled to his side.

He took another involuntary breath, and then…

… everything was okay.

Harry was still there, right in front of him, but somehow it was bearable. Something — no, someone — counteracted the Sentinel’s intense aura, covered it, and absorbed it.

Charlie gasped as he finally got ahold of his emotions.

He now knew what Hermione’s element was, because she was telegraphing it in much the same way Harry was sending his Sentinel status out for everyone to feel.

Well, not everyone.

At this point, Charlie noticed hands on his arms and one on his face. People were surrounding him, probably worried about his episode.

Tonks stood at his side, her presence now as comforting as ever, and in front of him… Hermione.

The girl stared at him with wide eyes full of worry and compassion.

And curiosity.

She was likely feeling him right now, and he suspected that she was weirded out by sensing someone else sapping her Sentinel’s aura — but if she felt discomfort at that, she displayed a remarkable level of control.

Behind her, Remus was saying something, his eyes boring into Charlie.

Then, there was of course Harry.

The boy’s stare was more intense than everyone else’s put together. In the half-light of the bungalow’s hallway, Harry’s emerald eyes appeared to be glowing from the inside. As if it wasn’t a human staring at him but something else… a predator.

Something that knew everything Charlie was feeling, could read his intentions as easily as it could overpower him at will. 

He shivered.

Suddenly, Hermione raised a hand, and Harry looked away, breaking the spell.

“Charlie? Charlie, please say something. Does Harry need to go outside?” He hadn’t heard her voice for some time, and it felt as if he was meeting an entirely new person.

This wasn’t the sound of the bossy little girl who was his brother’s and Harry’s best friend; this was… the voice of a young woman. Someone who’d experienced things, seen things that make people leave childhood behind. Within the blink of an eye, Charlie understood that Hermione had finished her metaphysical journey before Harry, being more rooted in her powers as a Guide, and that she was — like Harry — intensely powerful, without knowing it herself.

She was shielding him from Harry’s aura completely now, drawing in every wisp of invisible power that poured out of the boy who remained in the back.

Charlie shook his head to get rid of his wandering thoughts. “I… I’m fine now, thanks.” His voice sounded terrible.

“You gave me quite the scare, you idiot.” Tonks squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry I badgered you into doing this; I had no idea…”

He stopped her. “No, it’s okay, I actually needed this. I can’t hide forever, you know.”

“You didn't even react to my joke.” She sighed dramatically.

“It was quite terrible.”

“Do you need a minute to find your… balance again?” Remus, being careful as ever, avoided mentioning Sagi. Which was probably for the best.

“No, I’m good. I was panicking before and couldn’t reach out to my bond, but I'm much calmer now, thanks to Hermione.” Charlie smiled at her. “Thank you. I know you’re helping me right now.”

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t sure it was the right thing,” she said. “It’s just that I sometimes feel Harry’s aura being so powerful I can barely breathe unless I go… I don’t know how to describe it, actually. But I can focus on something inside me, and it’s a bit easier if Harry doesn’t focus on me at the same time.” She shrugged. “Since you looked like a deer in headlights, it was the first thing that came to my mind.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to cause you so much trouble, Charlie,” Harry added from behind in a muted voice.

Charlie saw the Sentinel’s eyes scanning every little detail, going over everyone's face. He knew that the boy could hear all his bodily functions — and probably knew how much of an emotional wreck he was at this point.

“Harry, please,” he said. “You didn’t know; you couldn’t have known before. I’m not exactly normal when it comes to meeting Sentinels, but it’s not your fault. You can’t stop being who you are on my account.”

The boy frowned but nodded hesitantly. “Okay.”

“So now that we’ve all had a nice little freak-out together, how about some tea? Or hot chocolate?” Tonks removed herself from Charlie’s side and twirled her wand. “I’m in the mood for chocolate.”

Remus smirked. “No surprise there, since you've been helping yourself to my stash regularly.”

She patted her baby bump. “I didn’t even like hot chocolate before I got pregnant, and now I will likely continue to look like this even after giving birth because I can’t get enough of it.”

Charlie noted that Harry’s focus had shifted to Tonks's belly and that the boy’s mouth was open in astonishment. “Harry? What do you sense?” he asked in a low voice, knowing that every sound he made was like thunder in the Sentinel’s ears.

Everyone now looked at Harry.

“I… I can hear her heartbeat, and how she moves her hands and opens her eyes,” he whispered. “She’s dreaming, and she had a short nightmare because everyone got so worried for a second, but now it’s all good.”

Harry apparently missed how Tonks had suddenly begun crying, holding her hands in front of her mouth. “So I have a daughter then? I didn’t know… we… ” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “It began as a silly bet of predictions with my mom, and then for some reason, I was so nervous I asked the midwife to simply not tell me.”

Remus embraced her from the side. “He didn't do it on purpose.”

“I know!” Tonks leaned into him. “It’s not that; it’s just a bit… overwhelming.”

Harry finally broke his focus and blinked a few times. “Oh no… I am so sorry, Tonks. I shouldn’t have said anything. I…”

“Harry.” Tonks shook her head. “You’re not at fault. Maybe I should've let the boys tell you I'm pregnant; I just forgot. Naturally, you’re fascinated by the baby because it’s something you haven’t sensed something like it yet.”

He nodded, hesitantly. “I haven't… and I'm still sorry to have spoiled the surprise.”

“My daughter,” Tonks whispered.

The boy nodded again, but Charlie knew that Harry still didn’t quite believe Tonks' reassurances. Hermione apparently thought the same since she stepped over to her Sentinel and put a hand on his shoulder. They exchanged a few whispered words, and Harry closed his eyes for a moment.

It spoke of immense trust and of intimacy. Charlie was slightly confused since Ginny had told him that Ron sort of fancied Hermione and might eventually make enough of a fool of himself that she’d take pity and date him — but in this very moment he also felt jealousy.

Because this was an intact bond.

Sentinel and Guide bound together the way it should be, and that was something he didn’t have — couldn’t have anymore. His connection with Sagi was different. He’d never stop being thankful to have that dragon in his life, but that scar from his fifth year at Hogwarts was still there.

One of these days he would hopefully forget Martin’s face, or his burning gaze that had been almost as intense as Harry’s. He didn't even know if the man was still alive, and he was sick of wondering about that as well.

“I think we should sit down,” Remus said, interrupting Charlie’s thoughts. “We all have questions, and Harry and Hermione have had a couple of rather busy days, to put it mildly. We probably don’t have as much time as I’d like to, but I don’t believe we should rush into this.” He pointed toward the living room.

Tonks didn’t join them but made good on her offer and went to the kitchen, promising to create something special for the occasion. Probably also to get a moment of quiet and gather her thoughts. Thanks to some hasty gesturing from Remus, nobody dared to comment on how unusual it was for her to be so domestic.

Charlie rounded a stack of boxes that still held parts of the kitchen interior — Tonks had refused his help for her remodeling project — and entered the small living room last. He vaguely remembered it looking much shabbier in the past, so it probably was a good thing that Tonks had waltzed in here to help Remus.

Hermione was sitting on the sofa and patted the space next to her, silently asking Harry to abandon the chair he’d been walking to. The boy obeyed and approached, and Charlie was sure that Harry had reacted before Hermione’s hand even touched the sofa. It was slightly unnerving to be so close to a Sentinel and see those signs of hypersensitivity and vigilance all over again.

At this point, he noticed how strange it was to observe Harry and Hermione without Ron being present. Even though his brother hadn’t manifested near-mystical powers, he would stay with his friends no matter what — no?

Those three had always stuck with each other, or so everyone had told Charlie.

He remembered that it hadn’t always been the case, though. Back during the Triwizard Tournament, Harry had prepared for the first task all alone with Hermione, since Ron hadn’t believed in his friend’s innocence when Harry’s name had come out of the goblet. The boys had eventually mended their friendship after Harry’s victory against that pissed-off Hungarian Horntail, but Charlie couldn’t help but compare his few interactions with the trio during that time to the present.

As he sat down, he turned to Harry. “May I ask where Ron is? Did you guys have a falling out again?”

Harry drew a deep breath. “Yeah, we’re currently not on speaking terms. Sorry if that’s a problem…”

Charlie raised his hand. “No, not like that. I’m here to talk to you guys first and foremost, but normally Ron would be here regardless of what Minerva or Remus said, so I wanted to make sure I wasn’t wrong in my assumption.”

Hermione folded her hands. “It might be my fault he’s not with us,” she said. “I tried to recruit him for this… cause. To help us make sense of everything after Harry had that accident and woke up with enhanced senses, I was probably too forceful.” She swallowed.

Charlie saw how Harry gave his Guide a thoroughly annoyed look, which Hermione apparently didn’t notice or simply ignored.

“Maybe there’s still time to find common ground,” Remus offered. “I can’t imagine that you guys won’t ever speak to each other again over this. Whatever it is.”

“We’ll see.” Harry’s voice was notably even.

To Charlie’s ears, this was a serious warning sign — he might have to go and contact Ron or, better yet, Ginny to find out what was going on. Ronnikins was likely just being pigheaded again, something that he or Bill might still be able to fix.

“Let’s change the topic then,” Remus said when the silence became uncomfortable, and both Harry and Hermione turned their attention toward the werewolf.

Charlie noted how Remus flinched ever so slightly under the Sentinel’s scrutiny, and it was strangely reassuring that he wasn’t the only one bothered by that intense aura. Hermione was still absorbing all of it, but Remus’ werewolf senses operated by slightly different rules than those of a Guide.

“I have a list of questions if that helps.” Hermione withdrew a folded parchment from her beaded bag while everyone around her smiled or smirked.

Remus nodded. “It might. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you three questions first, though. It might clear up things for Charlie and me so that we can provide better answers to you in return. That is, if we’re able to — there’s much we can only guess at ourselves, to be honest.”

“It can’t be worse than Dumbledore’s non-answers,” Harry mumbled and sniffed.

Remus gave Charlie a worried glance, and the Guide sighed. The werewolf shrugged and leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment to gather his thoughts, before he leaned forward again. “Harry, Hermione, I take it that you have some idea of what’s going on? What do the terms Sentinel and Guide mean?”

“In the broadest sense, yes.” Hermione exchanged a quick nod with Harry, and apparently, they decided that she would speak first. “It began when Harry had his accident during that blasted Quidditch game — stop smiling, Harry, it’s true! — and woke up as a Sentinel. Or rather, being on the cusp of becoming one.” She wrung her hands. “We’ve discovered that I am somehow connected to this, to him, when I was able to help him deal with his migraines. Later, we also got a book from Professor Slughorn.”

“The Third Aspect of any Bond is Balm, the Touch that Heals”, Charlie recited in a whisper before he knew what he was doing. His mind conjured vivid memories of the old woman who’d come to see him in the dragon reserve.

The only person he’d ever gotten actual answers from.

“What did you say?” Hermione perked up. “You know what this ability is called?”

“I’m not sure that ‘Balm’ is an official term, but I do know it’s one of three aspects that define any natural bond between Sentinel and Guide,” Charlie said. “The other two are Focus and Level, the ability to allow the other person to focus their abilities, and the other is both a power equalizer and also a possible enhancer.” He held Hermione's gaze. “It’s what you’re doing right now to shield Remus and myself from Harry.”

“I’m not doing anything, I swear!” Harry stood up, staring at his hands of all things.

“It’s okay, please, calm down, you can’t help it.” Remus motioned the boy to sit by Hermione’s side again. “You’re still unaware of the intensity of your focus. It’s constant, no matter what, and even though Charlie’s reaction earlier was extreme due to his sensibility, I have to concentrate as well to not be bothered by it.” He raised his hand again to stop Harry’s response. “That doesn’t mean I’m bothered by you, Harry; that’s something entirely different.”

“People like us, we can sense you, your kind,” Charlie added. “I’m a Guide, so naturally I’ll pick up on your aura no matter what. Even with Hermione absorbing everything right now, I’d be able to tell that a Sentinel is somewhere in my vicinity. And as a werewolf, Remus can sense it too, if in a slightly different way.”

Harry looked up and drew a deep breath. “Wait a minute… that was you I sensed outside the castle that one evening, wasn’t it? Made me so mad that I didn’t manage to catch your scent as well as I wanted to.” He turned to Remus. “Is that the reason you didn’t visit me in the Hospital Wing? Because it’d have been too uncomfortable?”

“No.” Remus shook his head. “At least not entirely. I was nervous and didn’t know how to approach the situation, or you. But ultimately, I also avoided you because of Albus Dumbledore.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged another look, this time more intense.

“Just to clear up that detail, yes, that was me running around the Hogwarts grounds the other day.” Charlie sighed again. “I could feel you even from outside, Harry, and it unnerved me. I wanted to make sure that we were right about what Remus imagined was going on.”

“What is going on, then?” Hermione leaned forward.

Remus raised a hand. “I think we’re getting a bit sidetracked. Let’s proceed with my two other questions, and take it from there.”

“That’s a great idea, but an even better one is to stop for a minute and have some hot chocolate and biscuits,” Tonks interrupted him as she returned from the kitchen with a full tray in hand. “I make no promises about the quality of this stuff, just so you know. Having cravings doesn’t equal having skill.”

She handed out hot mugs and two plates with biscuits. “Scoot over,” he commanded Charlie.

“Why?”

“Because I want to sit next to Hermione, doofus.” She gently pushed him aside and lowered herself into his seat. “Merlin, my feet are killing me.”

Hermione gave her a worried look, but there had been a gentle smile on Tonks' lips. “Don't worry too much; it's just how it is. Also, I’m still in emotional shock from the news Harry delivered. That I have a daughter.” She turned to Harry, noting his still somewhat pale face. “Oh, come on, cheer up; I’m just teasing. You’re rather tense, aren’t you?”

Hermione nodded as if she’d been spoken to. “Story of my life…”

Tonks laughed while Remus and Charlie pretended not to notice Harry’s intense blush.

“Harry, I mean it. You didn’t do anything wrong,” the Metamorphmagus continued. “Pinky swear.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Let’s leave the obviously freaked-out Sentinel alone for a moment, please?”

“Okay.” Tonks stuck out her tongue, but she relaxed and lowered herself into a comfortable position, sipping her hot chocolate as she looked at the group in eager anticipation. “Now what?”

Remus cleared his throat. “Harry, Hermione, we’ll go into the odds and ends of Sentinel dynamics in a minute, even though Charlie and I won’t be able to provide much. What I’d like to know before that, though, is, what’s your opinion of the headmaster?”

This time, Harry answered. “He’s lying to us, and he’s trying to prevent us from learning more about our condition. I’m not sure why, but he must believe that being a Sentinel or a Guide is somehow dangerous.” He stopped when Hermione reached out to put her hand on his. “But he also helped me… taught me a charm to protect me from the hypersensitivity, to make it bearable. It was before Hermione and I… before we… I didn’t have much control over my senses then.”

Remus nodded but didn’t say anything, and Charlie decided to keep quiet as well.

“There’s something else, though,” Harry continued.

He looked up again.

“Dumbledore has been cursed by a Horcrux and is slowly dying. I can smell the stain on him; it’s like his right hand is desiccating.”

“What?” Tonks jumped out of her seat. “And what in the name of Helga’s hairy armpits is a Horcrux?”

“That would be all for now,” Albus said and put his left hand on his desk in a gesture that spoke of finality. “I’ll contact you as soon as I have spoken to Mister Potter.”

“Please do, Headmaster, or we’ll return with a few colleagues and retrieve the young man ourselves,” the female Unspeakable said with a sneer that left Albus unimpressed.

Then both of the uninvited guests turned and left the office. The male Unspeakable curiously looked at the door for a second before he hurried to catch up with his companion.

“Filius, would you mind following them to make sure they leave the school grounds in good order?” Albus asked the Head of House Ravenclaw.

“Gladly,” the small man said and left after exchanging a glance with Minerva that the headmaster couldn’t decipher.

“That bought us some time at least,” he sighed.

“I won’t hand over Mister Potter to those people, no matter what the Minister said,” McGonagall hissed. “I do hope you intend to keep that young man safe, Albus.”

He raised his left hand. “Minerva…”

“No! No more double-speak and hidden meanings. Don’t get technical about language with me now either, Albus. You swear that Harry’s going to stay in Hogwarts, apart from any trips necessary to clear up the incident with Severus, and anything else, or I walk. I mean it.” She crossed her arms as she stared at her friend. “Don’t bother trying to join this conversation,” she snapped as some portraits behind Albus’ chair began to stir.

To everyone’s surprise, not even Phineas Black dared to test her.

Albus looked at her over his glasses and nodded tiredly. He’d expected this moment to come in due time, and even if he felt that this was the worst possible time to find his trusted deputy’s loyalties tested, it wasn’t something he could afford to reschedule. Too many dominos were already falling, and his reaction would determine if his plan regarding Voldemort remained at all valid.

Now that Severus was out of action for the moment, he needed her assistance, even desperately so.

“Alright, I’ll be honest with you,” he said and didn’t bother hiding his bone-deep exhaustion anymore. On a whim, he also began unwrapping his left hand to reapply the salve that Severus had given him after they’d discovered the effects of Gaunt’s ring.

“Albus!” Minerva gasped. “What… Why am I only seeing this now? You told me it was a minor burn.” She leaned over the desk, her wand in hand. “Why didn’t you say anything? This looks extremely painful, not to say life-threatening. Albus, why?”

He shook his head. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you, my dear; I wasn’t sure about the seriousness myself.” With a slight wince, he waved his wand to clean the dying tissue and reapply a few complicated charms that’d slow the curse down. “But I’m a dead man walking, and there is nothing to be done about it. Trust me, I’ve looked into all possible solutions. It was a cursed artifact, something I suspected of being related to Voldemort, and I made a fatal mistake.”

She stared at him, and there was a shimmer in her eyes. “But… Albus…”

“I know it’s a lot to take in — but I’ve made my peace with it,” he continued. “I’ve lived a long life, Minerva. I saw both wondrous and terrible things, and I’m excited for the next great adventure.” He grabbed a fresh bandage from behind his desk. “This forces me to plan ahead, though, to set up events so that even when I’m gone, our work will end in success and victory.”

Minerva didn’t answer.

“Can we, at least for the moment, focus on that? I’m asking a lot of you, my friend, and I do know you take issue with the way I’ve handled things, but I believe that some things will become clearer once you see my side of things.”

The Head of House Gryffindor nodded and took a seat. She appeared older now, worn down from her inner battle between a renewed protective instinct regarding Harry and Hermione, and her anger towards Albus’ secretiveness.

A moment passed as Albus bandaged his hand before sighing again. His eyes wandered over his desk and to the side, where he saw that the most recent addition to his collection of odd devices had stopped glowing red and was now completely inert — which meant Harry wasn’t anywhere within a hundred miles of Hogwarts at the moment.

He wondered where Minerva had sent him off to.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, reaching out for the dead Sentinel detector. “It’s something that I inherited from my predecessors. A device that can track and, to some extent, monitor a Sentinel.” He turned the silvery device in his hands. “Both Harry and Hermione noticed it immediately when they sat in front of me, which made me wonder about its usefulness — that is until I began wondering about the level of their abilities instead.”

 “Are you saying you believe them to be particularly strong?” Minerva absently moved a finger over the armrest of her seat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I suspect that someone has manipulated things from the beginning.” Albus put the device down. “It all began when Harry had that unfortunate accident, and even though I couldn’t find evidence that the event itself had been manufactured, the circumstances leave that a distinct possibility.”

“Mister McLaggen was cleared of any wrongdoing; it was a simple accident,” McGonagall protested. “I don’t exactly see him being involved in a conspiracy against Mister Potter.”

Albus noted how she’d switched back to Harry’s family name and wondered what that meant. He decided to proceed with honesty, but also caution.

“Not a knowing participant, no, but I find it curious that he forced his way into the team and then, after the accident, virtually abandoned any efforts to continue his Quidditch efforts.”

She sighed. “The others are giving him a hard time because of it; I’ve had to defuse two separate incidents where Mister McLaggen was accosted.”

Albus peered at her over his glasses again. “Including the one with Mister Potter in the Great Hall?”

Minerva shook her head. “No, that’s the third one then.” When she made eye contact again, she flinched. “Albus, your nose!”

“What is it?” He gently touched his face and withdrew his left hand to see fresh blood on his fingers. “Ah, I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure this is the right time to talk to me? We should be on our way to Poppy by now.”

“Nonsense.” Albus blew his nose and wiped his beard clean before vanishing his tissue. “It’s a side effect of my current… condition. Don’t worry, I’m monitoring how often it happens. This is only the third time.”

She narrowed her eyes now. “When did you handle that artifact? I know you’ve been favoring your left hand for a while now.”

“Please, let’s stay on topic.” He leaned back and folded both his hands into his robes. “What I wanted to relay to you is a pattern of coincidences. Remember the troll that broke into the school back in Mister Potter’s first year?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But what does that have to do with Harry’s hypersensitivity?”

Albus fixed her with his most intense stare now. “They’re both distractions, loud and complicated events that draw our attention while something else is happening. The troll was just something to get to the Philosopher’s Stone, as we learned afterward. Now look at current events, how Mister Potter awoke with supernatural abilities, and how his and Miss Granger’s development has veered off course since then. How all of us have been stumbling in the dark to find explanations, maybe even a solution.”

“I don’t see it,” Minerva admitted. “The only outside agents that came to the school since that incident were Mister Mallow, the healer that went missing afterward, and Remus. And those two Unspeakables just now.”

Albus nodded. “And I don’t count any of them as strong suspects, even though the case of Mister Mallow is rather curious. But there’s someone else that came to Hogwarts, someone you don’t know about.”

“Who?”

He took a deep breath. “Horace has a vast network of acquaintances and contacts, which, despite the regular gatherings of his Slug Club, he still guards jealously. So it might just be fitting that Miss Granger, undeterred by my attempts to dismiss her questions about the things she and Mister Potter were experiencing, went to the same man I’d previously sent Mister Potter to gather a vital piece of information — unsuccessfully, that is.” He smiled. “How she managed to convince him I might never know, but the fact is that soon afterward, Horace brought one of his friends here, a man by the name of Emmet Ossinsky.”

Minerva had been listening with rapt attention. “I’m not familiar with that name. Who is he?”

“An expert in the topic of Sentinels, less so Guides.” Albus nodded to her. “And Horace told Severus and me only accidentally. I didn’t know how to react, to be honest, and only now do I realize I should’ve asked Mister Ossinsky to stay.”

He noticed that Minerva was staring at his nose, which had begun to bleed yet again. He also felt a strange lightheadedness as he drew yet another tissue, and Albus wondered if it was caused by his wound, his recent accident with the floor, or his attempts to divine answers for his current problems. He really needed some sleep, but there was simply no time.

“Can’t we ask Horace for help? He adores Mister Potter and would probably do anything to aid him, Albus.”

“He might, but he’s also angry with me because the piece of information I asked Mister Potter to retrieve is a shameful memory, something Horace doesn’t want to see unearthed or known by others.” Albus vanished the bloody tissue and wordlessly applied a charm that’d seal the smaller blood vessels in his nose.

Minerva looked as if she was about to knock him unconscious and drag him to the Hospital Wing herself. Apparently, she didn't care much for Horace's secret, and he made a mental note to drop that piece of information again at another time.

“This brings me to something I wanted to ask for your help with,” he said. “Because Harry’s memories might hold the key to unlocking many of our current problems. Thanks to his hypersensitivity, it’s reasonable to assume he might’ve picked up clues about the identity of whoever is manipulating current events — only he doesn’t know it, so there’s no reason for him to do anything with what he knows and senses.”

McGonagall frowned. “Albus… I’m not sure that looking at Mister Potter’s memories is a good idea. As a Sentinel, even if he’s not fully controlling all his powers, his mind works differently now. Going into those memories might simply overwhelm you or even cause you real harm.”

“I’m sure I can handle it, my dear.” He sniffed. “I might need some assistance, that’s true, but I don’t believe that using the Pensieve would become dangerous simply because Harry is picking up on plenty of things right now.”

“I’m not convinced this is a good idea, and Mister Potter might be hesitant to provide memories of what must’ve been painful and embarrassing experiences,” Minerva added.

“Which is why I was hoping you’d ask him on my behalf when he returns to Hogwarts.”

They stared at each other, and Albus wondered how well his friend could lie when she thought it absolutely necessary. If he hadn’t known Harry to be a long distance from the castle and also heard about Minerva going somewhere with Harry and Filius in tow, he’d never have suspected it by looking at her face.

“I’m sure you believed you had good reasons for what you did,” he said gently. “And maybe you did — I haven’t been my best lately. Maybe this is what it takes to make me see the things I’ve been missing.”

Her face softened slightly. “I won’t tell you where he is, not now at least, but if you swear you won’t try to delve into Mister Potter’s memories all on your own, I can, of course, ask him.”

“Thank you.” Albus let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and leaned back in his seat.

But Minerva wasn’t finished yet. “Before I’m doing that, though, you’re going to tell me why you believe the knowledge about Sentinels to be so problematic and why you tried to deter Miss Granger from finding out more about it.” Her gaze turned steely. “I also want to know what happened the night we found her and Mister Potter outside, her wand missing. Why Severus wasn’t part of the search effort, and finally, where the hell Fawkes is right now.” She pointed to the empty stand to her side without looking. “I want answers, and I want them now.” 

Chapter Text

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry dodged the attack easily and simply leaned to the side to let the charm fly by, both of his feet still firmly planted on the solid floor. He felt his focus intensify on his opponent.

“Expelliarmus!”

This time, the attack had been aimed at his center of mass, and Harry was forced to abandon his position. He turned around and to his left, ending the motion with his wand aimed at his attacker, but he held fire, looking sideways to not let his enhanced vision distract him.

“Expelliarmus!”

The wand movement had telegraphed another attack aimed at his stomach, but Harry felt that the power of the Charm was notably weaker. Something was off, and his immediate suspicion was that this was just a setup for a quick follow-up attack to catch him off guard.

He lunged to his right, casting a “Protego!” and then made a quick step back, lowering his upper body at the same time. His instincts were proven right when two successive and lightning-fast Charms flew by.

“Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!”

The first Charm bounced off the Protego, and the second one missed Harry’s shoulder only by an inch — but he’d seen it coming and knew he was safe, so he didn’t move again.

“Stop.” Charlie clapped once from the sidelines and nodded to Remus, who lowered his wand now. “I think I’ve seen it. Harry knew Remus was planning something and dodged it before the wand was even pointing in his direction.” He turned to Hermione. “When did Harry learn to read microexpressions this well? It can’t have been like this from the beginning, can it?”

“No.” She motioned to Harry. “I mean, I don’t believe we’ve seen the upper limit of his abilities as of now, but he can identify minuscule details on the other side of the Great Hall, and he listens to heartbeats or smells the adrenaline level of a person.” She broke eye contact and fought a slight blush.

“I didn’t look at Remus’ eyes when I dodged his third attack,” Harry said as he finally sauntered over to the veranda where Hermione, Tonks, and Charlie were sitting. “I simply noticed that the buildup of his magic was less intense, and I suspected he’d try to surprise me with a double casting.”

Remus, who’d also stepped off the lawn, did a double take. “You can sense it when I’m about to cast a spell, but before I’m actually casting it? Harry, that’s impressive. It’s also very useful in situations such as this, I might add. Or in any other situation where you’d need to identify magic without casting obvious detection spells.”

Charlie shook his head. “I’ve never heard of someone being able to do that, Sentinel or otherwise.”

“How many Sentinels do you know, Charlie?” Hermione asked.

“Not many. Harry’s the third one I ever met, at least that I know about,” the dragon keeper admitted. “And I only spoke to the old woman for a couple of hours.”

“So it might actually be a common ability?” She began biting a nail but stopped when her eyes found Harry and saw him wincing at the sound. “Sorry. This continues to be a somewhat frustrating endeavor, but at least we have the package from Mister Ossinsky that will hopefully provide more answers. His letter sounded promising at least, because everyone else seems to be either unwilling to help or oblivious.” She turned back to Charlie. “Again, I’m sorry; that came out wrong.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “My knowledge is limited by choice, and to a naturally curious person such as yourself, that must be incredibly strange. I wish I could tell you more; I really do. It’s just…”

“It’s difficult,” Tonks added from behind where she sat on the topmost step of the veranda. The Metamorphmagus had been uncharacteristically quiet since Hermione and Harry had — after some whispered deliberation — decided to divulge most of what they knew about Horcruxes. Tonks’ reactions had rapidly switched from incredulity to anger to sadness, her hair and face morphing wildly as she tried to control her emotions. “It all is, apparently.”

Harry glanced at Hermione and saw her looking at his forehead, and he knew what she was thinking about. But the two of them had decided to keep the exorcism of Harry’s Horcrux a secret for now. At some point, other people were going to notice the fading scar, and that in turn would eventually alert Voldemort — unless he already knew, somehow. It was bad enough that Dumbledore had seen the change on Harry's forehead immediately and likely suspected that the Horcrux might've gone.

“I’m sorry for the confusion and the danger I brought to your doorstep,” Harry said.

“Don’t you dare!” Tonks wagged a finger at Harry. “I may not like what I’ve learned this past hour, but I believe it was necessary. How many times has the order met only to share meaningless trivialities? How much time have we wasted because Albus didn’t trust us to share his suspicions?” She sighed and put her hand back on her belly. “I’m happy you shed a light on these things.”

Charlie and Remus nodded in silent agreement and then began to quietly talk to Harry about his ability to sense magic as it was being channeled into spells. Hermione stared off into space, cataloging the things they’d discussed and learned today, and tried to make plans for the immediate future.

She was aware that Tonks wanted to mention something, but she had no idea how to initiate such a conversation herself since the older woman was still much like a stranger to her — sitting side by side in the living room earlier had been the first time she ever had a private conversation with the Metamorphmagus.

“How do you stand it, Hermione?” Tonks eventually asked in a low voice. “The uncertainty? All these unanswered questions?”

“I don’t, actually. I can’t stand it. I’ve yet to fully come to terms with the fact that I’m a Guide now, and the changes that process brings not just to me as a witch capable of casting magic, but as a person.” She looked Tonks in the eye, seeing that the woman appeared uncharacteristically somber. “People aren’t wrong when they call me a bookworm, you know. I like studying; I like consuming knowledge that’s been ordered and cataloged. Now I’m being thrust into a world of ephemeral impressions and empathic connections, and it’s… it’s so frustrating.” She mirrored Tonks and put a hand on her stomach. “I’ve never really learned to trust my gut the way Harry has; I’m just not built that way. Or at least I was… but as it turns out, even my new center of calm doesn’t protect me from my feelings.”

“But you appear so calm about it all, Hermione.” Tonks gently touched Hermione’s shoulder. “You don’t look like someone who’s having an existential crisis.”

She smiled, but it was tired. “Ever since Harry got his skull cracked, this has been nothing but an ongoing series of crises. It’s a bit better now that we both know what we are, and since Harry did… since he awoke, but to be honest I’d love to just sit in the Hogwarts Library for two weeks to read books, gather my thoughts, and simply process all of this.”

Tonks nodded and removed her hand. “I can only imagine what that's like. Although, in my later Hogwarts years, I sometimes preferred the library to the hallways as well.”

“How so?”

For some reason, they both stopped talking for a moment to look over at the boys, who were still talking about sensing magic, and Harry gestured between Remus' wand and his chest to try to communicate his way of detecting spells as they were formed.

“It's funny — I only talked about this with Charlie before, and Mad-Eye, because he knew already,” Tonks mumbled. “But I was… my time at Hogwarts wasn't all good fun, you know? I didn't have any real friends when I arrived.”

“But you're…” Hermione stopped. What was it she wanted to say here? That Tonks was a fun-loving jokester, unafraid to voice her thoughts? A grown-up version of the Weasley twins, in a way? Because that was just about all she knew or had come to believe.

The Metamorphmagus snorted quietly, but without malice. “Yeah, I'm me, aren't I? But imagine, coming to Hogwarts with all the issues that young teenagers have, predominantly body issues. And then there's this one girl who can make her hair, her face, and her entire body look like whatever she wants? No hassle, no fuss?”

“Oh no,” Hermione whispered, immediately imagining scenes of jealousy and cruel spite in the Great Hall, not completely unlike what she or other students once experienced in smaller amounts. There was always a ringleader looking for the next target, no? And a female Metamorphmagus… It wasn't difficult to see how someone like Tonks could end up being an outcast. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be; it was years ago, and life happened.” Tonks pointed at Charlie, who was now casting a series of minor charms, with Harry indicating the exact moments he felt the magic rise. “I found him, or he found me, and we became inseparable. Folks thought we were dating for the longest time, but he's not like that.”

“I figured as much, Hermione said. “But now that he's moved so far away, you guys don't see each other much, do you?”

Tonks shrugged and stared at her belly. “No, we don't. So, in a selfish way, I enjoy this Sentinel-Guide problem because I get to see the boys again, you know?” She turned to Hermione again, her violet eyes gentle now. “Not that I wish you or Harry harm — I'm sorry you have to endure this Horcrux shite and whatever else is going on.”

Hermione winced, but she bit down a remark about foul language. “I know. And I have Harry to help me figure out what's going on, on top of everyone here trying to help us.”

“Speaking of you and Harry…” Tonks' eyebrows waggled.

Hermione groaned quietly. “Please don't; it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Tinks smirked. “I see the way he focuses on you; it’s rather adorable. Also, from what I understood of your earlier tale, you two had rather intimate moments recently? Bet that spices things up considerably.”

“Tonks, please…”

The Metamorphmagus shrugged in feigned nonchalance. “Well, I’m sharing an observation, being a trained Auror and all.”

“It was just a kiss!” Hermione blurted out and then froze in panic as she realized what she'd just admitted to.

The men turned around, and Charlie tried and failed to hide a smile. “So I was right! Pay up, old man.” Without breaking eye contact, he held a hand toward Remus, who groaned and fished a Galleon out of his robes to hand it to him.

“You… you bet on us?” Harry blinked. “That’s… I don’t even know how to feel about it.” He rubbed his neck. “Bloody hell.”

“Let’s not get distracted from the issue at hand,” Remus offered with some chagrin after being glared at by both the Sentinel and the Guide. “We still need to decide how to secure Hogwarts, and how we can help the two of you train your abilities.”

“How about the Forbidden Forest?” Charlie said. “It’s an ideal environment for Harry, and it’s close by. We could set up a camp of sorts, after contacting the centaurs — who would probably be thrilled to discover that they’re being looked over by a Sentinel.”

Harry winced. “I’m not sure about that; they appeared to be rather territorial when we last encountered them, and…”

Charlie interrupted him. “Let me deal with it. I’m not Hagrid, but I know my way around at least some parts of the forest, and I can talk to them.”

“Speaking of Hagrid, are we going to include him in our little conspiracy?” Tonks asked. “What about Minerva? Or Pomona? Any of the other professors?”

“I’d like to keep this circle as small as possible,” Hermione answered. “Harry and I already have allies within Hogwarts. I do trust Neville, Hannah, Susan, and Ginny, but we should expect the rumor mill to pick up on things eventually. Professor McGonagall appeared to be on our side, all things considered, since she facilitated this meeting.”

Remus nodded. “Without her, none of this would’ve been possible. We might’ve never learned about Harry’s and Hermione’s awakening.”

Nobody spoke the name Albus Dumbledore, but from the way they all glanced at each other, it was obvious the headmaster was on everyone’s mind.

“Okay.” Tonks shrugged. “So that’s a wrap on potential allies for the moment. How are we going to keep you guys safe, though? We can’t have a repeat of that useless tournament or any other incidents where people just walked into the school.”

“I can defend myself.” Harry stared at Tonks's belly for a second before he refocused his senses. “I’m not as vulnerable as I was a week ago.”

Remus folded his hands. “You’re not invincible, Harry. And we don’t know which direction the next blow will come from. Hermione did a good thing when she destroyed that Vanishing Cabinet, but there might be other avenues open to Voldemort’s followers we don’t even know about. And you can’t even think about going against Albus, either — at least not openly. Unless we can determine his motives, I’d like to limit your exposure as much as possible. That means avoiding Albus as much as possible, but also not showcasing your abilities unless absolutely necessary.”

“Well, that train might’ve already left the station…” Harry drew a deep breath. “My fight with Snape caused serious damage and drew countless eyeballs in the aftermath. Those Unspeakables didn’t visit the Headmaster for fun, either. I believe I’m still in trouble.”

Tonks sighed. “They might go and grab him when he’s in the Ministry. Remember when Harry was illegally being dragged in front of the Wizengamot?”

Harry suddenly remembered something. “The last time I spoke to the headmaster, he insinuated that he was doing the things he did to protect me ‘from myself.’ Whatever that means. Maybe he’d still come to my aid should the Ministry try something?”

“That’s too much of a gamble.” Hermione shook her head. “Harry, under no circumstances whatsoever will I allow you to waltz out of Hogwarts, hoping that Albus Dumbledore comes to your rescue in the final moment.” She muttered something else about some ‘wannabe-Gandalf,’ but nobody aside from Harry understood the words.

“So we have to plan for Harry’s safety both in Hogwarts and outside of it? Bloody hell.” Tonks looked around. “How in the world are we going to pull that off?”

“We can’t deal with all problems at once; let’s prioritize.” Remus counted with his fingers. “Judging by the arrival of the Unspeakables we saw in Albus’ office, we can expect a summoning by the Ministry soon. So that should be our focus for now. As for Hogwarts, I think I need to talk to Minerva again; she might be able to assist us. And Charlie, meanwhile, tries to contact the centaurs.”

The redhead shrugged. “That’s fine by me — I think we might overlook a shortcut, though.”

“Which one?”

Charlie noted that he had everyone’s attention and froze for a second. “Harry is already claiming Hogwarts as his territory; I think we should give him a little push to finalize the deal, so to speak. Let him make his final mark, so that he gains more control of his surroundings.”

“That sounds like I’m a strange kind of dog,” Harry mumbled.

Tonks smirked, reached over, and tousled his hair. “That’s right. Who’s a good boy?”

Harry shook his head and stepped back. “That’s not funny.”

“A bit.”

“Harry.” Hermione’s tone — eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall — made it sound as if he’d been the instigator of this little scene, but to everyone’s amusement, the Sentinel just hung his head and sat down quietly.

Remus turned to Charlie. “What do you have in mind?”

“When Martin… When the Sentinel I knew during my years at Hogwarts awoke, he was constantly on edge inside the castle because it felt as if he was trespassing on someone else’s ground. There weren’t any other Sentinels present during that time that I was aware of, but the school’s aura was still slightly repellent to him.”

Charlie stopped for a second to gather his thoughts. “He eventually found a way to deal with it by claiming it as his territory, if only for a while. I didn’t witness it, but from what he told me, I believe he hunted and killed a bunch of rats with his bare hands and hung them like trophies in various corners of the castle.”

Hermione grimaced. “Are you serious right now?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I ever did…” Harry wondered, only to shut his mouth when his Guide threw him a withering glance. “No dead rats, check.”

“Did it help?” Remus asked.

“Yes. Martin slept much better after that, even when Filch and Mrs. Norris found and removed most of the rats. As to his abilities, I can’t say whether it made him stronger or not. His final year… well, he was more restless again, but that might have been for different reasons.”

Nobody dared to ask Charlie about the details of his breakoff with the Sentinel since he was still visibly hurt, but Hermione nodded. “Object permanence — although not the kind that psychologists talk about — isn’t required for ritualistic magic; sometimes it’s even a detriment,” she said. “So we might be able to do something for Harry that doesn’t leave any clues.”

“But what?” Harry asked. “I’m fine leaving Hogwarts’ rats alone, but if this is about producing some trophies, I need to do something. And I’m not sure my past Quidditch wins count.”

“What feels natural to you when you just stand somewhere and let your senses wander?” Charlie pointed at Harry. “Only you can tell us that. There’s no sense in forcing something onto you that isn’t compatible with your way of experiencing the world as a Sentinel.”

“I don’t know, to be honest. The last time I felt into my surroundings like that was back in the beginning when I was in the Hospital Wing, and then in the Forbidden Forest, when… anyway, I’m not sure if I know what makes me unique.” He looked at Hermione. “Until today, I didn’t even know there were differences between Sentinels.”

“Ossinsky alludes to that in his book, but only very briefly. The materials he sent will help us find out more.” She turned from Harry to Remus, then to Charlie. “But that’ll take time.”

“So we stall.”

Remus shook his head. “No. We don’t know how much the Ministry or Voldemort knows, but delaying the inevitable will make things worse since it will look suspicious and cause further investigation. As it stands, Harry might have to answer for the attack on Severus, but the rumors about his hypersensitivity might still be dismissed — in the past, the Ministry was always eager to sweep anything out of the ordinary under the rug.”

“I didn’t plan to demonstrate my ability to read a newspaper from the other side of the Great Hall, but I might not be able to react to things that happen around me,” Harry said. “Much of what I do, or what I can do, isn’t something I actively control. I just do it.”

“There are more things than that Charm Albus taught you, to shield your senses, Harry.” Charlie drew his wand and twirled it around. “We can wrap you up so tight that not even an Exploding Charm would make you flinch. That should protect you from some inquisitive Wizengamot members.”

“And when we get back to Hogwarts, you need to find a quiet corner and think about what you’d like to do as a Sentinel regarding the place,” Hermione added. “If you feel like the castle is your home, how would you tell others off? Other than projecting some sort of aura that’s highly uncomfortable to Guides, Sentinels, and werewolves, that is.”

They all looked at each other.

“So what do we do now? Is that it? All preparations done?” Tonks asked.

“No.” Hermione pointed at Charlie’s twirling wand. “I still need to buy a new wand, even though we found my old one again. Nobody knows about that yet, and it might not be a bad idea to have a spare.” She smiled at Charlie. “If you don’t mind accompanying me to Diagon Alley.”

“Not at all.”

Tonks perked up. “Does that mean I get to poke Harry with a hex or two while you’re gone?”

“Err… come again?” Harry didn’t appear too happy about that idea. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Remus smiled. “Constant vigilance, Harry. Constant vigilance.”

“You know that it was a Death Eater who told us this credo, and not the real Alastor Moody?”

“Mad-Eye very much approved of it afterward,” Tonks said. “So while Charlie goes shopping with your girlfriend, let’s see what you can do in the Focus and Level departments. And honestly, I need some practice, no matter if it's just flinging a few small spells.” She stood up with some effort and craned her neck.

“But Charlie told us about it just today; I know basically nothing about it!” Harry protested.

“I believe in you, Harrikins.” Tonks grinned. “Also, the lack of protest about me calling Hermione your girlfriend is telling. Is it official, then?”

Hermione and Harry both blushed.

Severus Snape woke with a massive headache and a strangely empty feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t move his hands or feet; his entire body felt weightless. The pain behind his eyes was exquisite, though.

“Severus, wake up.” Albus’ low voice came from somewhere nearby.

The Slytherin coughed drily. “Where am I?” he croaked.

“In St. Mungo’s. You had rather severe injuries, my friend, and Poppy thought it best to send you here.” There was a rustling sound, and then Severus noticed a smell of lemon drops.

“What… happened? To Potter, I mean?” He coughed again and tried to sit up, but his arms wouldn’t react to his wishes, leaving him helpless.

“Harry isn’t in Hogwarts since Minerva has sent him somewhere secret.” The headmaster sighed. “But he’ll return, and then we can proceed with our plan.”

Severus wanted to snort, but his chest didn’t hold enough breath for that. He hated his current weakness, but he needed to sit upright, or he’d begin screaming. “If you wouldn’t mind…” he whispered.

“Of course!” With a gentle touch, Albus moved his upper body and readjusted the bed at the same time. 

Muffled voices from outside made Severus aware that he was indeed in St. Mungo’s. Carefully, he opened his eyes and immediately shied away from the windows. “Blergh, it’s bright in here.”

The headmaster made a quick motion with his wand, and the curtains closed themselves.

“I don’t get your trust in Potter,” Severus mumbled as he reached out for a glass of water at his bedside. “If Minerva of all people has decided to defy you, what's next?” He took a few sips. “And what is done to punish that brat? We can’t let him run around and attack people at will; he almost killed me, Albus!”

The old man’s face was somber. It was a different mask than the one Severus had often seen in emotional discussions, and he wondered what that meant. “Harry will face consequences for his actions, believe me. He won't, however, be expelled or thrown into a cell.”

“Typical that you’d play favorites even now.” The Slytherin shook his head but immediately regretted it since his headache increased tenfold. “So what’s this plan then? And don’t say 'ours,' by the way, because I’m sure I have a vastly different idea in mind of how we should proceed.”

“What would you do in my shoes, Severus?”

He grunted, noting how Albus had dodged giving an actual answer. “Lock Potter away and find a way to deal with Granger, although separating them might just do the trick. But Potter needs to be physically removed from Hogwarts at this point — he’s claiming it, Albus! I saw it with my own eyes in the Grand Staircase, even though he was completely oblivious to it. Next thing we know, we might not even get back into that damn castle.”

“I believe you, Severus, but Harry’s a long way from being able to control Hogwarts like that.”

Snape smirked evilly. “So you're not at all worried that, someday, our office won't open anymore?”

The headmaster dismissed the comment with a sharp gesture. His right hand appeared to be healed, but it was just an illusionary charm. “There’s already an investigation. For some reason, the Minister has sent Unspeakables instead of Aurors. I don’t need to tell you what that entails, do I, Severus?”

“No, but you’re going to do it anyway, won’t you?”

“Why are you so hostile?”

“Because you don’t seem to be in any kind of rush to sort this out, Albus. I botched the obliviation of Granger, true, but now that Potter found out about it, we’re teetering on a knife’s edge, and you sit here sucking on lemon drops while Minerva goes behind your back, and now the Ministry is sniffing around to find evidence for this so-called Sentinel.”

Albus nodded calmly in that infuriating way of his. “About that investigation, it’s one of the reasons I came here.”

“Don't I know it?” Snape stared into the old man’s eyes and found steel. His stomach began to churn. “What are you planning, then?” He noticed that Albus was still holding his wand. “Does it have something to do with the fact that you’re wearing those nondescript robes?”

“When I asked you to take care of the situation, you didn’t hesitate to take action, and for that I’m thankful. As for your encounter with Harry… maybe I was too dismissive of your warnings, Severus. But your memories of that obliviation are a liability, Severus, as are the memories of that fight between you and Harry in the Grand Staircase.”

“What?”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “The Ministry can never find proof, Severus — as you said, too much hangs in the balance. If we’re to successfully convince Voldemort of the worth that an intact Sentinel-Guide bond possesses, he must learn it from a trusted source, not the Ministry.”

“You can’t be serious.” Severus leaned back, defeated. “Are you still trying to rope the Dark Lord in with that parlor trick? You underestimate him, Albus. Again.”

“Tom Riddle isn’t a Lord, and he isn’t all-knowing,” the headmaster replied evenly. “The current phase of this war isn’t about who commands the most wands; it’s about information. And our enemy, intelligent as he might be, will always wonder about another secret he missed, some esoteric fact he could leverage to his advantage. In that, we're both equals, he and I, but I intend to use it as leverage.”

Severus pinched his nose. “You’re planning to take my memories so I won’t be able to testify to anyone, do I have that right? Or rather, so I’ll send them all on a wild goose chase.” He sighed. “Strangely, I can’t even say I disagree with your logic, unlike your ethics.”

“I promise you’ll get them back, my friend. Let the Ministry have their minute, and report back to Voldemort, but it can’t be the truth. I’ll safeguard your memories with my life.”

Both men stared at each other.

“I hope this mad gamble of yours pays off, Albus,” the Slytherin whispered. “Because right now, I’m at my wit’s end. We need to contain Potter and destroy all Sentinel-related information that’s currently circulating inside Hogwarts.”

“I’ll take care of it.” The headmaster nodded again. “Minerva might believe herself to be an opponent of mine in this matter, but I'm convinced that in the end she’ll help us resolve the situation in a rather satisfactory way.”

Severus blinked in irritation. “What, because she brought Potter and Granger together?”

“Precisely.”

“Just obliviate me already.” The Slytherin closed his eyes. Dumbledore was powerful enough that he didn’t need eye contact to extract memories.

“Severus, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known,” Albus said solemnly as he stood up. “I know you wish for the world around us to remain ignorant, but I dearly hope that one day you’ll be able to receive the acceptance you’ve denied yourself for so many years.”

Snape remained silent and turned away from the old man.

“Obliviate.”

With careful motions, Albus extracted the memories of both the attempted obliviation of Miss Granger and Severus’ fight with Harry from his friend’s mind and put them into two separate vials he produced from his robes. Then he began to weave new memories, using his and Severus’ knowledge as a foundation, and quietly spoke the incantations to plant them inside the mind of the man that he considered both a friend and a spy.

Now, Miss Granger had simply reacted impulsively as she turned around in the Owlery, fearing an attack from behind, and blasted Severus away from her. In the chaos, she then slipped and knocked her head on the stone floor — the last thing Severus had 'seen' before falling unconscious.

And Harry hadn’t attacked Severus in the Grand Staircase but rather tried to help him fight an invisible, third party that’d been present on that landing. The blurry shape that was now part of the memory indicated a person about the same size as Harry, but certainly not a grown man. Harry had failed to protect Severus, though.

When he was done, Albus carefully removed his wand.

He noticed a few red spots on his beard and touched his nose — it was bleeding again.

He cleaned himself up and left the room, closing the door quietly after him to not wake Severus. As he walked down the corridor, Albus leaned over to another middle-aged man who was dozing off on a bench in the corridor and removed a loose hair from his shoulder. After making sure he wasn’t observed, Albus opened a potion flask and put the hair inside. He gulped the contents down with one swift motion and turned away when two mediwitches hurried down the corridor so they wouldn’t see his melting face.

A middle-aged man with brown hair and nondescript robes exited St. Mungo’s and vanished in the streets outside.

“What is she doing, Filius?” Minerva whispered to the small man at her side.

“I believe she’s having some sort of episode; that’s why I called you. It seems harmless enough, but considering recent events, I believe we can’t ignore it.”

The professors silently observed Sally-Anne Perks as she slowly wandered alongside the balcony in the Grand Staircase, her hand moving over the wooden top of the railing in what could only be described as reverence.

The girl’s pupils were wide, and she didn’t appear to be aware of her surroundings.

“Before you arrived, she mumbled to herself about other students, rattling off names of people that left marks on that railing,” Filius said. “Some of those are students who have since left Hogwarts, back in her first year.”

“That’s indeed unusual. So you believe she’s experiencing a bout of hypersensitivity the way Mister Potter has and does?”

“Very much so.”

Minerva sighed. “I would rather not cause Miss Perks undue stress, Filius. What if our interference worsens it?”

“I know.” The Head of House Ravenclaw sighed. “But we should look after her, in any case.”

“I agree.”

“Minerva… What if there are others?” Filius looked up at her. “What if Miss Perks isn’t the only one?”

“But why would so many gifted students reveal themselves now? The last time we had a Sentinel in Hogwarts, we only learned about it afterward, from another student.”

“Whom?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you; I promised to keep it a secret.”

“Okay.”

“But I’ll contact him in any case; maybe he has insights we can benefit from.”

“So you believe in my theory?”

“Filius, you’ve been one of the most level-headed persons throughout all of these Sentinel revelations so far. I trust you far more than I trust myself, to be honest.”

The small man smirked. “Does that mean your talk with Albus didn’t reveal all the answers you’re looking for?”

“I didn’t know what I expected.” She shrugged. “He did confirm to me, though, that things are a lot more serious than they appear. It has something to do with Harry’s connection to Voldemort. Being a Sentinel makes it much worse, apparently.”

They changed positions to keep the line of sight toward Sally-Anne Perks, who was still feeling her way around the railings of the Grand Staircase’s fourth level.

“Also, Miss Granger is deeply involved in it, through no fault of her own.”

Filius raised an eyebrow. “That much was obvious, wasn’t it? What about Severus?”

Minerva sighed. “He might’ve done something to either Mister Potter or Miss Granger to provoke that kind of reaction, but I don’t know what — Albus wouldn’t share anything but the vaguest of insinuations.” She bit her tongue as she served her friend this lie, since she knew in her bones that Harry and Hermione had been truthful about the attempted obliviation… it made too much sense, albeit in a rather grim way.

“That doesn’t sound good, Minerva. I don’t condone violence of that sort, but we need all the facts if we’re to react properly to this situation.”

“I know, believe me. I know.”

The fireplace in the headmaster's office came alive and belched out green fire and smoke. This time, however, Albus Dumbledore strode out of the Floo normally. He gathered two letters that’d come in his absence with a flick of his wand and settled behind his desk.

“I’d love a cup of tea if that’s possible,” he said loudly into the room as he scanned the parchments.

With a plop, a full tray manifested on his desk, with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.

“Thank you,” Albus said absently and sniffed, before wiping the fresh blood from his nose.

He put the letters aside and fished the two memory vials from one of his pockets to put them on his desk. As he stared at them, noticing patterns within the slow movement of the silvery mists inside, he poured himself a cup of tea.

“Phineas?” he asked without looking at the wall behind him.

“Oh, so now you’re looking for my advice?” The Slytherin Headmaster sneered but stopped when he saw that Albus wasn’t reacting.

“Did you already send the message?”

“I did. Jorgen wasn’t pleased, but he did as he was told. The Dark Lord should get wind of it shortly after lunch.” Phineas sounded pleased.

“Good, good. I still want to hold on to the second message, though. He’d immediately be suspicious if they both arrived on the same day.”

“He still might be, Albus. Severus is right; you’re rather dismissive of Voldemort’s capabilities.”

The headmaster smiled and finally turned around to the portrait. “I never underestimated Tom Riddle, Phineas. But I do know where his weaknesses lie.” He put his cup down and opened one of the desk’s drawers to fish out an old ring. “Of course, he does know me as well.”

“You’re basing your entire plan on something as unpredictable as the Dark Lord’s reaction to a piece of esoteric lore. I don’t share your optimism.”

“Maybe you should speak to Minerva.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Albus!”

The headmaster sighed. “No, it’s not.” He closed the drawer and stored the ring in one of his robe's pockets before he took hold of the two vials again.

“What’s this?”

“A liability.”

The magical portrait remained silent.

“I have to decide if the risk of keeping this around is worth it… ” Albus mumbled. “What will you do if you don’t remember how you’ve been overcome not once but twice by the very students you dismiss so easily? Maybe you’ll see it my way, eventually. Cornered, but now without options to go forward.”

Gillian Slorah’s portrait interrupted Albus’ thoughts. “Do those belong to Severus?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t keep them from him; it’s unethical.”

The headmaster nodded. “Yes, it is. It’s also necessary, Gillian.” He inspected the vials closely and selected one, which he also put inside his robes. Then he cast a nonverbal spell and hovered the second vial in front of him as he drew his wand.

“Albus… I don’t often agree with Gillian, but she’s right. This might turn around and bite you in your butt at the worst possible time,” Phineas said.

“I know.”

“Then why…”

“I’m rather counting on it, my friend.” Albus touched the vial with the tip of his wand, and the contents vanished into thin air before the glass dissolved like a fading illusion. “My death is inevitable, and this way I’m building a path for Severus to follow along.”

“As always, you’re dismissing any opinions contrary to your own.” Headmistress Slorah’s portrait shrugged. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Albus didn’t reply as he wiped his bleeding nose again. He turned to his office window and looked at the silhouette of the distant Forbidden Forest.

Ever since he’d been spat out by the Floo, his bones had been aching. The moment when Harry had noticed his focus had been worse because to Albus it’d felt as if he was drowning in an endless, deep pool. A ghostly impression of water had followed Harry, and he didn’t know what to make of it. Was it a sign of the young Sentinel’s growing power?

What had those kids done out there, in the forest?

Maybe he should find out if only to find his shoes and his wand again.

Albus shook his head as he tried to rid himself of that random thought.

Where was he again?

Ah, yes, the Forbidden Forest.

“I need to go; I have unfinished business outside,” he said to the portraits as he left his office. To his surprise, his doors opened in front of him and closed as he hurried down the stairs and felt a cold shiver.

Chapter Text

Hermione wouldn’t have dared to knock on the door of the boarded-up store, but Charlie had insisted. After a few long moments of waiting in the deserted Diagon Alley that made her feel rather exposed, there was a sound of shuffling feet inside, and Ollivander opened.

He appeared to have aged in the past six years, his face more gaunt and quite pale. But his eerie eyes immediately fixed on Hermione and held her gaze.

“Well met, Miss Granger… Ah, yes, vine wood, ten and three-quarter inches, with a dragon heartstring core. Well balanced, as expected from an equinox wand. What brings you to my store this Sunday?”

Ollivander glanced towards Charlie but simply nodded to the other man, having apparently picked up on Hermione being his sole customer.

“Hello,” she said awkwardly. “I’m afraid I lost my wand, Mister Ollivander. It might have been stolen, actually; I still don’t know.”

“I see. That’s a pity; it was a good wand. Perfect for spells both calm and wrathful, and suited to someone as gifted in the arcane arts as yourself, Miss Granger.”

She smiled unhappily and looked down. The lie had come easy, and she didn’t know if she liked having such a capacity for deception, although she didn’t know if the old man had really believed her — his gaze was inscrutable.

“Come in,” Ollivander said.

The inside of his shop was gloomy, with only a few flickering candles and small magic lights providing illumination behind the boarded-up windows.

“Did anyone follow you, Mister Weasley?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don’t think so, sir, but I can’t be certain. Diagon Alley sure has changed.”

Ollivander clicked his tongue as he moved towards the tall shelves behind the counter. Many of the compartments were empty, almost as if the store was in the process of closing down. “It has indeed. Best to be quick about this business, then — but a new wand will find you before you leave, don’t you worry, Miss Granger.”

“I appreciate it.”

Ollivander rummaged on his shelves. “How about this? No, too strong-headed… Maybe this one? Yes, it might do.” He turned around. “Nine and a quarter inches, cherry wood, and a dragon heartstring core of the sort you’re already familiar with. Strong, but supple. Try it out!”

She accepted the wand from the old man’s hands and immediately felt that it wasn’t compatible with her. Her fingers began to prickle uncomfortably.

The wand maker had apparently come to the same conclusion since he grabbed it almost immediately. “No, no, no, it’s not working.” He selected another one. “Might go towards a bit more exotic choices, why not? Birch, eleven inches, with a core made of a salamander’s tail.”

Hermione hesitated for a second before she accepted the wand. It wasn’t perfect, but not as bad as the first one. She made a swift motion, and two pale sparks came out of the tip.

Ollivander shook his head. “Not good enough, no. Give it back.”

While the man climbed a small ladder to gather a few wand boxes from the top of the shelves, Charlie leaned closer to Hermione. “I don’t know what you do to access your center of calm, as you called it, but try doing it now. Your element is water, and it’ll influence which wand works best for you,” he whispered.

“I’m trying!” she hissed. “It’s not so easy.”

“Peace, Guide,” Charlie smiled. “I’m just sayin’.”

Ollivander jumped down the ladder like a much younger man. “I’m positive we’ll find a suitable companion for you, Miss Granger. It’s in one of these boxes, I’m sure.”

She nodded, knowing he’d still perform his little sales pitches to let her know the wands she’d try.

“Beechwood, ten and a half inches, griffin feather core. A bit firm, maybe, but that might be a plus.”

It was another wand that felt uncomfortable and made her fingers tingle. Hermione tried to tune out all the distractions, to forget about the uncomfortable feeling in her gut that’d followed her from Diagon Alley into this store.

“Nine and three-quarter inches, fir, and unicorn tail hair. Very flexible.”

This one felt strangely bitter and caused Hermione to suck on her tongue to get rid of the impression. She took a deep breath and tried to remember the Prefects’ Bathroom.

“Cedar, twelve inches, Veela hair. Also on the bendy side.”

It worked, but only barely so. She focused on the sensation of the spiritual cleaning after that bath where she’d seen those motes of Hogwarts’ magic before she’d regained her memories.

Ollivander muttered to himself as he was about to hand her another pale wand, and took it back again. “No… maybe we’ll try this one instead, a unique one. An experiment from my younger days.” He cast several boxes aside to reveal an old, turquoise box that he opened carefully to remove a reddish wand with an elegant spiral pattern. “Mangrove, eleven and a quarter inches, with a core from Epimeliad hair. Strong, but still flexible.”

Hermione reached out and knew it would be a perfect fit before her fingers even touched it.

As she took hold of the surprisingly warm wood, there was a sound of rushing water in her ears. The wand immediately felt like an extension of her, something that allowed her to better absorb all the magical energies around her. She leaned into the feeling and instinctively moved the tip in the pattern of a circle cut in half by a straight line — thinking of the balance that Ollivander had spoken of.

Bright sparks erupted from the wand, flowing up in the air and then cascading down in gentle waves as if they were streams of water. They washed all over Ollivander’s counter and illuminated the store with a warm light.

“Bravo, Miss Granger.” Ollivander nodded. “It seems Mister Potter isn’t the only one we can expect great things from.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, stopping the display of magic. “Thank you.”

The old man nodded, fixing her with his stare again. “It would be wise to not draw this wand in the company of unfriendly eyes unless necessary, Miss Granger. Not until you’ve learned to… guide your abilities better, maybe with the help of Mister Weasley here?”

Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Did Ollivander know what she was?

But how?

“We appreciate the warning,” Charlie said evenly. “How much do we owe you?”

“Since this wand is made of costly materials, I need to ask for twelve Galleons.”

Charlie nudged Hermione, and she regained hold of her senses. She quickly counted twelve gold coins from her purse and handed them to Ollivander. “Again, thank you,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it since her mind was still abuzz with suspicion and speculation.

“If you don’t mind, please relay a farewell to Mister Potter,” the wand maker said. “I won’t be here much longer; the shadows grow darker every day. I will still think of him, though.”

Hermione looked him in the eye. “Stay safe, Mister Ollivander.”

He stared at her intently. “I wish you the same, Miss Granger, even though it won’t come true for some time.”

When they left, Charlie cast Disillusionment Charms on both of them. Although they had no obvious tails as they hurried through Diagon Alley, Hermione felt rather exposed again. This trip had been a harsh reminder of the things that were at stake.

Charlie had been right — Harry shouldn’t leave Hogwarts without good reason.

“Where to now?” she asked Charlie’s hooded figure in front of her as they hurried deeper into the alley, away from the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

“There’s something I’d like to pick up before we go, something that might help us. Help you, in fact. And in return, Harry.”

Hermione leaned towards the dragon keeper and felt how his aura of absorption flared. The ambient magic of Diagon Alley faded around her as Charlie’s magic gobbled it all up. “What is it?”

“Something I brought from Romania,” he said in a low voice. “A dragon keepsake that helped me anchor myself after I met Sagi.”

“Is it something from… her?”

Charlie nodded.

“Oh, wow.”

“Indeed.”

Hermione had a flashback from her fourth year, when she’d met Ron’s older brother for the first time. “Charlie, is it an egg?”

“Better.”

Harry was distracted by the baby’s heartbeat, and he had difficulty dividing his focus properly. Tonks still pretty much telegraphed her attack as far as he was concerned, but he was absolutely handicapped.

“Flippendo!”

He lifted his right leg to let the Knockback Jinx fly by, not moving from his spot as per the ridiculous rules of this test. Tonks smirked and moved her arm as if she would cast a quick follow-up attack but then switched wand hands at the last second. He could hear the lines on her fingers scrape against the wand’s wood as she grabbed it in her left hand.

“Locomotor Mortis!”

She’d aimed at his neck this time, and Harry ducked low, knowing the spell would probably still touch his hair but leave him unaffected. He was proved right. Remus, who was circling him to observe his movements, came into view from the left, and Harry noted how the werewolf was capturing his scent, his pupils wide — Remus was most likely glad to be out of Harry’s focus for now.

The buildup of magic from Tonk’s hand told him another attack was incoming.

“Stupefy!”

The Stunning Spell flew at Harry’s center of mass, and he had to decide to either lean to the side or maybe jump to avoid the hit. He decided to do the latter and propelled himself upward as the magical bolt raced towards his belly button. His right leg got slightly singed, but it didn’t buckle when he landed in a low crouch.

“Cheater!” Tonks yelled.

“Am not,” he replied. “I’m standing exactly where I did before.”

“That’s not what I meant. Incarcerous!”

This time, the attack almost surprised Harry — the magical buildup hadn’t been noticeable, and Tonks’ wrist flicked another jinx at him out of nowhere. It didn’t have much power, but then it didn’t need to.

Instinctively, Harry leaned back to let the Binding Spell pass above his face, knowing he’d fall over in the process. He made a desperate attempt to regain his footing and unrolled his feet so he was precariously balancing on his toes and pushed himself forward with his upper legs.

It worked, but only barely so, and the Metamorphmagus didn’t hesitate to use this opportunity. “Flippendo!”

He knew it’d hit him unless he let himself fall, but Harry didn’t feel like losing by letting himself fall on purpose. The incoming jinx would hit his pelvis from the side, and he prepared for the impact on the lawn. The Knockback Jinx picked him up like an angry fist and catapulted him away from Tonks. It hurt, and Harry fought to keep his focus as his skin prickled and his pelvis ached from the impact.

He didn’t lose his orientation, though, and used a hand to partially stop his fall and tumble to the side. Using his remaining momentum, he turned around in a low crouch, his wand steadily aimed at Tonks.

“What… how did you do that?” The Metamorphmagus gasped. “You reacted as if that jinx was nothing. Did I even hit you properly?”

“You did,” Remus said from Harry’s right. “I saw him wincing. Are you alright, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “I’m fine.” He stood up and looked at the green stains on his jeans. “Ah, well.”

“I am right to assume that your reflexes have much improved? Seeing you flip around like that was like watching a cat falling out of a window and landing on all fours.” Remus smiled. “Very impressive.”

“We haven’t tested it to Hermione’s satisfaction, but yeah, I believe so. I’m not sure if I’m really faster than before, though; I just see things coming way earlier now, so I have more time to do something about it.” Harry rubbed his neck, uncomfortable at claiming such physical prowess. He knew he was more powerful than before, but standing here and outright saying it felt… weird.

Tonks put her wand away. “Well, you’d jump to the top of any Auror class in no time with those kinds of tricks. Not bad, Harrikins.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kiddo. But I’m parched.” She touched her belly again. “You want something?”

“Just water, thanks.”

“Water, coming right up. Don’t get used to me being a waitress, though.” She stuck out her tongue.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry replied with a grin.

“How are you feeling?”

He turned back to the werewolf. “I’m good. Still anxious about what’s coming next. I’m not looking forward to another visit to the Ministry, but I know it’s unavoidable.” He twirled his wand and calmed himself by feeling the familiar irregularities in its surface, then pocketed it.

“As we said earlier, we’ll cloak your abilities as best as possible.” Remus sat down on the stairs. “My thinking was to remove you from Hogwarts altogether, Harry, and I’m still convinced that there’s considerable danger waiting for you in the castle.” He sighed. “Yet I can’t deny that Charlie had a point with his idea of a full claim.”

“What danger are we talking about, really? Because Hermione and the others took care of Malfoy for now, and Snape’s still in St. Mungo’s. I know there are Slytherin students who’d like to see me dead, but that’s nothing new.” Harry sat down beside Remus but at a slight distance. “And Dumbledore already knows about me being a Sentinel, and even though he’s carrying some sort of dark mark of his own making, I’m not sure if he’s at his best right now.”

“And that’s precisely why I fear what Albus might do next,” Remus said. “People who believe themselves cornered tend to do desperate things. He’s probably convinced himself that his actions are to your eventual benefit, but his recent lies and attempts to sabotage you speak for themselves.” He hung his head. “I always knew that Albus had the capacity to be cruel, but it’s still unnerving to witness it like this, to be honest.”

Harry, remembering the many times he’d felt let down by the headmaster, snorted. “I’ve often wondered why he’s the way he is. Being so unapproachable in a way. Sometimes helping me, but only after someone already got hurt or I found myself in the Hospital Wing again. And other times, he’d just ignore me.”

Remus stared at him. “I’m sorry I never contacted you again after your third year, Harry. I knew you were looking for answers that only Sirius or I could provide, and I left you to fend for yourself.”

“I… I’m glad you’re here, now.”

He really was. He remembered feeling hurt by the complete disappearance of his dad’s surviving best friend. But he’d been so used to abandonment by adults that he didn’t have a problem forgiving Remus now that he clearly saw how sorry the man felt for his lack of initiative. The man was carrying a heavy burden while the Wizarding society around them was crumbling under Voldemort’s pressure.

Would he have been able to do better in Remus’ shoes?

He wasn't so sure.

Harry let his hands glide over the wooden surface to his side and wondered how the millions of impressions his fingers sent to his mind didn’t overwhelm but actually soothed him. Not so long ago he’d been completely absorbed by sensations like this. “May I ask you something?”

“Any time.”

“Will it ever go away? This feeling of anxiety you have in my presence? I don’t like the idea of making you nervous for the rest of my life.” He didn’t voice his depressing thoughts that it might not be a long-term issue for Remus at all, should they fail to stop Voldemort by some wondrous means they didn’t know yet. “Or Charlie.”

The werewolf nodded. “Eventually, it might. As far as I know, it depends on how strong your claim will be, and who you consider to be friends or family. Right now, you’re likely still overwhelmed by everything; nothing has settled yet.

“But Hogwarts… I feel weird about it. It’s not my place in the sense that this is your house, Remus, right? It’s ancient and huge and built by different people for all of wizardkind, not just myself.” He stared at his fingertips. “It was the first place I ever felt safe at, though. I can’t take that away from others who might feel the same — it’d be cruel, no matter how strong my attachment is.”

“It’s not necessarily like that, Harry. Do you believe you’ll force other students away?”

He shrugged. “If I understand it right, the place will react to my state of mind, and do things on its own that normally only the headmaster or the staff can initiate. That’s really not what I’m looking for, but if it really comes with a strengthening of the wards and also a warning system that lets me know if some evil git is sneaking around the premises, then sure, let me open doors with my mind.”

“You already have that power, you know?” Remus smiled. “Minerva told me that Albus mentioned something to her about that. I believe your anger caused a door to lock on him.”

“Really?” Harry immediately remembered the headmaster's most recent absence. Had he caused that?

“But to answer your question… I believe that once you make Hogwarts your own, as in the place you call home, not as Harry the student, but as a Sentinel, your mind will settle. The connection is already there, but in some way, you’re still wandering. I’d compare this to a young wolf who’s left his family pack to find his place in the world — being hyper-vigilant and aggressive out of necessity since he’s alone.”

Harry smirked. “Please don’t ever share that analogy with Hermione.”

“That’s a promise.”

He glanced at the older man. “So once I settle down, so to speak, my focus won’t be as sharp anymore? Strictly from your perspective, that is.”

“I believe so. I know it’s frustrating, but all I have to go on are vague secondary accounts and my own conclusions about how these things work, Harry. Sentinels have been purged from public consciousness for centuries.”

“I’ve begun to notice a lack of available information,” Harry deadpanned.

“But I share Hermione’s optimism about the books she received. Thanks to this Emmet Ossinsky character, we might be finally able to shed some light on the mysteries you’re plagued with.” Remus sighed. “We just need to lock down Hogwarts long enough for you to make your claim so we can buy ourselves some time to do that.”

Harry nodded. “And I need to find out what I actually want to do. I’m not hanging dead rats in some corner, thank you very much.”

Chapter Text

Susan had left her best friend behind, but Hannah’s cousin Drew from Ravenclaw had pulled her aside to involve her in the most recent boyfriend drama. The last time that had happened, Susan hadn’t seen her bestie for hours. And since she didn’t know Drew that well, she’d declined Hannah’s invitation to sit in on the talk.

She needed to clear her mind anyway.

As she wandered along Hogwarts’ hallways, Susan nodded to other groups of students and to the various professors who were out and about.

The school had never felt so busy during a weekend.

But the surrounding buzz didn’t make Susan feel as if she were part of it; it isolated her.

She picked up various colorful rumors as she walked on, stories about what had happened between Harry and Snape and what sort of conspiracy was taking place right now. People suddenly remembered Harry’s Parseltongue ability and some accusations the Prophet had printed over the years. Not everyone saw the Boy-Who-Lived as a Dark Lord in training, but honest voices of reason were few and far between, from what the Hufflepuff overheard.

Susan wondered where Harry and Hermione had gone, together with Lupin.

Hopefully, to a place where they’d find answers, she thought.

Why did she feel so empty?

“Hey, Susan.”

Neville’s voice startled her, and she almost jumped. “Neville! Don’t scare me like that.”

The boy blushed profusely. “I’m sorry! I called you out like three times.” His eyes were full of concern. “Is everything alright?”

She nodded. “Everything’s peachy. Hannah is with her cousin; I just felt like wandering a bit, I guess.”

Neville nodded, but she could see that he was still worried.

“Why are you all alone here, by the way? No hanging out in the Gryff’s Tower? No late homework to do?”

The tall boy snorted. “That’s Ron’s department; I try to avoid stressing out like that. I was trying to see where everyone is and see what they know. Hermione and Harry are still gone, aren’t they?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

Susan couldn’t help but smile at that statement of his. People so often underestimated Neville, but he could be funny or even sarcastic if he wanted to — she didn’t mind his occasional clumsiness, either.

“Susan…” The Gryffindor stopped and looked around to check if they had an audience. “I wanted to ask you something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Have you seen Sally-Anne today?”

She shook her head. “Don’t think so. Why?”

“I… Maybe it’s nothing.” Neville fiddled with his hands. “I saw her in the Grand Staircase, and when I startled you just now, you reminded me of her. I think.”

“Neville, what are you talking about?” She closed the distance between them, seeing how nervous he was. “Do we need to go somewhere private?”

“No!” he almost shouted. “No, no, it’s fine, it’s just… I would rather not say something wrong here. It’s stupid.”

“Tell me, please.”

He blushed again, albeit much less so. “You know that Harry often has nightmares about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, right? Or something else. Even now, it’s terrible sometimes, so I guess being a Sentinel doesn’t make you immune.” Neville swallowed. “What I’m trying to say is, I’ve heard that other people have had nightmares, too.” He looked around again before he leaned closer. “All at the same time, I mean!”

Susan felt how the emptiness inside her was being replaced by… something.

She’d never stood so close to Neville, and rarely to any student apart from Hannah.

He was whispering words in her ear.

She wasn’t alone.

“What are you saying, Neville? I don’t understand.”

He nodded, now eager to share his line of thought. “I overheard a few conversations in the Great Hall. “Did you notice Professor Sinistra?”

Susan shook her head again, focusing on Neville’s earnest face. “What did she do?”

“She was… sort of dazed, I guess? Like she wasn’t all there. Professor Sprout leaned over to her a few times, and it looked as if she was comforting her. Katie said that Sinistra said she hadn’t slept well, having had a nightmare that left her rattled.”

“Okay?” She felt a slight discomfort in her stomach as she saw where he was going. When she’d woken up in Hannah’s arms, being so confused… but that’d been her dream, not some sort of communal experience. And certainly not a nightmare, even if she still keenly remembered that otherworldly feeling of loss.

“And the same thing happened to Amber Reynard-Richardson.” He twisted his hands again and leaned back. “I tried to listen in to Crabbe and Goyle at their table to see if they’d found Malfoy by now. They haven’t, by the way. But Amber sat nearby, and she told her friends about being woken up by a nightmare about Potter, and how she’s convinced he’s mentally assaulting the Slytherins or something.”

Susan drew a ragged breath. “Neville…”

“What is it? Do I need to stop? I’m rambling, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I…”

She stopped him by putting a finger on his lips, which made his eyes go wide as saucers. “Neville, I… I believe you. I’ve had a dream as well, but not a nightmare — I dreamt about Hermione and Harry.”

When she removed her finger, she saw a range of emotions on Neville’s face. He didn’t blush, but there were red spots on his cheeks. He swallowed hard, but then he soldiered on.

“Well. If I’m right, then Sally-Anne may have experienced the same. She behaved a lot like Professor Sinistra did during breakfast, wandering the Grand Staircase as if she was daydreaming.” His eyes widened again. “You had the same look when I startled you.”

Susan shuddered involuntarily as she tried to comprehend the scale of Neville’s words. Was it possible? But what was the connection? None of those other people were involved with the awakening of Harry and Hermione, at least not as far as she knew.

And what did it say about her feeling so depressed?

“Should we go speak with her?” she asked, not taking charge for once.

Neville broke eye contact and stared off into space. “We might as well. Maybe it has something to do with the things Hermione told us about… The ritual she did in the Prefect’s Bathroom? Or something. But it doesn’t sound like a coincidence, not with what’s happening around us right now. Right?”

Susan felt glad that he was so reasonable and matter-of-fact. “Right.”

“Let’s go and find Sally-Anne, then.”

It took Susan a couple of steps before she noticed that she'd grabbed Neville's hand.

It didn't feel weird at all.

Harry felt the incoming Apparition and stood up from where he'd been sitting to nurse his glass of water. The weather had become a bit chilly, so Remus and Tonks had gone inside, but he’d remained to think about everything for a while.

Now he had goosebumps because someone was approaching through magic and space.

His senses focused on the spot where it would happen, and he picked up minuscule details that proved his Sentinel premonition right.

For a split second, the air above the lawn seemed to fracture as if Harry was looking at a breaking panel of glass. He saw aberrations in the way the light bounced off these magical lines. On the ground, thousands of blades of grass were pushed to the side as the pressure increased momentarily.

He couldn’t help but brace himself, even though he knew with absolute certainty it was Hermione coming through. His wand was at the ready.

The rush of the experience felt immensely satisfying in a way Harry couldn’t put into words.

If he wanted, he’d be able to simply pounce on his target.

Adrenaline surged through his veins.

Was he hunting? Probably so.

Yet he remained still.

Then, finally, Hermione and Charlie came through the warp. Harry’s eyes saw how their legs and feet appeared before the rest of their bodies came through, stretched impossibly long for a fraction of a second thanks to the magic of Apparition.

Hermione was already looking at him when she slightly stumbled and held on to Charlie.

“Harry,” the older Weasley greeted. “Where is everyone else? Did you… did you expect us?”

“Tonks and Remus are inside.” He nodded. “And I felt your Apparition. It was really intense, to be honest.”

“You did?” Hermione let go of Charlie and approached him. “I mean, it fits with your ability to pick up magic as it’s being cast, but to know the spot where someone is going to apparate to… Harry, that’s incredible.” She stopped in front of him. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s a limit to these Sentinel abilities at all.”

Harry’s focus wandered from her shining eyes to her nose and the way her lips moved as she spoke. He heard the tiny cracks in the soft skin as they stretched and contracted and imagined when he’d touched her lips with his. That kiss…

“Eyes up here, Sentinel,” she whispered, and Harry blinked.

He smiled mulishly. “Sorry.”

“So you say.”

Charlie sighed. “You kids… have fun; I need to have a talk with Remus.” As he passed them by, he made eye contact with Harry. “No funny business, eh?”

“I would never!” Harry said.

“Hey, I was a Hogwarts student once, too,” Charlie smirked before he went inside.

Hermione sniffed. “Honestly,” she mumbled.

“Well, he’s not entirely wrong, is he?”

“What are you saying, Harry Potter?”

He smiled at her. “Nothing at all. How was your trip? You seem… fine?”

“Diagon Alley is really depressing, Harry. So many empty stores, and people are constantly watching everyone who comes through.” She shook her head. “Being so isolated here at Hogwarts makes us forget what the rest of the Wizarding World is experiencing right now. Or at least in Britain. It was a sobering experience.”

Harry touched his fading scar. “Sorry you had to be there alone.”

“Charlie was a perfectly capable chaperone, Harry.” She rolled her eyes, but it was without malice.

“And your wand? I can smell that you have something made of wood in your pocket.”

“Show-off.” She drew her new wand. “It’s remarkable. Ollivander made me try out several new ones before he dusted off this piece. I knew immediately it would be the one.”

Harry absorbed the feeling he got from the wand as she held it. It was different from her old wand, definitely, but not like a day-or-night difference. It was more like… “This one makes me feel as if I’m standing barefoot at the edge of the Black Lake, water sloshing gently against my ankles.” He held his fingers close to the wand without actually touching it. “It feels very much like you, Hermione. The new you, that is.”

She beamed at him. “I thought so as well.” Then she drew a deep breath and held the wand away from Harry’s fingers or his face. “Expecto Patronum,” she whispered.

A bright light blinded both of them momentarily as Hermione’s Patronus manifested in front of her. The otter playfully swam through the air, alternating between doing acrobatic loops and looking at her eagerly for instructions.

“And it works, too.”

“Beautiful,” Harry said, dazed. He felt overwhelmed by the feeling of joy, love, and loyalty that he sensed in Hermione’s magic. The brightness of the spell was probably equal to when he'd summoned a Patronus in a desperate attempt to ward off all those Dementors, which felt like it was ages ago at this point in his life.

Hermione's Patronus was almost tangible.

From inside the house, he heard gasping and the movement of chairs on the floor. It seemed that the rest of their little group had taken notice of the incredible display of magic outside.

“We have spectators.”

“Oh?” Hermione dismissed her Patronus with a quick motion, but she didn’t turn around to the house behind them. “I hope they're not angry about me casting out in the open. I thought after all that testing of your abilities, and this being a magical household…”

“I'm sure it's fine, Hermione.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“You have something on your mind, don’t you?” she asked. “I know that face of yours.”

“It’s the only one I've got, I’m afraid.”

She smiled. “Don’t be a prat. Tell me what’s going on.”

Harry tried to keep his focus on her eyes instead of her lips. “Remus thinks I should claim Hogwarts before we do anything else. I’m not sure if I want to do it, but I realize that my reasoning might be flawed.”

“Because you believe you’ll lock other people out who have a right to be there?”

He nodded.

“But Harry, I doubt that’s how it works.” Hermione put a strand of hair behind her left ear that irritated her, which made for another tempting distraction for Harry’s focus. “Not unless… Unless there are others like us at Hogwarts. Or like Remus.”

“What are the chances? Even if they're low, I can’t believe we’re the only ones.”

She appeared unperturbed. “Then we’ll find them and then find a way to deal with it.”

Harry sighed, and she took hold of his hands.

“What?”

“I have no idea how to claim it in some sort of primal way, Hermione. It’s not mine to begin with, but also, what should I do? Draw some crude markings on the walls? Or maybe I end up doing a few dead rat decorations after all?”

She huffed. “I believe we’ve been over that one, Harry.”

“I'm just kidding.” He smirked. “But what else is there? I don’t have any good ideas.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed as she began thinking about his questions, and he almost held his breath. He could literally feel her mind whirling because her magic subtly changed its aura when she did. It became sharper, more pronounced.

“If we associate Sentinels with having a prominent role in a hunter-gatherer society, like, for example, the people that Mister Ossinsky met in South America, it’s easy to see how Charlie’s friend came up with dead rats.” Her eyes found Harry’s again. “Distasteful as it is, a dead rat is a trophy. A mark of a successful hunt or a dangerous confrontation overcome. A mark of personal victory.”

Harry agreed with her reasoning and nodded.

“Then again, I suspect Martin didn’t have access to Sentinel books that have since been removed from the library; that happened long before his time in Hogwarts. So where did he get this idea from?”

“He likely came up with it himself,” Harry said. “When I felt your incoming Apparition, it was like being a cat sitting in front of a mousehole. I felt really excited, as if I was hunting someone. A bit different from the strange draw when I raced down the stairs to kick Snape’s arse, but something along the same lines.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to nod. “I should've suspected as much.” She stepped closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember when we went into the Forbidden Forest? You were in some sort of hunter mode then.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She focused completely on him now. “Breathe, Harry. Close your eyes.”

He did as he was told without hesitation. Hermione’s instincts hadn’t led him astray so far, and he breathed in her scent. His heartbeat slowed down as he noticed how she absorbed the churning energies of his focus and allowed him to find calm.

Sentinel and Guide, in balance.

Harry took another deep breath.

Both their magic touched, and it was as if warm water trickled down his body, a blanket of something he didn't mind being in contact with at all.

What was he? What represented him?

His wand? 

His cloak?

His broom?

No, none of them defined him as a person or a Sentinel. He’d miss his ancestral cloak most should it be lost, but as long as Hermione was at his side, Harry felt that he would be okay. His wand, meanwhile, was tangled with Voldemort's story, and he didn't want to claim that, to accept it as a fact to represent him. It was his trusted wand, but not a symbol. And his broom — another tool he enjoyed using, but had he ever looked back to the Nimbus after getting the Firebolt? No. Flying was what drew him, not how he did it. 

So, what victories did he have to show for?

No matter what he did, Voldemort returned time and again. Quirrell's death had only caused him nightmares, but in the grand scheme of things it’d been almost inconsequential. And the Triwizard Tournament… not a victory so much as naked survival, that.

The catastrophic raid of the Department of Mysteries? What had been won that night, apart from sorrow and fear?

“I’m here, Harry. I’m with you, all the way. Breathe,” Hermione whispered. “You did wonderful things, and you’re a great wizard. Breathe.”

He let himself fall.

“Discard all your questions, all the open mysteries. When everything else falls aside, what is the one thing you’re proud of? What danger did you overcome on your own?”

Harry smelled her hair, and suddenly he remembered sitting in the Hospital Wing at her side. Only she hadn’t been moving then, because she’d been petrified. Second year, when things in Hogwarts had gone completely pear-shaped for the first time.

The Basilisk.

He shuddered, but not because he was still afraid of his close brush with death, but because something within him woke. He hadn’t been a Sentinel back then, but his mind was replaying the brutal encounter in the Chamber of Secrets, and he felt his fingers twitch with eagerness.

It didn’t matter that he’d hidden and run for his life.

That’d been a hunt.

A hunt for the ages — he'd killed the enormous beast with his hands. No wand, no professors, no destiny. Well, Fawkes and the Hat had saved him, but he’d still been the one to pull out the sword and do the deed. The smell of reptile blood, of brackish water on ancient stone… his own labored breaths echoing in the halls underneath the castle.

The Basilisk had been his kill.

His mark on Hogwarts.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at Hermione.

He saw her flinch ever so slightly from his focus, but she wasn’t afraid — just overwhelmed. He saw her heartbeat spike, yet her grip on his shoulder remained strong. Her eyes shone with affection and belief. What had he done to deserve such a person in his life?

Yet here she was, his Guide.

And so much more.

Harry smiled. “I know just the thing,” he said. “We need to go down to the Chamber of Secrets.”

Her pupils dilated as she chewed on the information he’d given her, and it only took her a second to understand his meaning. “Ah.”

“Not sure whether it’s more tasteful than rats, but as far as symbols go, I don’t believe there’s anything that can beat the King of Serpents.”

She wanted to wince, but he saw her controlling her facial expression. “What do you want to do, Harry?”

“Not sure what’s left of the beast after all these years, but remember those ghastly house-elf heads in Grimmauld Place?”

This time, Hermione made a face. “Eww… really?”

“I reckon there’s plenty of space on the walls of the Great Hall.”

“The headmaster won’t like it, probably not allow it, either. How do you plan to actually install such a thing and not have it removed within the hour?”

Harry sighed. “No idea. Disillusionment Charm?”

“Not good enough.” She shook her head. “I believe it needs to be untouched by magic. My water, your fire, and wind… if we really do this, it can’t be muddled with enchantments.”

“We?” He smiled.

“Of course. I may not like it, but I said I’m with you, Harry.” Hermione returned the smile, then she leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Minerva!”

The deputy headmistress looked up from the pile of paperwork she’d been sifting through. “Hagrid? What brings you to my office?”

“I… I think something is wrong with Dumbledore, you know?” The giant man scratched his head and entered, visibly nervous. “Saw him not half an hour ago on his way to the Forbidden Forest.”

“What?” She stood up so abruptly that her chair fell to the side.

Hagrid winced. “I asked him if he needed help, but he just smiled at me and said everything’s going to plan and that he needed to check something in the forest.” He looked at Minerva with his dark eyes. “I know he’s a great man and there’s always some plan in motion, but…”

“Hagrid, what is it? Please, speak.”

The half-giant sighed. “I may be out of line, but I think he wasn’t all well… ‘Twas as if he was sleepwalking, you understand? He seemed to look right through me rather than at me, and when I turned around, he was just… gone.” He shook his head.

Minerva steeled herself. “Gone where? The Forbidden Forest?”

“I believe so.”

“Albus, what are you doing… what’s there that’s so important…” she mumbled as she grabbed her cloak and her hat. Then she stopped. “Hagrid, did he have anything with him? A device, or an item?”

“No, not that I could see.”

“You did good, coming to me. I fear Albus is trying to do something foolish, something that wouldn’t be unexpected from someone such as the Weasley twins, but he’s really becoming such a bloody old Gryffindor.”

Hagrid grimaced. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, Minerva, least of all the Headmaster.”

“You didn’t.” She walked up to him. “I need to check something, but we need to find him. Can you start searching for him, Hagrid? We must find him; he might need our help.”

“Dumbledore? Our help?” Hagrid’s eyes grew wide.

Minerva nodded. “I believe so.”

“Alright. I’ll get Fang; he should be able to pick up the trail.”

“Good. I’ll catch up with you when I’m finished here. Please hurry, Hagrid.”

The deputy headmistress watched him leave and listened as his heavy steps retreated in the corridor outside her office before she locked the door. Then she went to her fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo powder. “Remus Lupin’s house,” she said forcefully and vanished in the green flames.

Chapter Text

As she wandered through the dungeons, Aurora Sinistra couldn’t help but touch the damp stonemasonry around her with the tips of her fingers. The sensation of the ancient granite, pockmarked by a thousand years' worth of impacts from students’ bags, professors' equipment, or worse, felt exhilarating on her skin. 

A whole sensory world was opening up to her, and she didn’t quite know how to deal with it, other than taking something for the headaches she was having since her episode with the wine glass.

She ruminated somewhat randomly about the moon’s surface and how it would feel to actually touch it. Was it smooth sand? Or hard rock?

Her thoughts were all over the place.

The astronomy professor sighed and withdrew her hand as she approached Severus’ office. She didn’t expect to find anything here — the story of the blushing Ravenclaw girl who’d told the staff about the stench of alcohol coming from the former Potions Master’s room hadn’t been that convincing. Bathsheba had bet a Galleon that the girl was trying to use the professors to break up another student couple that had retreated down here for some privacy.

Yet, considering recent events, Aurora had decided that prudence wouldn’t go amiss; there’d been too many strange occurrences in Hogwarts as it was. She’d taken that bet, though.

When she saw Snape’s office door being ajar, she stopped.

By pure instinct, she drew her wand — and marveled how much her fingers had polished the bright wood over the years. A memory of a violent encounter from many years ago flashed into her consciousness, a point when her wand had saved her life. She’d been a young girl at the end of the First Wizarding War, but the duo of Death Eaters hadn’t cared that her parents weren’t Muggle-borns. She’d escaped them by the skin of her teeth — and at one point Aurora had actually held her wand in her actual teeth as she was crawling underneath a hedge.

To her fingers, the slight indentations made that night on her wand’s grip were as prominent as a Daily Prophet headline. Still, it was an unbidden sensation at this point. Aurora shook her head and carefully approached the door. She didn’t feel like announcing herself, being convinced that not kissing students were nearby.

There were no sounds from the inside.

But there was a faint smell of alcohol.

Wary, the astronomy professor silently cast a simple Shield Charm — one of the very few spells she’d ever been able to master without words — and gently pushed the door open.

The office was mostly shrouded in darkness, with only one flickering light providing dim illumination. Someone had gone through Severus’ shelves and sideboards, and a few jars and vials were scattered on the floor.

And smack in the middle of the room, between an upturned stool and a broken bottle of what appeared to have been a strong alcoholic solution, lay Draco Malfoy. He was unconscious and drooled on the stone floor. His appearance was rather disheveled, his nose bloody. The smell of alcohol was more prominent now.

To his side, Aurora could see Draco’s wand. It was broken, the top half only attached by a few fibers of its core but angled awkwardly. The floor and furniture opposite the wand’s top were covered in soot, almost as if the young Slytherin had tried to blast the room before the wand had been damaged.

“Medea help me," the professor groaned as she took it all in. “Severus will be furious.”

With a flick of her wand, she repaired some property damage and moved the few intact jars she found back onto the shelves in the background.

“Hey, Mister Malfoy.” She kneeled and poked the young man in his chest with her wand, afraid to touch him with her fingers lest she have another sensory episode. “Wake up.”

Draco groaned but remained lying on the floor.

“Mister Malfoy,” Aurora repeated in her professor voice. “Wake up and get a hold of yourself, now.”

He groaned again, but this time he moved. She watched him close his mouth and move his shoulders and arms. His eyes fluttered open, but they were unfocused.

“Hello, Mister Malfoy.” Aurora stood up.

“Whe… oh… what… Professor?” Malfoy mumbled as he slowly gathered his wits. He groaned yet again as he pushed himself off the floor. “Where… is this?”

“You’re still in Hogwarts, where you should be. As to why I found you in Professor Snape’s office of all places, I really have no idea and was rather looking for your explanation, Mister Malfoy.” She summoned the broken glass bottle. “Especially why you felt the need to steal and consume this, and do… whatever it was you came to do here.”

“But I didn’t….” Draco sat up, holding his head. “Merlin, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Please don’t. Professor Snape will already have a fit.” Aurora rolled her eyes, but then she regained her composure. “Shall I call for Madam Pomfrey’s assistance?”

“No.” Somehow, that seemed to have done the trick. The young Slytherin stood up with wobbly knees and surveyed the vandalized office of his Head of House with wide eyes. “What happened here?” He gingerly touched his nose and winced.

“I think you did, Mister Malfoy.”

“Absolutely not!” His eyes flashed in a sudden bout of anger. “I wasn’t even here; I was in the Room of R… well, up in the castle.”

“Where exactly?”

Draco’s face darkened. “I don’t remember, other than that it wasn’t here. I’m not stupid; why would I break into Snape’s office?”

“Professor Snape, Mister Malfoy, it's Professor Snape.” Aurora sighed. “And if you won’t tell me where you were before I found you, reeking of alcohol, I won’t have a choice but to talk to the deputy headmistress or the headmaster and to see that you'll serve detention.”

The young man simply shrugged, apparently unwilling to explain himself to her.

“Very well, Mister Malfoy. After you.” She gestured to the open door. As they left Severus’ office, Aurora saw that Malfoy’s shoulders were sagging as if he was carrying a heavy burden. She wondered if he was dreading the upcoming encounter with Minerva or Dumbledore, or if something else was bothering him. It hadn't gone unnoticed that the Malfoy heir's appearance had turned sickly over the past few weeks. 

“What time… what day is it, Professor?” the young Slytherin asked in a low voice as they were about to exit the dungeons.

She snorted slightly. “It’s Sunday, and the time is… almost 3 p.m. Don’t you remember going down into the dungeons at all?”

“I’m not drunk,” Malfoy protested.

The astronomy professor rolled her eyes again. “Of course, Mister Malfoy.”

As they went to look for the headmaster, she couldn’t help but run a finger over the broken bottle she was carrying. The glass wasn’t a perfect mold, and there were tiny scratches on its uneven surface. She wondered what had caused them and what it meant that she was rediscovering her sense of touch like this.

Minerva McGonagall hid a smile when she saw Harry and Hermione sit side by side on the steps of Remus’ veranda. The girl was leaning against Harry, who was fiddling around with his wand as they spoke to each other in low voices.

“They are rather cute, aren’t they?” Tonks asked.

Charlie shrugged. “Yeah… not sure if that’s the most important thing right now.”

“Just because your mother wants to wed your sister to Harry,” the Metamorphmagus mumbled.

“Hey!”

“Come on, everyone knows what Molly’s vision is, Charlie. One big happy Weasley family, right?”

Remus sighed. “Guys… can we please not?”

“Sorry.” Tonks patted her baby belly and leaned against him as he stepped up to her side, mirroring Hermione outside.

“Did you find out anything about their abilities?” Minerva asked, her eyes still on her students.

“Why don’t we ask them?” Charlie nodded to the window. “Harry can probably hear every word we speak anyway.”

McGonagall’s eyes turned wide. “Really?”

The redhead nodded. “Pretty much.” He harrumphed and, without raising his voice, said, “Harry.”

Outside, the boy turned around and unerringly looked into Minerva’s eyes through the window.

The Head of House Gryffindor shivered slightly. “Would you mind joining us, Mister Potter?” she asked, trying to keep a calm exterior despite feeling slightly ridiculous.

He nodded and then motioned Hermione to stand up as well.

“Bloody hell,” Minerva mumbled, unable to suppress the curse since somehow this display of Harry’s supernatural hearing made her realize what she was dealing with way more than the appalling level of destruction left by the fight in the Grand Staircase.

How was she supposed to help this young man now? She was way over her head, only this time her oldest friend wasn’t around — he was in fact, rather a source of worry.

She watched Hermione and Harry enter the living room, and she imagined for a second that she could almost see the connection between them. As if Miss Granger was absorbing all the unnecessary things that Mister Potter didn’t have the energy to deal with so that his focus would ensure both of their safety.

“Miss Granger, Mister Potter,” she greeted. “Thank you for joining us. I’m here because there’s been a development at Hogwarts that I believe might be time-critical.”

“Dumbledore’s gone missing again, hasn’t he?” Harry asked, his eyes still fixed on Minerva.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, Mister Potter. And I’m afraid the answer is yes, only we know where he went this time — Hagrid saw him enter the Forbidden Forest, alone.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged a worried look.

“What?” Remus had apparently seen it. “What are the two of you thinking of right now?”

Hermione swallowed. “We… we’d rather not say, to be honest.”

“Miss Granger?”

“Sorry, Professor. It’s for the best that we keep it secret for now.” The girl held her own in front of McGonagall and didn't flinch away from the professor's gaze.

“I have a vague idea what you guys are talking about, but I won’t say anything.” Charlie nodded to the teens. “Do we need to act, though?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Harry drew a deep breath. “We need to find the headmaster and stop him from doing something… foolish.” He looked at Hermione again.

“On that we do agree, Mister Potter,” Minerva said.

Remus smiled a sad smile. “So that’s the end of your little get-together? I feared as much. Well, at least we got in contact with each other and can make better plans from now on, so you can claim what’s rightfully yours, Harry.”

Everyone avoided eye contact with McGonagall for a second or so because Remus' pronunciation had been rather obvious. The older woman, if she detected the awkwardness at all, didn't react, though, and turned to Harry. “Not that I want to deter you from exercising any of your rights, Mister Potter, but before we leave, may I ask if you found out anything new? About your condition, that is?”

Hermione nodded to Harry, and he in return nodded to his Head of House. “My reflexes have increased by a lot, especially in dueling. Partially because I can sense magic as it is being cast, even when it's a spell that's being cast from somewhere else. When Hermione and Charlie came back from London, I knew exactly where their Apparition would land them over there.” He indicated a spot on the lawn. “And I'm way better now when I'm on my own. It's still harder to focus when Hermione isn't nearby, but thankfully it's nothing like a week ago.”

McGonagall frowned slightly. “Thank the Founders for that. I'd rather not see you in agony like that again, Mister Potter.”

“That makes two of us,” Hermione mumbled, to everyone's quiet amusement.

“Our resident Guide is downplaying her role,” Charlie added, putting a reassuring hand behind Hermione's back. “She's more attuned to her role than I'll ever be, and her magic is reacting to that. When she received her new wand… I haven't seen a display like that before, to be honest. Even Ollivander was impressed.”

“Really?” Minerva eyed her favorite student.

Hermione blushed slightly. “It wasn't that dramatic,” she said. “But sure, I feel different now.”

“Her ability to absorb energy can't be overstated,” Remus interjected. “When Harry focuses on someone or something, it's rather intense for people like Charlie or myself.” He looked at Minerva. “Imagine standing in an empty Quidditch pitch, with all the spotlights aimed at your face. That's what it's like.”

McGonagall nodded, trying to imagine the discomfort the werewolf described.

“Now when Hermione is close to Harry, it's like someone threw a blanket over those spotlights. He's still able to use his senses, but he doesn't advertise it to the likes of us anymore.”

Charlie sighed. “Of course, we knew about that before, but to experience it so closely has been… illuminating, to say the least.”

“I believe we'll be able to make more sense of our limited knowledge once I've gone through a few books,” Hermione said, omitting Emmet Ossiensky's name. She trusted McGonagall enough at this point, but Harry had raised the valid point earlier that their Head of House might not divulge information of her own free will — the obliviation attempt had shaken any trust the two of them had in the institution of Hogwarts. For the same reason, they'd decided to keep quiet about Hermione's ability to absorb various curses and jinxes as well.

Another moment of silence descended upon the group.

“Alright, let’s get you guys going,” Tonks said in a sudden bout of energy. She stepped up to Harry and Hermione and hugged the girl. “Be careful and keep an eye on Harrikins, would you?”

Hermione, slightly overwhelmed, nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

“Harr-harr,” Harry mumbled.

“And you,” Tonks continued and looked at the young man in front of her. “Thank you, for the scare and for the entertainment. See you in a bit?”

A little smile played around Harry’s lip. “Maybe.”

“Wotcher, Harry.” Tonks ruffled his hair and stepped away. “Now, off with you, before Albus manages to cause an international incident or something.”

Charlie grunted. “Too late for that,” he mumbled as everyone else said their goodbyes, causing Harry to snort.

“Where to? Your office?” Remus asked Minerva, as they approached the fireplace.

“No, there’s an exit on Hogwarts’ first floor.”

“Charlie and I will accompany them into the Forbidden Forest if that’s alright with you?”

Nobody saw how Hermione took Harry’s hand in hers as Remus offered to be chaperone, or how she drew little patterns on his palm, like silent letters.

“Of course.” Minerva adjusted her glasses. “In that case, I will stay in the castle and try to deal with the fallout of today’s and yesterday’s events.” She fixed Harry and Hermione with a serious look. “I fear that soon, someone will ask to see you, Mister Potter. Maybe even you, Miss Granger. I will do my level best to keep them outside the school and send you a warning if I can’t.”

“Thank you, Professor.” 

“At least one good reason to trod into that damn forest, then,” Charlie quipped.

“… and then I felt as if I was drowning,” Susan said, staring off into space. “When I woke, I actually gasped for air.”

Sally-Anne, completely focused on her Hufflepuff housemate, nodded. “I was underwater as well, only it all felt incredibly melancholic. So much so that I cried.” She sniffed once. “As if something or someone important was missing, and I couldn’t remember what it was.”

Neville, whose gaze switched back and forth between the girls, raised a finger as if they were in class. “Did you dream about… Harry?” He blushed.

Unperturbed, Sally-Anne turned to him. “How did you know?”

“Yes, Neville, how?” Susan tried to hide a smile.

“Err… I had a suspicion, is all, nothing like real evidence.” He looked down at the floor. “Just seemed to be a curious coincidence.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Sally-Anne shrugged. “I was completely in the zone when you spoke to me, so I don’t know what’s real or what isn’t. So embarrassing, really.”

“Nothing happened; I looked around, and nobody seemed to have noticed,” Susan said. “But more importantly, how did Harry feature in your dreams?”

Both girls giggled.

“I can leave you guys if you…” Neville began, but he was stopped by Susan, who grabbed his hand.

“Stay put, Neville.”

“Oh… okay.”

Sally-Anne didn’t comment on their interaction, but a gleam in her eyes told Neville she’d noticed something. So much for secrecy, even though he wasn’t sure what was between Susan and him right now.

“So, Harry?” Susan pressed again.

“Merlin… alright, have it your way.” The brown-haired witch sighed. “He was in a body of water, somehow, standing up to his waist. He wasn’t naked, but he didn’t wear any shirt, so… But that’s not why I… ah, I just can’t.” She blushed slightly.

“It’s okay,” Susan mumbled, shooting Neville an apologetic glance.

But the Gryffindor boy was already thinking about what he’d heard, his mind drawing and disregarding connections similar to that joke of a relationship map the fourth years had built in the Common Room.

He wondered if this was what it felt like in Hermione’s mind all the time.

“So both of you had a dream about Harry, and about water?” he asked, not looking at any of the girls. “What does it mean? Why water?”

“The last and only time I saw Harry being in water of any sort was during the second in the tournament,” Sally-Anne said. “Not sure whether that has anything to do with it, though. And I don't believe playing Quidditch in the rain counts, either.”

Neville shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Wait a minute, I remember something!”

“What, Sally-Anne?”

“I overheard something in the corridors, just in passing… who was it? One of the Claws, a younger boy, I think… ah, what’s his name again?”

Susan leaned forward. “What about him?”

“He mentioned something about getting a Potion of Dreamless Sleep should he have another dream about drowning, since it’d interfere with his studies.”

“Of course it does,” Susan snorted. “Ravenclaws.”

“So you think he’s one of… well, you guys?” Neville rubbed his neck in a gesture like what Harry often did when he was nervous. “Should we ask him?”

Sally-Anne shrugged. “We could? I don’t remember his name, but I know what he looks like.” She then thought of another thing and turned to Susan, pointing at her. “Do you experience anything like I did? Hypersensitivity?”

“No, why?”

The brunette shrugged. “Just a random idea. But maybe the Ravenclaw does.”

“I don’t think Harry’s condition is contagious,” Neville said.

“Sure, but what if it’s something that we’ve always had within us? Some locked-in potential? We can’t rule out anything right now,” Susan theorized.

They all agreed that she had a point there.

“So, what now? Hunting down a poor Ravenclaw boy to ask him about some strange dreams? I don’t imagine that’ll go down well.” Susan sighed. “Or do we try to find Hermione and Harry?”

“They might actually be back,” Neville offered.

“Where did they go?” Sally-Anne looked between the two of them. “Did they leave Hogwarts?”

Susan shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a long story.”

“Is it a secret as well?”

Lane Bitterwood was sitting on his bed, reading up on Transfiguration, when he heard a low whoosh to his side and saw a letter being deposited on his nightstand. That meant someone had paid for special delivery not by owl, but by house-elf. Not many students outside a clique of purebloods and old-fashioned families knew about the service in the first place, which was just as well.

But in this case, it meant that his letter to the Dark Lord had yielded fruit.

Lane closed his book, stood up, and drew his wand to lock the door to his small room with every security spell he could remember from the top of his head. Only then did he turn back to the mail on his nightstand. “Please be real, please be real…” he mumbled as he opened the neutral envelope with jerky movements. Inside, a single small piece of parchment was folded neatly in half.

He took it and scanned the spidery but elegant letters written in dark green ink.

His hands began to shake as he almost lost his nerve.

From the Dark Lord himself?

Impossible!

And what it said… slightly less impossible, but still… Lane swallowed dryly and sat down on his bed to read the letter again and again. Its content didn’t change. He raised his wand again and put its tip onto the parchment, following one of the instructions he’d just read.  “I serve Lord Voldemort,” Lane whispered and watched in shock and awe as the Dark Mark appeared on the parchment and consumed every written word, before it faded, leaving a ghostly impression that seemed to move ever so slightly.

The Slytherin swallowed again and put the parchment aside, his hands still shaking.

So it was real.

The Dark Lord had sat down and written him an actual letter!

And now he trusted Lane to succeed where others had failed and would be duly punished soon. Speaking of punishment… making Draco suffer for being a useless agent? Yeah, he could do that; it’d actually be easy as far as orders went. But how in the Founders' names was he supposed to open the windows of the Great Hall tomorrow night without raising some sort of alarm?

Chapter Text

“If we walk out of the Entrance Hall like this, people will notice,” Charlie said after they’d exited the Floo in Minerva’s office. “Someone will send an owl before we even enter the Forbidden Forest.”

Remus agreed. “Harry, Hermione, I’d say you two stay together. Charlie and I will split and go a separate route outside. We can meet behind Hagrid’s hut; we should have plenty of cover there.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” Hermione raised her hand. “We should check the headmaster's whereabouts first. He’s been everywhere and nowhere these past few days, and I’d hate for us to venture into the forest only to realize that he has already left.”

“That’s a good point.” Harry sniffed the air. “There aren’t that many people between us and Gryffindor Tower right now. We could even take a shortcut once we’re up there to grab the map.”

“What shortcut?” Remus asked.

“Harry, no.” Hermione shook her head, having quickly realized what he was talking about. “Absolutely not.”

He grinned at her. “It would be sensible to do so, Hermione. Especially if we needed to make a hasty escape later for some reason.”

“Ah, I think he’s talking about the Firebolt,” Charlie said. “That’s actually quite clever.”

“Is it, though?” Hermione crossed her arms.

Harry sighed. “I’m not trying to play Quidditch; this is a sensible way of getting to Hagrid’s hut undetected or into the forest. You know that. I’ll fly very slowly and considerately, I promise.”

She didn’t appear to be convinced, but since they didn’t have the time for easy banter, Hermione eventually sighed and shrugged. “We’ll see,” she said.

“Please, trust me.”

“I do.”

Remus nodded to them. “Make haste, you two. See you in a minute.”

Harry watched him and Charlie hurry away to find one of the side exits that weren’t known or available to the general student body. His senses weren’t focused on the duo; however, he used Hermione’s presence as an anchor to feel his way up, toward Gryffindor Tower.

Eleven people, all in all, were out and about somewhere between him and the Common Room, if he wasn’t mistaken. One of them was Professor McGonagall, but she seemed to be on her way to her office, soon to leave the stairs.

“Harry?”

“Hm.” He glanced at Hermione, noticing that she was restless.

“Shouldn’t we go?”

“One moment…” He noticed that McGonagall’s scent had vanished, and he heard one door shutting down four floors up, swallowing the sounds of three pairs of female footsteps. Probably a group of friends going to the girls’ lavatory.

“Now,” he said.

He immediately began moving, but, having read his intent and being so close to him, Hermione reacted in time and put her hand in his just as he made the first stride. In sync, they hurried up the Grand Staircase, almost running but trying to make as little noise as possible.

Minerva consciously took in the sights and sounds of Hogwarts as she ascended to her office.

Students whispered behind her back, and the overall mood was strange and oppressive — the fight between Harry Potter and Severus Snape dominated conversations everywhere.

After congratulating Filius for his splendid repairs in the Great Staircase and staring at the still-floating debris for a minute, Minerva decided that this was a mystery she didn’t need to solve today. The Head of House Ravenclaw was most eager to incorporate the study of the strange leftovers from the fight into his seventh-year class, and she was inclined to let him. Apparently, Albus had been on the scene not once but twice today and barely paid any attention to the oddity, which sounded not at all like him.

As she approached her office, Minerva sighed.

The past few days had made her feel her age in ways she never had before, and that was before she’d begun changing her way of thinking about the current situation at Hogwarts. Or what Albus was doing to resolve the strange development of Harry Potter.

She entered her office and sat down heavily behind her desk.

There were a few new letters and notes, but she didn’t feel like reading them right now.

After a moment of consideration, Minerva opened the second-to-bottom drawer and withdrew a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Without conscious effort, she then transfigured an empty sheet of parchment into a sparkling whiskey glass.

She still could count the number of times she’d done this as a professor on one hand, today included. Sipping the smooth and burning liquid, Minerva tried to make sense of what she knew, what she suspected was happening around her, and how she fit into all of it.

Somehow, the changes she’d seen in Hermione Granger surprised her most of all.

She’d always known the girl to possess not just a sense of justice and loyalty, but also steely determination. In the privacy of her mind, Minerva loved to think that she might’ve been an influence there. But the Miss Granger that’d accompanied Harry Potter today wasn’t the same girl she’d seen in her class a month prior, and she was worlds away from the naive, bright-eyed child that’d entered Hogwarts six years ago.

Miss Granger was more tempered now, and wiser to magic and the often nonsensical ways of the wizarding world. Scarred by encounters with those who’d love to see her banished, or dead. Yet steadfast in her friendship with Potter, if not Ronald Weasley — the Golden Trio appeared to be no more. That in itself was cause for consideration, Minerva knew, yet it paled in comparison to all the other events. A Sentinel and a Guide.

At Hogwarts.

In her lifetime?

And who was to say those two teenagers she felt so beholden to were the first ones? Charlie Weasley had basically confessed to his awakening at Hogwarts, and if that was true, how many others had she overlooked?

Or Albus?

If indeed he had overlooked anything.

Why was her old friend so determined to see those gifted individuals as a problem? She remembered everything he’d said in his office, all the well-reasoned arguments as to why they should be careful around Harry, why a Sentinel and a Guide bound together wasn’t a solution but another problem to deal with.

It’d taken Minerva a while to see the pattern behind Albus’ words and his actions. A pattern that was outwardly headlined by Voldemort’s name, but its shape didn’t match the descriptions, or the justifications, at all.

Something had the old man spooked, and he wasn’t telling what — at least not her. But whatever Severus knew, he’d probably rather die than divulge one of his precious dark secrets. How she despised him for his attitude! As if nobody else had ever delved into dark magic before, or dealt with personal regrets. And she wasn’t even considering his questionable ways of acting in front of the students, Harry Potter in particular.

Why had she let all of this happen?

Why had Albus?

As she took another sip, Minerva thought about patterns again, and of Albus’ somewhat twisted way of confronting their current challenges. All based on a perception of things that wouldn’t hold up to objective scrutiny — she remembered the prophecy. Even though it’d been as real as the glass ball those words had been carved into back in the Department of Mysteries, the utterings of Sibyll weren’t carved in literal stone. And if they were, who would claim to understand their full meaning?

No, Harry’s awakening didn’t necessarily have anything to do with that branch of esoteric magic, and even if it did, they had more tangible problems. Her eyes fell onto the unopened letters, and Minerva sighed again. With some effort, she put her whiskey down and opened the topmost note. It was from Aurora, telling her about finding Draco Malfoy in the dungeons, drunk, and in Severus’ office, of all places.

Minerva huffed as she felt her antipathy towards the young Slytherin grow. She couldn’t let emotions influence her decisions, no matter how much she despised Draco’s father and that family’s association with Voldemort. But what had possessed Harry’s self-proclaimed nemesis to do something so… uncharacteristic? She remembered the suspicions voiced by Harry, and how she’d told him off.

Maybe there was more to this story than she’d assumed.

Because sometimes, if a boy cried wolf, there really was a dangerous beast lurking in the shadows. And these past few years, Harry’s track record had beaten hers or Albus’ by a country mile, yet all they’d done was to ignore or downplay anything even slightly uncomfortable, or try to placate the boy by awarding him House Points at the end of the year.

Minerva desperately wanted to refill her glass, but she denied herself such an easy way out.

Somehow, this day felt pivotal. As if every little decision or detail mattered, or would matter, in the weeks and months to come. Was she ready to do something other than believe Albus’ reassurances that everything was well under control?

She remembered how Hermione Granger had given her this calculating look earlier when the girl had assessed her trustworthiness — she, who was supposed to provide not simply adult supervision but also a shoulder to cry on!

The Gryffindor in her felt challenged, and for once, Minerva was disinclined to silence that voice.

As they zoomed through the air above the Hogwarts grounds, Hermione tried to ignore how queasy the Disillusionment Charm was making her. Not being able to clearly see her body, or Harry’s for that matter, gave her vertigo — even though she was holding on to Harry, feeling his warmth and his heartbeat underneath her fingers as he gently steered them towards Hagrid’s hut.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she managed. “I’d rather be able to see my hands, but it’s alright.”

“Just a few more seconds.”

She nodded, knowing he’d be able to sense it, and peered down. Hagrid’s garden and the undergrowth that began behind his hut were deserted, by the looks of it. Where had Remus and Charlie hidden? Or had they been delayed?

“They’re over there,” Harry said as if he’d been reading her thoughts, and she saw the blurry outline of his hand pointing to a copse of trees a few dozen yards towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He landed in a smooth arc, much more gently than Hermione had expected him to, and she was grateful for that. When she let go of him and stepped away from the broom, she immediately missed the feeling of his body against hers.

But this wasn’t the time to entertain those thoughts.

“Hey guys,” Harry whispered as they approached the trees.

Charlie’s head peeked out from behind the rough bark — he’d probably forgone being disillusioned to retain his senses. “There you are. We’ve been worried.”

“Sorry, it took us a minute.”

Hermione followed Harry’s silhouette and rounded the big tree. Remus was standing behind Charlie, wand in hand, giving them an approving nod.

“So?” he asked.

“Dumbledore isn’t anywhere on the premises,” she said, dismissing the Disillusionment Charm and withdrawing the map they’d retrieved from Harry’s dorm. “We double-checked, just to make sure.”

“So he’s still somewhere in there?” Charlie pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the looming forest.

Harry shrugged. “Either that, or he’s with the Ministry again, or something.” He drew a deep breath. “But yeah, I believe he’s in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Can you sense him?”

“No.” Harry’s eyes darted to Hermione, and he seemed frustrated. “But he knows about my abilities, and he’s used charms to cloak himself before. I even asked him about it, and he claimed it was just a coincidence due to being in a rush and just using the first spell that’d come to his mind… now I’m not so sure.”

Remus groaned quietly. “If Albus is actively trying to evade you, this might be a fool’s errand. His mastery of magic is without equal, no matter how much I dislike what he’s doing right now.”

Hermione couldn’t help but agree with that line of reasoning, but her gut churned at the thought. She didn’t want it to be right, and there was a strong urge inside her to defend Harry. It felt both irritating and… comforting.

She signed. “Be that as it may, Harry is a Sentinel and in full control of his powers now. I don’t think we should give up just yet.” Before she knew it, she stepped closer to Harry and touched his arm. “Breathe. Feel it; maybe you can sense him?”

He immediately closed his eyes and turned slightly away from her, but he didn’t shrug her off but put one of his hands on hers instead.

Charlie and Remus remained quiet, observing them.

She watched Harry relax and felt his heartbeat slow down ever so slightly, maybe even becoming stronger at the same time. No, that was his aura she suddenly felt, growing and expanding first at a crawl, then faster and faster. It prickled her skin and made her feel hot again all of a sudden.

Hermione swallowed and tried to focus on the feeling of being a well that absorbed all of that powerful energy, not to draw it away from Harry, but to… focus it. Channel it.

That was new.

Trying not to make too many sounds to allow Harry to remain focused, she adjusted her stance and put her other hand on top of his, almost as if she was trying to push him away.

So she wasn’t just a yin to his yang after all?

But it just made sense, if she remembered her Arithmancy lessons and Advanced Charms. That energy had to go somewhere, and even though she didn’t have a lot of hard facts about being a Guide, she didn’t believe herself able to just… eat it up, or something.

Which meant she might give it back to Harry somehow?

“Hermione…”

His voice brought her out of her reverie. “Yes?” she whispered.

“You… I… something is different,” Harry said, his eyes still closed. He shuddered slightly.

“Should I stop?”

He shook his head. “No.”

They would talk about this afterward, she knew, as she continued imagining herself being a transformer of sorts, drawing on Harry’s magical aura but returning it on another level. Not knowing what she did, how she did it, or what the specific outcome even was felt immensely frustrating, but Hermione had come to accept that feeling by now. She held it separate from her other thoughts, so it wouldn’t sour her mind right now.

They had to find Dumbledore and then find out how Harry could claim Hogwarts, and then… Then there’d hopefully come a time of reading and quiet reflection.

Suddenly, Harry gasped. “I… I think I feel him. No, wait… it’s not him, but…”

“What, Harry?” Remus leaned closer.

“It’s… it’s his magic, I think?” He opened his eyes and stared into the Forbidden Forest in a northeastern direction. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was the same one they’d walked on that surreal journey to the mystical pond.

“I can’t hear a heartbeat or cracking branches, and I don’t smell his lemon drops or his robes, but… there’s an aura of magic moving around, and it… it burns in a way, brighter than the environment does.” Harry shook his head and pinched his nose. “And it feels weird to sense that, let me tell you. Ouch.”

“Headache?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then stop listening in for a moment and go; we might pick up something along the way.”

Remus looked around once more. “We should disillusion ourselves for the first stretch, just in case. Only until we’re fully out of sight.”

“Agreed,” Harry said, still wincing slightly as he tried to shake off his trance.

Hermione shivered when he cast the charm on her, and the feeling of having a cold egg being cracked on her head ran down her spine. She returned the favor, and then, without further prompt, the four of them hurried away from their hiding place.

They stopped when they’d reached the edge of the still-burning clearing they’d all smelled from more than a mile away.

“Wow,” Charlie mumbled.

Harry nodded. “I think I might’ve sensed him being here. Maybe it wasn’t a magical burn so much as… this.” He sniffed the air and coughed once. “Well, okay, it still smells like magic in here, but what the hell?”

Around them, many dozens of trees had been felled by unbelievably strong forces, splintered and broken. Half of them were also scorched or burned, with a handful of small fires still going on and creating a thin column of smoke that hovered over the entire area. Normally, that should eventually alert Hagrid or one of the Hogwarts staff, but Harry wasn't sure if they were treading those strange, unreal realms again where things didn't make much sense in the traditional way.

His gaze picked up hundreds of details, many of them to be expected at a site of destruction like this one, but others… not so much. Harry saw a tree to his side with a clear hole cut through its trunk, the path of a powerful piercing hex. A bit further away, pieces of bark still hovered above a massive, cracked branch — a mirror image of whatever had caused that debris in the Grand Staircase to remain floating.

Did that mean something? What had Dumbledore done here? What had he done before, when he’d fought Snape?

Harry looked somewhere else to get rid of his thoughts and smelled the trademark ozone aroma left by another destructive spell, a faint miasma that still hung in the air. It could've been a Blasting Curse, or something similar, although he had trouble imagining Dumbledore casting such an ordinary spell if he was honest with himself.

If he didn’t know different, he was inclined to say that…

“It’s like someone had a tantrum, no?” Hermione asked at his side as she surveyed the clearing, wand in hand. “Just… senseless destruction.”

“I was going to say the same thing,” he replied, unable to hide a smile at the uncanny synchronicity of their thoughts. At this point, he was sure it had something to do with their bond, and that was a prospect he found exciting. Maybe also a bit intimidating, but he trusted her so deeply that he wasn’t really worried about overcoming hurdles going forward.

With her at his side, he was in the best position, really.

Remus, meanwhile, had knelt and was sifting carefully through ash and the soft forest ground in front of them. “No visible tracks, either,” he said, before he sniffed a handful of dirt in a manner very similar to what Harry had been doing since his awakening.

Harry heard Hermione adjusting and readjusting the grip on her wand — her new wand, that was. He heard her skin brush across the wooden grip and imagined he’d sense magic boiling underneath, as if there was a whole array of charms she wanted to cast but held back on for the moment.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I… ” She began before she stopped and sniffed once. “This reminds me, Harry. Of when we were here, and you faced that trial of yours.”

He remembered, vividly, the feeling of being surrounded yet unable to pinpoint his enemy’s location — not even caring about identifying who this supposed enemy was, although his heightened senses should’ve easily revealed who it was. How he’d let his focus wander, unaware of how he’d actually been blind the whole time…

So it had been true. The things he’d noticed during that moment in Dumbledore’s office when the old man had been unconscious for a moment.

Foreigner.

Intruder.

Enemy.

He hadn’t imagined that the headmaster really was… and he’d never told anyone in his stupidity. Harry sighed and wanted to slap himself in the face. How very blind and dumb he still was, no matter his heightened senses.

“Dumbledore is a Sentinel,” he whispered, not looking Hermione in the eye as he stared at the smoldering clearing instead. “You’re right, this is just like the spot where I thought I was assaulted by an invisible enemy, only he seems to have unleashed a lot more power.”

Hermione’s heartbeat spiked, and he smelled her scent increasing in intensity as her body was flooded with adrenaline and hormones. Her presence was like a lighthouse, shining directly into his eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“I… I’ve known before, or suspected. There was a moment, I told you, when he fell unconscious in his office. I knew when he woke up something was wrong, but he… I let myself believe that maybe I was mistaken.” He shook his head again, slowly. “He’s like me, Hermione, deep down. He doesn’t show it; he doesn’t even… I don’t know, let it flow, really. It’s suppressed, violently so, with magic.”

“Merlin,” Charlie gasped. “Are you sure, Harry?”

He shrugged. “As much as I can be. But yeah, that feeling of being in the presence of something or someone who’s a threat? That was Dumbledore, or maybe his suppressed Sentinel identity. As if we’re both animals, snarling at each other as we fight over the same territory.”

“But… I can’t believe… he never told me anything!” Charlie kicked against a branch next to his feet. “That fucker let me and Martin suffer like that, and he knew exactly what was going on?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “If Harry’s right, and he suppressed his abilities, he might’ve never noticed, Charlie.”

“He’s Albus fucking Dumbledore, doesn’t he know everything?!” the redhead yelled.

Remus put a hand on Charlie’s chest. “Calm down,” he said. “This isn’t helping.”

Charlie shook him off. “Easy for you to say, man. I… I need a minute.” He kicked another piece of wood and strode away with heavy steps to the side of the clearing.

“Damn,” Remus mumbled.

“Better leave him be,” Harry said, remembering how often Ron had to cool off when they'd still been friends. “I can understand his anger, even though I don’t know how it must feel to be a Guide without an intact bond. But… yeah, this is bad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Hermione asked, her voice ever so slightly quivering. “This changes everything, Harry. Everything.”

“Does it?” He turned around to her, still feeling stupid for having fooled himself into putting the issue aside, only to be presented with more evidence that, yes, the headmaster wasn’t just keeping secrets but was also a bloody Sentinel himself. The weight of his Firebolt, which he’d put a strap on and carried like a backpack, suddenly irritated him, and he rolled his shoulders. “We already knew he was keeping secrets, didn’t we? And he’s not actively using his abilities; it’s like he’s…”

She stared at him, a sudden understanding in her eyes. “He’s afraid of it,” she said, completing his sentence. “He wants to get rid of it, which explains his hesitance to explain things to you, or us. He… what happened to him?”

Remus snorted and looked after Charlie once again. “I have a feeling that our friend isn’t the only one suffering from a broken bond. It would explain a lot, really. Not to excuse his actions, but at least I could see why Albus would end up being like that.”

“Shit,” Harry hissed, unable to help himself, but Hermione was too distracted to admonish him.

“How… how dangerous is this, Harry?” she asked as she continued twisting her wand in her hand. “This here indicates that he might have stopped suppressing his abilities, because why else would he burn down parts of the forest? That doesn’t look like something the headmaster would do, normally.”

He bit down a few choice words about Albus’ sanity, but he had to agree.

“Maybe whatever spells he’s using to keep himself in line don't work anymore?” she wagered.

“He did have a nosebleed,” Harry remembered. “I don’t know… is it possible?”

She looked at him again, her eyes full of worry. “Will he attack us if we stumble upon him?”

“Also possible.”

Remus looked up in the sky. “This is… I’d never imagined in a thousand years for things to get this twisted. It makes me feel woefully unequipped, to tell you the truth,” he said more to himself. “Maybe we should retreat, go back to Hogwarts, and see that we help you claim it by any means necessary.”

Harry knew that Remus was offering a sensible choice; there was a window of opportunity now that might not come again any time soon — both Dumbledore and Snape being outside the castle itself.

And yet…

And yet he felt drawn to the forest, felt drawn to following in Dumbledore’s proverbial steps and confronting the older man, putting things out in the open once and for all. He was sick and tired of traipsing around in the twilight, having more questions than answers, and seeing Hermione or himself being exposed to mortal danger time and again.

And, of course, that whole Horcrux business.

There wasn’t really any way he could let that lie any longer.

“Shhh, Harry, don’t get upset, please.” Hermione’s hand on his shoulder anchored him again, and he felt his growing anger dissipate. “You’re flaring up again.”

“Sorry,” he said.

She smiled. “Don’t be; you’re just being you. But that’s what I’m here for.”

“Hermione?” Remus had picked up on them having an unspoken understanding, it seemed. The man looked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is going on? I felt Harry’s focus sweeping over me just like you said, but…”

“We’re not returning to Hogwarts,” she said. “I think it’s a good idea, I do, but we can’t. Harry can’t. We… we have to see this through; we need to face Dumbledore.”

“That’s too dangerous; you have no idea how powerful he is.”

Harry snorted. “I was there, in the Ministry, remember? I saw what he did when he fought off Riddle. I also saw his memories, on other occasions, and felt his magic. Also, I know that I can’t compete with Albus Dumbledore in a duel, Remus. That’s not what this is about, anyway.”

“Then what, in Merlin’s name?” The werewolf seemed exasperated.

“It’s a Sentinel thing, I guess,” Charlie added as he approached them again. He still looked upset but appeared to have cooled down. “I get it. Occasionally… I have done things because of my nature that looked stupid before. It’s difficult to explain, but… I get it.”

Remus eyed him critically, then looked at Harry again. “This is foolhardy, Harry, and dangerous.”

“I know, but what hasn’t been so far?”

Harry didn’t want to argue with Remus; he knew the man was trying to protect him. “I appreciate your concern, but you can’t help me here. Or Charlie. I need to do this by myself.” He felt Hermione shift at his side. “We do.”

Both men were decidedly unhappy about it, but they all knew that when it came to Sentinels and Guides, there were other rules at play than those of ordinary magic.

“I’ll wait here for half an hour, and then I’m going to follow,” Remus eventually said with a pressed voice. “Don’t ask me to go back or to forget you two are here all by yourself, with a possibly unstable Sentinel. I can’t do that, Harry, not after having abandoned you once before.”

Harry sighed. He didn’t like this, but then again, wasn’t it a sign of a solid compromise when every party left the table equally unhappy? Something like that.

“Alright.” He turned back to her. “Are you comfortable with us using the broom once more? I have no idea how far he’s gone, but I’m sure he has passed this spot for an hour at least.”

Hermione gave him a nod. “Of course,” she said, swallowing her unease for their mission’s sake. It probably wasn’t a gesture worth noting in the grand scheme of things, but it still made his chest ache to see her exposing herself to discomfort for his benefit.

His Guide.

His… girlfriend? Tonks’ words still rang in his ears, and although they’d made him blush, he also felt a sense of determination. Yes, maybe… maybe he really wanted that. Because she already was so much to him, more than he’d ever be able to put into words.

“Let’s go, Harry,” she said.

The second landing with Harry was a lot rougher — Hermione literally jumped off the Firebolt when it still hovered four feet above the ground. But they had no time because Harry’s senses hadn’t detected Dumbledore until the moment he was almost right in front of them.

He was standing, no, kneeling at the edge of a large ravine that she’d never before seen on any map of the castle’s surrounding area.

As she held her wand in a defensive position, checking to make sure that the silhouette of the Headmaster didn’t move, she heard Harry landing behind her.

He threw the broom aside, not wanting to carry any unnecessary burdens this time.

“He hasn’t moved,” she whispered, knowing full well that if Dumbledore really was a Sentinel, he’d long noticed their arrival.

Harry hmm’ed. “He’s breathing deeply — no, wait. He’s sobbing, I think.”

She couldn’t see any movement that would indicate such a state of mind, but she trusted that he could. Part of her felt for the headmaster because she had trouble imagining anything that would shake the man so much he’d lose his composure and actually cry. That… that just didn’t mesh with her perception of Albus Dumbledore so far.

“Do we wait?” she asked.

Harry exhaled slowly. “No,” he said. “But I want you to remain hidden, just in case.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to interject. “Not to keep you out of the action, Hermione. I mean, we don’t know if he knows we’re here yet, right? If that’s true, let’s not waste the element of surprise. If he’s not… all there, I might need backup.” He turned to her, his gaze dark and determined. “I go right, you sneak up from the left; those shrubs over there provide at least a bit of cover.”

She turned to look at what he’d described and was forced to conclude that yes, it was a sensible approach. She didn’t like him exposing himself, but she also didn’t have a viable alternative. “Harry, please be careful. Don’t provoke him, alright?”

“I won’t.”

Hermione sighed and turned to go, but then a sudden urge caused her to stop. Retreating her step, she faced Harry again, who stared at her.

“What is it?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

She swallowed her insecurities for the moment and leaned closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Just because,” she mumbled, not daring to mention luck or getting out of the forest unharmed because that was just asking for it, and even her rational, literary mind wasn’t inclined to be so reckless right now.

Before he could say anything, she moved away from him with slow, determined steps, silently cloaking herself with another Disillusionment Charm as she tried to sneak up on the Headmaster. It made her feel foolish, not so much because of the kiss, but because of her fear of being, as Remus had put it, foolhardy. If Dumbledore really once had been a bonded Sentinel… who was to say they weren’t equally or even more affected than Guides? Charlie seemed depressed to this day; who knew what the headmaster's true state of mind was?

Harry, meanwhile, had recovered from his small shock and mirrored her advance, only without charms or any attempts at stealth. When she glanced at him, she saw that he was smiling to himself, and that made her feel all sorts of things.

Except they really didn’t have time for that right now.

With a shake of her head to dismiss her errant romantic thoughts, Hermione slowly crept towards the figure of Dumbledore, who was still kneeling where they’d last seen him. To her side, the ravine yawned, and it appeared much bigger and deeper now than it had from above.

What was he doing… was he praying?

She’d never seen any overt trace of religion in the wizarding culture of Britain as of now, but that didn’t necessarily mean that it didn’t exist at all — not so long ago, she’d thrown the idea of being a mystical Guide with a gut feeling for magic in the bin within three seconds of hearing it. But that just meant anything was possible, really.

When she saw Harry stepping up to Dumbledore, Hermione dared to approach a bit further, trying to remain behind as much shrubbery as possible but retaining a clear line of sight. She needed to be able to intercept… whatever Dumbledore might do, even though she had no idea what that might be.

“Headmaster?” Harry’s voice, although gentle, cut the tense silence like the snap of a whip, and she flinched.

Dumbledore didn’t react, though, still staring off into space.

She watched Harry follow the headmaster's gaze for a second to check if anything was to be seen down between the rocks and trees, but his slight shake of the head when he looked back to her indicated that there wasn’t. So another mystical trial then? But that didn’t make much sense, since Dumbledore surely wasn’t having an awakening right now — if he’d suppressed his Sentinel senses, that necessitated him having them in the first place. And that had probably happened a century ago, or more. Therefore, Hermione reasoned, it wasn’t likely that Dumbledore was doing the same thing Harry had done on their way to that mystical pond.

“Headmaster, are you… are you okay?” Harry stepped closer to the old man, carefully, with his wand ready. Still, no reaction, besides the continuous stream of tears on Dumbledore’s face, which she could see clearly now.

Slowly, Harry reached out to touch his shoulder, but suddenly and faster than any of them could react, the headmaster moved. Within the blink of an eye, he was standing, tall and imposing, blocking Hermione’s view of Harry. At the same time, a new aura washed over her, and she almost retched because it was so different from Harry’s… it was bad, like sour milk or rotten flesh.

Her stomach churned as she could literally taste the rot that was flooding her senses, something that was also air, and fire, like Harry’s wonderful aura, but it had been corrupted, twisted, and made foul. She gasped for air, the grip on her wand weakening. It was too much to absorb, and she felt exposed, as if she was trying to pour a cup of water onto a raging wildfire. Her well, her water, it… it wasn’t enough.

“Harry,” she whispered, feeling completely overwhelmed.

But she couldn’t see him anymore, and to her immediate and utter horror, Dumbledore whipped around as soon as she’d spoken Harry’s name. His blotchy face contrasted sharply with his beard and those pale, blue eyes that made him look like a draugr, not a living being. His right hand was blackened, nothing but thin strips of gray, desiccated flesh over exposed bones.

She tried to breathe, tried to avoid absorbing the headmaster's foul magic, but she was trapped. Where was Harry?

What was happening?

“Ariana,” Dumbledore said, his deep voice an eerie singsong that made her skin crawl. “You came back… you… you can heal me still!”

He made a jerky step toward her, and Hermione screamed.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore moved immediately and without warning — he hadn’t seen any muscle tension in the Headmaster’s limbs and didn’t register a change in the man’s heartbeat. Nothing. Overwhelmed, he stood face-to-face with him, staring up into the pale blue eyes. They focused randomly on him or things behind him, but he knew Dumbledore was very much aware of his presence. All his senses screamed danger.

It was a different feeling than the ominous unease he’d felt in Hogwarts, sharper and… with a different taste, almost. That moment in the headmaster's office, when he’d first recognized the other man as a Sentinel, came closest, but it hadn’t left him with enough time to really sense his counterpart.

Dumbledore was ridiculously strong.

That gentle facade he’d presented at pretty much all times before was gone. It was like Harry was facing that Hungarian Horntail again, something inhuman and much older and much more powerful than he’d ever be.

“I…” he stammered, unsure what he was going to say, if there was even anything to say.

But he never finished his sentence, because his mouth was suddenly unable to form words. His entire body stopped heeding his commands, and he felt his arms snap to his side, before he began losing his balance.

A wandless, silent Full Body-Bind Curse.

Dumbledore’s pale eyes observed him, uncaring and all-seeing, picking up every single pore on Harry’s skin, how his pupils had widened in shock, and how his heartbeat had spiked so hard he felt it in his tongue. “You don’t deserve her, Gellert,” the old man whispered as Harry fell backward and painfully hit the rocky edge of the ravine. “Just… stay away.”

Mentally, he screamed in anger and frustration, wanting to yell at the headmaster to finally come to his bloody senses, to see reason. But honestly, he also wanted to bash the man’s face in, because what the hell had he said about Hermione just now?

Something horrific was about to happen, and he was incapable of doing anything about it.

All his rage amounted to nothing, and Harry saw Dumbledore turn away at the lower edge of his vision. He faced Hermione, speaking now. That voice was wrong, though, not a human voice anymore, and he wanted to shudder and wince as his ears picked up the ways some unknown magic warped the old man’s vocal cords.

Why had he called him Gellert? As in Gellert Grindelwald? And now… who the hell was Ariana? What strange hallucinations were causing Dumbledore to act like this?

Hermione’s scream shattered Harry’s frantic thoughts, and cold dread replaced the helpless rage he’d felt before. But the Body-Bind was unyielding; he couldn’t do anything but feel the invisible coils of the Headmaster’s spell wound tightly around his sense of self, denying him any notion of movement. He also couldn’t see Dumbledore any longer, let alone Hermione, but he sensed both of them clearly, even felt their footsteps reverberating through the rocks underneath his aching back.

“No,” Hermione gasped. “Don’t come any closer… Headmaster! What are you doing?”

“Ariana, please. I need you; I can’t keep it under control much longer,” Dumbledore said, again in an eerie sing-song. It sounded as if he was reciting something from memory.

Harry fought so hard against the spell that he saw stars, but it was useless. How arrogant he’d been, to send Remus and Charlie away and think he’d be able to handle the situation… and now Hermione was left alone to face Dumbledore, and whatever madness had taken hold of him. Was that what all Sentinels became when they lost their Guides?

“Dumbledore, stop!” Hermione yelled.

“Ariana…”

He heard how she raised her wand, their air circling the wood slightly differently than with her old one — and her scent suddenly grew stronger, both sweeter and muskier. Her presence was much more pronounced all of a sudden, and reality seemed to begin turning and twisting as if he were lying at the edge of a maelstrom.

Hermione was panicking, and likely for good reason.

But enhanced senses, even supernatural ones, were no help against the headmaster's spell, and so Harry felt like a damned man as he was forced to be a spectator. He needed to find a means of escape, no matter how, or he’d lose her after all, after everything they’d experienced.

Another whooshing sound, this time from Dumbledore’s wand. The headmaster's long robes rustled as he moved his arm in a sharp gesture, and Harry noticed a whiff of ozone in the air.

Hermione didn’t reply, but he heard her swallow.

They exchanged spells, it seemed, and that felt extremely surreal because why wouldn’t Dumbledore just bind her like he’d done with him? Unless… unless she was able to absorb that kind of spell as well. Which meant Dumbledore would need to employ more powerful, more exotic spells.

Harry was raging against the Body-Bind again and again, and he’d gladly give his right arm if only he would be able to act and stop whatever was happening outside his field of vision.

More spells, more sounds of wands being flicked through the air. Hermione was breathing heavily, and even Dumbledore’s pulse was increasing, his movements slightly more hectic from the sound of it.

“No, stop this!” The old man suddenly cried. “I see it now, I see… everything.”

“Then watch this,” Hermione snapped, and a low boom shook everything that Harry felt in his innards as well as his ears. The blast didn’t stop, though; it kept going, and it blew stones, twigs, and leaves into the air. The magic being released felt more powerful than anything being cast before, but it also felt… familiar.

Whatever it was, it carried her touch, and Harry noticed he wasn’t afraid. He knew that magic, if not its current form. And whatever she was doing, it seemed to keep Dumbledore at bay.

Until it didn’t.

“Nooooo!” Dumbledore shouted, and then Harry’s world turned white-hot for a second as he was picked up and thrown into the air, before everything went dark.

When Hermione opened her eyes again, her surroundings were… gone.

The headmaster and she were standing in the center of a wide circle where the ground had been burned clean, no earth or shrubs remaining, only scorched pebbles. There was a haze in the air, and it smelled like a thunderstorm would come crashing down on them any second, the air hot and heavy.

She swallowed again, not daring to break eye contact with the insane old man.

Dumbledore’s eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was bleeding as well. His gaze was darting around erratically, but always returning to her to pin her with that strange, neutral stare of his. He’d tried to stop her from absorbing his spells and reach out to Harry, resulting in… whatever this was. An awkward stalemate, or the prelude to something else she might not be able to withstand.

He’d swung his wand in a wide arc, aiming it at the ground. The resulting, strangely slow-moving explosion had cut her off from the world — replacing water and earth with fiery magic that, while not as foul as the man’s stench, was very much disinclined to suffer Hermione’s touch. She simply wasn’t strong enough to resist, and so her well had run dry within the blink of an eye.

It was only then that she realized that…

“Harry,” she whispered, feeling her body almost faltering at the thought of him being caught in that blast… She hadn’t seen him since Dumbledore had stepped between them, but she’d felt his aura flaring, clashing with the Headmaster’s much fouler projection of whatever it was that Sentinels did to make that happen.

But she couldn’t feel him now, and she didn’t hear anything from behind Dumbledore’s back.

“Where is he?” she screamed, overtaken by a burst of anger and fear — she couldn’t lose him, no way, not like that… What had happened?

Why hadn’t she reacted earlier?

Dumbledore blinked owlishly, but didn’t reply. He was holding his wand in his desiccated hand, the exposed bones ever so slightly rubbing against the grip, and Hermione tried desperately to not focus on that horrible sound because it made her sick.

“Harry?” she yelled, still not breaking eye contact. “Haaaarry? Please say something!”

A sudden movement by the headmaster made her flinch, but before she could react, he was standing right in front of her, his left hand on her shoulder. “It’s time,” he said, his voice raspy but almost normal. “We need to leave, Miss Granger.”

Her mind was blank.

“Wha…” she began asking, but he moved his wand ever so slightly, and she felt another wave of oppressive magic against her sense of self. Thankfully, it didn’t find a hold and fell off, like the others before. Only it seemed to irritate Dumbledore that it’d happened.

“You need to be quiet,” he said. “Let me help you, or we’re all going to be lost. Harry’s going to be lost, and we won’t be able to bring him back.”

She shook herself out of her torpor. “What… Headmaster, what the hell? Let go of me!” She pushed him away, and to her surprise, he didn’t fight her. “What are you talking about? You attacked me just now! I won’t go anywhere with you.”

Dumbledore sniffed, wiped his nose with a finger, and vanished the blood wordlessly. “Why would I attack you, Miss Granger? I’m sorry you feel threatened, but it probably was an honest mistake. I don’t mean you any harm.”

The foul aroma of his aura, which had diminished notably now, intensified as he said that. Hermione hissed and tried to control her gag reflex. “You… you’re lying. And you’re losing your mind; I don’t trust you at all.”

Feeling that he was trying to convince her it’d all been a mistake, she dared to make a step to the side. “Harry? Harry?” But there was nobody behind Dumbledore — just empty rock cleaned by the magical blast. “Harry!” she cried, raising her wand again without really noticing. “What did you do?”

“Mister Potter isn’t here,” Dumbledore said, apparently not in the grips of madness any longer. “But I could help you find him? It’s for the best, really, before we depart, so he won’t get himself into any more trouble.”

Hermione wanted to pull her hair at the absurdity of it all. What was going on? Was the headmaster really this insane all of a sudden, or was this a rather bad joke? Was she dreaming? Not trusting him to keep the peace, she didn’t lower her wand.

“He was just there,” she snapped. “Behind you. What did you do to him? Where is he?”

Dumbledore sighed. “Miss Granger, I really must ask you to…”

Rage.

He stopped talking, his eyes suddenly wide.

Hermione did a double take. What had that been? Had she heard those words, or felt them? And why was she crying all of a sudden? Annoyed, she wiped her face with a sleeve. This wasn’t the time for an emotional breakdown; she had to find…

Enemy. Rage.

Dumbledore flinched and looked to the sides, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but he didn’t make a sound. He seemed even more affected than she was, and that confused her even more. What was happening?

Intruder.

Her tears were streaming now, but she wasn’t sobbing, and Hermione had no idea how to handle the situation anymore. Retreating a few steps, she dared to look around as well. “Harry?” she asked, her voice hitching. “What is going on?”

Guide.

Suddenly, his aura was back, and it was the strongest it’d ever been. Hermione faltered and almost sank to her knees, overwhelmed by the burning sensation of his magic that licked her sense of self like fire, but it wasn’t hurting. Just… too much to bear.

Love. Safe.

The sensation intensified even more, and Dumbledore’s wand fell to the ground. She noticed how it made a little clank that sounded almost pathetic and how he was groaning while he suffered from an apparent headache. His beard was turning crimson again as blood poured out of his nose.

Intruder. Danger.

Hermione’s ears crackled as the air pressure suddenly increased, and she noticed that the words she felt, that she could almost taste and smell, were coming from on her left side. Turning sideways, slowly, unable to act freely as Harry’s overwhelming aura pressed against her, she looked at the edge of the ravine.

Fight.

One of the stones lodged at the edge came loose and vanished from her side, echoing in the ravine as it bounced off bigger rocks down below. In its stead, fingers appeared, then a hand. She saw that it was scratched and bloody, but it looked very much alive.

Another hand came up, then she saw black hair.

Harry.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, his green eyes glowing with untold fury as he stared at her. He was like a wild animal, pure primal energy condensed into human shape. He wasn’t angry at her, she knew that, but she nonetheless shivered underneath his gaze. Then he moved his head ever so slightly, and snarled at Dumbledore.

His teeth were red from blood, but he didn’t appear to be hurting

Effortlessly, he jumped over the edge and was now standing again. His clothes were torn, partially burned away. He was covered in blood and dirt, but he was holding his wand like he always did, and his steps were light and powerful.

Death.

With murder in his eyes, Harry stalked over to where Dumbledore was kneeling, still holding his head in agony. She wasn’t sure the old man was fully aware of what’d happened just now, not that she could muster real sympathy at the moment.

“You!” Harry spat, his voice hoarse.

“Harry,” she managed to whisper, and he whirled around to face her. His aura flared again, unbelievably strong once more, and she felt as if she might faint. “You’re… it’s… too much.” It didn’t burn, not really, but she couldn’t absorb it any longer. Whatever Dumbledore had done had sealed her well, her water… she coughed.

He reacted so fast, she almost didn’t see it. With three wide steps he reached Dumbledore and didn’t hesitate at all before he yanked the man’s hands away from his face to punch him, two, three, five times, viciously and in rapid succession. “Fuck you!” he screamed.

But Dumbledore wasn’t overcome so easily, and, with equally lightning-fast speed, he summoned his wand to aim it at Harry. The buildup of magic alerted him, though, and he pushed it aside the moment a bright blue spell manifested at its tip. It went wide, leaving a faint trail of smoke still hovering above the area.

“Gellert,” Dumbledore said.

“Stupefy!” Harry answered, having leveled his wand at the older man now. But, to Hermione’s eternal astonishment, the spell warped around Dumbledore’s head as if he was projecting some kind of protective sphere.

Then, the headmaster raised himself again.

Harry retreated immediately, tumbled to the side, and fired another Stunning Spell. Dumbledore swatted it away, but he didn’t look as intimidating as before. His legs were shaking, and he wheezed, squinting at Harry as if he was standing in bright light.

“Harry… stop,” he gasped, raising his dead hand, now sans wand, to ward off another attack.

Both Sentinels did indeed stop, facing each other. The air was crackling with the energy of their auras — one angry and hot, the other one rancid and confusing. Harry was clenching his teeth again and spit out a glob of blood as he glared at Dumbledore.

Hermione coughed again, feeling weaker by the second. It was too much, and whatever sense or ability normally allowed her to keep Harry’s focus, the aura of his supernatural Sentinel-ness, at bay, it wasn’t working anymore. A sharp migraine was growing in her forehead, and her vision became blurry.

But Harry must’ve sensed her distress because he gave her a quick side glance before eyeing Dumbledore again. “You’re insane,” he said, his anger audible in the pressed voice. “You attacked Hermione and almost killed me with that blast. Whatever hold you think you have on your Sentinel abilities, it’s gone, Headmaster.”

“Please, let me explain.”

Harry snorted. “Not a chance. What’s the plan? Say you’re sorry and let bygones be bygones?”

Dumbledore sighed and vanished the blood on his beard yet again. He cast a spell at himself, probably to stop it from happening again. Harry tensed, but didn’t do anything to stop it. “I know you’re angry, Harry, but please… I can tell you why I’m like this.”

Hermione’s breath hitched again, but she tried to keep it together, because it felt important that Harry would possibly get an answer. Anything, really, to explain the bizarre fight she’d just survived.

“I am a product of my time,” the headmaster continued, looking defeated all of a sudden. “There wasn’t anyone to explain to me what was happening when I woke up one day and could hear the blood rushing through my sister’s body when she held her wand to cast a spell.”

Harry didn’t reply, readjusting the grip on his wand instead.

“Truth to be told, I quickly learned how dangerous my enhanced senses were. I often became distracted, unable to cast magic the way I was supposed to,” Dumbledore said. “And when I met Gellert Grindelwald, I found not just a kindred soul who was looking for real answers like I was. I also found someone who made the ache go away.”

“Until he didn’t,” Harry wagered, apparently drawn into the tale despite himself.

“Sadly, yes. But I found out a way to not have this pain overshadow my entire life. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly, but ultimately it was the only decision I could make.” Dumbledore breathed in and shook his head. “To become a wizard, not a Sentinel.”

Harry perked up, but Hermione felt her remaining strength slipping. If only she’d be able to return to the pond, or the Prefect’s Bathroom again! She felt parched all of a sudden, and when she exhaled and lost control of her legs, several things happened at once.

Fight. Win.

Dumbledore, who’d begun to turn to her, his eyes focused now but less inhuman, flinched as Harry’s aura flared again. His aura felt much diminished now, the stench of his hand less noticeable. Harry, meanwhile, stepped up to slap the headmaster's wand out of his hand and kick one of his legs to the side. At the same time, he pushed the old man and cast a spell.

“Impedimenta! Somnious!”

The Headmaster, who’d begun to fall, stopped moving altogether for a second before being hit by the Sleeping Charm. He was fast asleep as he continued to fall to the ground. But before he hit the dirt, Harry was at Hermione’s side, his speed almost superhuman. Or her perception of time was shot, which wasn’t unreasonable since… what had she been thinking before?

Her head, still hurting from being assaulted by too much magical energy, felt like cotton.

She realized he was holding her now, his face anguished and not a mask of fury any longer.

“Hermione, what… what did he do?”

“I… your aura…” She gasped for air. “I can’t…”

His eyes darted around her face and body, trying to see what was wrong with her, but if this was something in their Sentinel-Guide dynamics being wrong, it couldn’t be seen. Not even by him.

Harry seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “What can I do? I’m sorry it took me so long,” he said, his voice sad but gentle. “Please, tell me.”

“Water,” she whispered, not knowing what she even meant by that. Did she want to be at the pond? Or just taking a shower? She was also thirsty; that much she knew. But water was her element, wasn’t it? If only she could…

“Aguamenti.” Harry’s wand was being held above her face, a long string of water hovering in the air. Even in her current state, Hermione couldn’t help but admire the spell’s control being on display. Normally, the Water-Making Spell was rather messy.

“Drink”, Harry said.

She did, and it was glorious, cool water. He held her as she greedily gulped it down, not caring about her dignity. After a few moments, she felt sated, and she patted his arm. Harry immediately dispelled the rest of the water.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m sorry. I just… I’m so weak right now.”

“Shhhh.” He cradled her, quickly looking over his shoulder to make sure Dumbledore was still knocked out. Thankfully, he was. “You’re the strongest person I know; you’re not weak. Is there anything you need?” When he turned back to her, it was as if she was looking at a roaring fire, intense heat washing over her.

“Your aura. It… it’s still overwhelming.”

Harry seemed to despair at her words. “I don’t know how to stop it, Hermione. Maybe I should go? I don't mean to hurt you!”

“No!” She grabbed him, panicked, fearing he’d leave her. “Don’t you dare let go of me, Harry.”

He gulped, his sharp eyes roaming her face, taking in every little detail. It made her very self-conscious, but she also felt strangely appreciated at the same time. “Okay, I won’t. I swear.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. “I need to… I still feel weak,” she said. “But it’s better now, as if I’m at the cusp of finding it again.” Since she didn’t want him to hold her like a distressed maiden forever, she tried to stand up.

He lent her a hand and gently pulled her up.

“Better?”

“Quite, thank you.”

Harry smiled. “Stop thanking me, Hermione. I’d do… I think I’d do anything for you.”

She nodded, unable to find a coherent response.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. It was surreal, being surrounded by all this destruction and an unconscious headmaster, and to feel so vulnerable. She focused on taking deep breaths, feeling Harry’s aura burn but not flare anymore.

“Hermione,” he said, hesitantly.

“Yes?”

He swallowed dryly. “I might have an idea how to help you.”

She smiled. “Whatever it is, Harry, I won’t complain. I think I’ve just discovered the true meaning of the saying ‘weak as a kitten.’ Whatever it is, I’ll take it.” When she turned to look at him, she found his eyes almost glowing once more.

“Are you sure?”

Hermione nodded. “I trust you.”

To her surprise, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Alright,” he said.

Then, before she knew what was happening, he’d stepped up to her to hold her in his arms and gently press his lips onto hers. His hands cradled her head and back while his soft lips nibbled at her mouth.

Hermione reacted immediately, even in her weakened state, because she needed him; she had to reassure herself he was really here, and that he hadn’t…

She opened her lips, and their tongues met, and a wave of pleasure rushed through her. It didn’t vanish, though; it stayed. Then it began to rise. It felt good — no, it felt exhilarating. It was the most sensual thing she’d ever experienced; not even their first kiss came close. Hermione pulled him closer, groaning into his mouth as she felt the wave still rise, felt how his burning aura didn’t reach her exposed sense of self any longer.

He was giving her back her… her Guide abilities. Or something.

Holding on to him for dear life, she snogged him for all he was worth, uncaring about Dumbledore in the background, or the destruction all around them. She needed this, his touch, his love; she needed it like the earth needs the sun.

After an eternity of bliss, Harry suddenly stopped the kiss and gently removed his face from hers to hold her in his arms. They stared at each other with wide eyes and swollen lips. He seemed as shocked as she was about what’d just happened, slightly winded.

“I… you… I mean… wow,” he managed.

Hermione took a shuddering breath. “Yes, wow. I want to… thank you, Harry.”

“What for?”

“Coming back to me.” She absently touched her lips. “I… whatever he did, I couldn’t… absorb it anymore. Your aura… it was too much on top of that,” she said as she held on to him. “And now I’m back to being my old self. Or at least I think I am. But… how?”

“I’m not a Guide, I don’t know,” he replied with a slight smirk.

“What?”

“I just… had a feeling. That something like this might work, since you did it to me, at the pond. Remember?”

Hermione snorted. “Of course I remember, Harry! What kind of question is that even?” She shouldn’t be surprised, really, what with him being even more instinctual than her, being more in tune with his gut feelings.

He remained silent, staring down at the burned ground.

“Hey, Harry.”

When his bright eyes met hers again, she smiled. “It was the right decision. And… I don’t mind.” When his look became confused, she couldn’t help but reach out to cup his face, overcome with affection. “Kissing me, you doofus. I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh,” he said, blushing ever so slightly.

“And I’m glad that you returned. When I couldn’t see you behind Dumbledore, I feared the worst. So, thank you for coming back.” Her grip on his arm increased.

He stared at her with that intense look again. “Always,” he said, and the utter conviction in his voice made her shiver.

Before true awkwardness crept in, she decided to forge ahead. “So, you honestly didn’t know if it’d work?”

Harry shrugged and smiled quickly. “I didn’t.”

“I see.” In the grand scheme of things, it was a quaint mystery, but still. It made Hermione think of silly fairy tales about heroes kissing the princess back to life, and that just wouldn’t do. She had to find the real answer eventually, or she’d go stark-raving mad. Or obsessed with his lips.

“We need to… We should probably talk about this, us, sometime,” she eventually said, slightly numb from trying to process everything that had happened today. Truth to be told, the kiss was the last thing she wanted to talk about, but the words came out still. And it was too important; they were too bonded as it was to let this linger between them. She simply wouldn't have it.

Harry smiled again, rubbing his neck. “Yeah.”

“But not now. Right?”

He nodded, still nervous, but seemingly glad to not have to explain himself further.

Synchronously, they both turned to look at the headmaster again. “What happened to him?” she asked. “He was completely insane, and his aura, Harry… It’s corrupted. I felt like I was facing a draugr or some kind of undead. I can’t believe that’s normal for Sentinels, even those who lost a Guide.”

“How would we even know? Maybe that’s precisely the reason?”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. It might be his hand.”

Harry glanced at her nervously. “Maybe it was… Did a Horcrux take control of him? I mean, the stench is the same. I’ve noticed it for a while now, as you know. What if he…?” He stopped and touched the fading scar on his head. “What if he doesn’t have what I have?”

“What do you mean?”

He turned back to her. “When Voldemort attacked me, and this happened…” He put a finger on his forehead. “He created not just a Horcrux but also a space for it to be, even though it was inadvertently. Attached to my head, that is.”

Hermione was stunned — it made so much sense! It would indeed explain why the headmaster's aura was so tainted, if he lacked a container and the Horcrux was spreading through his body. “That’s brilliant, Harry,” she said. “But what do we do? He needs medical attention, and we probably need it as well.”

“I’m fine.” He waved her off.

But she wasn’t having any of that. “Harry Potter! You were just thrown into a ravine and hit every rock on your way down, from the looks of it. How are you even standing? And you were burned in a blast cast by our apparently insane Headmaster that might’ve hurt you beyond what’s physically visible, since it stopped my abilities until… you know. You will not say that you’re fine!”

He gave her a sheepish look. “Really, I’m not hurting, Hermione…”

“Don’t you even try,” she said, huffing in annoyance. “Hospital Wing, you and I. And he needs to be brought to St. Mungo’s, probably. I’m not saying I’m looking forward to it; I’m just trying to be responsible here.”

“The Hogwarts dungeons might suffice,” Harry grumbled.

Hermione sighed. “I can’t even disagree with you, but we still need to help him. He’s still bleeding, see? Something is very wrong with his head, or probably his brain.” With some remaining trepidation, she approached Dumbledore and saw that he was indeed losing a lot of blood. She drew her wand. “Episkey.”

“Didn’t he cast a spell at his nose earlier?” Harry asked.

She shrugged. “You probably dispelled it with that intense aura of yours.” After ensuring that she'd stopped the bleeding, she stood up again.

“I’m trying not to, but I don’t know what I should do.”

“Harry, it’s fine. Stop feeling embarrassed; I’m not blaming you. We need to figure out what to do now.” She pointed at Dumbledore. “We could levitate him? Start walking in the direction of Hogwarts? Charlie and Remus could be close by now, if they really came after us.”

At her words, he stopped moving and listened to their surroundings. Then, he inhaled, his eyes darting back and forth as if he was considering what his senses told him.

“Harry?”

“They’re not far away; I can smell Remus. Charlie just stumbled over something on the ground. If I had to guess, they’re two miles away, maybe more.”

Hermione stared at him. “Are your senses improving still? That’s quite the distance, Harry.”

He gave her a quick smile. “Maybe? I can’t tell, to be honest. But I think you’re right; we should wait.” Without breaking eye contact, he raised an arm. “Accio broom!”

It took a few seconds, but his Firebolt flew up to him from somewhere beyond the ring of destruction, having been blasted away by Dumbledore’s strange spell before. Harry inspected it and blew some ash and dust away. “Good as new,” he mumbled.

“If only that would apply to him as well,” she said, looking down at the sleeping headmaster. “What will we do once we reach Hogwarts? Not all professors are on our side; even McGonagall might not want to send him to St. Mungo’s.”

“Oh, she will,” Harry said.

“How can you be certain?”

He shrugged. “I won’t give her a choice, I guess.”

“Harry!”

“What?” He glared at her, his temper showing momentarily before he reined it in. “Sorry, I’m still on edge. What I meant was, why wouldn’t she, once we explain what happened? I’ll happily show her my memory of this fucked-up encounter.”

Hermione winced, but held her tongue.

“I’m sick and tired of stumbling in the dark,” he continued. “This could’ve gone wrong, and I see now how arrogant I’ve been before. We need a safe place to sit down and read all the books that Mister Ossinsky sent you, Hermione. We’ve been talking about that forever now, and so much insane stuff happened.” He sniffed and glanced at Dumbledore. “We’ll send him away, which will give us time to figure out this claiming ritual we need to undertake, and then… I don’t know; maybe we’ll just sit down in the library or something. I just want answers; we can’t go on like this.”

Hermione, who’d been listening with a growing sense of appreciation for his honest reflection, felt another sudden rush of affection. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she said as she ran up to him to embrace him. “I’m so glad that… Thank you, Harry.”

Chapter Text

“Severus Snape?”

He turned around, having been so distracted by his dismal thoughts that he’d completely missed the arrival of the visitors. Two wizards were standing in his room, one of them exceedingly tall. Both wore black and gray clothes and robes and had cropped beards. The tall one stared at him with bright brown eyes; the other one appeared to investigate the room.

So, the Department of Mysteries had finally involved itself.

“What’s this about?” he snapped, unable to help himself. He had a good idea of what would happen next, but he wasn’t inclined to put on a friendly facade. That was Albus’ job.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Brown Eyes said. “We have a few questions about the incident that brought you here, Mister Snape. We’re from the Ministry.”

He curled his lips, strangely amused at having such a routine line thrown in his face. “It’s Professor Snape,” he replied.

The shorter man huffed but didn’t say anything, letting his colleague continue the conversation. Severus noticed that he was holding a wand in his sleeve, its tip peeking out between his fingers.

Brown Eyes stared at him, unblinking. “Professor, can you tell us why the student Harry Potter would attack you like he did? From what I understand, he waylaid you in the Grand Staircase?”
Severus shook his head. “Whoever told you that was mistaken. Potter was present, yes, but he didn’t attack me! Not that he could, really, even if he would try to in his arrogance.” He gave the Unspeakables an empty smile, trying to suss out if they were fans of the insufferable Boy-Who-Lived.

But the duo didn’t react to his little bait.

“No, the attacker was a third party,” he eventually continued. “They were cloaked in a Disillusionment Charm, and they were short. Like a student, or a person who’s not part of the Hogwarts staff.” That was as far as he’d go not to raise suspicions against his colleagues, mostly to prevent another preachy sermon from Albus.

It was also galling to be faced with the fact that he’d been beaten to a bloody pulp by some mystery attacker who, in theory at least, might not even have taken their N.E.W.T.s — the very thought was preposterous.

“Are you quite sure?” The tall Unspeakable took half a step toward him. “Our preliminary report disagrees with that version of events. Where is Mister Potter now?”

Severus grunted, annoyed by the insistence that spoke of prejudice and shoddy investigative work. Not that he didn’t enjoy it when Potter was kicked off his pedestal, but having the Department of Mysteries chasing the brat for made-up reasons was too much of a danger. The moment they verified he was a Sentinel, all hell would break loose.

In his twisted way, Albus had again forced him to protect that foolish boy.

“I reject your implied accusation, Unspeakable,” he spat. “But you’ve already written your report, yes? Now it’s just a matter of arranging the facts to match.” He needed to rile them up just enough so they’d think he might have a point.

The men exchanged a glance. “Tell us then,” the shorter one said, his voice surprisingly deep.

“If you prefer, I can give you my memory of the attack,” Severus said. It was risky, but he knew he was rather skilled in Occlumency. There was no actual risk of revealing more than he wanted to; years of lying to Voldemort’s face had seen to that.

For the first time, he saw an actual emotion on his visitor’s faces — surprise.

“We’d appreciate that,” Brown Eyes said. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” Severus said, trying to focus on keeping the line of events straight that he’d laid out. “I might have been attacked by the same person who attacked Potter before, in another, less violent incident.” Albus wouldn’t like that he divulged this piece of information now, but he didn’t care much about the old man’s reluctance right now.

“How so?”

He exhaled, trying to keep his sarcasm in check. It wouldn’t do to make them think he had a personal agenda against Potter, no matter how justified. Right now, it’d only cause trouble he didn’t need. “A while ago, Potter had… an accident, during a Quidditch game. Broke his skull and suffered from migraines for a while. Someone used that against him, an attack in the hallways, overwhelming him with a Sonorus Charm of all things.”

The Unspeakables nodded in understanding.

“Two attackers were present that day, both cloaked in Disillusionment Charms. One of them was revealed to be a student, Bletchley, who’s since been expelled.” Severus had a sneaking suspicion that his visitors already knew all about that incident and its fallout, seeing a flicker of satisfaction on the shorter man’s face.

“The identity of the second attacker remains a mystery to this day,” he continued. Now he was also lying on Malfoy's behalf, and his urge to throw both of the bothersome boys under the proverbial Knight Bus grew strong. “But they might also be a student.”

Brown Eyes frowned. “If a student did this to you — that’s cause for concern, Professor.”

“Indeed,” he replied with gritted teeth.

“What can you tell us about Mister Potter, besides your apparent dissatisfaction with his academic prowess? Does he have enemies?”

Maybe, just maybe, he’d already succeeded in leading them to believe that Potter was the intended victim and he, despite his skills and knowledge, had just been collateral damage. Severus grimaced and covered his outburst by shifting his legs on his bed, acting as if they were sore.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he said, suddenly realizing that this line of inquiry was also an opportunity. “Potter might be the most hated student in Hogwarts.”

The shorter Unspeakable suddenly smiled openly. “Good,” he said, and turned around to fling three silent spells at the door. Severus felt the quiet tension that’d been building until now shatter, leaving him with the bitter taste of having been ambushed by experts.

His wand was on his nightstand, and there was no way he’d get to it in time. So he’d have to play along, feigning serenity until an opportunity would present itself, like Albus so often did. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, trying to sound bored.

“The Dark Lord sends his regards, Snape,” the Unspeakable with the wand said. He raised his left arm to push the sleeve down, revealing his mark.

Severus nodded. He’d known there were spies in the Ministry, even though he hadn’t expected that Voldemort had so successfully infiltrated the Department of Mysteries. He had to tread carefully now.

“He also wants to know everything there is to know about this incident. If a student really managed to whoop your ass… You’ve seen too much to become that kind of security risk,” the man sneered.

“My offer to provide memories still stands,” Severus replied.

Brown Eyes took another step toward him. “Don’t be cute with us. You know what we have to do now.”

He swallowed hard because he did know. If there was one thing to be sure about when dealing with Voldemort and his followers… He began to fortify his mind, reciting one of his mantras to create patterns that’d overlay his actual thoughts.

The shorter Unspeakable stepped up to his colleague. “Let’s see if you’re a traitor after all.”

“Oh, please.” Severus gave the man a cold look, unafraid to show his disregard.

“Crucio!”

“He’s not here.”

“Maybe he’s sleeping,” Charlie said, as they approached Hagrid’s hut.

“I think we’d be hearing that.”

He shook his head. “Hagrid? Hello?” He knocked once, twice.

When no response came, he pushed the door wide open. But the cabin was indeed deserted. There was a massive pot bubbling on the stove, though, smelling like a hearty stew. His stomach growled immediately. “What now?” he asked, turning to Remus’ blurry silhouette.

“Let’s get inside; Minerva might still come.” Carefully, Remus levitated the unconscious body of Dumbledore inside and then dispelled their Disillusionment Charms to check on him. “He’s still asleep; Harry’s spell really knocked him out.”

“I wonder why,” Charlie mumbled as he closed the door, dismissed his charm, and peered out of the nearby window. He knew Hagrid wouldn’t mind that they’d let themselves in, especially in an emergency like this. Still, he felt like a burglar.

Remus sat down on one of the chairs with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “If you’d told me three weeks ago what this day would bring, I would have laughed in your face.”

“Tell me about it.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, keeping his lookout position at the window. Harry’s map would’ve been handy now to check Minerva’s or Hagrid’s whereabouts, but the kids had taken it. Even with Harry's senses, they'd all agreed it would be easier to sneak into the Chamber of Secrets knowing where everyone in the castle was at all times. A useful tool, that.

They listened to the bubbling stew for a while.

Charlie realized that he was surprised by his lack of doubts. He’d grown up believing Albus Dumbledore to be wise, a powerful wizard who could be trusted… His whole family was an outspoken ally of the headmaster. And now he was helping smuggle the unconscious man to St. Mungo’s to find out what had made him attack Harry and Hermione like that… and that wasn’t even taking all the lies and manipulation attempts into account.

And yet… he felt calm. As if he was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do. He was still furious, of course, about pretty much everything. But standing here, waiting for Minerva to come and lower the castle’s expansive wards so they could apparate away, he didn’t have a problem with that at all.

“We need to think about our next steps carefully,” Remus said eventually. When Charlie turned around, he saw his friend twisting his wand absently as he stared at Dumbledore’s sleeping form on the floor. “I don’t see how we’re going to keep this problem under wraps, to be honest. No matter what, Dumbledore’s arrival in St. Mungo’s will make the rounds. And the Ministry is already suspicious about the attack on Snape and the rumors about Harry’s enhanced senses.”

Charlie sighed. “True.”

“So staying here poses a risk, even if Harry claims the castle as his own. Leaving might pose an even greater risk, though, since we don’t know if Voldemort has learned about all of this by now. We should assume that he did, though.”

Thinking back to the feelings of safety that the dragon reserve provided him with every time he was there, Charlie nodded. “Indeed, a safe place is worth a lot. But it’s only safe if it’s guarded or defended, right? Is that really the case here?”

Remus looked up. “You don’t think Minerva and most of the staff would defend Harry and the other students if need be?”

“I do, but will that be enough? When push comes to shove, we’d be asking regular professors to throw themselves between a Killing Curse and a random student, Remus. And the Ministry can interfere in many ways, too. They can threaten the livelihood of almost anyone here if they feel like it.” He turned to look out of the window again. “I’m not so sure Hogwarts is the stronghold you make it out to be.”

“Don’t dismiss the mystical aspects,” the werewolf replied. “A claim will not just grant Harry advantages should he need to fend off attackers or Ministry snatchers; it’ll also make it difficult to sneak in here in the first place.”

Charlie grunted. “Or so the rumors go.” But he had a sudden thought, now that Hogwarts was so prominently on his mind. “Wait… What if Dumbledore really is a Sentinel? Would that explain his ability to appear and disappear seemingly at will? As a student, I believed there was nothing he couldn’t do inside the school, that the castle itself was bending to his will.”

“I had a very similar thought,” Remus said. “Even in a suppressed state, he might’ve tapped into the potential of the place, using it to do things inside Hogwarts that ordinary witches and wizards can’t.”

“And Harry will have that, and more?”

“I think so, yes.”

Charlie took a deep breath. “Still, I don’t envy the kid, to tell you the truth. First the prophecy, he’s losing his family, then this ongoing disaster with Voldemort striking from the shadows, and now… Now he’s also a Sentinel. I wouldn’t be able to cope with that, no, thank you.”

“He’s much stronger than his dad was at his age,” Remus mumbled. “He’ll get through this.”

“With her at his side, he just might.”

“How are you feeling about your brother’s absence, Charlie? For the longest time, they were inseparable, and Harry is like a son to your parents. And now… Does it make you feel weird?”

Charlie did a double take. “Where’s this coming from, Remus?”

His friend shrugged. “Just a random thought, since I know how much you value friendship and loyalty. I just don’t want you to be caught under the wheels.”

“The what now?”

“A Muggle expression, you know what I mean.”

Feeling a bit irritated by Remus’ question, he waved him off. “I’m fine,” he said, wondering what he’d say next time he sat down to have a talk with Ron. Knowing his younger brother, there was a decent chance he’d get an earful about stealing his best friend and messing with him on purpose. They’d never been particularly close due to their age difference, a topic complicated even further by the bond he felt with Ginny.

It wasn’t easy, being Ronald’s brother.

His stomach growled again. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

Suddenly, he saw movement in the distance. A group of people was walking up to the castle, wearing dark cloaks. His immediate thought was that they were sent by the Ministry, probably to interview Harry, or Dumbledore. “We’ve got company,” he said. “Four… no, five Ministry goons. They sure look like they mean business.”

Remus stepped up beside him. “Shit,” he hissed.

“Aurors?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. They don’t look like it, but these days anything is possible.”

“Harry and Hermione should be down there by now,” Charlie wagered. “It took us probably half an hour to get here after we split, and they had the Firebolt. I don’t think we need to worry about them for now.” He smacked his lips, trying to go through their limited options.

“No, but what about Minerva? If they ask her, she won’t be able to provide either the Headmaster or the Boy-Who-Lived. And if they search the castle grounds… “Remus scowled. “I can’t wait for this cursed day to finally end.”

The prospect of actively trying to hide from Aurors or Unspeakables was daunting, Charlie thought. But sequencing things out in his mind had given him an idea. “Maybe this isn’t so bad after all,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Say they’re swarming out now, looking for Dumbledore and Harry. Don’t you think they’ll check St. Mungo’s? So, if we hide for, say, a day, and then go there, we might buy ourselves some time eventually.” It still wouldn’t be easy, but he honestly thought it might give Harry and Minerva an extra day or two to sort Sentinel things out.

Remus pushed his fist against the nearby wall. “So we’re going to have to run back into the forest, is that what you’re proposing?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but he stopped to stare at something behind Charlie instead. “Crap,” he said.

When he turned around, Charlie saw that Dumbledore had awoken prematurely. “Remus?” he asked hoarsely, wincing as he touched his head and beard. “Why are we…”

“Somnious!”

The headmaster fell back on the ground, asleep once more.

“What is wrong with you! Why didn’t you react?” Charlie asked Remus as he pocketed his wand again, irritated by his friend’s inaction. This wasn’t a good time to freeze up when things called for quick solutions, and they’d made their bed siding with Harry and Hermione.

“I… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. Let’s get out of here. Minerva’s going to have her hands full dealing with the Ministry; we can send her another Patronus later.” He gave the stove another wistful look, feeling more hungry by the minute. But stealing Hagrid’s stew… no, they couldn’t do that; there was a limit.

Remus pointed at Dumbledore. “Fine. But this time you can levitate him; I’ve already had the pleasure.”

“What do you want, Bitterwood?” Malfoy’s face deteriorated into his trademark sneer as Lane approached the pale blonde on his way outside. He knew Professor Drummond was still engaged in conversation with Professor Sinistra, so he had a few minutes to do something fun.

“Stop posturing, Malfoy,” he said evenly.

Draco looked like shit, he thought; his skin was almost waxy, and there were dark bags under his eyes. For some reason, the Malfoy heir didn’t seem to care much about his appearance anymore, and that told Lane something. He didn’t know exactly what, though.

“I’m here to warn you,” he continued, watching Draco’s face. “You always act as if your father makes you beyond reproach, but we all know that’s a lie, don’t we?”

“Shut up and get to the point, if you have any.” Malfoy looked around to see if they were overheard. “I’m busy.”

“With what, moping?” Lane mocked, showing his antipathy openly now. “Some of us are tired of you tarnishing the Slytherin table these days, Malfoy. Whatever silly drama it is you’re bothered by, get over it. And maybe remember that personal hygiene is a thing; you’re disgusting.”

As he’d suspected, the blonde immediately lost his temper. “Watch your tongue, Bitterwood. You don’t have any friends in the Ministry or outside of it. I can make your life miserable with one letter if I like.”

Lane tried not to smile — it was too easy, almost.

“Is that so?” he asked, withdrawing the Dark Lord’s folded letter from his robes. Malfoy stared, not saying anything until he saw the ghost image of the Dark Mark on the blank parchment. “Who do you think wrote this, you ponce?”

Malfoy paled even more, if that was possible. “What…where?” he stammered.

With slow, deliberate motions, Lane refolded the parchment and put it away. “You think you’re the only one he’s spoken to? The only one he’s writing to? Really? Fascinating… maybe you haven’t earned his complete trust yet.”

“Nice try, but I won’t tell you anything,” Draco hissed, but he was breathing shallower now.

Lane shrugged. “Then don’t. But rest assured, the rest of us are watching, always watching. See you soon, Malfoy.” He turned and left, having seen the tremor in Draco’s hands. After a few steps, he began to whistle Celestina Warbeck’s ‘You Stole My Cauldron’.

It would probably only take two or three additional attempts to make Malfoy crack. That, or he could use him as a scapegoat for tomorrow night’s extracurricular activities? Someone had already brought a world of trouble to the ponce’s doorstep by placing him in Snape’s office with a bottle of liquor. Whoever it was, they had a great sense of humor, Lane thought. All that was needed now was another push.

“Hey Lane, what has you in such a good mood?” Maya asked when he caught up with the rest of his class. For some reason, she was keeping an eye on him again, and he didn’t like that at all. Maybe he’d need to incorporate her into his plans, a failsafe in case Malfoy didn’t make it.

“Nothing, just kicked a little ferret.”

“What?”

He smiled, baring his teeth.

The short break between today’s third and fourth class saw Ginny, Susan, Hannah, and Neville standing in a side corridor on the third floor. They didn’t have much time, but they felt they needed to share notes.

“So?” Ginny asked, looking at Susan expectantly.

“Hugo Mattingley is another dreamer,” the Hufflepuff said. “When we asked him, he denied it, but you should’ve seen his face. He’s not taking it well, I think.”

Neville grunted. “I feel sorry for him. Losing sleep and not knowing what's happening… Can we help him? Or you, or anyone, for that matter?”

“What would you even do?” Susan shrugged. “Sally-Anne told us he was already talking about Potions of Dreamless Sleep before, and to me, that sounds like a good idea, all things considered. Unless we finally track down Harry and Hermione and have them explain to us what’s going on.”

“They’re still absent, right?” Hannah asked.

Ginny nodded. “McGonagall sent notes to several professors, excusing them. Private family business, as far as I’ve heard it. Nobody in Gryffindor believes that, of course, since we all know about Harry’s senses.”

“Do you know if anyone else is affected?” Susan asked.

“If so, they kept it to themselves,” Ginny said.

“So that makes, what, five people that we know of? Dreamers?” Neville counted with his fingers. “Susan, Sally-Anne, Harry, Hermione, Hugo.”

“Want to bet it’s more?” Susan’s face was grim. “I would really love to know what it means.”

Neville exhaled slowly, lowering his hand again. “We can’t rule out that you’re all connected to that Sentinel thing; I mean, it just makes sense given the timing. For all we know… you might all be potential Sentinels. I don’t think you’d need to crack your skull like Harry, but something might cause you to have fully enhanced senses one day.”

They’d all been thinking about it, even thrown the idea around the room before, but suddenly it felt too heavy and too real to consider it. Everyone looked at the floor for a moment, thinking about other possible answers.

“I need to run,” Ginny said after a while. “But I think I have an idea. Talk to you guys at dinner, okay?”

“Ginny, wait.” Susan tried to stop her, but the smaller redhead was already hurrying away.

“Sorry!” she called. “Professor Vectra will deduct House points if I’m late again!”

“She’s right,” Hannah said, watching her leave. “We need to go to our classes as well.”

Neville shrugged. “Since Snape is still at St. Mungo’s, I have a free period. Normally, Dumbledore was supposed to take over DADA, but he’s absent as well. McGonagall said we are to stay in Gryffindor Tower or go to the library if we want to.”

“That’s a bit unfair,” Susan grimaced. “Kevin told us that the Slytherins are supposed to meet Professor Drummond in the courtyard east of the central annex for some kind of practical test. They’re even being graded, he said.”

“What?”

She waved him off, but then she stopped to put her hand on his shoulder. “You could make use of the time, though. Maybe having a look around in the library isn’t such a bad idea. Hermione did it before, so there should be something about Sentinels. Or enhanced senses.”

“Yeah… you’re right.” Neville’s face lit up.

When the squad of serious-looking men and women had passed them by, seemingly marching straight toward the headmaster's office, Ritchie turned around with his mouth wide open. “Have you seen those guys?”

“Yes, I was standing right behind you when they walked by,” Jimmy said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve never seen Aurors from up close before!”

Jimmy shrugged. “Those weren’t Aurors; it’s more likely that they are Hit Wizards. Maybe even Unspeakables.” He made a vague gesture as he looked down the corridor where the visitors had vanished moments ago.

“What?” Ritchie turned around, squinting at him.

“Well, it’s their uniforms, or rather the lack thereof. Aurors wear scarlet robes, unless they’re undercover. But these guys wore all black, and they didn’t have any insignias or brooches. So I guess they’re not the kind who normally go to interview people like us.”

Now Ritchie was throwing up his arms. “Jimmy, how do you know all this?”

“My mum works at the Ministry, in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement,” Jimmy mumbled, not wanting to call attention to the fact. People tended to assume that he could do them favors thanks to her, and that made itfeel weird.

“Your mum is an Auror? I thought she was a solicitor? That’s so cool!”

He winced at Ritchie’s volume. “No, she just works there, doing paperwork. She’s not an Auror. Do you ever listen when I tell you stuff?”

“I bet she knows Aurors, though.”

“She does.”

“Does she know Hit Wizards as well? Can you ask her who these guys were?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Probably not… there are whole departments in the Ministry that are secret; you can’t talk about them. But we don’t need to. I’m sure they were Unspeakables.” He wasn’t really sure, but he liked the idea that he could be right, and he knew Ritchie would appreciate the speculation.

“Wait, why not Hit Wizards?” His friend’s brows furrowed.

He shrugged again. “Because nobody was killed recently, and Hogwarts hasn’t been taken over by Death Eaters either. Unless you count Professor Sprout’s attempts to murder all students via mandrake cries. Those things should be banned, honestly. She might secretly work for the Dark Lord, I think.”

“Stop whining about your bad Herbology grades,” Ritchie said as he shook his head.

“Am not.”

“Don’t Hit Wizards also investigate really dangerous stuff, though? Like Aurors?”

Now it was Jimmy who shook his head. “No, unless you think blowing up entire neighborhoods is an investigation. In that case, yes, they’re almost like Sherlock Holmes,” he said acerbically.

“Who?”

“A famous detective.” He tried to think of a way to briefly explain who the literary figure was, but it had been a while since his dad had read him the old Arthur Conan Doyle stories.

“I’ve never heard of him. Is he a Hit Wizard too?”

Jimmy sighed. “No.”

“Why did you bring him up, then?”

“No offense, but I think I need to go and bang my head against something,” he replied, feeling annoyed by Ritchie’s insistence. From what he’d gathered, this was what Harry must’ve felt like when he bickered with Ron. At least back when those two had been friends, that is. Not that he blamed Harry for splitting with the most pigheaded Weasley of them all; after all, he’d gotten a front-row seat to the flaming wreck that was the Golden Trio’s public split.

“Wait, who’s going to sneak after them with me, then? Jimmy, you can’t leave.” Ritchie’s face fell, and it was almost a comedic routine. His friend didn’t have much of a filter in that way.

Jimmy grunted. “I’m not one of the Weasley twins, Ritchie. Nor am I Harry Potter. I won’t sneak around the corridors, thank you very much, not with McGonagall on the prowl like she currently is. We’re going to learn who these guys are anyway.”

“How so?”

“Because Harry or Hermione will eventually do exactly what you’re proposing. Sneaking after them, that is. So we can relax and just wait until the rumor mill picks up the news. Or we’ll ask them next time we see them.”

Ritchie gave him a strange look. “You’re very cynical, you know that?”

“I know, it happens eventually. You’ll see.” He patted Ritchie’s shoulder. “Meanwhile, let’s catch up with the others, because even Binns will eventually realize we’re missing his class.”

After she’d knocked a third time without a response, Tonks rolled her eyes. “Come on, man,” she said to the locked door. “I know you’re in there; stop being weird.”

“Leave.” The muffled sound of Mad-Eye’s voice sounded as if he was standing just behind the door, but that was undoubtedly a trick, so potential attackers would try to blast it away. But she’d seen the tiny runes carved into the threshold — she probably wouldn’t survive that sort of folly.

“Mad-Eye, I’m not a bloody Death Eater. I’m here because I need your help.”

“That’s what a Death Eater would say,” her former mentor replied.

Tonks groaned. “I knew, I just knew it… How long have you been cooped up inside there? Do I have to worry?”

No answer came, but something within the small house creaked, somewhere above her. But she suspected it to be another trick. He was probably aiming his wand at her from somewhere right now.

“Mad-Eye, I’m pregnant, as you well know. Don’t you dare hex me in the face or anywhere else, old man,” she said, feeling increasingly stupid for having a conversation with a locked door. Thankfully, nobody else had passed her by, despite the London street being busy in general. At first, she thought she’d heard a noise behind her, but there was nobody, just a couple of slightly banged-up dustbins. Probably a rat that was crawling inside one of them. She shuddered.

No response still.

“Just ask me one of your ridiculous questions already,” Tonks continued.

Mad-Eye harrumphed. “How did you find me?” he asked, his voice still muffled.

She pinched her nose. “For Merlin’s sake, I’ve been here before! You invited me last year, remember? It was the day after Jorgenson said he’d switch over to the Minister’s bureau. I think there was a cake because everyone was glad to see him fuck off.” She knocked on the door again, losing her patience. “Stop wasting my time, Mad-Eye. This is a serious matter.”

“You need to leave, now.”

Tonks’ anger flared up. “Oh, screw you! I almost vomited twice when I tried to apparate here, and I had a woman cussing me out for my hair since a mother-to-be isn’t supposed to look like a punk, or something. I’m not in the mood for your tests, and your sick sense of humor.” She glanced to her sides to ensure she was still alone. “It’s about Harry and Hermione,” she said, quieter now. “And it’s urgent.”

The rat behind her made another noise before Mad-Eye could respond, but something was wrong — one of the dustbins was being moved across the sidewalk.

Tonks whirled around to see that her rats were the dustbins themselves, unfolding jerky legs and arms made from the trash they were filled with. As she drew her wand, the three constructs raised themselves and fanned out.

“Are you bloody kidding me… Mad-Eye!” she yelled, trying to calculate how to dodge an attack without having anything touch her belly. Her hair had shortened itself to not hinder her field of vision, and she felt her arms and legs becoming thicker, stockier.

Then, one of the animated dustbins leaned forward, opened its hatch, and spewed trash projectiles at her. Hectically, she deflected them with her wand. From the corner of her eye, she saw the second one lower itself as if it was trying to jump her. When it did, she whirled around, cast a Shield Charm, and continued to fling empty soda cans and garbage bags aside.

Suddenly, the third dustbin stood beside her and raised one of its arms, made of wooden legs from a broken chair, as well as empty beer bottles.

But before it could slam her, the door to Mad-Eye’s house suddenly opened, and the old man fired a series of counterspells at his contraptions, causing them to fall down and shatter into hundreds of pieces of trash. The entire sidewalk looked like something had exploded.

Tonks turned to Mad-Eye, her wand still raised. “You…” she hissed, angry beyond words.

“I had to make sure,” he said gruffly, offering no excuse. Glancing around nervously, he flicked his wand again to repair the damage he’d just done and forced the trash back into the dustbins, which now were even more banged up than before. There must’ve also been a Muggle-Repelling Charm in place because none of the neighbors or car drivers in the street had reacted to the ruckus. “Come in.”

She stared at him, trying to remember that this is how he always was, and decided to simply huff and do as he asked. The door shut behind her immediately, and she saw that he’d remodeled the hallway — there was a new door to the right that she didn’t remember. Considering how much the old man had tricked out the tiny house the last time she’d been here, she wondered what additions he’d made since then. The inside was probably six or seven times as big as the outside dimensions by now.

“Shoes off,” Mad-Eye grunted as he walked past her, his artificial eye focused on her. He entered the kitchen to sit down, wand in hand. He was wearing heavy combat boots.

Tonks shook her head, but she remembered the rule. Just another small thing to put his visitors on the back foot so they wouldn’t be able to pursue him easily. Aching slightly as she tried to maneuver around her baby belly, she removed her shoes and tiptoed into the kitchen. “Your floor is cold,” she said, sitting at his side. “My toes are freezing.”

“Heating’s expensive,” Mad-Eye grumbled, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he was almost smirking somewhere underneath his wrinkles and scars.

“Shuddup,” she said. “You’re a bloody wizard; you don’t have to pay a penny for heating.”

He regarded her again, the Eye of Vance moving up and down and focusing on her belly for a moment. There was nothing on his face that indicated his thoughts one way or another, but Tonks knew him by now, and she knew what he was able to pick up with the artifact. “I know I’m having a daughter,” she said, remembering Harry’s troubled face when he’d revealed that piece of information.

May-Eye snorted. “So you had a midwife or a healer tell you after all? I thought you didn’t want to know; you didn’t stop ranting about it, in fact.”

“I didn’t.”

Unblinking, he waited for her to continue.

Tonks folded her hands, stopped, and put them on her belly instead. “I… It was an accident, if anything. Harry told me, can you believe that?”

Mad-Eye’s normal, brown eye squinted at her. “What does Potter have to do with your child?”

She sighed. “It’s a wild story, to be honest. Some things I hardly believe myself… Well, here it goes. Harry had an accident recently, and it left him with enhanced senses. He woke up in the Hospital Wing to find out he could see, hear, or smell extremely well. Supernaturally, even.”

As she spoke, her former mentor began to tense and lean closer. She knew she had his attention now, but it also seemed as if he wasn’t as surprised as she’d thought he might be.

“It doesn’t end there, because his friend Hermione Granger had something happen to her as well. She’s bonded to him, and… Moody, I only heard vague rumors about it before, but Remus tells me that Harry awoke as a Sentinel. She’s his Guide. I can only guess at half the things that implied, but… They need help.” She swallowed hard, feeling one of her daughter’s kicks underneath her fingertips. “Anyway, he also saw that I’m going to have a daughter.”

“Nymphadora.”

She perked up. He never used her first name, knowing how much she hated it and accepting her preference unquestionably. There’d only been one time he’d called her that before, and three people had died a gruesome death that night.

Mad-Eye was leaning closer still, both of his eyes fixed on her now. “Are you sure about this? Maybe Albus saw something he wanted to believe? Why would Potter be a Sentinel, considering his special circumstances?”

“You mean the Horcrux?” The petty side of her enjoyed being the one to drop a bomb for once, judging by the expression on his grizzled face. Moody just stared at her, flabbergasted.

“You shouldn’t know about that. It’s dark, the darkest magic imaginable. It’ll kill you, and not in a fun way.”

“Harry knows,” she said, ignoring him. “Hermione figured it out; that girl’s whip-smart.” She felt another kick and smiled, despite the serious topic. “And they’re both trying to find answers since Albus hasn’t provided any. He’s extremely secretive and maybe working against Harry even; I can hardly believe it myself.”

Mad-Eye stood up very suddenly, walking over to his kitchen countertop and rummaging in one of the cabinets. He returned with a huge earthenware jug and two glasses that were only slightly dusty.

“Again, I’m pregnant,” Tonks emphasized as he jammed the glasses on the table.

He didn’t react and poured two portions of whiskey before sitting down again. “Your loss then,” he said as he gulped down the first glass.

“Moody?”

She watched him reach for the second glass, but he stopped mid-motion.

“What is going on? You know something, don’t you?”

He didn’t say anything, but his regular eye looked down at the table. Only then did she notice that he’d also put his wand away, and that actually worried her. Knowing that badgering him wouldn’t get her anywhere, she suppressed her impulse to blabber on and waited.

“If Potter really is a Sentinel, he’s in grave danger,” Moody eventually said. “Where is he right now? And where’s Albus? Or Snape?”

“Why?”

“Because Albus might try to sacrifice him to lure Voldemort in. And Snape might do it just out of sheer pettiness,” the ex-Auror said gruffly before he swallowed the rest of the whiskey.

“Please tell me you're joking. What kind of sick game is being played here? Why would Albus of all people sacrifice Harry?”

This time, Mad-Eye turned away from her. “Because Voldemort will try to use Potter to become a Sentinel himself, and then we’re all royally screwed. Where is the boy now?”

Chapter Text

They’d just left the side corridor on the seventh floor, where an unlocked window had promised easy entry to Hogwarts, when Harry froze. He knew nobody was close by; students were in class right now, but something was… off. It was the same uneasy feeling he’d experienced somewhat irregularly since his awakening — only now it was worse.

Something here was wrong; maybe someone was. The very air spoke of danger, but it didn’t tell him anything beyond that. There were no heartbeats, no breathing, or scents of sweat in their vicinity.

“Harry, what is it?” Hermione stepped up but didn’t touch him, knowing he was trying to focus. Her proximity helped, as always, anchoring him so he could throw out the metaphysical net of his Sentinel senses even further.

He swallowed when another wave of nauseating unease overtook him. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Something’s threatening us; I can feel it clearly. Hogwarts isn’t safe, but I can’t say who or what the reason is.” He raised a hand to touch the cool wall to his side, feeling the texture of the worked stone and noticing that it’d once been chiseled by hand. Few things had touched its surface since then, though.

“When we walked out of the Forbidden Forest, I thought maybe Dumbledore was the reason I felt almost hunted at times, that something here is wrong,” he admitted. “But now it’s even worse than before. It can’t be him.”

When Hermione decided he needed physical contact after all, he heard her move before a hand touched his back. Her scent enveloped him as he felt her heartbeat through the palm of her hand, but something else happened as well. She held him and pushed him simultaneously, having overcome the shutdown of her abilities earlier.

“Where is it?” she asked. “I know you can find it. Close your eyes.”

“I’ll try,” he promised and held out the Firebolt he was still carrying. “Can you hold that for a moment?”

There was that intoxicating sound of her lips parting as she smiled, and it made him want to kiss her again. But he couldn’t afford to focus on her now. “Of course,” she said, and carefully took the broom.

Then, there was another push from her that didn’t have anything to do with muscle movements, and suddenly he found himself falling into that pond again. Falling without ever reaching the surface, on which he saw her face mirrored to look back at him. He was violently thrown through the air, falling down into that ravine. The Quidditch pitch, damp grass racing towards his face, and suddenly there was someone else, trying to stop him from breaking his neck…

He gasped when the utter wrongness made itself known again, dissolving his memory visions to leave him with a sour taste in his mouth. But when he tried to follow it, forcing himself to sense it despite his entire body screaming at him, there was nothing.

As if it didn’t exist at all.

He became angry at both himself and this sense of danger. Instinctively, he squatted down, his hand still on the wall, to also touch the floor. Hermione took another step to keep in contact with him, a deep reserve of energy for him to tap into despite her sapping his aura. It didn’t have to make sense, though; it just felt right.

Harry breathed in deeply, his eyes closed.

Cobwebs and rusty armor pieces on the wall. The creaking of windows, wind pulling and pressing on the glass from the outside. Vibrations in the stonework, hundreds of bodies moving in classrooms somewhere down below. Nearby paintings, many of them non-magical or fallen silent with age. Now that he focused on it, he could even hear the ancient oil paints deteriorate in slow motion, microscopic cracks growing ever so slightly, time’s relentless march erasing even the magic once woven into the art pieces.

Hogwarts was so vast and so wonderfully vibrant.

And there it was, a black smear of wrongness that soured his consciousness as it brushed against him. Like ink poured into a bathtub, a counterpoint to the feeling of safety that Hermione exuded. It didn’t exist in a single point in space, though, casting no shadow, being soundless and scentless. It was like the idea of something dark, something evil, not the actual thing or person.

“Dammit,” he cursed.

“What can I do?” Hermione asked. “Do you need to be alone? I don’t know if we have much time, but I think this is important. You’ve felt threatened before; we can’t ignore that, especially now.”

Harry shook his head. “No, please. Stay where you are; it’s helpful.”

“Can… Can you describe it?”

He sighed. “It’s there, and it’s also not there. Like an idea, not something I could touch or see. It’s maddening, like sand slipping through my fingers whenever I try to grasp it.”

Hermione’s heartbeat increased as her mind went into overdrive, and he could literally feel the hum of her synapses going into overdrive as she analyzed what he’d said, undoubtedly trying to find references in her memory to something she’d once read. Suddenly, she drew a quick breath, and he felt her fingers grab his robes.

“I have an idea,” she said, her voice betraying excitement at having thought of a possible solution.

“What?”

“Let me show you; it’ll be quick. I don’t want to tell you outright because I’m not sure. If I’m right, you’ll sense it immediately.” She let go of his back, and Harry didn’t like that feeling at all.

When he raised himself, she was pulling out the Marauder’s Map to check for potential trouble. He knew they were still alone up on the seventh floor, but his senses weren’t infallible, either — constant vigilance and all that.

After a few seconds, Hermione folded the map again and put the broom on her back. Then she held out her hand. “Come.”

She pulled him along the corridor, not saying anything. His senses went into overdrive as he tried to guess her intention and focus on their surroundings at the same time. When they approached the Grand Staircase, he could hear distant echoes from down below. There was also the smell of dinner being prepared way down in the kitchens, roast with potatoes if he wasn’t mistaken. And Yorkshire pudding.

But she didn’t stop, and eventually, the impressions of dinner faded, leaving him a bit peckish. When they entered the main corridor on the left side of the seventh floor, Harry felt a pit in his stomach. Not because of the old cloth smell from that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, but because of the sense that evil was suddenly close.

The very air seemed foul.

“What… ” He gasped. “It’s the Room of Requirement?”

Hermione stopped and shook her head. “No, but I think it’s something in it. Specifically, something in the configuration we saw the very first time we found it, stuffed with centuries worth of lost and forgotten things.”

Harry exhaled, glad that the feeling of doom had momentarily faded again. “That makes so much sense, actually. The question is, did it land there accidentally?”

Her eyes blazed. “No, I don’t think so. Not with Malfoy trying to repair a Vanishing Cabinet inside, and I still don’t know how he even knew about the Room in the first place. It’s far too much of a coincidence to think whatever it is you’re feeling is a random piece of junk that just so happens to be a dark artifact.”

Harry suddenly realized what the solution to this mystery was. She’d pretty much told him when they’d realized the implications of Dumbledore’s half-truths during their first foray into the Forbidden Forest. “I am such an idiot,” he cursed, wanting to slap himself really hard right now.

He’d tasted that bitter wrongness before, had stared it in the eye, so to speak.

“How so?” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Hermione’s face betrayed amusement.

He slowly pointed at his fading scar. “I know what it is that I’ve been feeling.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. Her heartbeat spiked, but she remained calm and closed her eyes for a second. “Are you sure? No, wait. I know you are, sorry. Just… how?”

“Because… I’m a Sentinel now?” he asked, unsure what she wanted to hear.

“No, you misunderstood. I am wondering how…” Hermione looked around for potential listeners, despite him being a living, breathing alarm system now. “How did a Horcrux end up in the Room of Requirement? Think, Harry. What does that tell us?”

He stared at her, realizing he hadn’t appreciated the golden flecks in her irises for a while now, which didn’t help him come up with an actual answer. They still had no idea how many of those things existed, or where they were all hidden. “Err… I don’t know.”

“Voldemort. He was here.” She pointed at the empty wall opposite the tapestry and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to realize the implications.

Harry frowned, then he remembered. “Fuck…,“ he mumbled as the severity of the situation hit him. “I mean, sorry. I mean… How many of these stupid things can there be? When did it all start? We know that Tom Riddle researched Horcruxes while he was a student. But did he actually make one then, too? I thought that must’ve happened later, but… oh, wait.”

He pinched his nose as he was hit by another realization. Someone really should smack him for being a dunderhead. “The diary was one, wasn’t it? Looking back at what happened, I don’t think it could’ve been anything but a Horcrux. Bloody hell.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione put a hand on his arm, her grasp surprisingly strong in her distress. “I should’ve realized that much earlier. How could I not see the connection? I’m sorry!”

He grunted. “Come now, we had our hands full as of late.”

“But still…” She appeared extremely distraught.

“But nothing. Stop it, we know now, or can at least assume it was a Horcrux. So that thing on the other side of the door we haven’t summoned yet, is that the third one? Are there more still?” He felt overwhelmed by how much dark magic Voldemort must've put into the world. That he’d been using Hogwarts as a personal dumping ground for his evil immortality anchors didn’t sit right with Harry. He felt possessive of the castle now, even though he still struggled with the perception of maybe also taking it away from someone more deserving. Not Voldemort, of course.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Hermione said, staring into space. “We can’t worry about that, though, Harry. We need to prioritize. If there’s a Horcrux here, we will find it and hopefully destroy it, or render it inert.”

“And then what?”

She shrugged. “We put it somewhere safe because we still need to go down into the Chamber of Secrets so you can figure out if that Basilisk idea works. Or how we’re going to utilize it, I guess.”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it; it was just a bit too much, all at once. On the same day, even. His skin still prickled with the memories of bouncing against hard rocks on his way down the ravine, thanks to Dumbledore, and still, they hadn’t escaped their surreal treadmill.

“Ssh, someone might hear us!” Hermione frowned at him.

“There’s nobody around; I’d know,” he said, realizing it sounded cocky the moment the words had come out of his mouth, despite it being true. “It’s just… here we are, having to tackle yet another problem on top of everything else. I can’t take this seriously anymore, Hermione, despite the danger we’re in. Maybe I’m losing my mind, but I think this is absurdly funny.”

Her face told him she wanted to disagree, but couldn’t find an actual argument to make her case. It was an adorable sight.

“Anyway,” he continued, sobering again now that he’d put his thoughts out in the open. “I agree. Horcrux first, Basilisk second, and let’s also hope Remus and Charlie succeeded in smuggling Dumbledore out of here to St. Mungo’s.”

She gave him another discerning look, but whatever misgivings she had about his argument, she didn’t voice them. “I’m with you, Harry,” she said instead. “Shall I call the Room, or do you want to?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You do it; I might actually throw up if that feeling hits me again; it’s really nasty.”

Hermione touched his arm again to show her sympathy before she stepped away to walk up and down the corridor as she summoned the Room of Requirement. When the door appeared on the nearby wall, Harry was surprised to notice it didn’t make any sound. The moment it had manifested, though, he immediately sensed a large room behind it.

And the Horcrux.

But, unlike before, it wasn’t overwhelming anymore. More solid now, and less intense. It also made him question why he’d never sensed the dark magic hidden in his scar after waking up in the Hospital Wing. He really should have, and the fact that he didn’t was probably important.

“You look as if you’ve felt something,” Hermione observed.

He nodded. “It’s there, and it’s honestly not that bad. I think. I don’t like it… is it hiding?”

“Not for long.” She drew her wand and opened the door.

As he followed her, Harry squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. The amount of scents swarming his mind was dizzying, and the centuries had left a tangible taste of decay in the room — the kind of rot that wasn’t icky, but sad. He sensed crumbling books and magic brooms with barely an enchantment left in the wood. Like some magical paintings slowly fading, much of the detritus stored in here would never be used again.

But something in here was evil, and it had never been whole to begin with.

His eyes roamed the million or so pieces stored in the Room, creating literal hills and walls of discarded stuff to hide behind or get lost between. Then, there was a scent — Hermione. An old scent of hers, and it spoke of adrenaline and anger. That must’ve been the incident with Malfoy and his Vanishing Cabinet.

“I can smell you,” Harry mumbled, absentmindedly, as they left the now-closed door behind. “From when you found Malfoy here.” He shook his head. “Neville too, and… Hannah? Yeah, that’s her.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow when he turned to her. “I’ll take that as definite proof that the Room of Requirement has object permanence,” she said. “We speculated before that it must be the case since the Vanishing Cabinet wouldn’t work otherwise, right?”

“Right.”

“But now you can still pick up our scents, which by their very nature are fleeting. This is so interesting.” She bit her lip, her mind apparently abuzz once again.

Harry tried to focus on anything other than her lips and found footprints on the slightly dusty floor that were probably Malfoy’s. “It is, but we’re still close to a Horcrux, I believe. I can’t pinpoint it, not exactly, but I think it’s close,” he said, raising his wand. “Can you maybe try to feel it? I know, my scar might’ve been the exception. But if not, I think I need your anchoring abilities again; it helps me let go of all these distractions.”

Hermione nodded. “Give me a moment.”

It was at this point that he noticed how cut off they were in the Room — he couldn’t sense anything beyond the door behind him. That hadn’t happened since his awakening because even in the dungeons he could sense footsteps and smell people in the castle, or even outside. Part of him was relieved because it meant no matter how the upcoming encounter with the Horcrux went, the other students would probably be safe.

But it also made him anxious about being blindsided.

“Professor McGonagall.” The tall man who’d opened her office now wasn’t asking; he was making a statement. Behind him, Minerva could see that the Ministry had sent a full squad of goons, and it made her hackles rise.

She regarded him with her most sour expression, not standing up from behind her desk. “Yes? Who are you?”

“We’re from the Ministry. We need to speak with the headmaster immediately, but his office is locked.” The man’s gray eyes narrowed as if he suspected her to be the culprit. “Where is Dumbledore?”

Minerva huffed. “Again, who are you? It’s bad enough that you’ve been given access to this school, but I won’t have anonymous Hit Wizards run around my corridors. I need names, and I need to see whatever piece of writing you’ve been handed to justify this visit.” She didn’t break eye contact as she moved a stack of letters and forms to the side, silently asking him to fill this new void on her desk. She also thought her instincts to be correct — her throwaway line about Hit Wizards was probably closer to the mark than she felt comfortable with.

The man looked down for a second, apparently surprised that she wasn’t cowed so easily. “Of course,” he said, stepping inside. The men and women behind him remained where they stood, blocking the office door.

“My name is Robard Sceadun, Professor. I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” He approached her desk with smooth steps and gently put down a piece of parchment with the Ministry’s seal on top of it. “There you go.”

Minerva’s mouth twitched as she suppressed a remark to let him know she saw through his bold lie. Thanks to Kingsley, she had a general idea about the DMLE’s structure and its personnel, and she’d never heard him describe someone named Sceadun. She also didn’t believe Kingsley would recognize anyone in the squad hovering in front of her office.

But the paper on her desk was real. Between the dry lines of the warrant that was actually more an inquiry, she could see the puppeteer that was the Department of Mysteries — at least whenever they became aware of rumors about unusual magic — being at work. They wanted Albus, and Harry, and they wanted them badly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, when the silence in her office became awkward enough to let the Ministry goons know she still wasn’t intimidated. “I saw Albus earlier today, but he had to run an errand. It might’ve been ICW business, but I’m not sure; he didn’t tell me.” That was close enough to the truth that she felt comfortable with the lie. No way would she divulge the things that Harry and Hermione had gone through, unless… unless someone had already told the Ministry.

Then she remembered how Albus’ office door had been acting up lately, locking him inside his office and forcing him to use her Floo access. It was normal that he’d lock the door behind him when he was gone, but somehow she didn’t believe it to be the case here. If anything, the door probably had simply refused to open to the goons, but… what did that mean? If this phenomenon was indeed tied to Harry claiming Hogwarts, as Charlie and Remus had explained to her, did it happen as a result of the boy’s subconscious fears? Or was it more esoteric still?

Maybe it also meant that he was currently back in Hogwarts. If so, he’d have undoubtedly noticed the uninvited guests and hidden himself. But she didn’t know for sure, so she had to proceed with caution.

“Well,” ‘Sceadun’ said after fixing her with another long stare. “We’re not aware of any business at the Ministry or the ICW that would need the Headmaster’s attention at this moment.”

She didn’t reply, waiting to see what sort of demand he’d make of her. This, much more than when she’d ranted at Albus’ face the other day or even the Firewhisky she’d downed earlier, was the moment. The moment she saw herself not as a Hogwarts professor anymore, but as a co-conspirator. She’d protect Hermione and Harry, or any of the students, rules, and propriety be damned.

Something of her newfound resolve must’ve shown on her face because her visitor sighed ever so slightly. “Anyway, since you’re also the Deputy Headmistress, I would ask you to give us access to Dumbledore’s office.”

“I can accompany you, but you won’t rummage through his drawers unsupervised,” she snapped, holding up the warrant. “The ICW might have your heads otherwise.” A subtle threat, invoking powers above the self-important Ministry.

‘Sceadun’ nodded, but his gaze intensified, and Minerva realized he was actually enjoying this repartee a lot. He also hadn’t told her everything yet. “That’s alright, Professor,” he said, a ghost of a sneer on his face. “You will, however, provide the student Harry Potter, because he needs to be questioned about his involvement in the incident that almost killed Professor Snape. We need to talk to him, now.”

Minerva swallowed dryly. This would probably get ugly, and fast.

As he sat at the long wooden table in Greenhouse Five to scribble down his Herbology notes, Ron’s stomach felt like an empty pit. He hadn’t eaten much this morning, not that anyone noticed. Not even Seamus had so much as glanced at his plate as he prattled on about how hot Daphne Greengrass was — arguing that the Slytherin ick factor was in fact adding to her hotness or something.

Hermione would’ve noticed immediately, and, especially nowadays, Harry probably as well.

Ron felt lonely now that most of his anger had dissipated, since he couldn’t even yell into his former friends's faces if he wanted to due to their absence. His jealousy about Harry receiving special treatment and being allowed to skive off classes, again and again, had turned into a gut-churning worry that something significant was happening right now. Something so important that none of the professors seemed to bat an eye at Harry and also Hermione missing critical lessons.

But those two weren’t the kind of students to hide and goof around; that was his domain. Ron had become keenly aware of how his former friends differed from him in that regard. What had once been his secret mission to force some fun into the day-to-day life at Hogwarts had left him with nothing but regrets. He still couldn’t shake the image of them snogging somewhere in secret, though. It made his insides turn into a chest monster ready to burst because he didn’t know how to deal with the thought.

In the secrecy of his mind, he had for the longest time harbored more a guess than an actual thought that Hermione and he would maybe end up together, someday. She riled him up just enough to keep it fun, didn’t she? But Ron had been forced to realize she might not see him like that, not anymore. When he’d walked out on her from that sad little classroom, waiting for Harry… That hadn’t been one of his usual blunders.

She’d always been in Harry’s corner when life-changing things happened all around them, and now she’d never leave that place, ever. Because, like clockwork, the new year had also brought new adventure, only this time he was on the outs. Sentinels and Guides… what did that even mean? He’d tried to ask Ginny again, but she still wasn’t talking to him, leaving him to wonder about how Hermione would absorb spells now. But even though he lacked knowledge, his chest monster told him all about hand-holding and snogging sessions in the darkness, his two friends being an item now.

He’d missed his opportunity, and he hated them both for it, for being so close with each other even before, being able to communicate without words. His hate didn’t amount to anything, he knew that — it just was the only handle on the situation he knew how to wield.

Neville hadn’t explained much, either.

Ron glanced to his left, where the Herbology prodigy was sitting over his notes, the quill racing across the parchment. Neville still talked to him when prompted, but he was much more reserved and refused to divulge whatever he’d learned from hanging out with the bitch Bones and the other girls. Still remembering being sucker punched in the Common Room, Ron still had no idea how to react — should he respect Neville’s silence? Or get in his face?

When he became aware of Professor Sprout making the rounds, seeing how the class was doing, he quickly leaned over his parchment and pretended to write. The empty sheet in front of him seemed to be a reflection, though. He knew nothing about what was going on, and his anger wouldn’t provide him with answers. He was left with nothing.

Feeling sorry for himself, Ron rubbed his eyes, trying not to draw attention to himself. But nobody was paying attention to him anyway. Biting the insides of his cheeks, he attempted to keep himself in check when he realized nobody would give a shit if he were the one missing now.

But, despite everything, he wanted Hermione and Harry back, no matter what sort of new abilities they’d found in the meantime. He didn’t care about them being a thing now, or so he told himself. And he definitely didn’t need to know more about all that mental Guides and Sentinels business; he just wanted them all to be friends again.

The Room of Requirement was like a flower garden, now that she focused on it, Hermione thought. Underneath the dust and the atmosphere of neglect, she sensed old magic. Dozens and hundreds of auras and enchantments, most of them diminished to the point of being barely notable at all. It required a lot of effort on her part to sense them and catalog them, but the overall impression she was left with was wonder.

This must be what the world felt like to Harry now all the time, she thought as she walked side by side with him, deeper into the labyrinth of detritus. Strangely, the surrounding room defied her new sense, feeling as inert as any random unused room in Hogwarts. She wondered why that was, if maybe she hadn’t learned to focus as a Guide the way Harry did.

But she didn’t know how to do this new thing… It wasn’t something she could consciously aim at; it just was. Which left her both vulnerable, like during the encounter with Dumbledore, but also able to concentrate on casting spells if need be. What a strange balance, all things considered.

Harry stopped again, his eyes wide as he took in their surroundings. She felt his focus flare up, enveloping her like a flame as he threw out the metaphorical net of his Sentinel abilities to pick up traces of dark magic.

“We should go left,” he said after turning his head back and forth. “I think it’s coming from that direction.” He winced again, probably having been hit by another intense feeling of touching something foul.

Hermione could relate to that, remembering how icky she’d felt before plunging into the cleaning depths of the Prefect’s Bathroom. Curious, that she wasn’t able to sense this most evil of all magical auras imaginable. She wondered if that meant something, her lack of training aside. Had Voldemort taken special precautions?

She flinched when Harry suddenly cast an advanced Quietening Charm on himself. “Why did you do that?” she asked, readjusting the grip on her wand since her palm was slightly sweaty.

“Just a test to see if it makes a difference,” he said, sighing. “But I still feel nauseous, so it appears to be stronger than the charm.”

“Or you don’t sense a Horcrux with your eyes and ears,” she wagered, unable to still speculate about the nature of their abilities. “You told me you felt this weird unease ever since you woke up in the Hospital Wing after that accident, and you didn’t know how to control your Sentinel senses back then.”

Harry looked at her, his eyes focusing on her lips momentarily. “That’s true. It feels different from the other things I can pick up now as well. Maybe that’s a remnant of my own Horcrux, more so than me being a Sentinel?”

“You mean like a compass?” She didn’t like the idea of some of Voldemort’s dark magic lingering within Harry, granting him the ability to connect to Horcruxes. There was nothing uncomfortable hidden underneath his scar ever since that episode in the pond, but as they’d learned time and again, their abilities weren’t foolproof.

“Yeah, like that.”

“I don’t know, Harry. I hope not, to be honest, even though it might come in handy.”

He grunted. “Especially since we don’t know how many there are. How often can you even make a Horcrux, if you are a dark wizard? I can’t imagine it being easy; otherwise, we’d have learned about them by now in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The history books would be full of them, considering how many evil gits there have been since… forever, I guess.”

Hermione frowned. “Not if that knowledge has been purged the same way Sentinels and Guides have been eradicated from the Hogwarts Library. And why wouldn’t it be? Handing anyone with a grudge a recipe for immortality sounds very dangerous.”

“Make you wonder who’s been the one doing the purging, no?” Harry shrugged. “Somewhere, in a Ministry storeroom or something, there’s probably a hidden bookshelf with answers to all our questions.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his frustration, which mirrored her own. “I know. But we still have Ossinsky’s books to go through; don’t forget that.”

Harry didn’t answer, though, having frozen mid-step.

His aura burned so intensely that her breath hitched as her intestines coiled around each other. It was at the edge of being uncomfortable, and it also… It turned her on. The same way his Hot Air Charm did. Only this really wasn’t the time to entertain these kinds of thoughts.

“What is it?” she whispered, afraid to break his concentration.

He didn’t answer, his eyes darting rapidly between things in front of them. To their sides, literal hills of furniture, books, chests, clothes, and all sorts of random items had piled up. Ahead, at the end of the valley, so to speak, Hermione saw the place where she and the others had sat on the floor before they’d ambushed Malfoy.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

She slightly raised her wand, wondering what Harry had sensed — her Guide ability didn’t pick up anything foul. The surrounding auras were so diminished that she didn’t feel uncomfortable by their touch. Frustrated, she stepped up to anchor Harry at least. Gently pressing her hand against his back, she tried to absorb everything magical around them, including his focus. An equilibrium, in a way. And strangely enough… It felt different from the times she’d done so on her own.

Hermione noticed that there was an empty spot close by, something that didn’t add to the magical background noise of the Room… something that was so invisible it left a hole in her perception. But before she could voice her impression, Harry seemed to have noticed it as well. He turned to their right, to an old cabinet, and looked up. There was a small pile of books on top of it, and something else as well. A diadem, from the looks of it, angling from a corner of the topmost book. The silver was tarnished and the gemstones fading, giving the jewelry a strange, discolored appearance.

“What is that?” he asked. “I can hear something… sounds like a whisper.”

“I can’t sense it at all,” she replied, still whispering. “It’s something like anti-magic to me, Harry.”

He squared his jaw. “Oh, it’s magical, alright.”

Hermione could hardly believe it. “So this is the Horcrux?” The diadem was ancient, but it didn’t look like something she’d ever associate with Voldemort — which might’ve been the whole point, she admitted quietly to herself.

“One way to find out,” Harry said. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

With bated breath, she watched him levitate the diadem down the cabinet and onto the ugly bust of an old warlock that was tall enough they could inspect the thing comfortably. Once he’d put it down, Harry hissed, though.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I’m sure it’s the one, Hermione. It feels like the thing I killed in the pond, the Horcrux me.” His wand twitched in his hands. “It’s still whispering.”

“I can’t hear anything.” She still wondered what the significance of this piece of jewelry was, if Voldemort had decided to make it a Horcrux. Even if he’d chosen it precisely because it didn’t look like anything dark, he wouldn’t have chosen a random item. No, he would carefully select the things that ensured his immortality, wouldn’t he? So why this diadem?

It did look beautiful in an old-fashioned way, Hermione had to admit. Despite the discoloration, there was something about it that made her imagine a regal witch wearing it like a crown, towering above all the sycophants that she was surrounded by. None would come even close to understanding the profoundness of her insights…

“Hermione! Stop!”

The mad train of thoughts ended when Harry slapped her hand to the side, staring at her in disbelief. She rubbed her wrist as she tried to understand what’d just happened. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I just thought…”

“You almost touched it,” he said. “As if you were in a trance. Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I don’t remember reaching out to it, I swear. I just… there is this image of a witch, tall and beautiful…”

Harry’s eyes grew wide again. “Don’t listen to those thoughts; they’re the whispers I’m still hearing. Some nonsense about a tall woman being so much more intelligent than those around her.”

Hermione gasped. “What? That’s what I’ve been thinking about! Harry, if it can make me act like this, we can’t let it lie around here. The next student to stumble upon the Room of Requirement might not have someone by their side to defend them.”

“I’m sorry about hitting you,” he replied, glancing at her wrist.

“Don’t worry, I prefer it to being mind-controlled.” She winced. “I couldn’t feel a thing. Is this how the Imperious Curse works?”

Harry bit his lip. “Probably.”

“Now what?” She was at her wit’s end, shaken by the diadem’s insidious influence on her mind. Somehow, it was worse than the thought of almost having been obliviated by the git Snape.

“Does that tell you anything?” Harry pointed to a line of letters she hadn’t seen before between the diadem’s decorative elements. “It says, ‘Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure’.”

Hermione blinked. “I don’t know… Maybe? It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it from the top of my head.”

“A curious line to carve into such a garish thing,” he said absently. “Anyway, if me overcoming my own Horcrux is any indication, I think we might have to coax it out somehow,” he speculated. “To be able to fight it.”

“But how?”

He gave her one of those looks that said he was sorry, and, before she could react, grabbed the diadem, holding it in a clenched fist.

“Harry! What are you doing!”

She saw that he was swallowing bile, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I must do what you can’t, Hermione. I need to banish this thing hiding inside; I have to.”

“Put it down, please.” Her rational mind was being swallowed by the worst fears, since she suspected Horcruxes to be rather poisonous, magically speaking. “Please, Harry.”

His face paled, and she saw sweat on his forehead, but he was stubborn. “I can’t. It’s trying to fight me, you see; I can feel it.”

“What if it’s more powerful than you are? Your Horcrux was an accident, Harry — this one wasn’t!” She raised her wand, then lowered it again since she didn’t know what she could even cast to help him. “Do you need me to anchor you?”

“No!” he yelled. “Don’t touch me, Hermione. I can’t risk it influencing you again.”

She knew he was trying to protect her, but she didn't appreciate his tone. “Don’t shout at me, Harry. I know I’m not all-powerful, but I can’t have you throw yourself at every danger we come across.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he replied through clenched teeth, his skin now waxy.

Hermione drew a deep breath to try to steady her nerves. “Okay,” she said. “But please do open your fist, Harry. I need to be able to push it aside if you fall unconscious.”

He didn’t react at first, staring at the diadem instead. But then he slowly softened his grasp on it, letting it dangle on his hand instead, even though his arm was now shaking. “There,” he hissed. “Better?”

“No,” she snapped, now sick with worry. “What can I do? Don’t tell me to just stand here.”

“I think I’ve got it… almost. It’s… cornered. Just… just be ready.” His voice was rough and uneven, and she feared he would lose consciousness any moment.

She wanted to hex him right now and thought about just stunning him to separate him from the Horcrux. And maybe she should do that… He wasn’t worthy, was he? The Boy-Who-Lived. What sort of moniker was that even? No, the tall witch who owned this crown wouldn’t suffer the company of a loudmouth like that — an unremarkable orphan boy with little talent in the arcane arts. To see him paw a unique artifact of wizardkind was just unbearable. She needed to do something; she had to keep it safe from him. From all those idiots around her, Dumbledore most of all… No, that simply wouldn't do; she had to act now, use this new wand of hers to draw a line with blood that nobody would dare cross…

Something cold touched Hermione’s forehead. She realized it was the diadem, but while she wondered how that could be since Harry was still holding it, fighting the Horcrux, her mind already dissolved into howling darkness.

Chapter Text

Harry regained consciousness when he tasted blood.

Gasping for air, he untangled himself from the trash pile that had, mere moments ago, been the cabinet he’d levitated the diadem off. His ears were still ringing from having been blasted into the ancient furniture by a powerful Stunning Spell. Wincing, he pulled two large splinters from his abdomen and his left leg and threw them aside.

What had just happened?

His senses were all over the place, unable to focus. The light in the Room of Requirement was much too bright all of a sudden, and he winced in the harsh illumination. Every breath felt like he’d been running twenty miles, and he was panting. This was like one of those times right after he’d broken his skull — he needed to find an anchor.

Where was Hermione? Hadn’t she just been here, with him? And who’d fired that stunner?

Harry coughed and spat out a glob of blood, idly wondering why this felt so much worse than falling into a freaking ravine. His entire body screamed at him to lie down and rest, take a nap, do anything but stand or possibly fight. But he couldn’t… Hermione. Her scent, it was just there… only he didn’t know how to read it right now. And his vision had become blurry, but he didn’t have his glasses with him.

There’d been a relic or some sort… an artifact? Ah, yes, the diadem. Why had he lost his thoughts just now? Still wincing, he turned around to check his surroundings. All he could hear was his heartbeat, and his nose was full of dust. There was something in front of him, though… No, someone… There she was! He saw her silhouette, only a few paces away. “Hermione,” he rasped. “What… can you… help? Hermione?”

Strangely, she didn’t react. She didn’t even appear to look at him.

“Hermione!” Almost stumbling over his own feet, he approached her. “What… What is happening?”

Nothing.

Where was his damn wand?

Harry wondered if he should care about being such a mess and not having his wand at the ready, but all he could focus on now was her. She would make things right; she’d explain what happened. All would be good in the end.

“Hey,” he said, coughing in the dry air. “I’m worrying — what are you doing?” But the moment his hand landed on her shoulder, his entire world was flipped upside down as he was hit by an intense wave of nausea.

Within one second, Harry was on his knees, vomiting on the floor. It was mostly bile, leaving him with watering eyes and a shortness of breath. After the third or so time of intense heaving, he drew a shuddering breath and wiped his mouth. Deep inside, he knew what he’d felt, and he was afraid to look up now. It had been the icky feeling of his Horcrux, the thing he’d exorcised in the Forbidden Forest. This one tasted slightly different, but it was the same sort of oily decay that was anathema to everything he held dear.

“Nononono,” he mumbled, unable to keep his rising panic in check. But he couldn’t keep his eyes away from Hermione, blurry vision or not, and so he looked up to find her staring down at him.

Her eyes were jet black.

Instinctively, he jerked backwards, trying and failing to find his footing, desperately scrambling away from her. She’d been consumed by that diadem, by the Horcrux… Why hadn’t he stopped it? He’d been so close to forcing the thing out of that stupid piece of jewelry! What should he do now? She couldn’t remain like this!

“Don’t despair, Harry,” she said, and he wanted to scream because her voice was a fractured, nightmare version of itself. “I understand now; it’s all going to be okay. You would’ve failed anyway.”

“Hermione… you need to fight it!” he yelled, anxiety constricting his chest, making every breath harder and harder. “Don’t let him win!”

She laughed, a shrill and cold sound. “Why would I? This is the highest honor I could’ve hoped to be bestowed with. Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem, can you believe it? And she thinks I am worthy of carrying it for now. Me!” Hermione smiled and stretched out her arms, basking in the silence of the Room.

Randomly, Harry remembered that his wand was missing. Where was it?

“Stop fighting it, Harry. I can almost see your belligerent thoughts,” she continued, her voice now reminiscent of Bellatrix Black’s eerie sing-song. Or Dumbledore, now that he remembered the echoes of that utterly strange conversation with Hermione when he’d climbed out of the damn ravine.

Still panting, he got up to his knees. “I’m not afraid of you, Voldemort,” he gasped. “Stop hiding… stop… Come out.”

Hermione knelt so they were on eye level, idly playing with her wand. “And why would I do that, m’boy?” she asked, imitating Professor Slughorn almost perfectly. “Are you trying to start a collection of your own? Collecting Horcruxes now, are we? Oh, you remind me so much of your mother!” She smirked with sadistic pleasure, her black eyes greedily watching him for signs of despair.

Harry sobbed, unable to keep his emotions down. “Fuck you!” he screamed. “You can’t have her, you just can’t! She’s mine.”

“Tut, tut, Harry. A lady likes being asked, you know. This possessive streak doesn’t suit you.”

He clenched his fists to not scream again. The pain of his fingernails digging into his flesh didn’t help, though. “Says the evil spirit possessing a Hogwarts student,” he snapped, still trying to think of a way out. Where the hell was his wand? And what would he even do if he had it?

Hermione made a pouting face that just looked horribly wrong, like she’d read about that kind of emotion but never actually experienced it. “Well, you got me, Harry,” she said, now sounding like a broken, evil twin again. “And to be honest, for a Mudblood, it’s surprisingly well-stocked in here — a lot of useful knowledge, neatly cataloged. Would you believe me if I told you she learned eight spells that I never even heard of during my time at Hogwarts?” She shook her head.

Harry was overcome with a strong urge to choke Voldemort’s Horcrux out of her body, despite him never wanting to hurt her in any way. He swallowed hard, trying to control his rage, because he might've just learned something useful. “So you know everything that Hermione knows?”

Her black eyes squinted at him, and it was a calculating look. “Look at you trying to find out my secrets! Maybe the Sorting Hat really made a mistake back then, although you would’ve made for a rather poor Slytherin.”

Without warning, she fired a hex at him that hurt like an electric shock, leaving him flailing on the floor as intense pain prickled across his skin. He didn’t cry out, but it was close to the limits of his tolerance, thanks to his hypersensitivity.

“That shouldn’t have almost knocked you out,” Hermione observed, inspecting the tip of her wand as if it was a faulty device. “Very interesting. But I guess being a Sentinel also has its downsides.”

When Harry pushed himself up again with shaky arms, she gave him another evil smile. “That’s right, I do know everything she knows. What a mess my other self made!”

Harry looked away, breaking eye contact. She was still getting to him, or rather the diadem’s evil spirit was, but he had to keep his wits about him now. He glanced to the left, but there was just unwieldy old crap he couldn’t even use as an improvised weapon. “You’re really chatty for a Horcrux,” he said, moving his head slightly to look to the other side. “The last one simply tried to land one or two one-liners.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that memory, a most curious encounter for sure.” Hermione stood up now. “But you’re right, Harry — we’ve spent too much time here already.” Her wand suddenly aimed at his face. “Time to go. I hope dear Hermione’s body can handle the long-distance Apparition, but I guess we’ll see. If not, rest assured that I will always be around, no matter what.”

Finally, Harry saw something at the edge of his vision. On the floor, besides a stack of empty portrait frames and an iron fire bowl of indeterminate age, lay his Firebolt. She must’ve discarded it when they’d found the diadem, when he'd been distracted by the diadem’s evil aura.

He’d rather have his wand, but if he only could use his broom…

Hermione was afraid of heights, wasn’t she? He vividly remembered how she’d held onto him for dear life during their past two rides, despite trusting his abilities to keep them afloat. If the Horcrux was limited by her abilities, her state of mind, her fears… maybe… just maybe…

“Potter, if you don’t stand up immediately, I will torture you into insanity right here and now,” Hermione hissed, and her voice didn’t sound like a woman’s voice at all. “I don’t need your pitiful mind, just your body. And hers.”

He nodded, raising himself slowly, overplaying his state of exhaustion by holding on to the nearby ugly bust. The vague notion of a plan was forming in his frantic mind, but it was stupid and desperate. It was also the only thing he could do now that would prevent a catastrophic string of events — he couldn’t let the Horcrux escape like that, controlling her body. They would both end up dead, and he’d just found her. His Guide.

No, Voldemort would not get her that easily. If only he knew how to apologize a million times in advance, because what he needed to do now… She might end up hating him. Harry threw himself into action before he could hesitate.

Forgoing his charade, he jumped at Hermione and tackled her to the ground. She hissed and fired off spells that exploded loudly behind them, raining down debris across the Room of Requirement. But he’d felt the magic rising in her wand, and managed to slap it aside in time. Then, wincing as he did so, he punched her in the stomach, once, twice, before taking hold of her wand. She coughed and violently pulled his hair in return, but he still didn’t let her get away. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Fuck you!" she spat in return and kneed him.

Despite seeing stars, Harry still didn't let go of her. “Accio broom!” he yelled, holding out his hand as he readjusted his grip on her with his other arm.

“What? No!” She kicked him again, scratching his arms and his face, but he headbutted her in return, trying to ignore the feeling of having committed an unforgivable sin. "So sorry," he mumbled as the Firebolt smacked into his open palm. He immediately pulled her close, ignoring the Horcrux’s panicked attempts to escape him. Then, they were in the air, darting between the piles of rubbish in the Room as he continued to fight for control.

“I will kill you, Potter!” she screamed, trying to cast wandless spells and forcing him to drop her wand, but he squeezed her so hard all she could do was gasp for air. The Horcrux couldn’t be allowed to regain the upper hand now, or he’d lose her. He aimed for one of the windows, desperately hoping that they were real and not an illusion — or this would end up being a very short rescue attempt.

Crashing through the glass panes was louder than he’d imagined, and surprisingly painful. His head was ringing again, and pinpricks of dozens of shards caused him to lose focus momentarily. The scent of blood drowned the smell of Hermione and his own adrenaline-fueled body. Large pieces of glass flew everywhere, and suddenly she had one of those in her hand. “Let go of me, let me down!” she demanded, threatening him with her makeshift knife.

But her black eyes conveyed nothing but sheer existential panic now, and he felt even more like a criminal for putting Hermione through this. But he didn’t have a choice; it was the only way. “Make me,” he yelled, as he pulled the handle and raced up into the cold, overcast sky. “I don’t think you’re actually that great of a flier, all things considered. Look how high we already are, and how you’re shaking.” The wind was pulling at his robes and his hair, and the sense of freedom helped him overcome the dread of having his girlfriend be possessed by a Horcrux. Of having just headbutted her.

Hermione still held on to her glass knife, but her hand was indeed shaking. The darkness in her eyes flickered as the Horcrux desperately tried to hold on to her, fighting the responses of a scrambling body that would do anything, literally anything, to not fly this high, this fast. “Stop… this nonsense, Potter,” she said, her cold voice almost swallowed by the hard wind. “I’ll slash her wrist.”

Not slowing their mad ascent for even a second, he looked at her. “No, you won’t,” he shouted with a confidence he didn’t really feel. “Because we’re not even close to being done, you and I.”

“Don’t be silly,” she snarled as she shook herself like a person waking up. “You will never…”

But Harry didn’t wait for her to finish that threat; he simply jumped off the Firebolt, still holding on to her. Gravity immediately took hold of them, causing wind to scream in his ears. Far below, the spires of Hogwarts made for a complex sprawl.

They would certainly die now unless one of them intervened somehow.

He wasn’t thinking about that, despite this being a much different feeling than flying a broom. But Hermione, or rather the Horcrux, was completely losing its mind. Or rather, its control. Her arms were flailing wildly as she screamed louder than he’d ever heard her scream before. Still, he maintained his iron grasp, and he even managed to wrestle the shard of glass from her.

His mad gamble paid off, since he could see how the darkness left her eyes more often, revealing her beautiful brown irises for precious moments. He hoped he'd still be able to summon his broom if everything else failed, but that moment hadn't come yet. “Fight him, Hermione!” he yelled, using his right hand to hold hers so she wouldn’t scratch his eyes out. “We will die now, and there’s nothing he can do about that.” There was little in what they’d learned about Voldemort so far that’d lead him to believe the self-styled Dark Lord would be so easily threatened, but he simply had to try.

“No, land us now, this… I can’t…. Harry… Just die, you stupid boy!” she rambled, alternating between fighting him and holding on to him. “Harry!”

He risked a glance downwards and saw that they only had a few more seconds before making impact, probably on Ravenclaw Tower, of all places. But he didn’t have time to appreciate the irony. “Now, Hermione!” he shouted, not knowing what exactly she should or could do other than hoping, wishing, she’d get rid of the Horcrux somehow. And, to his immediate and eternal wonder, it worked.

She stopped fighting his grasp, and the blackness receded from her eyes. The diadem pulsed once, radiating that feeling of utter wrongness again, but Harry thankfully didn’t have anything left in his stomach. She stared at him wide-eyed through the wild mane of her hair that was being pushed at by the wind. “What…” she said, sounding like herself again.

“Apparate us!”

She made the mistake of also looking down, seeing Hogwarts race towards them with incredible speed. Immediately, she locked her arms and legs around him and pressed her face into his chest. Not knowing if she’d given up or was trying to concentrate, he returned the embrace, hoping her brilliant mind wasn’t too bruised to do the impossible right now. In any case, he needed to tell her something. “Hermione, I love…”

Suddenly, he sensed the pull of the other side of reality as she initiated an Apparition. And not a moment too soon, because he could already smell the books and dorm rooms from inside Ravenclaw Tower. On the other side, Harry was thrown into wet grass, and he landed on all fours.

He tried to raise himself immediately, only to fall down again. His mind was spinning from everything that’d just happened, and he randomly thought this must’ve been what being completely sloshed felt like. He did recognize that they’d landed somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, though. It might’ve been the clearing where he’d fought an imaginary enemy once upon a time. Or maybe just yesterday, he couldn’t rightly say at the moment.

Hermione meanwhile appeared to be made of sterner stuff, since she calmly stood up and removed the diadem from her head. “That’ll be enough of that, I think,” she said, her voice shaky but her determination unbroken.

Nothing visible happened, but Harry still felt like he was being drowned by an immense wave originating somewhere within her, flooding the entire clearing with that inimitable Guide ability of hers. The diadem began to shake in her hand, emitting a high-pitched whine like a kettle, but she didn’t let go. Then, it started to smoke, and Harry saw that he hadn’t imagined the waves since the smoke actually rippled in the air as it was being hit by whatever Hermione was doing. As she was absorbing the energies that had built the Horcrux, it was also separated into its magical components.

After a few endless seconds, it was over.

Hermione took heavy breaths as she covered up the deep mystical pool residing within her. She was still holding on to the diadem, whose gemstones now shone more brightly and evenly colored. She twisted her hand to inspect it from another angle, but whatever she was looking for, she appeared to be satisfied with the result. “One Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw, restored to its former splendor,” she said, looking at him now, tired but also proud. “You’re welcome.”

Unceremoniously, she threw it to the ground, where it rolled a dozen feet away before falling over. Then she tilted her head back to stare at the sky. “Thank you, Harry.”

“What for?” he asked, completely flabbergasted by what he’d just witnessed. “That… that was remarkable! You just kicked its arse!”

“Yes, but it would’ve taken me too long to do it all on my own. You were brilliant, using my fear of heights to stop it from using me to apparate to Merlin knows where. I don’t even want to consider what would've happened afterward, to be honest.”

Harry stood up as well now, wiping his hands on his robes. “But I hit you, Hermione. Your nose… I hit you really hard. I am so, so sorry.”

She lowered her head again, and indeed, there was a dark bruise forming at the root of her nose. Her gaze was friendly, though. “I won’t lie, Harry, I didn’t enjoy that. But it was necessary, given the situation. And I’m sure you won’t ever do it again.”

He shook his head, overcome by insurmountable regret. “I should’ve found my stupid wand instead. I can’t believe I punched you. Right after kicking Dumbledore when he was on the ground. I’ll never forgive myself for that; you must hate me so much…”

This time, she interrupted his ramblings by putting a finger on his lips. Harry stared at her, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of her being so close to him again, only this time without dark magic being involved. “Will you stop it? I mean it. It was an emergency, and you had no way of knowing that I was slowly erasing it from the inside. You saved my life, maybe both of our lives. Even though you did it in a completely reckless manner.”

Her eyes implored him to please let this go, and he nodded because he absolutely wanted to. It would take him a while, though, but he would try, for her. And she wasn’t wrong; it had been a rather frantic situation. “Thank you,” he said when she removed her finger. “I appreciate you not cursing me for using my fists first and foremost, all things considered.”

“Well, it’s one of my many charms,” she replied dryly, gingerly touching her nose.

But when they made eye contact again, they both suddenly burst into hysterical laughter because it’d been yet another life-or-death situation. On the same day, even. Finding himself exhausted once more, Harry almost lost his balance again, holding on to Hermione instead. She had put a hand on her stomach as she laughed into his side. Unlike before, she sounded warm and lovely.

The madness receded after a few moments, but it left them feeling a bit better. He could smell how her scent wasn’t so sour anymore, how her heartbeat slowed down, now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

“Harry,” she said.

He wiped his eyes, glad he was able to see properly again. “Yeah?”

“Can we… can we take a break? I don’t know if I can handle going into the Chamber of Secrets just now.” She snickered once again before regaining control. “It’s been a day.”

“I agree. Not that I want to make light of anything that happened, but yeah… let’s take a few. Or an hour, whatever. I’ll just risk it, hoping that nobody claims Hogwarts meanwhile.”

Hermione playfully slapped his shoulder. “Stop it, I really shouldn’t laugh about any of this.” She shook her head as she tried to sort out her hair. “Also, I’ll never ever ride on a broom with you again. Ever.”

That reminded him of something. “Oh no,” he whispered, trying to imagine where his Firebolt might’ve landed.

“I mean it,” she continued, unaware that his distress wasn’t entirely due to her statement. “I will have nightmares about that fall for the rest of my life.”

He nodded, absently. “Same, to be honest.” He almost wanted to raise his hand to call the broom, but the distance was too great. And he feared it wouldn’t heed his call anyway because it likely had impacted one of the castle’s spires. It had been the last thing from Sirius, since he wasn't concerned about Grimmauld Place overly much, if he was honest. He’d probably lost that link now, traded it for Hermione’s life. A worthy trade in any case, but he still felt a keen sense of loss and sighed.

Hermione, having sensed his sudden mood shift, stepped up to embrace him. “I’m sorry, I know the Firebolt was special to you. I didn’t mean what I said just now.”

He took another breath, taking her scent in, before gently putting his arms around her as well. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’d rather have you with me than any racing broom in the world.”

They held each other for a while.

“We probably should contact Professor McGonagall,” she eventually said, her voice slightly muffled by his robes.

Harry nodded. “That’s a good idea. We can hand her the artifact you just saved.” He squeezed her. “Maybe she’ll give you extra points.”

“Stop it.”

He chuckled, enjoying the proximity to her and how she calmed him. “Alright, I’ll return to being serious now. Happy?”

“Yes,” she replied, still pressing her face into him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

She breathed him in and swallowed. It almost sounded to him as if she was preparing herself for a difficult question. “Before we Apparated… did you say something to me?”

Harry wanted to curse her perceptiveness, but he couldn’t lie now. “Yeah,” he replied lamely.

“What was it? I couldn’t hear it over the wind in my ears.”

He rolled his eyes, cursing his luck that she’d ask him to repeat his insane confession; only now she’d hear every single syllable of it. He closed his eyes to steel himself, finding it surprisingly difficult to just tell her how he felt. “I… I told you… I wanted you to know that… in case we died… that I love you,” he rambled.

Slowly, Hermione extricated herself from him. Her face was serious now as she gazed at him, her expression unreadable even to his Sentinel eyes. “You said you love me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, nodding for emphasis.

“Then why are you looking like a prisoner on his way to the gallows?” Her eyes darted across his face, searching for something. “Is it such a terrible thing?”

“No, Merlin, no! Of course not!” He didn’t know how to handle this situation, almost wishing himself back to tackling her possessed self in the Room of Requirement. What was he supposed to say here?

But Hermione was insistent. “Then what?”

Harry sighed. “I… I mean, we have this connection, right? Guide and Sentinel. And we like each other, a lot. Still, even though we’ve kissed, I didn’t… I didn’t want to presume. Or make you feel uncomfortable.”

Something in Hermione’s expression softened, and she smiled gently at him. “That’s just silly,” she mumbled before stepping on her toes to press a soft kiss on his cheek.

It took Harry several moments to regain his wits and also his memories. “Wait a minute, I said the same thing when you were crying about Ron claiming you and I had nothing in common. Did you just quote me?”

A ghost of a smile still played around her lips. “Maybe,” she said haughtily.

“You know what? Fair enough.” He knew they’d have a talk about their relationship and all the other crazy stuff that happened, soon. For now, he was content in knowing she liked his confession enough to be flirty, even though that was probably also colored by both of them still being in shock. And since he was already thinking about medical terms… “How about we go to the Hospital Wing? I’m not looking forward to being chewed out by Madame Pomfrey again, but I think I might need her help,” he said.

“What?” Hermione immediately stepped up to fuss over him. “What the hell? You’re bleeding?”

He shrugged, trying not to flinch when her deft fingers touched one of the holes in his flesh. “It’s entirely your fault, Hermione. You threw that vicious stunner at me, and suddenly I had pieces of that cabinet sticking out of me.”

Hermione stopped her medical inspection to stare at him with her mouth open, before she realized he wasn’t serious about blaming her. “This isn’t funny! I mean it, Harry,” she snapped. She was shaking again.

“You know what’s funny, though?” he replied, unfazed by her outburst despite the pain. “That you managed to apparate from the Hogwarts grounds. I mean, not only did you basically graduate Apparition class just now, but it’s also normally impossible to do at all unless the Headmaster or McGonagall lower the wards. And since there aren’t any Apparition lessons today, I guess we’ve just found out how far those wards go up, eh?”

She stared at him, literally chewing on his words, since he could see the muscles of her jaw working. “I didn’t think about that at all,” she whispered, blanching as the implication hit her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to shock you. You’re brilliant, never forget that,” he added hastily, chastising himself for running his stupid mouth like that again. As if she hadn’t been through enough stress today. He really needed to be slapped in the face. “Do you need to sit down? Because I think I might.” He, too, was coming down from his adrenaline rush, and his knees felt rather wobbly all of a sudden.

Hermione looked around and shrugged. “Might as well; I’m still a bit woozy.”

Side by side, they sat down in the wet grass. She continued to shake slightly, but he knew there was little to be done but to ride it out.

“Say, do you still carry your old wand?” he asked, already thinking about their way back to Hogwarts. He knew there were no threats in the area right now, but they still had — again — to walk a considerable way back.

She lifted her robes and pulled her vine wood wand from her stockings. “Of course.”

Harry became distracted for a second by the sight of her skin before he turned his eyes away. “Well, you continue to amaze me,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “I was worried about our safety going back, but not anymore.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

“How did you manage to keep it hidden from the Horcrux?” he wondered.

Hermione shrugged. “I couldn’t keep the knowledge about it secret, but I threw the special nature of my new wand in its proverbial face so hard it went after it like a rabid dog.” She looked at her old wand. “It was terrifying, being a prisoner in my body, Harry.”

“I really shouldn’t have done that broom stunt then,” he said, guilt still weighing heavily on him. His bruised hands felt like lethal weapons, which of course they were. He still remembered her soft flesh pressing against his knuckles when he’d delivered those gut punches. And she’d already forgiven him.

“And I will honestly hex you if you don’t stop being such a martyr.” Her voice didn’t carry any venom, but Harry knew he was close to seriously annoying her. He tried and swallowed his guilty conscience for the moment.

“I am sorry this happened to you,” he said,

“So am I.” She stared at the sky again. He could hear tears forming in the corners of her eyes, how the small muscles in her face contorted as she tried to suppress a sob. It was understandable; they’d been exposed to such extreme challenges within such a short time, and now she’d once again been mentally assaulted.

Harry would’ve given anything to protect her from that, but he didn’t know how to fortify one’s mind… except he did. A dunderhead to the bitter end, it seemed. “How about you and I add Occlumency to our schedule?” he asked. “Unless someone tells us that there were only three Horcruxes and this was the final one.”

In response, she drew a shuddering breath. “Oh, Harry… “

“What?”

She gave him a teary look that he'd never forget. “The Horcrux didn’t just rummage through my mind; I also got a good sense of what it was thinking, or rather the things it hated and feared.” She sniffed. “He created five of those evil things. When it discovered what’d happened to the diary, it freaked out momentarily and let down its guard.”

He didn’t know what to say, other than wanting to put her in a safe room and never let anyone get close to her ever again. To think she had been exposed to the mental landscape of something Voldemort had made… Hermione had dearly paid for his arrogance today.

“The diary was the first one, but he also made two others before he got hold of the diadem,” she continued in a low voice. “They’re both ancient artifacts, similarly cursed now. Slytherin’s Locket and an old ring that belongs to the House of Gaunt.”

“So I carried the fifth one?” The thought was mind-numbing. Two more of those utterly vicious things they needed to get rid of? They couldn’t continue like this; no, they needed help. Next time, they should go with Remus and Charlie, or Tonks.

Hermione sighed. “I don’t think it’s five, Harry.”

“What? Why?” He didn’t like the defeated tone of her voice, not after everything that had happened today. This couldn’t possibly be a loss, no matter what. “Why do you think that?”

She turned skyward again. “Because it was afraid that five wouldn’t be enough, which meant Voldemort was thinking exactly that when he made it. And he created it in 1967, long before he accidentally cursed you to bear a part of him.”

Harry rubbed his forehead as he realized she was right. “So there could be any number of these damned things lying around? That’s just great.” He leaned back to also stare into the gray clouds above. “At least we now know they can be dismantled.”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione replied, absently rubbing her stomach. “I don’t feel so good, even though I know I didn’t literally eat the Horcrux but absorbed its magic piece by piece. And it’s not because you hit me, either. But whatever I just did, maybe I shouldn’t have.”

He looked at her, worried again. “I felt how the Horcrux came apart at the seams; I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I until that moment when I clearly felt what needed to be done. Oh, I might actually be a bit sick now.” She hugged herself. “Maybe I need to cleanse myself again. We need to go, Harry; we can rest in the Hospital Wing.”

Since, at this very moment, he could hear a hedgehog trundle through the undergrowth of the forest somewhere to his right, Harry remembered the pond. “Are you sure? We could also go to the place where I got rid of my Horcrux. It’s right down that path behind us.”

“No, that pond was for you. I won’t find any relief there, believe me.”

That was all the reason he needed. “Okay, let’s go then.” He raised himself, more fluidly now, and offered her his hand. It was steady again.

Charlie leaned forward to peek around the corner and down the street. “I think we can go,” he whispered. “The group of witches from before has left; there’s nobody else close by right now.”

“Alright.” Remus craned his neck and sighed when it cracked audibly before using his wand to levitate the unconscious body of Albus, now also cloaked with a Disillusionment Charm, towards the entrance doors of St. Mungo’s.

They hurried across the street, three blurry silhouettes, invisible to any observer more than twenty paces away. The condemned department store with the fading sign saying ‘Purge and Dowse, Ltd.’ was completely deserted, but they expected the inside would be a lot busier because it usually was.

Remus mentally recited the cover story they’d cooked up before apparating to London, hoping the Healers wouldn’t ask too many questions once they realized that Albus freaking Dumbledore was being brought in.

When Charlie dismissed his Disillusionment Charm and stepped through the massive, blind window, he waited for another ten heartbeats before removing the charms on him and Albus. Then, he quickly followed.

“Where is he?” someone yelled as soon as he was inside.

Dozens of people were running around the foyer, with faint screams and doors opening in the background. It smelled of disinfectant, and there was also the ozone whiff of constant spellcasting. Remus idly wondered what Harry would be able to pick up right now but thought it would likely be rather overwhelming for the young Sentinel.

“Here!” Charlie replied, pointing at Remus. “He was incoherent, and we thought he might hurt himself or others, so we put him under.”

Two female Healers in white robes ran towards Remus and fussed over Albus, whom he still levitated. The headmaster appeared peaceful in his magical slumber, although the blackened right hand ruined the image. Of course, one of the women immediately noticed the necrotic appendage.

“What happened here?” she asked, already pointing her wand at the hand to cast diagnostic spells.

“I don’t exactly know,” Charlie said. “As far as I’m aware, he said it was an accident when he handled an artifact? The deputy headmistress would know more about it.”

The Healer grimaced. “Merlin, this looks bad. I hope you didn’t touch that. How is he still alive?”

“We didn’t, and… well, he’s Albus Dumbledore,” Remus replied.

The name-dropping worked as intended. “Right. You can let him down now; we’ve got him.” She motioned him to dismiss his Levitation Charm and before Remus could even reply, Albus was swarmed by medical personnel and rushed away. The only ones remaining with him and Charlie were a stocky Healer and a tall male Mediwizard with a quill and parchment to take notes.

“My name is Healer Dunn. Can you be more specific as to what happened to Mister Dumbledore?” the man in striking, turquoise robes asked, his voice much more gentle than his professional appearance suggested.

Charlie turned to look at Remus, who nodded ever so slightly. “We found him in the Forbidden Forest since we were told he’d gone there on an errand, but we don’t know what it is or was,” he lied. “Members of the Hogwarts staff have raised concerns that he might be overworked; apparently, he has been suffering from nosebleeds for a while now.”

The Mediwizard scribbled hastily while Dunn nodded, rubbing one of his cheeks absently. “When you found him, was he conscious? Coherent?”

Remus sighed. “Sadly, no. He spoke to people who weren’t there, family members I think. He also caused a bit of destruction to the forest, nothing alarming like open fire, but it was very unlike him. When we engaged him, he did look at us, though.” The half-lies rolled surprisingly easily off his tongue, and he wondered if he should feel bad because of it. He’d been in Dumbledore’s corner for most of his life, and going behind the man’s back felt wrong, no matter his apparent insanity.

The Healer squinted. “Did he attack you?”

“No, but we thought he might. And it didn’t feel as if he was influenced by something such as the Imperius Curse, he acted and spoke like a different man altogether. I’ve known Albus since I went to Hogwarts as a first-year, and I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Good.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose. “How’s that good?”

“Because we can rule out several possibilities if he wasn’t forced to behave so erratically. We will run a few tests anyway, but I will know what to focus on now.” Dunn nodded at them. “Thank you. If you would be so kind as to leave your names and addresses with Hardy here, in case we have follow-up questions… ?”

“Sure,” Remus said, taking a deep breath.

They’d hastily discussed this part before arriving in London, only to conclude that they should use their real names. If they got lucky and Albus remained hostile and incoherent, they might be able to get updates from St. Mungo’s that way. And if not, there wasn’t an easy way to prove they’d been lying — if need be, the site of the altercation between Hermione, Harry, and Albus would serve as evidence in their favor. On top of Minerva’s current misgivings about the headmaster's mental state.

So it happened that, shortly after entering the hospital, Charlie and he found themselves alone in the busy foyer. “That was it?” his friend whispered. “I thought they would interrogate us for an hour at least.”

“Healers,” Remus replied and shrugged. “We should go.”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, we need to make use of the time we’ve just bought ourselves. I just hope the kids are alright.”

Remus was about to turn and lead the way out when he noticed two men rushing down the stairs in the background. They wore the inconspicuous but also somewhat distinct robes of undercover members of the DMLE, or one of its adjacent institutions. That in itself wasn’t strange, since both Aurors and criminals ended up in St. Mungo’s daily, but he’d seen the taller man of the duo before — on the day Sirius had died, in the Department of Mysteries. “Shit,” he mumbled and turned around, pulling Charlie with him into a corner.

“What?”

“Don’t turn around. There are two Unspeakables behind us,” he whispered.

His werewolf senses picked up a pair of heartbeats that approached, and he also smelled them. One of them, he suspected the shorter one, positively reeked of endorphins. He must've either received a magical shot recently or been almost giddy about something. Then, the impressions faded, and he realized the Unspeakables had left the hospital.

“Well,” he said. “That’s strange.”

“Did you pick up something?” Charlie checked their surroundings, but nobody paid them any attention whatsoever.

“One of them was thrilled about something, but that could’ve been a side effect of a potion, I believe. Still, they weren’t here for Albus, which had been my first thought.”

The redhead scrunched up his face. “Yeah, that would’ve complicated things.” Suddenly he opened his mouth, closed it again, and grabbed Remus’ shoulder. “Wait, but Snape is here, isn’t he? If the Ministry is sniffing around after Harry and Hermione, they might’ve visited him.”

“Can’t say I like the idea.”

Charlie shrugged. “Me neither, but I think it might be worth checking. The greasy git won’t give us a straight answer, most likely, but we’re already here. Maybe we can learn something that Harry needs to hear.”

Draco knew it’d been a mistake to revisit the Room the moment the door closed behind him. The gut-wrenching feeling of being out of time, out of options, hit him like a Bludger. What was he hoping to find here, apart from proof of his failure?

He didn’t need to see the Vanishing Cabinet to know that the Mudblood had done something to it. He’d recognized her voice immediately when she’d thrown that Stunning Spell in his face. And where she was, Scarhead lingered as well. He still didn’t understand how they’d managed to ambush him, having been so clumsy in their previous attempts to follow him across the castle.

But he’d seen firsthand how freakishly good Potter’s senses were these days. That botched attack he’d orchestrated with the idiot Miles Bletchley had been a sobering experience. He’d heard whispers about something called Sentinels, but that had to be a Muggle bedtime story or something.

Swallowing dryly, he entered the depths of the Room of Requirement, not knowing what else to do. None of the castle’s hallways had provided him with answers to his insurmountable problem during his wanderings. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, and he was exhausted. Still not tired enough to escape his fears, though. They were the only thing that kept him going nowadays, trapping him further with every stumbling step he made.

It took him a while to notice the smell of burned wood and paper.

Draco immediately drew his wand and rushed into cover, between a stack of thick, dusty tomes and an ancient bathtub. Feeling his heartbeat thumping in his throat, he hastily cast a Disillusionment Charm. They wouldn’t get him like that again, oh no, he would be the one to catch them unaware this time.

He knew he’d still be too late to prevent catastrophe. Because that smell… it probably was the Vanishing Cabinet burning, wasn’t it? But no, it’d been almost a day since he’d woken up in Snape’s office, reeking of booze. Scarhead and the Mudblood had had all the time in the world to destroy his work and him in the process.

But his curiosity got the better of him, and he proceeded towards the smell of burned wood. It was better than ruminating on how utterly fucked he was. The Dark Lord wouldn’t tolerate failure, not with such a crucial mission. He wondered if Bitterwood knew about any of that… if the pompous ass was indeed in contact with the Dark Lord.

Slowly, he snuck towards the suspected fire.

After rounding another giant pile of discarded items, he saw pieces of parchment on the ground. Shredded, burned. Remnants of books, if he wasn’t mistaken. The carnage appeared to be recent. Then he saw holes in the surrounding piles, debris on top of old cabinets, and broken tables. Someone had done considerable damage to the trash. Also vomited on the floor, he realized as he stepped towards a puddle of bile. Strangely, he didn't feel grossed out by it, slotting the stench into his reading of the Room as a weird detail almost to be expected in what his life had turned out to be.

Draco rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the itchy feeling of being covered in too much dust and ash. It was imaginary, he knew that, but his nerves were frazzled, and he was highly irritated. He had the feeling that someone else was still here, in the Room of Requirement.

Suddenly, he felt a gentle wind in his face and looked up to see one of the large windows on the far end of the Room being shattered. What the fuck had happened here? What had the Mudblood done?

With deliberate steps, he moved towards the corner where he’d last seen the Vanishing Cabinet. His stomach was churning now, making him queasy. The weight on his shoulders increased, unrelenting pressure that crushed all thoughts of a happy ending for him.

When he saw the empty spot where he’d spent weeks and months working on the Cabinet, he stopped. He’d know it wouldn’t be here, but seeing that it was actually missing… it was so much worse.

“Fuck!” he yelled, cracking under the mounting stress.

Scarhead had truly fucked him, and no amount of revenge would make up for that. Oh, he’d still make sure that bitch Granger would get her comeuppance; he would take his sweet time making her suffer and bleed. But the Dark Lord would also still torture him to death, leaving him as nothing but a pathetic, piss-soaked corpse. He’d seen it happen to other visitors in his father’s manor.

Draco stepped on something and kicked it away, not even looking at what kind of broken piece of trash it’d been. When it landed in a pile of tarnished trophy cups with a loud clang, though, he was startled and felt immensely stupid afterward.

“Diffindo!” 

Seeing an explosion of broken pieces of metal flying into the surrounding heaps of old stuff was immensely satisfying. He could finally do something, useless as it might be. But it was his decision, his action, all his. No pressure, just senseless destruction.

“Diffindo!”

“Diffindo!”

He imagined his Severing Charms hitting Scarhead’s face, robbing him of his stupid hands, his legs, and his head. Mudblood as well, and that dumb redhead, while he was at it. Bones. Finnigan. Zabini. All the motherfuckers irritating him on a daily basis. They were all dead and dying in front of his eyes, appendages flying around the Room in a macabre pattern.

Then, footsteps behind him. Real ones.

Without thought, Draco whirled around and aimed, eager to not be the one ending on the floor again. “Diffindo!”

But it wasn’t Scarhead standing there; it was Professor Trelawney. Fucking useless Trelawney, carrying empty sherry bottles, because of course she was. What was she doing here? How did she even know about the Room? His panicking mind observed how she stared at him, shocked at having been hit by his Severing Charm, blood now pouring from her lips. Then, the top half of one of the bottles she was carrying slid off to the side, shattering on the floor. 

What was happening?

“Oh,” she whispered, useless, blood running over her chin, dribbling down her robes.

He saw her fall almost in slow motion, somehow knowing she was dead, utterly dead, before her head hit the floor hard enough for her ridiculous glasses to crack. The bottles exploded in a shower of bloody shards, spreading a stench of cheap alcohol.

Was he still in Snape’s office? Would he wake up from this?

Overcome by terror, Draco was distantly aware that he was still aiming his wand at Trelawney's corpse, trying to force her to not be here, stupid, useless, being dead. He needed the world to notice his despair and, just this one time, turn things around. Just once… whatever it took. He wanted to scream, set it all on fire, and erase his miserable existence that would only end in pain and darkness.

This couldn’t happen; it just couldn’t…

Only when he had to draw a desperate breath did he realize he’d been screaming all along.

Chapter Text

When she closed the doors to Greenhouse Five to turn and face the Ministry squad, Minerva’s heartbeat was racing. She’d played the clueless deputy headmistress until now, acting as if she did expect Harry Potter to be in class just like he normally would. But it hadn’t allowed her to come up with an actual plan, being watched too closely by that Sceadun character and the other Hit Wizards.

He obviously suspected her of knowing more than she’d let on, his face barely hiding an evil smirk as she stepped away from the greenhouse. “So, where is Mister Potter, then?” he drawled. “Maybe he went with the headmaster — shall we assume that Miss Granger accompanied them as well?”

Minerva wanted to sigh, but she stopped herself. “I don’t know what to tell you. As far as I know, they should both be here. This is highly irregular.”

“Bollocks,” the man spat after glancing at his colleagues. None of them had so much as twitched a muscle, a circle of intimidating human statues. Minerva noticed two of them had drawn their wands, keeping them hidden in their sleeves. She didn’t like that at all.

“Are you accusing me of something, Mister Sceadun?” she snapped, not bothering to hide her disdain for his fake name. “Because I am actually worried about Miss Granger and Mister Potter, and will have to organize a search immediately.”

The Hit Wizards exchanged another quick glance. “Henrys, you stay here; they might show up eventually,” Sceadun ordered. “We’ll accompany the deputy headmistress to make sure she doesn’t go missing as well. It seems to be a common hazard in Hogwarts nowadays.”

“You’re overstepping,” Minerva said. “You’re entitled to look into Albus’ office, but you will not listen in on my private conversations, and I won’t let you stroll around Hogwarts at will either.” She raised herself, giving the git in front of her the coldest stare she was capable of — thinking of her family, long dead now.

Sceadun scowled, and his left hand twitched as if he very much wanted to hex her, but he kept his temper. “We’ll see,” he said, angrily. “But Henrys stays here, and I will post another one of my men at the castle’s main gates. That is not negotiable, Deputy Headmistress, and I will invoke special Ministry privileges if need be. Don’t make me declare this school a magically compromised site; you won’t like the outcome.”

She desperately wanted to deny him agency, but she knew he was right. Oh, she might still be able to raise a stink over this affair, afterward, in the Wizengamot or maybe even with the ICW. But unless she dropped the lot of them in the dungeons right now and vanished the key, she had to play along. Only her time was running out, and she had no way of knowing where Hermione and Harry were right now.

“Well, follow me then,” she said. “But don’t expect to be served tea and biscuits.”

As they marched back to the castle, she decided that she should begin the pretend search for Harry and Hermione right now, or it would look very suspicious. Knowing that the Department of Mysteries was aware of the Patronus Charm’s messenger capabilities, she drew her wand and wordlessly summoned a brilliant, ghostly tabby cat that darted between her legs.

“Go find Aurora Sinistra and tell her that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are missing,” she ordered the Patronus. “She is to call as many prefects as she needs to organize a search and coordinate with me in my office.” The cat wiggled its bum as if it planned to pounce on a mouse, then vanished after soaring into the air with a long jump.

“Why Professor Aurora specifically?” Sceadun asked, sounding almost bored at Minerva’s side.

She rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t have classes right now.”

“Is it common for Hogwarts staff to use wartime communication methods so frivolously?” he continued his line of questioning.

“Since we are a school and need to teach our students advanced magic, I am sure you can make an educated guess,” Minerva replied coldly, unable to help herself. Her nerves were shot, and she had come to resent Ministry interference in general since the Umbridge debacle.

When they arrived at the main gates, she reached out to open them, but something made her hesitate. The hairs on her neck and arms prickled — Minerva instinctively knew that she was in danger. Drawing her wand, she whirled around and saw that the two Hit Wizards who’d held their wands ready in those wide sleeves were aiming at her.

But before anyone could do or say something, one of them suddenly spasmed and fell to the ground, like a marionette without strings. “Fuck’s sake, Minnie, get out of the way!” a gruff voice roared from somewhere behind the other goons.

Minerva barely had time to dodge before spellfire erupted around her.

“Damn Albus and his cursed Apparition wards,” Moody cursed as they passed the ancient iron gates that marked the entrance to Hogwarts. Tonks wondered if they’d always been open like now, or if they should be closed, but she couldn’t remember off the top of her head.

She shook herself to dismiss the thought as she followed him. “You’d do the same in his place. No, wait, you’d go completely overboard and not allow anyone to even sneeze within ten miles of the castle.”

“And I’d be right to do so,” he spat and stopped abruptly. “Because we’ve got company.”

“What? Where?” Tonks raised her wand, which she’d been holding on to since entering Moody’s house before. But the wide path towards the school was deserted, and the surrounding greenery featured only a handful of birds chirping somewhere out of sight.

“Ahead.”

She couldn’t make out any details other than small black dots in the distance, moving towards Hogwarts’ main gates. But she knew her old mentor could see countless things thanks to the Eye of Vance. “Who is it? I hope it’s not Death Eaters,” she asked, suddenly imagining that Voldemort had caught wind of recent developments early and reacted with a strike force to try to kill Harry. And Hermione.

Moody didn’t reply but continued to hobble towards the castle with renewed haste.

“Moody, what’s going on?” She ran after him as fast as she could, cursing her belly and how much slower she was this late in her pregnancy. It made her vow that, no matter what happened, she’d train again after giving birth — to never turn into a fat, stay-at-home Mum who couldn’t even do a short sprint.

“You need to leave,” he snarled.

“Fuck that,” she panted. “I’m here. Who are these guys?” She could see now that they were tall and that Minerva was leading them. So not Death Eaters, then.

Moody spat on the ground. “Bad news.”

“Can you be more specific, old man, given that this feels like we’re about to hex them in the back?” She was almost completely out of breath now. That meant she was at a tactical disadvantage, and Moody knew that, of course, which was probably the reason for his attempt to dismiss her.

“Black ops,” he replied, throwing a Disillusionment Charm at her without looking. The cold feeling on her head and spine made Tonks gasp, but she didn’t stop following him as he cloaked himself as well. “Bunch of fuckers the Ministry uses to do stuff where no reports are being filed afterward.”

She grimaced, knowing he’d be able to see that with his strange artifact eye. “Damn, so they’re probably here for Harry?”

Moody grunted. “Not relevant. Need to drop them, though. Don’t even try diplomacy, girl.”

“What?”

“These guys aren’t here to investigate shit. They’re called when folks need to vanish, capiche? Sometimes it’s Dark Wizards — sometimes someone who knows too much.” He cast another charm onto himself. “You go left.”

Tonks swallowed her questions; she knew she wouldn’t get answers now anyway. Following his order, she changed her direction, advancing on the Ministry goons with enough room between her and Moody to not get caught in the eventual crossfire. They’d done this many times before, usually with other Aurors present.

One of the squad members, the only Hit Witch from the looks of it, turned around and scanned the area when Tonks was about fifty paces away from the main gates. She stopped moving, knowing her silhouette would blur and reveal her to the other woman if she did. Moody was Merlin knew where — she couldn’t make him out anymore.

Then she saw that, as Minerva was about to open one of the gates, two other members of the goon squad drew wands. Minerva reacted fast, but Moody was faster still. Tonks noticed a ripple in the air, twenty or so paces to her right, when he fired something.

One of the Hit Wizards went down.

“Fuck’s sake, Minnie, get out of the way!” Moody yelled before he threw a series of vicious knockout spells at the whole group.

Tonks immediately followed his example, casting two attack spells before she moved position. And not too soon, since an Exploding Charm already came her way. When the explosion boomed and picked up her robes, glowing hot gravel flew everywhere. Tonks’ ears rang, but she was used to situations like these, thanks to months and years of the exquisite torture that Moody called training. She knew throwing herself into a fight being pregnant was foolhardy, but it also was her nature.

A pale yellow curse singed her hair, barely missing her head, and she saw that the Hit Witch was now advancing on her, holding a complicated shield spell that left an open space around her wand hand. Seeing a few bigger rocks lying on the ground in front of her now, Tonks remembered something she’d used to defend herself once before, during training.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she mumbled, hovering several stones at once in the air. “Oppugno legion!” Her improvised missiles sped toward the woman, whose shield wasn’t effective against physical attacks. She went down immediately when the stones hit her face and stomach with an ugly crunching sound.

Tonks turned away to face the next threat, but it was over — only they hadn’t won. Several bodies lay on the ground in front of the main entrance, now scorch-marked by spellfire. But one last Hit Wizard was still standing, holding a wand against Minerva’s temple.

“Show yourself, or she dies,” he said with clenched teeth. “I know it’s you, Mad-Eye.”

Moody dismissed his cloak, suddenly standing to Tonks’ left, however he’d done that in such a short amount of time. He was holding his wand almost leisurely, but she knew his body language and saw he was ready to pounce on the fool in front of them.

Minerva remained stone-faced, her wand lying on the ground.

“Sontheil,” Moody greeted. “Haven’t seen you since that time Voldemort redecorated the Ministry’s atrium.”

“I’d hoped you were dead,” the Hit Wizard replied.

“No such luck.” He spat on the ground again.

“Who’s with you? Let me guess, that pink-haired bitch that followed you around like a puppy?” Sontheil moved slightly so that Minerva stood between them. “Come out, little bitch.”

Moody remained quiet, but Tonks knew he’d be disappointed if she simply dismissed her Disillusionment Charm now. “Incarcerous!” she cast. “Expelliarmus!”

But the Hit Wizard was very fast and deflected both her spells with apparent ease before immediately reconnecting the tip of his wand with Minerva’s temple again. “Nice try. Do that again, and I’ll scramble her brains,” he said. “Where the fuck is Potter? Or Dumbledore, for that matter? You doing dirty work for the Order of the Phoenix again, Mad-Eye?”

“Careful, boy,” Moody growled.

“Or what? You’ll kill me? I don’t think so.” Sontheil laughed coldly. “The resulting shitstorm would drown you. I mean, you’re already all kinds of screwed since you attacked Ministry personnel unprovoked.”

Tonks wondered if the man had a death wish, since people generally didn’t fuck around with Moody like that, at all. But there seemed to be bad blood between the two of them, and knowing that her old mentor had been involved in his fair share of questionable operations in the past decades, she could only assume that once upon a time, something hadn’t gone as planned.

Minerva huffed, finally breaking her silence. “Whoever you are, stop trying to scare us using the Ministry's name. I’m sure Scrimgeour doesn’t know anything about your visit. Not to mention the ICW, who’d be genuinely interested to learn what happened here.”

“Will you shut up?” Sontheil hissed. “You’re involved in this, McGonagall. I know it. Stop covering for Dumbledore, tell us where Potter is, and this will all be over before you know it.”

Tonks decided to finally dismiss her Disillusionment Charm. “How about you shut the fuck up instead?” she said, threatening him with her wand. She didn’t plan to do anything, just cause enough of a distraction for Moody to use the opportunity and knock this fool out.

Instead, Minerva’s eyes widened. “Nymphadora!” she cried.

Something hit Tonks in the back, spreading a numbing pain that made her lose control of her legs. The world shifted sideways, and she wondered why her right cheek hurt all of a sudden before realizing she was lying face-first in the dirt.

Around her, shouting. The pain still spread, cutting off any feeling from her legs and her belly now. Her daughter! Instinctively, Tonks doubled up and put her arms around her unborn child, wondering whose voices she was hearing in the distance. She didn’t lose consciousness, though, even when the pain reached her chest. Her heart skipped a beat, then another one.

She felt cold now, as did her belly.

Her daughter kicked her once, twice, probably as overwhelmed now as she was. Tonks tried to think warm thoughts, sending them down below, ignoring the gravel rubbing against her face and the loss of sensation in her body. She randomly remembered that she had wanted to ask Hermione something… about being a godmother.

The kicks stopped.

Then, nothing.

“Hey, should we do something?” Susan whispered after she’d gently forced Ernie to change places, ignoring his grumblings about telling everyone about her torrid love affairs in class, since he never actually participated in the rumor mill.

Neville shrugged. “I don’t know… it’s not like they haven’t been missing this entire time, right?” He gave her a helpless look, clearly unhappy about the situation.

Susan glanced over her shoulder to see if Professor Sprout was bearing down on them, but she was currently admonishing Ron for not having written anything at all. “Yes, but I thought they were doing so with the headmaster's blessing. Now, McGonagall is looking for them? And those guys standing behind her… I think Harry and Hermione might be in real trouble.”

Neville sighed and put down his quill. “I guess you’re right. But what can we do? Ask Sprout to dismiss class early because we have a bad feeling? Not sure if that’ll fly with her.”

Susan hated that he was right and that she didn’t have a solid plan, either. But when she tried to ask him if maybe they should fake a medical emergency, he stopped her by pointing behind her. “See that silhouette on the other side of the glass? Someone is still standing at the door.”

She turned to see Neville was right. The person was tall… so it had to be one of the strange men who’d accompanied McGonagall. Were they guarding the greenhouse? “I don’t like this,” she mumbled. For some reason, she remembered her strange dream, seeing Harry and Hermione… and water. Her ears popped as if the air pressure was changing, and Susan shuddered.

“Are you alright?” Neville sounded actually concerned now.

She nodded. “I’m fine. I hate not knowing, though.” Further back at the long table, she saw Hannah staring at her. She motioned to the door, shrugging. Her friend’s gaze followed her motion, her eyes widening.

“What…” Neville said. “He ran away.”

And, true enough, the silhouette outside had vanished when she turned back to check.

“Miss Bones, is everything alright? Did Mister Longbottom help you fill your parchment?” Professor Sprout stepped between her and Neville, smiling at her. She must’ve skipped a few students, probably had seen them whispering to each other.

“Yes, he did,” Susan lied, aware that her notes weren’t half as detailed as Neville’s. “I just needed a reminder of why we should never fertilize motherwort with bone dust; I completely forgot.” She’d actually asked him about that, the week prior.

“Well, I don’t mind if you help each other as long as you don’t share complete notes in class. I'm looking forward to reading your parchment, Miss Bones,” her Head of House said. “Ten points for Gryffindor, Mister Longbottom.”

Neville gave her a slightly pained smile. “Thank you.”

After a few breathless moments where they waited for Professor Sprout to move far away to continue their conversation, Susan thought she’d heard rumbling from outside. “What was that?” she whispered.

“What?”

Then another boom, and another one. And she wasn’t the only one hearing it, seeing that Ron, Ernie, Seamus, and Hannah all looked up now, brows furrowing.

“Is there a thunderstorm coming in?” Ernie asked, glancing towards the ceiling, but the weather outside appeared to be the usual uniform gray overcast. “We might want to close the ventilation flaps, lest our plants drown.”

“No, that wasn’t thunder,” Ron said, his face rather pale now. “That sounded like a Bombarda if you ask me.”

Susan saw how Neville’s jaw squared. “This is insane; we need to do something,” he said, not at all hesitant anymore. “Professor Sprout?”

“Yes?” It appeared she hadn’t heard anything in the back of the greenhouse.

“We just heard spellfire. Do you know if DADA classes are being held outside? Because if not, you might want to check what is going on.” He pointed to the door. “And whoever was standing there until a moment ago has vanished.”

Professor Sprout’s joyous demeanor vanished instantly. “Nobody leaves their seat; I will go and take a look,” she said, hurrying toward the door. “I mean it, folks, stay where you are.”

Harry could’ve sworn there’d been some sort of boom in the distance, but even his supernatural hearing couldn’t make out much this deep in the Forbidden Forest. He’d almost forgotten how long they’d walked last time, on their fateful trip to the pond.

He stopped again to listen, but all he could hear or smell were the animals of the forest and a group of centaurs running through the undergrowth two or so miles to the north. Nothing in their immediate area was a cause for concern.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, holding her belly again. She still looked sick, her forehead covered in a sheen of sweat, and he didn’t like the way her heartbeat wouldn’t slow down, even though it sounded strangely flat.

“Nothing,” he said, sighing as he shrugged. “I thought I heard something a while ago, like an explosion. But it’s all quiet now.”

She scrunched her nose, thinking. “I hope it’s not something in the Room of Requirement… we made quite the mess, leaving it. Because what else would lead to an explosion right now?”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that. But there had been dozens, if not hundreds, of smoldering pieces of paper, parchment, clothing, and other materials flying around when the Horcrux had forced Hermione to fire those spells. And the Room was filled to the brim with dry stuff that was almost tailor-made to catch fire.

“Whatever it is, it has already happened,” she continued. “But I’m worrying, too.”

He sighed again and moved, waiting for her to follow him after a few steps. She was still standing. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, clearly annoyed as she stepped up to him. “I just don’t feel good, but I won’t lose consciousness, Harry.”

He swallowed. “You don’t know that,” he said quietly. “I’m just trying to help.” After allowing him to cast an Episkey on her bruised nose, she’d refused to let him fuss over her any longer. That hadn’t stopped her from taking care of his injuries, though, taking her sweet time to cast her healing charms on the spots where he’d pulled out those splinters, or had been cut by the window glass during flight.

She didn’t answer immediately, the wet noises of their steps on the soft forest floor being the only sounds between them. He could still hear her flat heartbeat, how she was constantly swallowing saliva, and how her stomach twisted and turned as if she’d indeed eaten something gross.

“I know,” she replied after a while. “I’m sorry, I know you mean well. But I don’t even know what this is, apart from it likely being related to me absorbing that blasted Horcrux. I shouldn’t have done that, and I don’t want to taint you, Harry. It’s too risky.” She stumbled over a root but caught herself in time.

He felt immensely frustrated at his inability to provide any help. “I doubt that’s a risk. You dismantled that thing, so it doesn’t exist as such anymore. There’s nothing to corrupt me with.” He wanted to say that she was now doing the same thing she’d forbidden him to do on the way to the pond, when she’d discovered the Horcrux in his scar and he’d tried to physically distance himself from her.

But he held his tongue; it wasn’t the time for petty arguments. And maybe she was right; there was so much they didn’t understand yet… It was about damn time they sat down to look at those books!

“Whatever it is, it’s not good, or I wouldn’t feel like this,” Hermione said. “Maybe you’re right, probably are. But let’s not take the risk, not after this day, Harry. Please. I can’t deal with another crisis.”

“Alright.”

He rubbed his face, annoyed but also tired. She had a point, but Harry felt he also did. If only they still had his broom… they would probably need another half hour to reach Hogwarts. Not having his wand made him feel naked, even with his Sentinel senses. He knew Hermione was more than able to fend off an Acromantula or any other dangerous critter, even in her weakened state.

But it wasn’t the same as having his wand, and the feeling of being so exposed irked him. He was aware that he felt this much more deeply now than he would’ve before his awakening… but that only fit the nature of a Sentinel, didn’t it? Hunter-gatherer stuff, always alert, needing to be ready to face a challenge, never letting his guard down.

Although, even with his wand, he hadn’t done a terribly good job at that, lately. He would have loved to think that the arrogance or blindness that had led him, both of them, to where they were right now, was exclusively Sentinel-related. But Harry didn’t quite believe that and held himself responsible as a person, not a mystical whatever.

That they were still alive was just dumb luck and maybe his reflexes. And Hermione’s capacity to surprise everyone when push came to shove. Not only had she managed to face off with Dumbledore until he’d crawled out of the ravine and made things worse by adding a second Sentinel aura to whatever was going on, but she’d also snuffed out a Horcrux like a candle. After almost falling to her death, which was one of her greatest fears. And he knew with absolute certainty he’d never been able to do that in her shoes.

But, even knowing as little as he did, Harry was convinced that it couldn’t be normal for Guides to swallow Horcruxes. Or, at least, he desperately hoped so.

When the door to his room closed, Albus woke up.

He realized immediately that he was in St. Mungo’s, having spent too much time over the years, especially during the war, in this building to say goodbye to grievously injured friends and acquaintances. His senses crawled over every surface in the room, picking apart all the details, the irregularities, and what things weren’t as they should be. A scent of the previous patient lingered in the air, a young woman… and blood. On his nightstand, a glass of water and a calming potion, judging by its smell. Outside, the usual bustling activity of the hospital.

Who had brought him here? He didn’t quite remember… Harry? No, he’d not just faced Harry, but also Miss Granger.

Albus drew a deep breath to try to focus his thoughts, but he also realized that he’d been in physical contact with Remus. And someone from the Weasley family. Had they brought him in? And what had happened?

Annoyed by the tumultuous noise in his head, he reined his senses in, ruthlessly applying mental pressure to put them back in the box. As he went through the familiar routine of Occlumency, Albus felt relief. It was his biggest worry that, on some fateful day, he would lose the ability to censor himself, unable to keep his abilities hidden unless aided by a Guide. But that would never happen ever again…

“You have grown old, brother,” Ariana said.

He knew she’d be there; she always made an appearance when he did what he was doing now. A cruel, petty response of his bruised mind, an unconscious mechanism, was aimed at his resolve to remain a wizard instead of a Sentinel. He could never waver, or all his work would go up in flames.

The world couldn’t ever know, even less so than with Harry’s potential.

He turned to the side, knowing his sister would stand at the window. She was peering through one of the drawn curtains, and he wondered about the fidelity of his hallucination since he could clearly see her move the fabric and hear it rustle underneath her fingers.

“I can’t help you,” he said, tired.

She glanced at him, her eyes both sad and filled with mirth. “You think that you decided you can’t. That’s not the same, and we both know it.”

Albus knew exactly how this interaction would go, but for some perverse reason, he was incapable of stopping himself. Like a broken record, the needle stuck in the same groove, doomed to repeat one pattern forever and ever. “You’re not here.”

“And yet you wonder why you’re talking to me,” Ariana replied, gazing through the window again. “It’s a bit tiresome, I have to agree. But this is what we are to each other, no? A scripted play, the end already written down, a routine without any surprises — just the way you like it.”

Albus raised himself gingerly, running his left hand through his beard and hair. His head felt light, and he noticed that he’d succeeded in locking his focus, his unwanted abilities, into the familiar mental nooks. Curious that she would still be here, then.

Ariana hmm’ed. “You are sooooo lost, and you don’t even know it.”

She removed her finger from the curtains, causing them to swing back and forth as she turned around and approached his bed. Her clothes — always the nightgown she’d worn the last time he’d seen her — were fading, almost shabby. But she wore it with a grace that belied such minor imperfections, even elevating them to something that added a regal quality to her appearance.

“I am not lost, but I can admit that I am alone,” he replied, remembering having said the same thing a thousand times before, although this whole interaction with her memory felt increasingly strange. He’d never seen her interact with his environment before.

Ariana began to laugh, unbothered by his obvious sufferance of her presence. “Oh, dear brother, you are much more than that. You don’t remember, do you? Typical Albus, can’t even fathom the very idea of being wrong.” She wagged a finger like their mother once used to. “Let’s move that needle a bit, what say you?”

A feeling of cold dread overcame Albus, and he remembered waking up in the middle of the night, being so very sad, knowing now it had been the exact moment Harry had fully awoken as a Sentinel. “What do you mean?” he gasped, feeling how he was losing control; she’d never said something like this before…

“Oh come now, this is beneath you,” she snapped. Then she leaned over his nightstand and grabbed the glass of water to down it in one go. “Cheers,” she said, smashing it on the floor. Albus flinched when it shattered loudly.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, overwhelmed by her sheer presence. All his responsibilities, his problems, his plotting… it all fell to the side because she filled the whole room now, superimposing herself on every detail his Sentinel senses had picked up a moment ago.

She sighed, and it echoed for an eternity. “Because you’re dying, Albus. That curse is eating you alive, but you decided that wasn’t enough and that you needed to take a sip of another Sentinel’s memories. Remember?”

He didn’t, but he believed her, and the thought was terrifying. “When?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions, again.” She shook her head, but suddenly her index finger touched his nose. It felt cold and damp, but very much real. “Boo!” she whispered.

Albus swallowed hard, trying not to scream. His Occlumency barriers were eroding fast; he could feel it. Emotional pressure, enough to break even the most advanced magical barriers if given enough time, or power. He felt his anger and his fear gnawing at the foundations of his consciousness, how his mind palace was cracking. “Can you… help me?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh, you just don’t want my help at all!” Ariana made a dramatic gesture, putting her hand on her forehead. “But okay, I’ll give it anyway. Here, watch, this will be good.” She grinned at him, but then her eyes were green, her hair shorter, the nightgown turning into student robes.

“How about I show you what happened between Snape and me in the Grand Staircase?” she said, using Harry’s voice. “We can look at it in your Pensieve.” This time, the echo was loud enough to shake the walls of the entire room. Albus stared at her, dumbstruck, a vague memory surfacing of Harry coming to his office, after… Severus!

The Pensieve… his nose had bled?

And Remus had visited him.

Minerva being angry, and he’d felt bad because he’d known why.

Time running out as he tried to find an escape from the Floo network…

Miss Granger, keeping her secrets as she stared at him.

He suddenly coughed violently, his throat constricted, blocked. With blurry eyes, Albus moved his left hand to his mouth, only to spit out a vial. It was much too large to be swallowed in the first place, but it shone with the inimitable glow of memories stored inside. The sight seemed familiar.

“Careful, brother. That one might kill you,” Ariana sang to a melody that he knew but couldn’t place between the now and the before. She was sitting on his bed now, cross-legged, her knees scraped and dirty like they’d been on her final day. Her pale hands supported her head as she scrutinized him.

“But I’m already dying,” he replied, trying to find some footing in this bizarre exchange. He knew it wasn’t real and hoped it to be as much a figment of his tortured mind as any other time. In his very bones he knew that he was lying to himself, though. The vial continued to glow and shimmer in his hand, whispering to him in a voice that reminded him of Severus, but that couldn't be important right now.

Ariana waved him off. “Age has taken a toll on you, it seems. You were so much sharper, once. Much more fun, even when you killed me.”

He groaned, feeling another wave of shame and agony causing more cracks within his mental barriers. “You’re not here,” he said. “You’re dead, long dead. Stop talking to me; I can’t help you.”

“Oh, there’s that groove again,” she said, grinning maniacally. Then, from one moment to the next, her face was serious once more. “That’s just the thing, Albus. I’m not here for your help, you goof.” She raised herself and crawled toward him on all fours, her hands, and knees leaving indentations in his bedsheets. He felt her weight on his legs when she reached out to touch his face. “You are here because you need my help.”

He closed his eyes, unable to look at her so closely. Her freckles, the nick in her left eyebrow, the slightly crooked canine in her smile. Too many details he didn’t need, something a Sentinel would pick up with ease, but he wasn’t that anymore…

She slapped him, hard.

The vial was gone, his hand holding nothing but a blob of bloody saliva.

“You’re losing,” she whispered. “This war you brought upon yourself, upon Wizarding Britain, you aren't going to win it. Unless you finally do what you have to.”

“I am trying…” he interjected, but she shushed him. Then, she reached out and grabbed his dead right hand, pulling it up and rubbing her face against it. Disgusting as the sight was, he was completely helpless, unable to stop her even though he couldn’t stand it, wanted to dismiss her, banish all the magic in the room, the world, all the misguided Sentinels… and most of all the Guides. “Do you love me still?” she asked, pressing a soft kiss to the desiccating flesh of his palm. “I know you do,” she whispered, turning the ring around that was on one of his dead fingers all of a sudden. Around and around, three times, then more.

He didn’t reply; he wouldn’t have been able to even if he tried. Had he always carried the ring? How could he forget? His mental fortress was breaking now, wide cracks revealing the churning madness of things that shouldn’t be…

“Come now, Albus. How bad would another Horcrux be? You can do it. Use her, use me… Use me up, the second time, one final time.” She still caressed his dead hand, feeling damp and cold and strangely alive.

Albus sobbed.

Just once.

Chapter Text

As he stared into space, trying to keep the nearby pair of wounded hearts beating by sheer force of will, Harry wondered if he was going insane.

Tonks hadn’t woken up yet, and her baby…

He wiped the tears from his face, angry about his inability to stop crying. But he couldn’t help it; the very idea that something would happen to Tonks’ daughter… A lightless, soul-crushing thought weighing more than the sum of his life’s decisions. Uncaring and unrelenting, forcing him to sit on the floor of the Hospital Wing, alone, in a different kind of darkness.

Madame Pomfrey hadn’t even tried to throw him out, just asked him to remain at a respectful distance, and taken his word that he would do so before leaving the room.

Harry’s clothes still smelled of Hermione, who’d sat with him for hours, also crying. She’d felt better after drinking a potion handed out by the school matron for cases of overexposure to certain types of magic. He could read the scent of her lingering sorrow, though, a faint bitterness that defied actual words. Her body had shaken so much as he’d pulled her close, imagining being her anchor for once, but they’d both needed each other for comfort. Even as Guide and Sentinel, they were still just teenagers, unable to snap their fingers and just turn things right, no matter how hard he wanted to do just that.

Minerva had also asked him to go to sleep, to wait until tomorrow to face the remaining questions and unsolved problems. She should’ve forced him to, really, but the normally stern woman was grieving as well. It was unfair of him to exploit this new softness and break curfew just to be angry at the world here, instead of lying in bed. Of course, he’d come here, the one place within Hogwarts he’d so often hoped to never visit again unless absolutely necessary.

It was necessary now.

Harry knew the Hospital Wing would never be a place he’d find comfort in. He wasn't actually concerned about waking up here dozens of times before, confused and hurting. That was just his life. But that it would be the place where two frail heartbeats were now teetering at the edge of the abyss… he would never get over that.

Harry knew all about this room, its layout, the uneven floorboard to the left of the door, and the blot of herbal-scented medicine in front of the cabinet to the side of Madame Pomfrey’s office door. The spider that had woven its web above his bed some time ago was also still present. It had moved closer to the window, though, sitting at the center of a much bigger web now. Yet not strong enough to carry the weight of a life, even an unborn one, and he irrationally hated the spider for it.

Tonks’ heartbeat slowed down even more just then, her body utterly still.

He knew she wasn’t dreaming so much as lying in a coma, her organs operating at minimal capacity. And her daughter… it was pure agony to listen to that faint, irregular heartbeat, how her tiny hands opened, closed, and sometimes cramped within the amniotic fluid. How this human being that had yet to be born was occasionally flinching as if exposed to a live wire, even now, long after the fight that had knocked Tonks out.

What good were his Sentinel senses if he couldn’t do anything with those insights?

Nobody knew yet what sort of spell that arsehole sneaking up from the greenhouses had thrown at her, but Moody had said not to worry, he’d find out. Harry, eager to distract himself momentarily, wondered where exactly the gruff ex-Auror had brought all the Hit Wizards that had littered the Hogwarts grounds in front of the main gate. He suspected that between him, Charie, and Remus, they’d figured out something appropriate. He wouldn’t even be mad if they were using Grimmauld Place for it.

Word had gotten out, though, because his classmates had seen something from the greenhouses, and wild rumors were propagating through the corridors. Dumbledore was still missing — Harry and Hermione knew he’d been brought to St. Mungo’s, but nobody else had been clued in — and people thought that the visitors had wanted to question Harry because of the attack on Snape.

Which, ironically, was the actual truth, albeit with a twist.

“Don’t be fooled, Potter; they wouldn’t have asked you so much as tortured you for information,” Moody said, taking another swig from his bottle. The man’s hard face was positively stony now.

He nodded slowly.

“How can that be? Is the Ministry really so corrupt?” Hermione sounded angry and betrayed. “I can’t believe that a bunch of assassins came here to literally abduct Harry, only to end up hurting Tonks.”

Harry agreed with her, but he also knew that the Ministry had not just one, but several ugly faces. Those were only shown to a select few, unlucky bastards, though. He had no problems believing that, somewhere in that building, people did all sorts of illegal stuff.

“Stop being naive, Granger.” Moody jammed his flask onto the table, startling everyone else. Harry winced over the loud knocking sound but remained quiet. “Every Ministry has guys like that, no matter where. It’s ugly, but that’s how it is.”

“What do we do now?” Minerva asked, holding on to her cup of tea. “I can’t imagine that they won’t be missed soon, and we can’t hold them indefinitely, Moody.”

The gruff man shrugged. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Moody!” McGonagall stared at him. “The war is over.”

In return, he smiled for the first time, and it was ugly. “Is that so? Huh, nobody told me.”

“Maybe we can obliviate them,” Hermione wagered, not looking up from her hands. “I know it’s not right, but I think we don’t have a choice.”

“Finally, someone says something clever,” Moody replied, toasting her with his flask. “You’ve got it right, Granger.”

Minerva shook her head, but didn’t say more.

But Harry saw a problem with the idea. “Whoever sent them here… won’t they notice when those men are returning with their memories erased? Confirming that something at Hogwarts isn’t as it should be?”

“I have been thinking the same thing,” Hermione said, looking at him. There were dark rings under her eyes, but her skin didn’t look as pale as before, and she wasn’t holding her stomach anymore.

Moody grunted. “You two might die slower than the others, after all. Maybe. Yes, Potter, that’s right.”

“Moody, for Merlin’s sake!” Minerva snapped.

“And we’re going to do… nothing?” he asked, not bothered by the sarcastic remark so much as confused about what the plan was. If the Ministry sent twenty such guys next time, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Don’t worry about that.”

Harry drew a deep breath, steadying his nerves. “Is that why Remus and Charlie aren’t here?”

Moody shrugged, but he seemed to be pleased about Harry’s line of questioning. After taking another swig from that strange flask of his, he raised himself. “Doing rounds now. Sleep; tomorrow the real battle begins.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked, even though she likely knew a few things that would qualify for this ominous announcement. But the ex-Auror just waved her off as he stalked out of Minerva’s office, slamming the door behind him.

Harry had seen Moody cry, later, after he’d climbed out of bed, having barely slept an hour. The man had stood in front of the Hospital Wing’s entrance, staring at the door with his magical eye. When he’d snapped at Harry for still being up, there’d been a moist trail on his other cheek, but none of them had acknowledged it, or the reason for being in that part of Hogwarts at all.

He hadn’t left since then, having seen people around him come and go.

The siren call to do something about Hogwarts was strong, to claim it, to tap into that intangible feeling of belonging and home. Especially since the uneasy sense of being in danger had dissipated, forcing him to think that it’d been the diadem all along. But he didn’t dare move from his spot, fearing those two heartbeats would flutter and die if nobody was looking.

It wasn’t his fault, but it also was… It felt like it was.

They couldn’t even bring Tonks to St. Mungo’s, not after what Remus and Charlie had reported when they’d returned, agitated. Snape, tortured within an inch of his life, right there in the hospital. And those two figures Remus had seen walk out… likely colleagues of the posse that Moody had taken down, mostly on his own. There was no saying how deep this conspiracy went or who was involved. But knowing that some shady Ministry outfit was after him, and Snape, probably digging for Sentinel-related information… no, they couldn’t risk them torturing or outright snatching Tonks; even without Moody’s interference, he’d have come to that conclusion.

Staring at his hands now, imagining them bloody and bruised again, Harry still wondered.

Aurora Sinistra couldn’t sleep, her mind a whirlwind of colors. Shades of blue, specifically, memories of that unique dress worn by one of her students, Miss de Grenville. When the girl had shifted on her seat, the light had changed lapis to azure, and back, causing the fabric to glitter, deepening the recesses with deeper, richer shades. A whole universe of blue, right there, in front of her.

It had been so very distracting, forcing Aurora to bite her tongue once again to focus. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at a student like that, no matter that she wouldn’t even be able to accurately describe the girl’s face if asked.

Absently, she rubbed her hand where she’d accidentally cut herself, and got lost in the crimson colors of her blood, mixed with spilled wine. She knew what synesthesia was and had, initially, hoped it to be just that, even though it would’ve come out of nowhere. But it didn’t feel right; the answer didn’t fit the lines of questions on her mind.

Colors, so vibrant, all around her, and she only now realized. This must be what psychedelic drugs feel like, she mused. She hadn’t forgotten that flash in her mind, mental images of Gryffindor’s most popular student, running or standing in some sort of natural setting.

She wasn’t a vivid dreamer, rarely visualizing things around her, either. Had someone done this to her? Had Mister Potter, maybe even unknowingly? But how could that be, given that she’d found herself in the dungeons on three occasions now, unable to say what exactly had prompted her to wander down there?

And not just her.

At first, Aurora hadn’t thought much about seeing Miss Reynard-Richardson in the hallways down there; students snuck out all the time, as a dare or to meet someone for a forbidden snog. She’d dutifully docked points and handed out warnings, but honestly, Aurora didn’t care all that much as long as nobody got hurt or nothing was being broken.

But Miss Reynard-Richardson had returned on the very next day, just as Aurora had. And Mister Mattingley… if pressed, she would bet money he’d not wandered the dungeons for the first time in the past week when she’d encountered him down there.

Aurora sighed and continued to dream of lapis and azure, without finding sleep.

When Hermione woke, Lavender was just returning from the bathroom. “Good morning,” she said, actually looking at her. Stopping now in the middle of the dormitory.

Hermione rubbed her eyes, hard, expecting to be snapped at, a remark of some kind about Ron. But to her surprise, Lavender’s face fell after they’d stared at each other for a moment. “Are you… are you alright, Hermione?” she asked.

“What?” she replied, struck by the improbability of this exchange. Since when was Gryffindor’s resident gossip queen nice to her, even in the morning?

Lavender approached her bed now. “We’ve been thinking that maybe you’re in some sort of trouble,” she said in a low voice to not wake the others. “You missed so many classes, and none of the professors said much about it, which is weird.”

Hermione wanted to interject that Harry had missed those classes as well, but then she knew the answer would be that he’d been absent now and then since their first year. Harry not being where he should be wasn’t in itself news in Hogwarts, sad as it was to admit.

“I was… I mean, thank you,” she mumbled, not knowing how to take Lavender’s approach. “I’m not in trouble, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Lavender’s eyes went down to Hermione’s stomach, still hidden underneath her sheets. “Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “I… I get it. None of my business.” Her tone revealed that she would make it everyone’s business, though, and do so before breakfast was being served.

It took Hermione several seconds to realize what the blonde was probably thinking just now. “Lavender!” she hissed, angry and embarrassed at the very idea, especially with Tonks lying in the Hospital Wing just now — which Lavender likely didn’t know. “I am not pregnant! If you spread that rumor, I will eviscerate you, and I don’t mind who you goad into harassing me afterward. I will end you; don’t test me. I am not pregnant, and I never was.”

Apparently cowed, Lavender nodded quickly. “No, of course, I get it.” She hurried towards her bed, busying herself by putting on clothes, but Hermione noticed the occasional glance in her direction. She was still pissed, but she shouldn’t be surprised. Stupid rumors like that floated around the castle daily, and she’d been called much worse by now than being Harry’s whore or whatever the consensus would be about her.

But she couldn’t deal with that kind of juvenile shite now; she just couldn’t. Too many serious things were happening presently to people she deeply cared about. Sighing, she untangled herself from her sheets and rubbed her stomach, wondering why she still hadn’t taken that bath she’d talked about yesterday. But she’d been too devastated and too tired, just glad to not feel sick any longer.

When she came out of the bathroom, Lavender was kneeling at Parvati’s bedside, and the girls immediately stopped whispering.

“Guys,” Hermione said, groaning inwardly. “I need you to stop what you’re doing, and I mean it. This isn’t me being a bitch, or thin-skinned, or trying to be the fun police. I wasn’t pregnant, and I am not now.” She put her hands on her hips, trying to project some force of personality and get a handle on the situation. “But there is still something serious going on; you were right about that, Lavender. It would make things considerably easier if you didn’t gossip about me or Harry for the moment. I’d very much appreciate it.”

“You’re one to talk,” Parvati said, her hair looking almost perfect even though she’d just woken up, Hermione noticed with a pang. “After pulling that stunt with Ron.”

She did a double take. “What? What did he say now? I haven’t even talked to him since… you know.”

“Says you.” Parvati glanced at Lavender. “Come on, say it! She can’t just stand there and make demands after everything that happened; that’s ridiculous. Ron was so weird after she told him off.”

Lavender appeared torn, looking at Hermione with a strange mix of guilt and resentment, but she remained silent.

“I don’t know what you think is going on, but I have zero interest in Ron, and I would prefer it if I never had to speak to him again. Whatever he said is going on, he’s lying,” Hermione heard herself saying, wondering where these straightforward words were actually coming from since she cringed at the thought of stating her private business like that.

“So you admit there was something before?” Lavender asked, her face a mask now.

“I don’t know… but to be honest, probably not. Just an idea that floated across the room sometimes when he egged me on or I nagged him. But… no, Lavender. Ron and I are, no, were, friends. Nothing more.”

Parvati gave her an appraising glance. “Well, something about you is different, and I’m not talking about that you’re obviously with Harry now.”

“I am,” she replied, quietly, flinching immediately because what the hell had she just said? Was she so starved for attention that she’d tell Parvati and Lavender, of all people, about kissing Harry? Or had one night of mediocre sleep not been enough to clear her mind?

Her dorm mates stared at her, mouths open. “Oh, wow,” Parvati gasped. “So it is true…”

Hermione silently dared her to say more, to comment on how it had been obvious or fated or tragic or some other form of cliché evaluation of her relationship with Harry. But whatever the Indian girl was seeing in her eyes appeared to be enough to make her shut up, for once.

“Will you ever tell us?” Lavender asked instead.

“About what?”

Now it was her turn to receive one of those looks, and Hermione felt appropriately chastised because she’d known, of course. “One day,” she said, surprised that she actually meant it. “Not now, I am… it’s too much. But one day I will tell you, I promise.”

Lavender nodded, once. “See you later, then?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, noncommittally. Were they good now? She wasn’t sure, but she also didn’t have the energy to continue this conversation or try to suss out the duo’s motives. Maybe, just maybe, they’d actually gossip about someone else, at least for now.

When she stood in front of her bed, looking at the dresser, the wooden chest, and her crumpled bedsheets, she knew she wouldn’t go down just yet. She missed Harry, feared that he might’ve slept worse than her, and, of course, she still worried about Tonks. But there was something else she needed to do now.

Absently, Hermione grabbed fresh clothes and a towel, put them in her enchanted bag, and left the dorm. She didn’t rush, took her time, and walked with deliberate, conscious steps. In the Common Room, she glanced at the relationship wall that was still being curated by the younger students; only now the woolen threads connecting lovers across all four Houses were spreading to the surrounding areas of the wall. McGonagall or one of the stuck-up prefects would likely take it down soon.

She reflected that she’d have likely been the one to tear it off the wall, a few weeks prior. Now, Hermione found it amusing, if a bit childish. But she had different things on her mind, and adhering to the letter of the law, so to speak, wouldn’t get her out of the current mess — not that it’d ever really done so before.

Nodding to the few students she met on the way down to the fifth floor, keenly aware they’d likely all share new rumors about her wandering the castle alone early in the morning, she made her way to the Prefect’s Bathroom.

The door opened while she still approached, leaving her dumbfounded. “Tranquility,” she said, feeling it had to be done, no matter what. As she turned around to check if someone had been messing with her, she already smelled fresh water from the inside.

Like last time, the bathroom was dimly lit and completely silent.

Shedding her clothes, Hermione shivered in the cold air, but she didn’t mind the prospect of dunking into colder water still. The idea of a literal cleansing was strong in her mind, and she just wanted to get rid of the memory of the disgusting feeling in her stomach. What had she been thinking, absorbing a Horcrux like that?

When she stepped up to the edge of the clear pool, mirroring herself in the calm surface, she stopped, though. Tiny lights reflected on the water, showing something above her. Hermione looked up and saw the motes again, fewer this time, but once more drifting down to her like feathers in a gentle breeze. She didn’t raise a hand to touch any of them, though, observing the phenomenon instead.

The first mote danced across her hair, brushing her shoulders and clavicle, leaving the faint impression of maybe being slightly warmer than the room itself. Then it sank lower and gained speed. It suddenly vanished into her skin, near her belly button, and Hermione jerked back. But there was no pain, no unwelcome sensation of any kind.

One of her toes had touched the still waters, though, and she watched the ripples spreading, distorting the reflections. Then, more motes floated around her, all seemingly being drawn to her stomach.

“What is this?” she whispered, not sure if she wanted to hear an answer. But this feeling of Hogwarts being its own entity, of something lying hidden underneath all the wards and enchantments and spells… it returned with a vengeance. She was standing in the belly of the gentle beast, seeing things not written down in any of the pompous history books she’d read. “Are you trying to help me?”

Silence, of course. She probably would’ve freaked out otherwise, because an ancient, talking castle… even in her new, confusing world of Guides and Sentinels, that was asking a bit much. Except, maybe, she was doing exactly that, asking.

Hermione exhaled slowly, trying to rid herself of her thoughts that went exactly nowhere right now, focusing on her emotions instead. Still not her strength, but she was trying. She also remained standing at the edge of the pool, watching motes flowing into her, imagining a tickle that felt less physical and more spiritual.

Suddenly, she retched.

Intense pressure, somewhere inside her. Another gut punch, only from the inside this time. She fell on her knees and heaved, not drawing any breath as something much more powerful than her squeezed her intestines and squeezed hard.

Coughing, sputtering, and finally vomiting, she grabbed the edge of the pool to not fall into the water just now. But instead of sick or bile, she regurgitated… a slick, oily substance. Even in her state, Hermione immediately recognized it as the stuff that Harry had wrestled against, in the pond. Not the same kind of substance, but very similar still.

The pressure faded as quickly as it’d appeared, and she gasped for breath. In front of her, the black liquid was spreading, reflecting the bathroom’s dim lights but warping everything, wrong colors, and strange angles that caused a headache when she looked at them for too long. It eventually stopped growing, remaining as a disgusting, oily island floating on top of the pool.

Hermione wiped her mouth and winced at the bitter taste, relieved that she hadn’t just imagined getting sick from the Horcrux. She stared at the oily patch, but nothing else happened. No more motes floating in the air, no strange revelations.

Feeling her heartbeat slowing down, she wordlessly summoned her new wand, which she’d retrieved from the Room of Requirement yesterday. It seemed to hum in her hand, and she wondered if it somehow connected to the pool now.

Still putting the analytical part of her mind on the back seat, she tried to feel what the right thing to do might be. She couldn’t just let these Horcrux remains poison the pool, so… she needed to do something. After a moment of hesitation, she lowered the wand’s tip and ever so slightly touched the surface, where it was free of the icky substance.

No spells were cast, but Hermione still felt a rush.

The black substance began to move immediately, churning and twisting in on itself. Even so, she still saw something in its reflections. That wasn’t the bathroom she saw now, warped and in the wrong colors; it was something else… a large hall, but unlike any she’d seen in Hogwarts so far.

Wide, dark, with strange statues to the sides. A tomb.

Then, eyes opened in front of her, bright green, a color she knew intimately, but the pupils were slits. Something about the dim light changed, and Hermione realized she was staring at a Basilisk’s face. But it didn’t do anything besides stare and coil around itself; at least, that was her impression. It was impossibly large, as it stared at her, unblinking.

She wondered idly why she didn’t have a feeling of déjà-vu, since she’d faced this beast once before. But there was no recognition at all, just a measure of fear and wonder.

Something rumbled deep underneath her knees now, and suddenly the image broke as the pool began to drain itself. Within seconds, the thunderous waters had vacated the pool, leaving a large hole in the bottom that definitely hadn’t been there before.

Hermione tried to steady her nerves, trying to retain every single detail of what had just happened. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, she needed to tell Harry.

“Has anyone seen Sybill?”

Shaking heads answered Minerva when she looked around her office, which, to her memory, had never been this full. Eight people, all involved in the current affairs somehow, as friends, as allies, or involuntarily even.

“Has she been missing for long?” Remus asked.

“No.” She double-checked the parchment in front of her. “She taught her classes yesterday, nothing out of the ordinary. I am told she was her usual self at breakfast.” Minerva sighed. “But she hasn’t been seen since late in the afternoon, when someone saw her ascend the Grand Staircase. Her quarters are undisturbed, nothing seems to be missing, and she didn’t pack for a trip.”

Charlie exchanged a glance with Moody and Remus. “Did those Hit Wizards take her, maybe? They were the only foreigners to enter the school, in numbers even, at least that we know of.”

“Why her, though?”

Moody made a sound of disgust. “Probably curing her hangover in some broom closet.” Minerva winced; she’d been afraid that would land on the table, even though it was true, Sybill had developed a bit of a sherry problem.

“What?” Neville clapped a hand to his mouth, visibly afraid he might’ve been too loud.

Minerva gave Moody an annoyed stare, but the man wasn’t cowed easily and simply shrugged in return. “Can we please remain focused?” she asked. “What Sybill does in her spare time is, so far at least, her private business. But she isn’t in any easily accessible room, closet, or any corner of the castle that we could find.” She looked at Aurora, who was still appearing tired and grumpy. “Professor Sinistra did organize the search, the second one within one day, even if the first one thankfully didn’t last that long.”

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, for the first time since he’d entered the office. He also appeared not to have slept all that much, but Minerva knew why that was. She’d checked on Tonks herself two times last night, having seen Harry asleep in his corner on the floor — it’d broken her heart, but she knew that, to him, it was likely even more painful because he could sense how the curse was eating away at the Metamorphmagus’ life, and her daughter’s.

Aurora shook her head, reaching for her cup of tea. “Don’t apologize, Mister Potter. You weren’t at fault. It might’ve been a good thing you weren’t here, even though you broke several rules with your excursion into the Forbidden Forest.”

Knowing that just by having Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom sit in on this meeting of the minds, at Hermione’s insistence, Minerva had put herself in a difficult spot. “That’s true, but in this case, I can’t in good conscience hand out detentions,” she said, looking at the four students in front of her. “I know it looks as if Mister Potter and Miss Granger receive preferential treatment that way, but their circumstances were rather extreme.”

“We know about that,” Susan said nervously, fiddling with her cup of tea. “And we’re not angry that they won’t serve detention; that would be ridiculous. Harry is always involved in some dangerous plot, even though he doesn’t want to be, right? And Hermione helps him get through it.”

“Pragmatic, like your aunt. You, too, might not die immediately when Voldy arrives,” Moody snorted from his end of the table.

Minerva felt her anger spike. “Mad-Eye! Stop this nonsense immediately.” She didn’t need him spreading his unique brand of slightly encouraging pessimism now, especially with students present who might actually be in danger. To her surprise, he raised a hand in a placating gesture.

“Well, he’s not wrong, is he?” Charlie asked quietly. “From what you told us, Minerva, and what Remus and the kids pieced together, it stands to reason that Albus fears Voldemort will eventually learn about Harry being a Sentinel. He might already have. And if that won’t entice him to come knocking… what will?”

Hermione drew a sharp breath and exchanged a meaningful look with Harry. Minerva suspected that the both of them knew more than they were letting on, and debated with herself whether to ask them to share. It wouldn’t do to miss important details out of a misguided sense of anxiety, but on the other hand, she didn't mean to pry into what, likely, was a very personal topic for Harry.

But Charlie and Remus also appeared to be sitting on something they’d kept to themselves, judging by subtle signs of nervousness that she easily picked up thanks to decades of experience as a professor.

“We… we might know something that is even more important to Voldemort than Harry being a Sentinel,” Hermione said, looking at every person in the room in turn. “We learned about this a while ago but decided to keep it a secret. Dumbledore knows, though, and he didn’t tell us.”

“They revealed it to us when we met at my house,” Remus added, staring off into space. “It’s dark.”

Harry nodded. “I’m just remembering… we probably should’ve invited Professor Slughorn as well, because he… he also knows. He is actually integral to the story, at least what happened in the past that led us here.”

“Horace?” Minerva asked, wondering what Harry was referring to.

“Yes, he… I can’t tell you that; it’s private and not my story to tell. I feel bad that Dumbledore asked me to, and I don’t want to repeat that,” Harry rambled. “But it’s not super important right now because what we’re talking about is something called Horcruxes.”

Aurora flinched, spilling tea, and Minerva found herself digging her nails into the piece of parchment with notes about Sybill’s potential whereabouts. She knew that word, knew it meant bad things, but she didn’t know exactly what it was, other than magic of the darkest sort imaginable.

“What’s that?” Neville asked, unbothered about breaking the silence now that he was speaking directly to his friends.

“An immortality anchor, so to speak,” Hermione replied in Harry’s stead. “Something very dark — it's evil magic. But it allows you to remain, when you die, not just as a magical portrait or a memory.”

A moment of silence reigned in Minerva’s office.

“You’ve only got it half-right this time, Granger,” Moody said, both his magical and his regular eye fixed on her. “Horcruxes are easily the most evil things you will encounter. Not because there aren’t rituals even more fucked up, but because those require time and effort. Horcruxes, meanwhile, aren’t difficult to make, if you know what you’re doing, and they are even harder to find afterward.”

Harry glanced at the ex-Auror, and Minerva wondered if that had been a hidden remark at the boy’s expense. She needed to have a talk with Moody, and soon.

“So a Horcrux can be a thing, like… like what, a book? A quill?” Susan asked, her face scrunched up as she was thinking.

Harry smiled tiredly. “Exactly like that. It can be anything, and I have, in fact, seen a book Horcrux in our second year.”

“What? Where?”

“In the Chamber of Secrets. It was a cursed diary Ginny had been using; it had influenced her and taken over her in the end. I hope she won’t mind me sharing that since you said that you would tell her and the others about this meeting later.” He appeared torn about having divulged as much as he already had.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure she won’t be angry,” she said. “It’s important to get the facts on the table now. She knows that.”

“You’re telling me Ginny was being mind-controlled by a Horcrux back then?” Neville asked, frowning. “Merlin, that explains so much in hindsight. I… I had no idea.”

“None of us did,” Harry said, sounding bitter now. “I only realized the other day, even though Dumbledore knew. I mean, we destroyed it in the end, but I would’ve loved to eventually learn what the hell really happened down there.”

“Wait… are you telling me that Horcrux is dead? But how is that even possible… how many are there?” Aurora asked, placing her empty cup back on the table with a slight tremor in her hands.

Moody laughed once, without humor. “Another good question.”

“We know for sure that there are five,” Hermione said, her hand still on Harry, and Minerva saw that the girl’s knuckles tightened. “But we suspect there are more.”

“Fuck me,” Charlie groaned.

Minerva sighed as she rubbed her nose, trying to digest what she’d just heard. “Language, please,” she said. It boggled her mind what the kids had been forced to deal with… but she was also furious because Albus had cleverly avoided telling her about any of this, despite her demand for actual answers. What had possessed him to keep something so vital a secret? She wasn’t a rumormonger; she’d been his staunchest ally for decades now.

But that was in the past, and now she found herself on a different path, an altogether more exhausting path but one that might actually lead somewhere other than convoluted lies and secrecy. When she looked up, Hermione was giving her an approving nod. “The reason we know all this is that we have encountered two other Horcruxes so far.” The girl swallowed dryly. “Both have been destroyed.”

Moody suddenly leaned over the table, his attention now fully on her. “Go on, this better be good,” he growled. “I can see that you’re both different. If you manage to infect yourselves with Voldy’s particular brand of insanity, I will put you down.”

Feeling white-hot anger rushing through her veins now, Minerva stood up to maybe hex Moody in the side; she didn’t actually know, but Remus raised a hand and motioned her to not interfere, even shaking his head. It defused her anger almost immediately because she knew him to be firmly in Harry’s corner, even though she didn’t understand why he would let Moody threaten the kids like that.

Everyone else was staring at Hermione, Harry, and Moody.

“I know what you mean,” Hermione said, not breaking eye contact with the grizzled ex-Auror. Minerva felt goosebumps all of a sudden, and the air in her office seemed heavy and laden with meaning. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that the feeling originated with Miss Granger.

“Harry has been carrying a Horcrux for most of his life, in his scar. It was an accidental creation when… you-know-what happened.” She dared Moody to interrupt, but the man didn’t move as he continued to fix her with his stare. “When we found out, I was devastated, but I also knew we would get rid of it. Harry finally exorcised the thing in a pond, deep in the Forbidden Forest, and it is no more. That’s why the scar has been fading lately.”

Minerva, like everyone else in the room, glanced at Harry’s forehead. The boy moved his hair to the side to reveal that Hermione had spoken the truth; the ridge on his forehead was pale now, not the angry red Minerva remembered from other occasions.

“Girl, how would you even know it’s gone?” Moody’s voice still had a hard edge, his right hand under the table likely clutching his wand, now, if it hadn’t done so this entire time. Minerva was also holding hers, committed to not letting him attack one of her students. He’d saved her life just yesterday, but she still knew he tended to err on the side of violence as much as Albus did on the side of… doing nothing, basically.

“I can sense it,” Hermione snapped. “I think most people can; those things are just vile.” She removed her hand from Harry’s shoulder and folded her fingers. “And it’s not there anymore when I touch his forehead. I also saw what happened in that pond.”

“What about the other Horcrux?” Susan asked, transfixed.

This time, Harry decided to speak, and Hermione let him. “We found it just yesterday, in the Room of Requirement. For those of you who don’t know, there’s a room in Hogwarts that appears as whatever you need it to be, be it storage space, a loo, a classroom, a library, or whatever.”

Seeing how all four students exchanged glances now, Minerva had an idea that this would likely be the room where the members of Dumbledore’s Army regularly had vanished to during Umbridge’s reign of terror. What a curious way of resolving that old mystery, although she suspected that Albus had probably known all along.

“And ever since I woke up in the Hospital Wing with my senses being messed up, I’ve felt a certain danger lurking in the castle, somewhere,” Harry continued. “I could never pin it down, but yesterday we found it was a Horcrux, hidden in the Room.”

“Where is it now?” Charlie asked.

Hermione raised her chin. “Destroyed,” she said, “but, unlike the book Harry mentioned, we managed to keep the object intact. Which is a good thing, because it’s not some random piece of junk.” She grabbed her bag to rummage in it.

Moody was standing up now, stepping back, as if he expected a bomb to explode.

“Mad-Eye, stop it, or I will tackle you,” Remus stage-whispered furiously.

“If she’s wrong, I’m not taking any chances,” he replied.

Charlie motioned to Remus to calm down and turned to the old man. “Tonks trusted them,” he said. “I would appreciate it if you could do the same.”

In return, Moody folded in on himself. He remained standing but lowered his wand arm. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” he mumbled. “Good for you, boy.”

Something told Minerva he wouldn’t overreact and hex anyone in the room unprovoked now. Charlie’s comment might’ve been a bit underhanded, but she also knew nothing else would’ve gotten through that man’s armor. She felt a bit sorry for him because, of course, he was worried sick about Tonks; he just couldn’t show it.

Hermione meanwhile had been waiting, and slowly removed her hand from her bag now. With it came a silver diadem with colorful stones, and Minerva felt dizzy when she realized what she was looking at. “Ravenclaw’s Diadem,” she gasped. “It had been lost for so long… and it was here, in Hogwarts?”

“Yes, but only since the late 1960s, when Tom Riddle placed it in the Room of Requirement. He got the secret from the Gray Lady, is what Hermione told me. Anyway, we managed to exorcise the Horcrux from it — without water, this time. It was a close call, though; I'm not going to lie and say it was easy, and we both would rather not do it again.”

“Is this… was this one of the five you mentioned?” Remus asked.

Hermione carefully placed the diadem on Minerva’s desk. “Yes,” she said.

“What was so difficult about this one, if you don’t mind me asking?” Susan asked.

Harry leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Moody, I can sense the magic boiling in your wand arm; please don’t throw a curse at us,” he said in a low voice. “The problem we faced was that… that the damn thing had taken control of Hermione. It was an accident.”

“Are you okay now?” Minerva asked, wondering if she should do something or continue to take things in stride for the moment. Hermione had already been in the Hospital Wing, and nobody had noticed anything apart from her being tired and feeling a bit sick, which was more than understandable given the circumstances.

“I am, really. It controlled me for a while, but Harry managed to break its hold on me, and then we found out I could actually damage the magical construct. Without a wand.” Hermione hugged herself, appearing very self-conscious.

Moody had regained his composure and leaned against the wall now, still standing. “I would like to see that,” he said. “Because I say you're taking the piss.”

“Man, didn’t you tell us about Sentinels and Guides yesterday, after the mop-up?” Charlie asked, clearly irritated. “How they can transcend normal magical limits? How is this not exactly that?”

“Horcruxes are anathema to life, and they are insidious,” he replied, still staring at Hermione. “If Granger thinks she destroyed one, or even absorbed it — yeah, I noticed you didn’t outright say that, Missy, but it’s what you meant — then she might carry it right now. A true Guide wouldn’t be able to stomach such a thing in the first place anyway.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “I know what I am.”

“Yeah, sure.” Moody waved her off.

“I can prove it,” Harry interjected, his gaze hardened now. “Like I did before with Dumbledore, I can show you my memories and prove she’s right.”

Remus crossed his arms and sighed. “That’s a nice thought, Harry, but I don’t think anyone here can actually look at those and not suffer immense harm.”

“What? Why?” Aurora looked back and forth between the two of them.

Moody nodded as if he’d understood something. “Ah, because Potter’s memories will fry the brains of anyone who’s not a Sentinel or a Guide,” he growled. “Shame, I would’ve loved to see those.”

“Now what? You just say Hermione is a liar, and that’s that?” Susan asked, clearly irritated by the turn of events. “I believe her; I saw a few things myself.”

Harry glanced at her.

“You know… the stuff, from my dreams,” the redhead mumbled, demure. When nobody reacted for a second or two, she put her head in her hands. “Merlin, this is awkward. Can I tell them, Harry?“

“Of course.”

Minerva admired his trust in this moment, how comfortable he was with his friend sharing something private with everyone now.

Susan breathed in, then out. “I’ve had a dream about Harry and Hermione. They were at a pond, and he was hunting someone, I think. It was confusing, but it also felt very profound.” She sighed. “Also, I'm not the only one. Something is going on.”

Minerva saw that Aurora was giving Susan a rather odd look, as if trying to assess the girl’s sanity. She agreed with Miss Bones; something else was indeed going on, but it didn’t seem as important to her as the topics of Voldemort’s immortality anchors, as Miss Granger had coined them. “If I may,” she interrupted, giving Harry's friend a polite nod. "I think we’re getting sidetracked. It is, of course, important to understand what happened why your friend's dreams react to something that happened in the real. But, dark as they are, those Horcruxes are more crucial still. Or why Miss Granger was able to… destroy them. To have actual proof of that would help immensely when dealing with the Ministry, which, make no mistake, we will have to at some point. Not a shady department, the actual Minister of Magic if need be.”

She looked around and saw acceptance in every single face, even Moody’s.

“And also, not to make light of Sybill’s disappearance, but I think we need to talk about the whereabouts of the other Horcruxes. If there exist more than five of these horrible things, and three have indeed been destroyed — where are the rest? Can you sense them? And are there more at Hogwarts at this moment?” She wouldn’t be surprised if there were, given what's happened recently, but Minerva dearly hoped to be proven wrong.

To her surprise, Harry and Hermione both looked at Remus now, who nodded and exhaled slowly. “Right,” he said. “We’ve only begun to speculate about this topic, but Hermione knows what the diadem’s Horcrux knew about its brethren — we need to find the Gaunt family ring, and an artifact that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself, a locket.”

He paused to glance at Moody, who seemed to be deep in thought.

“I think I’ve even heard about that one, maybe even seen it, but I can’t remember off the top of my head,” Remus continued. “But we have a plan, or at least a rough outline. We need to hunt those things down before Voldemort knows what’s happening, and we need to do it soon.”

Neville, against Minerva’s expectations, leaned back to fold his hands. “Are we talking about a treasure hunt or something like that?” he asked, clearly mulling things over in his mind as well.

Remus smiled. “Exactly like that, Mister Longbottom. Here’s what we think…”

Chapter Text

“Severus.”

Snape woke up immediately, his magically induced dreamless slumber dissolving the instant he recognized the voice of Albus. He breathed in, feeling his heart beating rhythmically once again, memories of excruciating pain lingering in his flesh. His tongue felt funny, still not having healed properly after he’d bitten it off in his agony.

“What is it this time?” he asked, his voice broken.

Albus didn’t appear particularly healthy. Pale skin, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes — he could also see signs of that seemingly eternal nosebleed again. Strangely, the old man’s dead hand appeared to be holding something invisible, finger bones creaking underneath mummified flesh as they flexed ever so slightly. Severus shuddered, wanting to forget he'd ever laid eyes on the cursed appendage.

“I came to offer my apologies for not protecting you,” Albus said, staring. “I should’ve asked someone from the Order to stand guard.”

Snape tried to laugh, but he didn’t have the energy, so he simply raised his eyebrows. “But that would’ve revealed too much, wouldn’t it? Order members, looking over my shoulder, what would the Dark Lord make of that…? ”He snorted and coughed dryly, his throat still raw. “Might he not suspect me to be more than being his double agent then, Albus? You, who left Potter to fend for himself for ten years, suddenly developing a protective streak? Let’s not flatter ourselves; I am a useful tool to both of you.”

An occasional bout of self-righteousness felt empowering, he’d discovered. Giving Albus a piece of his mind wouldn’t undo the seemingly endless torture he’d endured in this very room, but it was something. Normally he thought himself above such base instincts — right now he didn’t care very much either way.

“Don't ever say that, Severus. You are much more than that.” Albus’ scrutiny was somehow different from other times when they'd argued. Severus felt exposed, all his faults laid bare underneath that dark gaze of the man he both despised and admired, if not in equal amounts.

“And yet you don't have the appearance of a wizard who entered this room purely out of the goodness of his heart, Albus.”

He saw a frown and another flex of that impossible dead head. Albus appeared to glance at something to his right, seeming to come to a conclusion. “Indeed, I have not,” he said. “I need to know what happened, Severus. Specifically, what Harry did when he assisted you, how he… if there were irregularities in his behavior.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Too many to list them, as we all know. And we already spoke about this, at length, last time you came here.”

“I remember. I also remember removing your memory of being pushed out of Granger’s mind to protect you so we can study it later.” Albus nodded in that infuriating, long-suffering way of his. “But something else has come to light since the attack in the Grand Staircase — I'm questioning if we haven't overlooked a piece of information simply because we didn't know what questions to ask.” He flinched suddenly, looking to his right again.

“What?” Severus asked, turning his head, but all he could see was the rest of his dreadful room, haunted by specters of the two Hit Wizards turned Death Eaters who’d left him on the brink of death.

Albus shook his head, appearing even more tired now. “It’s nothing; I just thought I heard someone.”

Severus was sure there hadn't been any sound whatsoever. A feeling of déjà-vu overcame him since he'd witnessed Potter almost lose control of his feeble mind in class over the most ordinary sounds and sights nobody else noticed. “Very droll,” he remarked.

“So, can you elaborate?” Albus asked, being all business once again. He waved his dead hand as if to shush someone, and Severus wondered what the hell was going on because, unless there was an invisible third-party present in the room, the old man was clearly hallucinating. Or both. His problem was that Albus would absolutely bring someone here under a Disillusionment Charm if that would somehow play into his plotting — to idly and constantly dismiss him as a senile fool came at a risk.

“I was on my way to you,” Severus recounted, sharing in the old man's apparent exhaustion as he tried to accept the current situation. “I had the distinct impression that Potter… that he’d begun claiming the castle.” There was no way he’d give voice to the shameful feelings of abject terror he’d experienced scrambling out of his office after literally pissing himself in fear. It had been a trick of the mind, a momentary failure of his mental barriers. “It was unpleasant; let’s just say that.”

“I see. Headaches? Nosebleeds?”

He stared at the headmaster, just now realizing the parallels. “What… are you… Albus, are you feeling it too?” If it wasn’t a personal failure of his to have been so afraid, then the Potter problem might be even worse than he suspected. The old man simply nodded once, confirming his fears without elaborating.

Severus exhaled slowly to collect his thoughts. “Anyway, I rushed up the Grand Staircase to your office when suddenly I was accosted by someone invisible. It didn’t feel like a regular Disillusionment Charm but more advanced magic. They fought me on the landing where I was found, then suddenly Potter came from Merlin knows where and involved himself, causing me to lose focus.” How he despised the attention-seeking brat for playing the hero, eerily imitating his dead father.

Albus sighed. “Harry tried to help you, Severus.”

“I would’ve been fine if he hadn’t!” he yelled, his resentment finally bursting to the surface. “Look at me! None of this would’ve happened if that ridiculous boy had just stayed in Gryffindor Tower. But instead of punishing him, you allow him to prance around the castle with no consequences whatsoever. And keep in mind that those Unspeakables now know some of the things I do!”

The headmaster’s blue eyes were blazing with cold fury now, and Severus knew he was pushing it. He remembered how Potter had thrown curses at the invisible attacker, although he couldn’t identify them in hindsight. His memory of the incident seemed to lack detail. But it was quite unthinkable that the brat had learned actual magic on his own. Not unless Granger’s proclivity to study all things — useful or otherwise — had rubbed off on him, which he very much doubted.

Severus gritted his teeth, realizing that Albus might have had an actual point. “Potter used spells I am unfamiliar with, strange as that might sound,” he admitted. “That might be something worth looking into because I find it rather implausible given the fact that he didn’t have any time for studies since that accident.”

“He’s right,” Albus mumbled, again looking to his right.

Reaching for his wand and suppressing an ache, Severus felt his patience running thin. “Who’s here? Who did you bring along?” he snapped. “I have had quite enough of being ambushed, Albus, figuratively and literally.”

“You can hear her too?” the old man asked with genuine astonishment on his tired face.

Severus gripped his wand so hard he felt his knuckles crack painfully. “I can only hear you, but I’m not blind. I can see you interacting with an invisible person, Albus. Who is it? Minerva would never approve of such a method, so that leaves Emmeline or Hestia. Or that foolish Tonks girl, right? Show yourselves!” He looked to the man’s right again, but there was nothing except recurring flashes of the traitorous Unspeakables leaning over his bed.

“I’m afraid you don’t know her, my friend.” Albus folded his hands in front of him, prominently displaying the dead hand for the first time since handling that cursed ring. It was a sickening sight. “But she won’t harm you or anyone. Put your wand down, please; I promise you’re safe.”

“Just like I was before?” Severus snorted. “What is this visit really about?”

Albus blinked owlishly. “I told you, I suspect something to be afoot, and it relates to Harry’s awakening as a Sentinel. If he really made use of advanced magic not taught in any of his classes, we have to assume that his bond with the castle has progressed ahead of time. I am rather sure he hasn’t imprinted yet, but that event is probably imminent. And, as you aptly noted yourself, time is of the essence now since those men will likely report to Voldemort, forcing him to react.”

Being only vaguely aware of the concepts Albus had mentioned and finding them altogether difficult to take seriously, Severus tried to calm down, using familiar Occlumency routines to rid himself of useless anger. He didn’t have to like the headmaster's methods, but he had to agree that they needed to react quickly now. “What can I do?” he asked, hating to ask for permission but unable to stomach lying in his bed much longer.

“Come with us,” Albus said, nodding again. “We can still stop everything before Voldemort gets a hold of Harry.”

“Who’s we, then?”

In response, the old man hm’ed and craned his neck slowly, staring at the ceiling momentarily. Something happened then, some kind of magic that didn’t involve incantations or wands, and Severus felt a rush that was frighteningly similar to his memory of being chased out of his office by Potter's burning eyes staring at him from the shadows. He was terrified again, being too close to a dangerous entity, something that would eat him alive if he so much as flinched….

The moment passed, leaving Severus with lingering goosebumps and shaking arms.

Albus lowered his gaze, his nose bleeding again. His eyes were bright and cold and almost inhuman as he fixed him. “Severus — meet Ariana, my dear sister,” he whispered. 

When Snape looked down at his bed, a teenage girl was sitting on its foot. Dark hair, a second pair of eerie blue eyes, altogether too haunting to be a real person. “So you’re the Half-Blood Prince, huh?” she asked with a gentle voice, smirking as she pointed at him. “Looks like we found a useful pawn, Albus. One down, one to go, and I might still become a queen when we reach the other side!”

It was strange, Ormond thought, as he heard the pop of an incoming Apparition echoing through the cellar. Because he immediately knew his time had come. How different it felt being on the other side of things for once — normally, he'd be the one to apparate, to torture, to erase. He hadn't pissed himself yet, but he was breathing faster.

Moody took his time upstairs, doing one of his paranoid rounds again in the deserted house. Like clockwork, although not a reliable one because Ormond suspected the crazy bastard never walked the same route twice and never at the same time, either.

He couldn't hear anything from the others, having long given up on trying to raise his colleagues or the old elf he’d seen bustling around once. Whatever enchantment Moody had placed on the individual rooms they'd all found themselves in after that failure of a mission in Hogwarts, it left them completely isolated while still allowing a full view of the gloomy main cellar or to hear noises from above. He hadn’t seen any of the others, but the way Moody had made rounds down here as well left Ormond with the assumption that he wasn’t the man’s sole prisoner. A good tactic, leaving him with a view, appropriate for guys who'd been trained to sit quietly in tiny cells for years if need be — because this was much worse to endure.

When the old Auror's uneven steps finally sounded on the rickety stairs, Ormond felt the hairs on his arms and legs rise. He closed his eyes, not wanting Moody's ugly face to be the last thing he saw, but his mind wasn't exactly filled with comforting alternatives. After way too few breaths, he felt Moody stopping in front of the enchanted but wide open door to his room. 

“You prayin’, Henrys?” The voice sounded like gravel being rubbed into a wound.

Ormond shook his head, still refusing to look Moody in the eye. “No.”

“Good. Never pegged you as a comedian.” Moody sniveled and spat on the floor. 

He didn’t reply, waiting for the inevitable, ignoring the words, suddenly thinking back to Lea, the woman with the honey-colored hair he’d once courted. He didn’t regret anything, would’ve never settled as a domestic type, but still — she’d been beautiful, in her own way.

His memory was shattered by a vicious Stinging Hex that hit him right in the throat, and Ormond suddenly found himself flailing on the dirty floor, trying to breathe. Lea had vanished, replaced by the sour smell of old earth and damp brickwork.

“Stop pissing me off,” the bastard snarled from beyond the door frame.

Ormond opened his eyes as he raised himself, still gasping for air but slowly regaining control over his body’s panicked reflexes. He would not die like an animal in the dirt; at least he’d sit upright.

Moody grinned evilly. “It’s cute seeing Ministry wussies going all quiet. If I wanted to, you’d be a drooling sack of shit now, Henrys. Or dead. Stop the act.”

“What do you want?” he whispered hoarsely. “You already have my memories of the mission, my wand, all the things you need.”

“You kids lack basic awareness.” The bastard shook his head and took a swig from a metal flask, silently toasting in his direction. “Be thankful you missed the war, Henrys; it would’ve eaten you alive.”

Ormond closed his eyes again to stop his temper. Moody was simply fucking with him now, and he shouldn’t allow himself to be baited so easily. “Things have changed since you killed people on the Minister’s orders, old man. You have no clue what we’re doing these days.”

“You mean that scroll someone stole from inside the Veil? That caused all the nerds in the Death Department to have a raging boner for a month? Yeah, I know.” Moody snorted. “Idiots, the lot of you — not even Voldy would’ve been so stupid.”

How did he know?

Ormond shivered at the thought of the breach of security the bastard’s words implied. He remembered him rummaging in his mind, but Moody had been very selective about what to look at, and he hadn’t even touched memories of that top-secret project. Only a handful of people knew about the scroll, or its contents, and even fewer about the way those spells had found a practical use afterward. And he had no way to stop Moody from telling this to Merlin, who knew who… well, of course, Dumbledore. 

He hoped that Sontheil’s Occlumency barriers would somehow resist the upcoming obliviation; he was the most skilled of them anyway. Just something, someone, to stop this secret from reaching the wrong ears — the only known way to fool a Sentinel.

“I’m not Potter; no scent or heartbeat necessary to find you, Henrys. Those spells stolen from the dead don’t matter to me.” Moody tapped his wand lightly against the door frame.

“Wait!” Ormond found himself holding up a hand, wanting to prolong his miserable existence in this cellar for another few rushed breaths. Nothing else seemed important now, and his conditioning began to fail, after all. He’d known it would; everyone eventually cracked — still, it felt like a personal failure, even though he’d do it again, only to breathe just one more time.

The ex-Auror remained impassive, though. “No,” he spat, and suddenly Ormond’s perception was pain, just pain, excruciating, consuming, cracking his mental barriers. His world contracted to a corner of the cellar room, thrashing on the damp floor as his nerves were set on fire. Nothing made sense anymore; there was no sense, only agony and his slowly disintegrating body.

When the Cruciatus Curse ended, it might’ve been years since he’d heard those footsteps coming down. The floor also smelled of piss and blood. Two of Ormond's teeth had shattered, and a constant ringing remained in his ears.

“She’s family,” Moody said after the screams’ echoes had left the space between them. “It’s personal.”

Ormond knew — had known he’d fucked up the moment his curse had missed its mark, namely her heart or head. Then the bitch would’ve been just dead, one less problem to deal with, and something that’d have thrown Moody off his game. Tonks was the bastard’s weakness, but only up to a certain point.

“I don’t want your secrets, Henrys,” the ex-Auror continued. “Those bellends you came with will all go home, in a way. Not you.”

“Please,” Ormond rasped. “I can…”

Moody snorted, and the dim light in the cellar seemed to fade. “No, you can’t. Her baby will likely die, and she will follow. No trade — not for that.” He spat out another glob of saliva. “But I can still send you as an advance guard to the other side.”

Before he had a chance to offer anything or plead his case, Ormond's world contracted again, leaving him with nothing but excruciating pain in the dirt. His last coherent thought was that he’d never seen Moody drink alcohol during a mission before. How strange…

As her eyes scanned line after line, Hermione had to forcefully stop her mind from wandering. The hefty cherry-colored book was providing her with actual information, offering context for what she and Harry had experienced, and yet… She was distracted. Her stomach had long stopped churning, but she felt as if it might continue doing so any second now. As if she was sitting on a powder keg — and someone was approaching her with a lit match in hand.

“What is it?” Harry asked, lowering his reading material.

She shrugged, annoyed at the interruption and herself. “I can hardly focus,” she admitted.

“Don’t feel too bad, I’m finding it a bit difficult, too,” he said. “As if taking the time to sit here and read is wrong because we should be out there, doing things.”

“Yes, exactly!” Hermione put her book down. “It’s infuriating because I know we need additional information; we can’t rely on our luck any longer. But my stupid brain refuses to acknowledge that.”

Harry smiled. “Your brain isn’t stupid, just trying to find solutions to all our problems all at once.”

“And look where it got us,” she deadpanned. “I got lost in a forest, failed to stop you from hurting yourself, and let’s not forget about me being possessed by a Horcrux. A great achievement, that. Not even mentioning the lingering threat of the ones we haven’t found yet, or the fact that Voldemort might have found out about us already.”

“Okay, hold on.” Harry raised a hand and gave her a serious look, his humor now gone. “Stop trying to shoulder all our problems, Hermione. The other day you asked me to not use every opportunity to be a martyr — now you’re doing the same thing. Maybe with less falling down involved, but my point still stands.”

She returned his stare and bit her lip, feeling unhappy about him being so insightful. The petty part of her wanted to throw a little tantrum; she felt the world owed her as much ever since she’d become a Guide. But she also knew that it was just emotions trying to get the better of her again. “Right,” she mumbled.

“I mean it, Hermione. If you really believe that you had a way to prevent all the things you just listed from happening, not having read any of these books in advance, mind you, I will call you crazy. I mean it.” He raised his book, waving it as a mock threat.

She nodded and returned to reading instead of answering. He was still looking at her; she felt his focus burning on her skin, adding yet another distraction. “I am afraid of losing my way,” she eventually whispered, incapable of keeping her vague fears to herself. He’d understand; they were much the same that way. “I love reading, Harry, I do. It’s my biggest passion, or so I've been telling myself. But now I can’t stand the thought of going through these books — even though they might literally hold the answers to all our questions. What’s wrong with me?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing is wrong. We've just been through a lot, never able to catch a breath until now. It'll pass; I'm sure of it.”

“What are you reading, by the way?” She asked, trying to distract herself.

He pursed his lips and flipped through the volume in his lap. “It’s a companion to that big tome over there, but I thought it might give me a quick overview.” He motioned to the stack of books to Hermione's left, the contents of Ossinsky’s package, and much more than would've normally fit in such a small box. 

“Oh. Anything noteworthy so far? Mine is about meditation techniques to get rid of sensual overload, probably something you'll be interested in.” 

He raised his eyebrows and absently scratched his fading scar. “For sure! Funny, though, because I think I'm reading a guide for Guides, so to speak.” He tapped the cover with a finger. “Ossinsky just isn't very interested in them, it seems; he always goes back to Sentinels and how awesome they are — it's grating.” 

Hermione had noticed that tendency in her book as well and shrugged. “As long as we learn anything that helps us, I'm not complaining.” 

“Me neither.”

They continued to read, but Hermione's attention still wavered. The pages and lines of text didn't quite register with her, and she was forced to reread more than one passage, only to have forgotten all about it after a minute or so. Sighing once again, she lowered her book and stared at its cherry cover. A black circle with six pictograms, like runes, arranged inside. She hadn't gotten to the part that explained what it represented, and she wanted to know, but it was simply impossible now.

“Say, Hermione…” Harry asked, interrupting her train of thought.

“Hm?”

“When you first wandered to the Prefect’s Bathroom — you did that voluntarily, right? There was no strange pull like when you rushed to the Hospital Wing looking for me that first night?” 

His green eyes bored into her, and Hermione shivered as she felt herself becoming the sole focus of his entire Sentinel aura. Her skin felt hot and itchy as she wondered if her hair was starting to go frizzy from the energies flowing between them at this moment. “Why are you asking me that?” she whispered, unsure if she even wanted to hear his answer.

Harry swallowed hard and held his book out to her. “I think… I'm not sure. Maybe we have a problem.”

“For heaven's sake, Harry, what is it?” she snapped, yanking the book out of his hand to see for herself.

He looked to the side, and the sudden loss of his focus caused Hermione's breath to hitch. “I don't know,” he mumbled. “Just… “

This time, Hermione had no problem employing the full force of her reading skills as she raced across the opened pages, rapidly scanning lines and digesting whatever had unnerved Harry so much. She still didn’t want to find answers, still feeling that powder keg underneath her; only it was not, it was a deep pool she was drowning in. She stopped when she saw the offending paragraph, understanding its meaning immediately, yet not understanding anything at all. The words seemed to tumble from the pages, surrounding her head like the motes in the Prefect’s Bathroom as she just stood there, stupidly, letting the castle lay claim to her.

Or so the text said.

When Harry’s hand touched her shoulder, Hermione almost jumped out of her skin, dropping the book, but he caught it with a deft motion, carefully placing it on the small table next to her. “It’ll be okay,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t despair, Hermione, we’ll find a way.”

“Maybe he’s wrong.” She was staring off into space now, her mind racing faster than that dreadful fall from Harry’s broom. Her stomach was churning again. “He’s wrong; it can’t be. I’m not a Sentinel; he has no interest in me. Why would he write something like that?”

“Shhh, it’s okay, please.” He kneeled in front of her to take her hands now, his aura again strong, but instead of a hot burn, it felt like a warm blanket around her now, blurring the cruel reality that’d seen fit to have her lose agency in what might turn out to be one of the most profound decisions she would ever make in her life.

Glad for the physical support, she dug her fingers into his. 

They stared at each other. 

“I am doomed,” she whispered, close to tears. “I’ll never leave this place, Harry.” She still didn’t understand how it’d happened and wanted Ossinsky’s stupid books to be wrong like she had never wanted anything ever before. 

He gently rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumbs, taking his time to run his skin over hers. “We don’t know that. There is so much we still don’t know, and this person probably doesn’t either. Look at how little there is in these books about Guides; he’s clearly biased.” He nodded, more to himself. “We can find other experts. We’ll get a second opinion.” 

Hermione’s breath hitched. “And what if they agree? Ossinsky doesn’t sound like a hack to me, just opinionated. Most of our regular schoolbooks are more problematic in comparison.” She sniffed. “I don’t want him to be right, but I fear he still might be.” 

“Hermione.” Harry’s eyes roamed her face, taking in the minutiae of her grief, his aura continuing to blanket the surrounding room and the rest of the castle that’d laid claim to her — much the same way they planned for Harry to bind it as his Sentinel domain.

“I wasn’t, by the way,” she whispered.

“What do you mean?”

She looked down at their intertwined hands. “I wasn’t beside myself when I did it, Harry. I woke up, and I had the overwhelming urge to clean myself, spiritually. And there was just one place that came to mind — it wasn’t even a question — I would choose the Prefect’s Bathroom.”

“But that sounds a lot like mind control to me,” he replied.

“I know, but it wasn’t, I am sure. Before, I had so many confusing emotions, but suddenly I felt protected and grounded… even now I can’t think of it being anything apart from a place of power uniquely suited to my needs.” She drew a deep breath. “Maybe it’s better this way, you know? It’s more convenient to return here to cleanse myself than some random lake in the wilderness.”

Harry scowled. “Don’t joke about that; we’d have found a way. And we still can.”

“Maybe.” Hermione felt a tear run down her face and shivered. “But I might as well get used to the idea that I’m now forever bound to that pool, Harry. That I need to return to the Prefect’s Bathroom to clean myself of all the magical detritus that I’ll pick up. In perpetuity. Because I didn’t know, because no one told us it’s something Guides can decide on just once.”

He closed his eyes for a second to think. “Should we continue to go through the pile? Let’s disregard anything not featuring Guides for the moment. There are three books not penned by Ossinsky in that stack; we should look at those first. I refuse to believe you can’t reverse this, that you can’t find a new place to bond with.”

She didn’t share his unrelenting drive, even though she very much wanted to break the metaphysical shackles she’d just now learned about immediately. But Hermione smiled tiredly and gave Harry a small nod. Just when she thought they’d finally get a break — another problem reared its head.

“Let’s read some more,” she said.

He’d heard someone arrive at the mansion, but Voldemort continued to tap a rolled-up letter against his chin. Something about the performance of being deep in thought felt surprisingly relaxing, and he didn’t mind letting his thoughts wander at a more leisurely pace. Plenty of things were hanging in the balance, both old and new plans being pitted against the chaos that was Dumbledore's twisted web of competing plots. But thanks to Lane's effectiveness, he'd be able to disrupt his enemy's plans considerably, and soon.

“My Lord? Dacre and Le Blank are here to see you.” Lucius was pale and haggard, and Voldemort enjoyed watching the man’s growing despair. The pompous git had surprised him so far, being tougher than he’d imagined.

He faked a sigh and tapped Lane's letter against his chin once again. “Send them in,” he said, fixing Lucius with a disinterested glare to make him go away.

“My Lord.”

The outcome of his current plans wasn’t in question, but Voldemort was also disinterested in a Pyrrhic victory. Every soul bound to his cause, every action taken on his behalf, all had a value, a cost. And even though he allowed himself the luxury of anger, of having a temper and keeping his followers on edge — he still did the math. And right now, things still appear a bit too costly. He’d need to apply more pressure, kill someone to make a point, or likely several people… but he’d have Harry Potter in his grasp soon, and all of Hogwarts as well. If not tomorrow, then very soon.

Absently, Voldemort noticed that his visitors had arrived. “Ranulph, Elias, it’s been a while since you last reported to me. What did dear Severus have to say?”

The two Unspeakables bowed before Elias cleared his throat. “Lord Voldemort. We think the rumors are true; Harry Potter has awoken as a Sentinel. Snape despises the kid, but he very much fears what will happen should Potter's transformation be allowed to come to fruition. Something about claiming Hogwarts as his domain — we didn’t quite understand all of it; his thoughts remained partially walled off.”

Voldemort leaned back and tapped his letter again, enticed by what he’d just heard. He wasn’t afraid of little Harry attempting something as audacious as staking a claim so soon after his awakening — not with a place as powerful and complicated as Hogwarts. But that Muggle girl he’d learned about in the letter was an unknown quantity. “Interesting,” he said slowly, forcefully keeping his face neutral. “Continue.”

“The altercation we heard about did indeed take place, and Snape was grievously injured,” Elias said, exchanging a quick glance with his partner to reaffirm his version of events. “But it wasn’t Harry Potter who attacked him; although he might’ve had good reason to, there was another invisible party present in the castle.”

“What? Impossible.” Voldemort leaned forward, already annoyed at not having the full picture right this moment.

Elias blanched. “I swear, my lord — it’s the truth. We tortured Snape intensely to see if he was using a falsified memory, but that one never changed, and it was rather easy to extract, unlike the rest of his thoughts,” he pressed. “Potter even tried to help, but the attacker fled after almost killing Snape.”

“Was the boy wounded?”

“No, he seemed fine, according to what we saw in those memories.”

Voldemort’s patience suddenly snapped. “Show me,” he demanded, not waiting for a response. “Legilimens!” As Elias began to shudder and gurgle, he forcefully entered the man’s mind, breaking the Occlumency barrier with practiced ease. He quickly found what he was looking for and yanked a wide swath of memories out of Elias’ mind, sifting through them quickly to try to find flaws in what Severus had presented to them. 

It didn’t take long before he noticed how the way Potter fought alongside Snape on that landing felt different, more vague than all other sensory impressions of that encounter. Severus hadn't known what sort of spells the foolish Half-blood had employed, and Voldemort was forced to admit he had no idea either. Which in itself was an impossible thought.

Then, he realized. 

“Ha, you old fool,” he whispered as he dropped out of Elias’ mind, paying no heed to the noise of the Unspeakable hitting the floor, unconscious now. “Made him a bit too enticing, didn’t you? Wanted me to fear what I see there? I don’t think so… 

“My Lord?” Ranulph asked hesitantly.

Voldemort turned around, having almost forgotten the Unspeakables were still there. “Yes?” he hissed, not being annoyed but simply enjoying giving another performance now, dismissing the ponderous persona from before instantly.

The Unspeakable flinched ever so slightly. “What about… Elias?” he asked, his eyes darting to his unconscious friend on the floor.

“Take him away, of course!” Voldemort snapped. “And next time report to me immediately, you twat. Or lead your report with events as relevant as a group of Hit Wizards descending upon Hogwarts to grab the very Boy-Who-Lived I am hunting. You wouldn’t survive my anger.”

The Unspeakable nodded hastily before he grabbed his friend and hauled him out of the room. Lucius, who’d been waiting in the hallway outside, was about to close the door behind them, but Voldemort raised a hand. “You come here, Lucius.”

As he watched the broken man shuffle toward him, Voldemort sorted the impressions he’d gathered from Elias’ mind. So Snape had attempted to obliviate Granger on Dumbledore’s behalf? The old man had even ordered him to, in a way. Very curious, that, and much more ruthless than he’d thought his opponent to be. Moreover, the strength of her mind’s instinctive reaction to the intrusion… not just any Guide, then.

“So you fear it too,” he said to himself, wondering how cornered Dumbledore was currently and what mistakes he’d make — that hand.

That dead hand Snape had seen, it wasn’t caused by a random curse, was it? No, he knew exactly what sort of magic caused flesh to blacken and desiccate like that, even without Snape’s memories of how it’d happened. A rush of fear and anger overrode reasonable thought for a second, but Voldemort still managed to keep his wand steady and not kill Lucius for nothing. He needed the man, at least for the time. But that memory he’d dissected just now changed things, and he had to act. What could he do that wasn’t too reckless, that didn’t deviate too much from things already planned?

If Dumbledore had found the ring, even taken it with him, where was it now? Snape hadn't known that. What about the other Horcruxes? He needed to ensure their safety immediately — without charging into things like a Gryffindor, of course.

“My Lord?” Lucius asked.

Voldemort stared at him, unseeing but very much recognizing the fear gripping the imbecile’s heart. “What would you do if I were to obliviate your wife?” he asked, his mind evaluating dozens of possible actions at the same time.

Lucius gulped. “I would assume that you’d have a good reason for doing so, My Lord,” he replied, carefully, still trying to remain a neutral force, to stand at Voldemort’s side but not be with him the way Bellatrix was. It was a highly enjoyable pastime to watch the man struggle to maintain that line, each failure bringing him closer to the inevitable breaking point.

“You’re a smooth talker,” Voldemort said after a moment, now fixing the pale man again. “And of course, I would have a reason; all I do has a reason, or three, or seven. You wouldn’t know.” He smiled, knowing his appearance unnerved Lucius immensely.

“Of course, Lord Voldemort.”

He waved the man’s address off. “But you’re tempered; age and pain have seen to that. Potter, meanwhile, is young and stupid. Would he not retaliate, learning that his Mudblood friend was almost robbed of her memories? Oh, he would.”

So Harry had attacked Snape after all, and Dumbledore had falsified the spy’s memory. But why? Something else must’ve happened — something he wasn’t supposed to know. Voldemort had to assume that it was related to the boy’s claim of the castle because, in Dumbledore’s eyes, that was one of the worst imaginable outcomes.

If only the old fool knew that Voldemort didn’t fear such a turn of events half as much. But then nobody knew; not even Barty had ever learned this secret before receiving the Kiss. He’d killed everyone who’d even be in a position to maybe suspect he was more than a magically gifted man, more than the most extraordinary wizard in living memory.

It would even be easy, breaking Granger’s unskilled ties to Harry’s magic, to reclaim what he’d left behind in the scar that fateful night. The Muggle girl didn’t know anything about the arcane mechanics of Guide bonds yet — not with the Hogwarts library being purged of all relevant data. But if she was skilled, he might actually get some use out of her, afterward. For that, she had to remain untouched by the likes of Snape or Dumbledore, though. Or any eager Ministry drones. Voldemort suspected that members of that ridiculous Order of Albus had been at Hogwarts to help fend off the assassin squad. Moody in particular was surely prowling the school… 

“Lucius, my dear Lucius,” Voldemort said, feeling a plan forming as his anger was replaced by enthusiasm, and he switched roles once more, now being a leader again. “I’ve decided I will join tonight’s raid after all. It is time to face Dumbledore and Potter. And I think you should join as well, if only to get out of the house for once.”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned to sneer at the man. “If you prove yourself, you might even be allowed to watch me punish Draco for his repeated failure,” he continued, finding great joy in being able to almost taste Lucius’ anxiety. Putting him against someone like Moody would be highly entertaining as well as serving a purpose.

“My Lord,” the pale git replied, shaking slightly. “If I may be so bold…”

“Yes, boldness is indeed required. I knew you’d eventually see reason,” Voldemort said, putting a menacing hand on the would-be traitor’s shoulder. “Go now; I want you to oversee the preparations for tonight. No arguments! And I promise you, someone will die before the sun rises again. It’ll cheer you up.”

As the man left, slightly more broken now, Voldemort’s dry chuckles gave way to ponderous silence once again. He was still furious, but switching masks had helped to keep control of his faculties — he needed to stay calm to plan. His Horcruxes were too important. Voldemort raised his hand with the letter but decided against performing for an absent audience at this moment. “What did you do, Dumbledore… Did you know about me? Do you, now?” he whispered to himself. “How much can you even know about Guides?”

Chapter Text

“Don’t move.”

Aurora stopped at Remus’ words, trying to keep her breathing quiet as her heart continued to race. The grip of her wand distracted her again as her fingertips continued to read the signs left in the polished wood over the years, her senses slowly going haywire once more…

“Are you having us on?” Charlie hissed, clearly annoyed that he couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

Remus didn’t turn around but vaguely waved him off without looking, and Charlie shook his head. Aurora stopped herself from commenting on the dynamic between the two men, just glad to be back in the present. She wouldn’t mind trading in her developing sense of colors and touch for whatever allowed Remus to navigate the dead of night, though, now that she thought about it.

With bated breath, she remained silent until the man finally exhaled and looked back at them. “Just a fox rummaging through the bushes,” he said quietly. “Nobody else around as far as I can tell.”

Charlie snorted. “If only we knew someone with enhanced senses…”

“Will you shut it? Harry needs to rest for once, and we can’t just waltz in there, firing in all directions.”

“Nobody’s there to be fired at — we’re simply wasting valuable time because you see shadows behind every corner.”

“We can’t afford recklessness, Charlie,” Remus said, sighing. “Not now.”

Aurora rolled her eyes and strode past the men, towards the derelict house looming in the darkness in front of them. “Are you two always like this?” she whispered. “Just so I can rest assured that not being a member of the Order did in fact prevent me from having a meltdown.”

Charlie snorted again but also punched Remus’ shoulder. “She would’ve fit right in with us, no?”

“I don’t think so. Not with both of us moping most of the time. Come on, let’s focus.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Aurora mumbled as she raised her wand to try to detect hidden wards. Naturally, nothing came up when she cast her divination charms, but they’d expected that. The surrounding forest was clearly enchanted to deter Muggles, but it was a clever bit of spellwork that they wouldn’t crack or even identify unless they decided to spend a lot of time here. Naturally, this didn’t alleviate Aurora’s fears. “I can’t detect anything,” she admitted. “Which doesn’t mean there isn’t some sort of trap laid out, just… that I’m not good enough to spot it.”

Remus took a deep breath. “You’re better than we are at this, Aurora — I trust your zeal. This is as good as it gets without Dumbledore at our side.”

“I think we can scratch that old man off our list of immediate allies,” Charlie grumbled, giving voice to what they all were thinking.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind his expertise, to be honest,” Aurora said. “Come on. And watch your steps. I think there are shards of glass outside the house, but I don’t think casting more charms than necessary is a good idea.”

Charlie snorted again. “Outside the ruin, you mean… Look at this, it’s nothing but a shack.”

“She’s right,” Remus said. “I can see it. It almost looks as if the house… well, the shack, blew up from the inside. Broken glass outside every window. That doesn’t make sense, though.”

Aurora readjusted the grip on her wand. “It does. Imagine someone went inside and encountered a ward or a spell trap. If it blew up, it would produce something like this.”

“We should expect to find remains of some unfortunate soul, then,” Remus wagered as they slowly approached the sagging western side of the Gaunt property. It really was a ruin, diminished remains of something that might’ve been a real noble house once upon a time — a small one, but still. Now it reeked of decay and bitterness.

A piece of the wall had crumbled next to where Aurora stood. Peeking inside, all she could make out was complete darkness, her eyes too weak to pick up even vague shapes. But Remus let out his animalistic side and went down in a crouch, drawing quicker breaths as he picked up scents. “Nobody has been here recently, or they covered their tracks extremely well,” he said in a husky voice. “Follow me, slowly.”

Her heart thumping in her throat, Aurora followed the werewolf inside in a low crouch. Her sight improved ever so slightly, making her aware of ruined furniture and the corners of what probably was the living room.

Charlie stepped on a sodden floorboard, causing it to crumble underneath him and fall into an unseen cellar with a muffled bang. They all stopped moving, waiting for the telltale signs of a magical alarm, but all Aurora heard was the faint noise of wind rustling a few leaves outside.

“Easy now,” Remus said.

“Well, I can’t bloody well see in the dark,” Charlie snapped. “Can we finally make some light? As you said yourself, there’s nobody here but us.”

Remus drew another breath, then stood up straight. “Alright. Lumos.”

Around them, Aurora saw the remains of a derelict room that felt not simply decayed thanks to the relentless forces of time, but also… worn out. Dirty in a way no spell could ever clean. It also was bigger on the inside, enchanted to provide more space. The angles were all wrong, though, as if the person casting the spell hadn’t been right in the head, which probably wasn’t far off the mark. She shuddered. “I believe we should be glad none of the Gaunt family still reside here.”

“Yeah, this makes Grimmauld Place look like a beach resort,” Charlie replied. “It gives me the creeps, too.”

“Grim-old what?”

He shrugged in the gloomy light. “The place Sirius grew up, the townhouse of the Black family. We talked about it in Minerva’s office, remember? Next one on the list, actually.”

“I see. I might’ve missed it due to all the revelations being dropped on us.”

“Tell me about it.”

Remus suddenly cast a wordless Shield Charm just in time to deflect an animated mass of rubble and broken furniture from striking him. As she whirled around, Aurora saw that the construct appeared to vaguely resemble a snake, using a rusted hinge with angled rusty nails as its mouth. The rumbling sound of hundreds of pounds of material moving across the ruined floor filled the shack — but Charlie and Remus dodged and immediately began pelting it with jinxes from both sides, cutting off its body into several pieces, until Remus dispelled the magic in its animated head and the ruckus ended abruptly.

The three of them remained still for a moment, but the night had returned to being quiet once again. Looking intently at the floor, Charlie drew wide circles as he continued his friend’s dispelling attempts, turning swaths of the sodden floorboards into completely non-magical matter.

“Well,” Aurora said. “I think we can safely assume there still are some traps in place.”

Remus nodded, but his eyes darted between the dark corners of the room. “Indeed, but… Anyway, we should start looking for that ring, if it is indeed here.”

“What did you want to say?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing, just an errant thought.”

“Remus, out with it,” Charlie added from the back, still busy waving his wand around. “I might not be an actual curse breaker, but I do know when I’m faced with half-truths.”

“Just that…” The werewolf stared at Aurora. “The construct’s appearance was that of a snake, but it felt too benign to me. An imitation — something superficially looking like a trap left by Voldemort, but I’d say he wouldn’t have bothered with a construct if he could instead curse an intruder in a much more insidious way.”

Aurora thought she understood his meaning. “You mean that thing was too blunt and altogether not threatening enough to actually deter someone like us?”

“Precisely.”

“Crap.” She swallowed dryly.

“What?” Charlie asked.

“I agree with him,” she said. “This means someone was here before us and left falsified clues and traps. We’re probably too late for the ring, then.”

Remus nodded and raised his wand. “Let’s check this place anyway, just to be certain.”

Having turned the Potion of Dreamless Sleep in his hand about a hundred times, Hugo decided he would, in fact, not try to knock himself out this night. Partially because the noise of his fingers on the small glass vial was simply annoying. He was exhausted and afraid, but his mind was still racing back and forth, unable to stop. And, for some reason, he wasn’t inclined to investigate at this moment; Hugo wanted to see where it took him, despite his fears.

Which would be the library, of course.

As he quietly snuck out of his dorm, then Ravenclaw Tower, and down the stairs, he felt like a complete idiot. Something was wrong with him — but not just him. He still felt the intensity of Susan Bones’ gaze, the taller girl an imposing sight and sound as she loomed over him, seemingly knowing all his darkest secrets. He’d known that Sally-Anne was probably sharing in his misery, but now it seemed there was a whole group? How was that possible?

One of the prefects doing rounds came into sight, and Hugo got off the stairs and ducked behind a suit of armor to let the older Ravenclaw pass by. He tried to remember the name… Edwin? Or Edmund. Something. Since he was a seventh-year student, he belonged to a different world, and Hugo had never bothered to engage.

When Ed-something had passed by, he continued his forbidden midnight stroll, wondering how he’d feel about seeing himself now a year from now, or two. Hopefully, long past his current madness by then.

Stopping to gather his thoughts, Hugo was mindful of the low ambient drone of the castle, the inexplicable soundscape of such an ancient, massive space filled with magic and people. It soothed him, strangely, and he breathed a few times to calm himself down. He wasn’t afraid of the dark or being lonely… no, his fears were about losing his faculties.

As he randomly looked up the Grand Staircase, he saw the floating debris left by whatever the hell happened between Potter and Snape a few days prior. Hugo thought it made for a perfect visual representation of his state of mind — floating, impossible, altogether irritating.

The sound of Susan Bones stepping up to him returned to the forefront of his thoughts. He’d heard her skin rub against the fabric of her clothes as she moved, the low rustle of her hair as they brushed over her robes. Then, her heartbeat, strangely intense compared to the other students. When she’d breathed in before she spoke, Hugo had even become aware of her bra stretching underneath her shirt as her chest expanded, immediately becoming flustered by the images forming in his mind… He’d lost his nerve and basically fled as soon as she’d dropped that Dreamer bomb on him, his mind filled with chaotic impressions of Susan’s cleavage and his growing fixation with sounds and the accompanying mental deterioration.

Unexpectedly, Hugo’s heart was suddenly gripped by ice-cold fear, and he gasped as he turned around to see who was behind him — but the magical portraits on the walls were the only witnesses to his panic attack. Breathing hard, he raised his wand with a shaky hand, needing both of his hands to keep holding on to it.

“He… hello?” he whispered, his voice shaking uncontrollably as he was wrecked by another wave of dread. Then, within the blink of an eye, he was dropped into another scene, somewhere lower within Hogwarts. Slytherin students surrounded him, smiling evilly. One of them shoved him, only to hold on to his nightgown, causing it to tear.

What?

Hugo’s racing mind broke through the grip of supernatural fear that kept hold of him, and he experienced a moment of vertigo when he found himself standing on a landing of the Grand Staircase again — alone, still shivering.

Then, another moment of switched perspectives, another identity even. He was that girl again, accosted by those Slytherins, and Hugo heard himself sob, begging for them to stop. It wasn’t like a Pensieve, but much more emotional, and the soul-crushing fear of the girl drowned any of his remaining rational thoughts once again. Those guys would do something; they’d already ripped her clothes in half, laughing, egging each other on as they closed around her like a pack of hyenas…

Hugo suddenly felt, smelled, and heard that it was Hannah Abbott. Susan’s best friend, and maybe that was what broke the spell for the second time. Gasping again for air, he stumbled and fell onto the landing as he tried to make sense of what he’d felt, what he knew in his bones to be happening right this moment.

Why was he feeling what Hannah felt? Why did he know with an almost ridiculous level of certainty that it was connected to him developing super-sensitive hearing? Or that Susan was involved?

“Gah!” Hugo exhaled, trying to rid himself of whatever madness was enveloping him, but it didn’t help. When he again sensed Hannah crying and felt cold, harsh hands on his shoulders that weren’t his shoulders but felt as such, he stood up.

He didn’t know Hannah at all, aside from seeing her being at Susan’s side all the time, but he would try to do something. His trip to the library all but forgotten, he raced down the stairs as fast as he dared, still gripped by fear — but something else was rising within Hugo.

When his ears picked up faint echoes of a female cry and male laughter down below, Hugo didn’t think about being too young or outnumbered. All he wanted was to stop being afraid, and that meant helping Hannah. His hands were still shaking, but he didn’t need both of them to hold his wand now.

He was falling from unknown heights, through darkness.

Time was too slow, his mind immediately recognizing a strange delay between the rustling sounds of his cloak around him, pulled on by the wind, and the feeling of moments passing by one after another.

Harry saw shimmering lights underneath him, motes that drifted through the void like dandelion seeds. Then, his eyes picked up tiny reflections even further down, and he took a deep breath right before his body hit the dark waters beneath.

For a moment, he was thrown back to the year of the Triwizard Tournament, fighting down in the lake for his survival and for Ron’s, as well as Hermione's and the other hostages. But he was pulled away from that memory like a thread following a needle through fabric, impressions of his mental landscape rushing by as he flailed in the waters, unable to breathe.

There was no up and down, and Harry felt panic rising as his ribs seemed to contract around his lungs, the lack of breath causing his movements to become frantic. He turned around all three axes, trying to sense a way out, when he saw those motes again.

With one or two strokes, he broke through the surface of the pool. Not just any pool, it was the Prefect’s Bathroom, of course. Harry greedily gulped down air as he slowed down, his panic receding. He noticed he was freezing, the water having turned to an almost unbearably low temperature — how long had he been here?

It was impossible to say.

“Say it anyway,” Hermione replied, sitting at the edge of the pool, her naked legs in the water. She hadn’t been there before, but Harry wasn’t startled. He knew her, knew her like he knew nothing and nobody else.

He approached. “Why are we here?”

“Wrong, Harry.” She wagged her finger, the same way she’d done before — no, it’d been the Horcrux, controlling her body.

He flinched when he saw her eyes were as dark as the waters underneath him now.

“No,” he said, distantly aware he must be dreaming, since none of this made any sense.

Hermione’s finger stopped, before she pointed at him and down. “This is happening, whether you want it or not,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the bathroom. Suddenly, Harry was being turned around as the water began churning, and he was being pulled down.

Before he could hold on to the edge, of Hermione’s legs, he was being sucked underneath by a strong current, and then the pool emptied into a yawning abyss. Down he went, through pipes as old as Hogwarts itself, covered in slimy detritus and human waste, his senses overwhelmed by the stench and the minuscule details of stonework and metal rivets around him…

Harry blinked, and suddenly his robes were too big. He wasn’t moving; he knelt in front of a wall covered in scrawling, scarlet scripture. “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir… Beware.” He knew those letters and wasn’t surprised by the stench of blood — or the faint odor of a Horcrux.

Then, he heard it.

Moving within the walls.

The Basilisk.

“Wait,” he cried out, and dove into the wall, which he knew would open for him. Was this a dream? Or another memory not born inside his mind? Voldemort sending one of his visions again?

Harry followed the Basilisk, never actually seeing it but hearing it rumbling through the castle’s walls and smelling its strange, reptilian scent. He didn’t have a body anymore, reduced to his Sentinel focus, ethereal and unbound.

Down they went, into the depths where Harry knew the Chamber was, and suddenly he was filled with a yearning to see it again. Not because he missed whatever he’d seen last time he’d found himself there — but there was a pull. Something that reminded him of the times when he’d been forced to enter the Hogwarts Express. When dull summers loomed, he turned around to his large bed one last time before leaving the dorm.

It was home.

Now, down there, in the depths.

Harry blinked, suddenly having an actual body again, and stumbled. The floor of the Chamber was covered in bones, human bones. Empty skulls grinned at him as his feet got tangled in skeletal fingers, rib cages, and leg bones.

The crunching sound underneath his feet made him feel sick, and suddenly the whole macabre landscape shifted, and he found himself in front of the Basilisk. It looked at him, harmless, coiling its massive body so it could leisurely gaze at him.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, not knowing why.

The Basilisk’s tongue slid out, taking in his scent. “The other wasn’t,” it replied.

When it opened its mouth, exposing its glistening fangs, Harry heard the back of the Chamber being crushed. Rocks ground against each other, ancient wards fizzling with a high, whining pitch. Something was coming… no, someone.

His own dark passenger had gone, but others remained.

“Voldemort,” he said.

The Basilisk shook its enormous head. “For now,” it said before it swallowed him whole.

Harry woke with a start, the sound of the Basilisk’s jaws snapping together still in his ears. He’d been close to seeing something, right at the edge of a precipice of sorts, trying to untangle the maddening dream logic… but the impressions were already fading.

Rubbing his eyes, he listened to the sounds of the dorm. Even muffled by the charms he’d cast on the curtains and himself, he was aware of Ron’s snores and Seamus’ sighs. Outside, an owl hooted sadly. There were other noises as well, hurried steps and distant voices down below in Hogwarts, but the magic covered them well enough that he couldn’t make out any details.

He still remembered that water, and the Basilisk, had featured in his dream. And there still was a yearning to go down to the Chamber of Secrets. Any other night, he’d just have done that, grabbed his cloak to venture down there by himself — but no more. The past few days had shown him that the time for such youthful recklessness was over. Hermione had unwittingly bound herself to the castle for life somehow, and that was probably one of the least worrisome outcomes of them trying to do everything on their own, alone.

Harry sighed as he rubbed his eyes once again. It felt as if he wouldn’t find sleep again, but he had to try. It'd been hard enough going to bed in the first place, but they'd been dead on their feet after what seemed like a never-ending string of life-altering incidents. And he needed all the energy he could get for what lay ahead. Tomorrow, they'd go down to the Chamber and find answers.

Somewhere, someone — anything.

When he heard the distant call of an owl, Severus looked up from underneath his cloak. The faint outline of Hogwarts was lit by the half-moon, and he was overcome by a sense of nostalgia.

“Severus?” Albus had stopped, looking at him.

“It’s nothing; I thought I heard something,” he mumbled, squashing any emotions he had for the old castle. It didn’t matter that all the formative events of his life had taken place there; it was just that — an old place. If need be, he’d leave it all behind in a heartbeat; he had to make sure of that. The old man nodded, and Ariana smirked at him, leaning against the wall of one of the nearby Hogsmeade houses. He hadn’t seen her walk there, but it seemed that the magical projection that was Dumbledore’s dead sister didn’t have to follow actual rules.

“Professor Snape is saaaaad,” she sang.

Severus clenched his teeth. He didn’t know what to make of this apparition, but he’d seen her move objects and felt the air stirring in the wake of her movements. It was completely impossible, but Ariana didn’t seem to care about her violation of several important laws of magical theory.

Maybe another sign of this being a doomed endeavor, him being a doomed man after all.

“Ariana,” Albus said.

“What? He’s moping, is what he is; look at him. I apologize for thinking you were no fun, brother.” She twirled around, dancing on top of an ancient garden wall. “Huh, that tickles.” She stopped, inspecting the sole of one of her feet as she balanced on the other.

Severus looked away. “Why didn’t we just apparate?” he asked in a low voice.

“Because I know Aberforth, he wouldn’t take kindly to us barging in like that.” Albus flexed his dead hand, causing Severus to curse quietly as he turned his eyes away again. No matter where he looked, he was assaulted by unwanted sights from all sides.

Ariana giggled, suddenly in lockstep with her brother, linking arms with him. “Oh, he’s going to be very cross with you, I know it.”

Albus nodded again. “I’m afraid so.”

“I want you to give me an actual answer, Dumbledore,” Severus growled. “Why are we sneaking through Hogsmeade when we could’ve easily arrived just outside your brother’s doorstep? Tell me, now, or you’re on your own.”

They stopped, and, surprisingly, Ariana remained quiet, still staring ahead as Albus disentangled himself from her. Severus saw that his arm passed through hers as if she was nothing but a phantom, and he felt a headache rising. It was superseded by the feeling of being exposed, though — whatever terrible power slumbered within Albus, it reminded him of Potter’s penetrating gaze.

He felt like prey again, and he didn’t like it one bit. Still, he gritted his teeth and watched the old man watch him in return.

“Relying on magical means of transportation has cost me dearly, Severus,” Albus eventually said. “I have been absentminded and dismissive towards things that required my full and conscious attention. We’re here because I need something that Aberforth has been keeping safe on my behalf and because I needed to see Hogwarts from the outside to check if Harry’s claim has progressed.” He smiled. “And, to be honest, I wanted to walk a few steps underneath the night sky to clear my mind.”

Severus decided it was as close to the truth as he’d get without an increase in pressure. He sneered. “I hope it was time well spent, then.”

“He feels the bite of your focus, dear brother,” Ariana cooed, sitting on the cold cobblestone street when they both turned to look at her. “Your mask is slipping, slipping, always slipping.” She picked up a small stone and flicked it away.

“Has he, by the way?” Severus asked, if only to break the eerie silence following the projection’s remark. What had she meant by his 'focus'?

Albus furrowed his brows. “Come again?”

“Potter.” He waved in the general direction of Hogwarts. “Has he… claimed the school?” He didn't bother hiding his sarcasm, still not believing whatever esoteric branch of magic Dumbledore claimed to be at work here.

“It appears that way, yes. There is still a chance to turn things around, though. Harry won’t like it, but at this point, I am more concerned about the rest of us and the Order. Because we need to act before Voldemort does, and he will surely be already moving his chess pieces into position.”

Ariana sprang up. “You promised me I would be your Queen!”

“I remember you to crown yourself with that title, Ariana, not me,” Albus replied as he turned back in the direction of the Hog’s Head Inn. The uncomfortable feeling of being studied by something dangerous immediately stopped.

She stuck out her tongue. “Liar.”

Severus pinched his nose, only to be startled when he felt ghostly fingers on his arm. She was standing right next to him, her eyes fixing him with an inhuman stare. “He is such a liar,” she stage-whispered, ice-cold breath touching his skin. “Never forget that, lest you lose your glowing doe, and then darkness will swallow you whole.”

Before he could react, she’d darted away.

He was indeed a doomed man.

Chapter Text

Enemy.

Danger.

Harry gasped, waking up again. Every fiber of his body was screaming, and it took him a few moments of panic to realize he was already holding his wand. As his racing heart calmed down, he maintained his iron grip on it. The handle creaked ever so slightly in his palm.

Intruder.

He was on his feet and halfway towards the door before his mind caught up with his body.

Harry gritted his teeth. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Someone dangerous was in Hogwarts, no doubt. Or something. It was like the irritating, itchy feeling bothering him until they found the bloody Horcrux — only now it’d returned tenfold, causing him to sweat.

For some reason, the boy’s dorm was completely silent. No snores.

He could hear them all breathing, heartbeats slow and blood rushing through veins at a leisurely pace. Neville was having a nightmare, though — his scent had that bitter taste of adrenaline, and his fingers twitched underneath the blanket. But even Ron was so quiet he actually turned to identify his shape behind the bed’s curtains.

Interloper.

Unlike before, Harry felt it originating from somewhere below him, though. Which, given the location of Gryffindor Tower, wasn’t a big surprise. But still, he could probably find it in the dark, blindfolded. Not that he wanted to, but this wasn’t the time to entertain idle thoughts of an alternate reality where he was just a normal boy with magical powers, going to school.

And this wasn’t just any place — it was home.

His home.

Hermione’s place of power, too. It would be a cold day in hell before he’d let anyone take that from him. Harry stopped himself from rushing out without clothing, though. Quickly but quietly, he threw on trousers and a shirt, dug in his trunk for a sweater. He decided to remain barefoot, though. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, being in physical contact with Hogwarts at all times. Just a hunch, and one he intended to follow since it might play into the whole idea of claiming the place. The floor was cold, but not unbearably so.

Death.

Harry gasped as the feeling of being exposed to a lethal threat overwhelmed his senses. Should he raise an alarm? Call Remus? Minerva?

Suddenly, things calmed down.

Nervous pressure faded, leaving calm reassurance in its wake. His frantic mind slowed down, and his threat assessment stopped going haywire. It was as if he’d dipped his feet into the Black Lake during a hot summer day.

Hermione.

Hearing her coming up to the dormitory, he slipped into his sweater and met her halfway. When he opened the door, she was wearing her robes. He saw her shivering, though.

“Something is wrong, Harry,” she whispered. “I had a terrible nightmare about the waters of Hogwarts turning stale and being drained. When I woke up, it felt as if someone was putting a knife to my throat.”

“I feel it too. It’s like the Horcrux — only much stronger.” He approached her and closed the door. “Should we raise the alarm? I’m done putting you in danger, Hermione.”

She was shaken to her core, with jittery hands and labored breathing. “You’re not; I’m your Guide and that’s that. Let’s not rehash an argument because we’re still trying to make sense of this, please.”

“Alright.” As his frustration was replaced by affection for her strength, Harry swallowed dryly and nodded. She’d told him countless times to believe in her, in himself. So he would see this through, with her at his side.

He offered her his hand.

Hermione stared at him, her heartbeat still racing, before she stepped up to embrace him instead. “I’m scared, Harry.”

As her breath ghosted across his ear, he shivered involuntarily. Feeling her against him was the most enjoyably overwhelming of his senses imaginable, and he fought hard to push any sexual thoughts aside. Their closeness transcended that — by necessity now — and he concentrated on her Guide ability.

“I’m scared, too.” He breathed in, deeply, noticing that she’d cried earlier, or maybe in her sleep, since he smelled tears in her hair that must’ve fallen onto her pillow. “But with you at my side, I don’t mind so much, to be honest.”

She smiled against his clavicle. “You’re a smooth talker for being a crisis magnet.”

“I aim to please.” Another breath, filling himself with her essence, trying to ignore the terrible feeling of being exposed to yet another dire threat.

Reality around him sharpened, came into focus.

Hermione washed it all away: the noise and the dirt and the things that cluttered his senses. It didn’t do anything to stop the rush of love and affection he felt for her, but that was an entirely different mystical matter. Returning to the image of standing at the banks of the Black Lake, Harry envisioned himself jumping in. His focus intensified, yet widened at the same time.

Through the soles of his feet, he felt vibrations caused by students traipsing to the loo and doors being opened and closed. Mice darting across deserted corridors. Magical portraits whispered down in the Grand Staircase; they’d seen a young student wandering alone through the night — just a short while ago. A Ravenclaw, said the echoes reaching Harry’s ears.

Outside, a bird was rustling its feathers, and he knew it was an owl perching on a tree to pause its midnight hunt.

Then, he felt a disturbance in the movement of the very air. A cold rush, coming up from the lower levels, a swirl that smelled strangely familiar… Bones, and dirt, and something that eerily reminded him of his blood, coppery and sweet.

“What?” she asked, having sensed him going still.

“I… I recognize a strange scent.” He shook his head. “And someone opened a window downstairs, a big one. There’s a draft.”

She rolled her eyes, fondly, since it was a ridiculous claim even knowing he was a Sentinel.

Harry didn’t have the words to describe his relief that she was able to help him drown those bizarre details most of the time. How his mind had been able to cope with it all had been nothing short of astounding — he hadn’t forgotten Moody’s remark about brains dribbling out of someone’s nose should they peek into his mind.

The urge to investigate grew stronger. To defend his home, do something.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling her along.

She didn’t resist, but he noticed that her thoughts were ablaze. That sweet and earthy scent, strongest at the base of her neck, always grew stronger when she thought hard. As they hurried through the common room, he kept quiet.

“You said it feels like a Horcrux, but we’re reasonably sure none remain inside the castle, so what is it?” she said. “Unless the Chamber of Secrets is warded off so strongly it can shield foul auras — until something crawls out of it.”

“It’s not the Basilisk; that beast is dead,” Harry whispered back, not knowing why he’d chosen that particular line. Hermione hadn’t been there, but she knew all about it; his desperate victory in the depths was ancient news. And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t actually believe that the king of snakes was dead in the classic sense of dead and gone.

His dream meant something; he was sure of that.

“Remember that I saw its face in the swimming pool, Harry. And you said it’s the one thing that felt right to be a trophy, something to mark your claim.” She stopped, scoffing quietly. “If my younger self could hear me right now, I’d be sent to St. Mungo’s posthaste.”

“I heard they serve great snacks there,” he quipped to diffuse the tension.

She didn’t say anything, but her grip on his hand intensified.

As they approached the many flights of stairs leading down, the draft intensified — as did the scent he’d picked up earlier. But before Harry could remark on that, Hermione’s aura flared. It felt as if waves of cool energy came out of her, yet he knew the flow was the other way around. The rate at which she absorbed ambient magic increased.

His naked feet felt almost hot as the castle reacted to her, to both of them.

“Harry,” she gasped. “Look!”

Having been distracted by the floor, he raised his head.

The Grand Staircase was reconfiguring itself. Not in the lazy way the different flights of stairs or landings moved this way or that way in semi-regular intervals. Every single movable piece of the entire thing was in motion, shifting in impossible angles — and in complete silence.

“Oh,” he said, since nothing clever or insightful came to mind.

The visual spectacle ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Only now, instead of a chaotic series of interconnected flights of stairs zig-zagging the entire space, things were arrayed neatly, following the walls. A groan rumbled through the entire castle, as if someone weighing a thousand tons had just slotted into place.

Purpose.

Harry blinked. “What?”

Confrontation.

He drew a ragged breath as realization dawned on him. What he’d taken to be his Sentinel sense talking to him in that strange way hadn’t originated in his mind at all — he’d picked up signals of Hogwarts itself.

Dumbledore had once said that the castle was alive in its own way. In hindsight, it made too much sense.

Hermione cupped his face, shattering his reverie. “Tell me what you feel, Harry.”

Between his feet running hot despite the frigid flagstones and her hands transmitting more of that inimitable Guide aura, he felt like a lightning rod. The hairs on his arms stood up.

Vanquish.

“Hogwarts. I… I feel it. Those impulses I have when something foul is near; or someone plans to do something bad, I thought it was my Sentinel sense.” He pinched his nose. “It was the castle the whole time — it’s reacting.”

“I can see that,” she said, pointing at the Grand Staircase. And maybe she was right to be nonchalant. After mythical ponds and exorcising Horcruxes and whatnot, it didn’t have quite the impact it would have had a year ago, Harry reasoned. Still, having the castle literally open the way for them was… something.

“We should raise McGonagall and the others,” he said. “Whatever is waiting down there is dangerous.” There were distorted echoes coming up now, layering onto the draft and the weird scent. Male voices — two of them.

Definitely students.

Had someone brought a nasty souvenir to Hogwarts? Harry immediately thought of Malfoy, but that arsehole smelled and sounded different. He wasn’t down there, at least not out in the open.

“Dobby, can you hear me?” Hermione asked, not whispering anymore.

It only took the span of a single breath before the house-elf appeared. “Grangy-friend is calling on Dobby? Is the great Harry Potter in danger?” The little guy wrung his hands as he stared at both of them.

“I’m truly sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, but we need your help. Something dangerous is inside the castle — somewhere on the ground level,” Hermione explained. “Can you raise Professor McGonagall for us, Dobby? We might need help and protect the other students.”

Dobby nodded even before she’d finished, but then he noticed the Grand Staircase’s new layout and his eyes grew bigger, if that was indeed possible. “Is Harry Potter claiming the castle as his domain?” he asked.

Harry blinked. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing! Dobby wasn’t listening in, sir, he swears!” The house-elf pulled on his ears until Hermione stopped him. “There were just rumors in the kitchens,” he mumbled.

“Well, they’re not far off the mark, Dobby.” Harry knelt down. “It’s okay — I just thought for a moment that you might be able to answer some of my questions. But can you go to the deputy headmistress for us? Please do it fast.”

Dobby almost saluted. “He will not disappoint Harry Potter, no, he won’t.”

He vanished almost inaudibly.

As if in response, Hogwarts rumbled again. This time, dust rained from the ceiling high above and Harry felt another surge through his naked feet. It didn’t just hit him like a live wire, it also push-pulled in a way he couldn’t explain.

Destiny.

“We can’t wait,” he said, voicing that urge. “I really want to, but I don’t think I can, Hermione. It wants me down there — now.”

She paled but kept her composure. “I feared as much. In the end, it’s always us, isn’t it? Running straight into the belly of the beast.”

“Let’s hurry.”

He really wanted to but didn’t offer her his hand again. Time was of the essence and they’d dawdled enough. So they rushed down the new stairs, side by side.

It felt strange to run down in a big circle, not having to change direction or turn around to cross a landing in the opposite direction. Harry remembered the floating debris from his fight with Snape that felt like a hundred years ago at this point — only to notice it was gone. He made a mental note to check that out later, another unanswered question for the pile.

Over the noise of their footsteps he could hear the voices again. One was younger, and he knew the speaker… Hugo. From Ravenclaw, Hugo M-something, if he remembered right. The other one was older and sounded only vaguely familiar — Sentinel senses didn’t come with retroactive eidetic memory, which was just unfortunate.

A laugh pierced the air then, shrill and terrible.

Harry remembered that voice.

Suddenly, that scent made all sorts of sense in entirely the wrong way. He knew who was waiting for them over in the Great Hall. Knew it in his bones, because that’s where memories of the Cruciatus Curse lingered. For a moment, he wished again to be a regular schoolboy, to have been spared this terrible destiny laid out years ago. He stopped.

Hermione reacted almost immediately. “What?” she asked, panting.

“Voldemort.”

The name dropped into existence like a curse, because that’s what it was. Harry tried to shake himself out of it. “I know it’s him, that voice… and I smell his foul blood. All the things that were put in the cauldron at that graveyard in Little Hangleton.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. “Of course.”

“He’s in the Great Hall, and there is a student, Hugo. An older one as well — I don’t know who, though.” As hard as he tried to focus, it was difficult to make out details. But he noticed that there were even more people downstairs now. New scents, rustling of what sounded like several robes.

Death Eaters.

“So he finally decided to confront us.” Harry tried to think, coming up empty. He only knew running away wasn’t an option, not with someone innocent being caught in the crossfire. Would his Sentinel sense urge him into a situation he couldn’t win? Would Hogwarts?

“What do we do? You can’t duel him, Harry”, Hermione hissed. “Not if he wants to become a Sentinel himself. Who knows what he could do to take it away from you?”

She put a hand in front of her mouth to contain her horror.

In response — and Harry was absolutely certain that Hogwarts did this — a tiny mote of light faded into existence above them. Then two, seven, fifty. Both the draft and the foul stench were gone, replaced by this ethereal sight.

“Is that what happened in the swimming pool?” he asked, wary of yet another supernatural phenomenon when Voldemort was so close. “I imagined it to look like this.”

Hermione, awestruck as he was, didn’t reply. Instead, she raised a hand to reach out. One of the motes drifted closer, touching the tip of her finger.

Harry’s eardrums popped as all the other tiny lights vanished, leaving Hermione to hold the last one. She took a deep breath, radiating serene calmness now. No more flaring.

When she looked at him, he had goosebumps. Guide abilities weren’t just different; they were virtually inconceivable. No wonder Hermione, who used to attack problems with her rational mind, struggled.

“Go, Harry,” she said as she stepped up and put a hand on his shoulders. “Don’t use your feet; use your magic.”

He wanted to protest, knowing that apparition was forbidden inside Hogwarts unless the headmaster lowered the wards. But those were old, regular rules. He needed to let go and join the flow.

Skirmish.

Hugo was afraid; the older boy was not. A Slytherin and a traitor, Harry heard him bragging about having let the enemy in. The young Ravenclaw was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. And Voldemort…

Harry sensed him striding through the Great Hall and knew with absolute certainty the patterns of broken glass on the ground, the shape of the shattered window.

His focus was already there; he just had to follow in the flesh.

Not using stairs, but the hidden path. The one used by ghosts and hunters, those running along the fringes. In here, in his home, he could do that.

Holding on to Hermione, Harry moved —

— and stepped into the Great Hall, right next to the lectern, which he knew would provide a modicum of cover in case curses began flying immediately. Seeing that reality was indeed shaped exactly as the mental image he’d been holding was jarring.

Not as jarring as seeing his fated nemesis, though.

Voldemort towered over Hugo, a pale yet smirking Lane right next to them. Half a dozen Death Eaters stood vigil, wands drawn. They were nervous standing here, in their old school — but none dared to interrupt their master.

Hermione’s hand clamped with a vice-like grip on his shoulder — she was afraid but steady.

“Leave him alone, Tom,” Harry said, keeping track of everyone as they turned to face him. One of the Death Eaters was so startled he fired a jinx in his direction, purely by instinct. As he tried to dodge, though, Hermione held him in place.

The jinx fizzled out midair, right in front of them.

She’d absorbed it.

“I was hoping you’d come down to welcome me to your domain, Harry,” Voldemort said. “I have been hearing rather wild stories about what’s going on in Hogwarts these days. Being a curious man myself, I simply couldn’t resist investigating.” He smiled evilly. “You understand, of course.”

Harry gritted his teeth, the anathema of the undead wizard an assault to his sensitive senses. Voldemort wasn’t just foul; he shouldn’t exist. Yet the push-pull he’d felt earlier hadn’t faded; it’d only grown stronger. There was nothing he wanted less than being close to that creature — but he felt the urge to approach nonetheless.

“Let him go,” he pressed, readjusting the grip on his wand. “Whatever you’re here for, it’s not a young Ravenclaw student.”

“You don’t make demands of the Dark Lord,” the older Slytherin student barked. “You die tonight, Potter!”

To Harry’s surprise, Voldemort turned away from Hugo, who stumbled and set himself down onto the floor gracelessly, white as a sheet. Whatever the monster had done to him must’ve been draining.

Harry’s anger spiked.

“You have to excuse Lane; he’s eager to see my plans enacted,” Voldemort said as he approached with a few careful steps. “Did you think Draco Malfoy was the only one doing my bidding here?”

“A pitiful excuse for a secret agent, really,” Hermione scoffed, surprising everyone.

Voldemort’s eyes blazed, but he kept his temper in check. “Ah, yes, the Mudblood.” He made a face as if he tried to wrinkle his nose, even though he didn’t possess it any longer. “As unwelcome as your presence is in this place, I can appreciate the convenience of not having to hunt you down.”

His ever-increasing anger caused Harry’s focus to intensify — he aimed all of it at Voldemort. He could see the resurrected tissue moving underneath that pale skin, saw that his nemesis was still capable of perspiration. His left eye was ever so slightly bigger, and the mouth not entirely straight. Imperfections, marks of a slightly flawed ritual.

Voldemort’s magic also felt alien.

If anything, it reminded him of… Hermione’s Guide vortex.

“What do you want?” he hissed, trying to block Voldemort’s line of sight. “Other than killing me, that is.”

“Oh, Harry, where to even begin?”

Voldemort shook his head, playing the disappointed party. It was a performance, something he reveled in, and it rubbed Harry the wrong way to draw this confrontation out. But it might give Minerva some much-needed time to act. The monster took another step, aiming his wand at Harry — no, at Hermione. “But we might begin with your untimely… hypersensitivity that caused dear Albus to be in such dire straits. Where is he, by the way? I half-expected him to interrupt us, as he so often does.”

Coldness swept over Harry and it had nothing to do with Hermione’s calming influence. The monster knew about him being a Sentinel, they’d expected as much. But why was he pointing his wand at Hermione? None of the Death Eaters would notice, but Voldemort would know that Harry did. Did he know about Guides as well?

A silent threat?

“I don’t know,” Harry said, truthfully.

“A rather bold claim, boy.” Voldemort angled his head and snapped with his left hand. “Let’s put it to the test. Dear friends, please head to the seventh floor as planned. If you encounter members of the staff, kill them. If Dumbledore arrives, tell him to meet me here at his earliest convenience.”

Lane saw an opportunity. “My Lord, the Grand Staircase has changed since you last walked this school. I can show the Death Eaters the shortest way.”

“Is that so?” Voldemort’s eyes never left Harry, but he slightly turned his head. “That’s an interesting offer, and I shall have you explain everything to me afterward. But go with them for now.”

Unable to stop the posse, Harry watched them leave the Great Hall. One of the Death Eaters stopped to look at him, not Voldemort, and he focused on the man — definitely a male scent coming from underneath those robes. It carried similarities to Voldemort’s stench, but also reminded Harry of Draco…

Of course.

“It’s not too late to stop this madness, Lucius,” he said, trying to rattle the man.

He didn’t flinch, though, and simply turned to follow the others to do Merlin knew what in the castle. Hopefully the Grand Staircase had turned back to its original configuration; otherwise, they’d be up on the seventh floor in no time.

“Don't you dare ignore me to talk to my followers, Harry,” Voldemort said. “Crucio!”

Harry had felt the magic building in the monster’s arm, in the wand that’d tortured him before. But Hermione was on top of things — she released her grip on him and almost shoved him aside.

“Protego!” she cast in response, her voice echoing strangely in the empty hall. The Unforgivable fizzled, just as that jinx before — but it caused ripples in Hermione’s spell, ripples that spread further out as if she was standing inside a wall of water.

Unwilling to have her expose herself for nothing, Harry reacted. “Diffindo!”

He dodged a counterattack that wasn’t coming.

“Expelliarmus!”

Voldemort swatted his spells aside like gnats.

The three of them stopped, spread out in a triangle.

“Tell me, Miss Granger, was it difficult to force water to bond with someone as unworthy as yourself?” he sneered, the jovial mask of latent violence replaced by sheer viciousness now that their audience had left.

Harry felt nauseous at having his fears proven true.

“I am not afraid of you,” she said, clearly shaken.

Voldemort scoffed. “Which just proves more of your mental shortcomings, foolish girl. You think your bond with Harry is strong? That the two of you have a real connection? Avada Kedavra!”

“Confringo!” Harry tried to interrupt the monster, forcing him to miss. But the sickly green spell was already racing towards Hermione, who barely managed to dodge. His attack had brought him close to Voldemort, and he was equally repulsed as he was drawn towards his nemesis. What the hell was going on?

“Harry, it is good that you stop resisting,” Voldemort cooed. “I didn’t see the way fate bound us at first — I didn’t think it possible that you would be blessed with such a rare gift. But it was meant to be, wasn’t it?” He smiled, less evil now and therefore all the more unsettling to watch.

Then, something else happened.

Hermione’s aura began to flicker, then fade as it weakened. “Harry!” she yelled, raising her wand, but Voldemort was faster.

“Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!”

She cried out as she let herself fall, rays of death singeing her curls, and Harry’s focus reduced everything down into harsh contrasts of living and unliving as his instincts took over.“Expelliarmus!”

Voldemort’s wand was ripped out of the man’s unnaturally long fingers, and Harry snatched it with practiced ease. Not stopping his momentum, he proceeded to let himself be drawn closer still — clenching his fist around his wand as he did so.

Just as he came up to Voldemort, drowned in the scent of bone, dirt, and his own repurposed blood, he aimed at the monster’s ghastly visage.

“Telum.”

Harry saw that Voldemort had been able to follow his movements, despite the incredible speed. He tried to weave to the side, but it was easy to adjust the angle of his punch. When his fist connected, a sickening crunch reverberated in the Great Hall. Voldemort was flung back several dozen feet, crashing into the Hufflepuff tables.

Only partially aware of what he was doing, Harry broke the captured wand once, twice, before he threw the pieces aside. No stunners this time, no half-measures, either.

“I’m okay,” Hermione said, coming up at his side. He smelled burned hair and heard the thumping of her racing heart, which fueled his fury. They watched Voldemort untangle himself from the wooden debris. His face was ruined — the left cheekbone shattered and pushed inside by Harry’s empowered punch.

“It felt as if he tried to separate us,” she continued. “Don't let him do that again.”

The undead wizard didn’t seem to care about his injury as he craned his neck. “I see that the rumors about you stepping in your father’s footsteps are true,” he said. “Only a dim-witted bully would use his fist instead of his magic.”

“Bite me,” Harry spat.

“Oh, I just might,” Voldemort replied. Then he noticed the splintered remains of his wand behind Harry, which visibly enraged him. “You will pay for that — you will pay dearly.” He exhaled, as if trying to calm himself.

Harry raised his wand to knock his enemy out since he was done listening to threats, but something pulled the magic right out of him. Because Hermione’s aura didn’t just continue to fade; it was suddenly extinguished. Just gone, from one moment to the next. He heard her gasp as his perception was turned upside down.

His mouth tasted of dirt, and he couldn’t breathe. Nothing made sense; he was surrounded by bone and blood, lying in a cauldron that burned him alive. Everything hurt; everything was too loud and bright. His mind was burning, his focus lost.

Harry screamed, knew that Hermione was screaming too, but he still heard Voldemort above the excruciating pain.

“Earth, not water, is the most powerful element, Harry. We all are born from it — and all of you pitiful existences who face real death return to its dark embrace sooner than later. Come, Sentinel, I shall guide you towards your fated end.”

Chapter Text

When Minerva’s Patronus appeared out of nowhere, Aurora shot it with a piercing hex since they all expected another trap or ambush. Thankfully, it had no effect on the messenger.

“Voldemort is in Hogwarts this very moment,” the silvery cat said to Charlie, utilizing her caster’s voice. “Harry and Hermione have decided to confront him, but none of us can follow — the castle won’t allow us. They’re in the Great Hall. Albus is nowhere to be found.”

It vanished, leaving confusion in its wake.

“Did I hear that right?” Charlie asked, more to himself than to his companions. “Hogwarts… did what?”

“I believe it,” Aurora said. “So, what do we do? We can’t apparate there.”

Charlie exchanged a glance with Remus. “Well, we can get closer than some might think. Just how do we proceed? Running into the line of fire isn’t a good plan, no matter how much we all despise Voldemort.”

“We might not have a choice. If Hermione and Harry are with him, we can’t waste any time!” Remus barked. “We have to figure it out as we go.”

It was the truth, Charlie knew. He still hated this, running off like a typical Gryffindor. Only this time, Minerva likely wouldn’t berate him for it. If only he could think of something. “I’ll side-apparate you two,” he said. “We’re going to land in the Forbidden Forest, close to the castle. Remus, don’t wait for us on the other side; just run ahead.”

His friend nodded as he and Aurora put their hands on Charlie’s shoulders.

“What does that mean?” Aurora asked.

“Later,” Charlie said as he tried to ignore the adrenaline and the worries. He focused on a particular spot in the forest — where he’d once sat down to have another emotional crisis during his school years.

They vanished from the ruined Gaunt property with a loud crack that echoed through the night.

After being stretched to infinity and pulled back, the sounds of the Forbidden Forest made for a very different ambience. Even in the dim light, Charlie noted that Remus’ pupils widened and how he checked their surroundings nervously.

“What is it?”

Remus shook his head. “It feels different from before; something strange is happening.”

“This way,” he ordered, taking the lead. “It’s about two thousand yards from here to the castle proper; we need to hurry.”

Nobody argued as they raced through the night, not quite running due to the difficult terrain. They couldn’t afford a broken ankle, not now. Except for Remus, who gained speed, unbothered by the lack of light. He overtook Aurora, then Charlie.

“I’m heading for the main entrance,” he said between strides.

Charlie hadn’t had time to come up with a plan, but he remembered a stupid challenge from way back when. Good thing he wasn’t afraid of heights. “We’re going for a vertical walk instead.”

“Ah, of course. Be careful!”

“You too,” Charlie panted as he watched his friend dart away, slightly jealous of that werewolf stamina that Remus seldom utilized. Nobody would ever expect such a sickly-looking man to outrun professional Muggle athletes if need be.

“Am I missing something?” Aurora called out. “Where did he go? And how’s he so fast?”

They approached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he stopped, motioning her to do the same. “It’s not my story to tell, sorry — you have to ask him.”

“Tell me you’re part of Albus’ little club without telling me that you’re part of his club,” she grumbled. “Fine, whatever.”

They observed the dark silhouette of the castle with its dozens of flickering lights for a moment. Nothing indicated that things were amiss, that the so-called Dark Lord was currently inside. Charlie sighed. “Follow me,” he said as he began running. “We’re going to surprise him.”

“What?” It took Aurora a few moments to catch up with him.

Out here, away from the forest, they could increase their pace without risking serious injuries. And they’d almost reached their destination; the walls grew bigger by the second. Still no sounds or signs of someone fighting inside, even though Charlie was half-convinced he’d see bright-green flashes through the windows any second now.

“We’re entering through there,” he said, gasping for air and cursing his shortness of breath. Demanding physical activities were part of his job, but that seldomly included running. “He won’t expect that.”

Her gaze followed his finger. “Okay, but how do we get up there, Charlie? We don’t have brooms.”

“Don’t need any.” He drew his wand and aimed at his boots. “Epoximise.”

She frowned. “Are you serious?”

“We don’t have time to be neat! If he grabs Harry, we’re… Let’s just make sure that never happens. Now come on!” He wished that he could offer a plan that wasn’t something his twin brothers might do for shits and giggles — but he still had nothing.

He watched her spell her own boots adhesive. She put one foot against the wall, testing the effect. “Which spell to levitate our butts?”

“Levicorpus Sursum,” he cast in reply, feeling himself hoisted skyward rather gently. Memories of doing this in his sixth year surfaced, memories of fooling around with Martin, losing him. Memories of Tonks, too — which brought him back to the present with reinforced determination.

They ascended the outer wall, wands drawn. The Great Hall’s main window was coming up to their left. It was a good thing that inside, the High Table would offer cover once they’d broken through because there was no way to do this gracefully, or quietly.

When they both had reached the ancient stained glass window, Charlie knelt down. It was exceedingly strange to do that at a ninety-degree angle, and his sense of gravity demanded he change his orientation. But Aurora didn’t complain, instead acting as if they were wall-walking on a regular basis.

Side by side, they peered around the edge and into the Great Hall.

It was largely destroyed.

Something had pushed, or rather shattered, all tables and benches, freeing the center of the space. The floor was cracked and mostly gone, showing rock and bare earth where once masoned flagstones had been laid. If Charlie didn’t know better, he’d guess that a dragon had tried to dig a hidey-hole inside.

Remus had been right, Charlie reflected as he tried to tap into his other sense that had caused him so much anguish once upon a time. The pressure of Harry’s Sentinel focus that lingered even when the kid wasn’t on site was notably absent… and in its place there was something familiar. Something like ripples, ethereal and raw — elemental rather than magical, and that meant it was related to Guides.

What in the hell had Voldemort done to Hermione?

There were no bodies, though.

“Morgana!” Aurora cursed. “Are we too late?”

“Hopefully not. Even Voldemort can’t apparate from here, so he must still be inside.” He aimed his wand at the glass. “The trick is to jump and cancel the Levicorpus immediately after. Ready?”

She nodded grimly. “As much as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Alright, cutting the glass on three…”

Aurora’s hand shot out to grab his arm. “Stop.”

“What?” he hissed.

“It’s already open. Look!”

She was right. Someone had opened the movable part of the massive window, not bothering to close it properly again. Charlie hadn’t even known that to be possible, none of the professors had opened this thing even during large balls and other festivities. And why would they, when fresh air was available at the wave of a wand?

“Well, so much for Cutting Charms — but that means we can enter much more quietly. You go first, I’ll cover you.”

He leaned over to widen the crack so they could slip inside.

“I don’t have your vial, Albus; stop pestering me. Threw it away years ago, along with all the other detritus you kept unloading at my doorstep.” Aberforth didn’t even look up as he busied himself with a dirty dishrag, wiping an equally dirty counter.

A ham actor meeting an old fool and a doomed man in the middle of the night.

Severus rolled his eyes, feeling increasingly annoyed. He’d known this would be one of those foolish errands Albus loved to run in the middle of an ongoing catastrophe — he wondered if he wasn’t equally as liable as the old fool for following him around still.

When someone carefully tapped on the window behind him, he turned to see Ariana standing outside, grinning like an axe murderer about to barge in to finish the job. Sighing, he looked away. “We don’t have time.”

“Indeed,” Albus said, moving that ghastly hand of his behind his back so his brother wouldn’t be too alarmed. “Aberforth, please. I didn’t come in the middle of the night to argue; this is an urgent matter. Hogwarts is in danger.”

Aberforth scoffed. “Whenever is it not? Don’t you have any other excuses to harass me?”

“Brother, I mean it — wherever you stored that vial, I need it. Now.”

Snape felt something spread in the dimly lit room, and he paid close attention as his senses began telling him that he should vacate the establishment altogether. It was that terrible feeling of being looked at by someone dangerous and powerful. Being reduced to prey.

Fear, naked fear, spreading through every limb.

But he remained steadfast, being long used to being scared out of his mind, thanks to Voldemort’s tender care throughout the years. He’d chosen this path — even though it had led him into rather unfamiliar territory since Potter’s supposed awakening, he wouldn’t falter now.

Albus’ brother, being the target of that terrible gaze, didn’t panic, either. Underneath that awful personality lay a steely resolve, it seemed. But he grew pale and let go of that awful dishrag. “What is going on?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Does he know?”

“Severus knows enough; he’s been privy to my plans for many years now,” Albus said — falling back to his preferred kind of non-answer.

Aberforth glanced back and forth between them. “Let me fetch that damn vial then.”

As he shuffled away, Albus turned to eye Snape. It was still highly uncomfortable, but the terrible feeling of being gazed at by a predator was fading. Whatever it was, the old fool tried to contain himself, which was just as well.

“I know you have questions, Severus. I intend to answer some of them once we’re in my office. I need to show you something — in fact, I need your help.”

Disinclined to hand his mentor even more rope to be woven into tangled plots, Severus crossed his arms. “I won’t participate in unknown rituals, and I am not going to lend you my wand unless I know exactly what sort of outcome you’re hoping for, Albus.”

Because he wondered if all of this wasn’t built on desperate hopes. To bring order to Hogwarts by reining Potter in — maybe even keeping the Dark Lord in check.

Albus nodded in that irritating way of his, as if he was forgiving him for some imaginary trespass. “And I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“What about… her?” Severus vaguely gestured over his shoulder.

“She is a key figure in all of this. I didn’t want to see it for the longest time, but now that Harry's abilities are progressing — I understand what must be done. As I said, explanations will follow once we…” The old man stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened, his skin waxen all of a sudden.

Severus wondered if Albus was suffering from a heart attack, but then he realized he was reacting to an outside influence.

“What is it?”

“Hogwarts… Voldemort has arrived.”

Dumbstruck by the almost laughably terrible timing, Severus almost missed the return of Aberforth. He grimly handed Albus a dusty vial with a soft glow — memories, to be looked at in a Pensieve. “I won’t say that I hope you know what you’re doing, because I know you don’t,” he spat. “Now leave, and don't return.”

The old fool just stared, absently, overwhelmed by whatever senses or mechanisms had alerted him to the Dark Lord’s intrusion. Disgusted, Severus accepted the vial and pushed Albus outside. He gave Aberforth a grim nod before the door was slammed shut.

“Whose memories are these?” he asked, remembering how he’d allowed Albus to take his from the fight where the brat Harry Potter had tried to intervene. Which, due to the idiocy of James’ rotten spawn, had almost cost him his life.

How they’d failed to contain this entire mess from the beginning.

“It’s another Sentinel’s recollection of things long past.” Albus blinked owlishly, his nose bleeding once again. But his gaze sharpened, and he took the vial with his left hand. “Severus, we need to adjust our plans since —”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” interjected a girly voice. Ariana sat on the edge of the roof above them, her feet dangling. Severus scowled, hoping the people in Hogsmeade were heavy sleepers.

“You wanted to do this from the beginning, brother! Unleash the king from down below to obfuscate your move on the board. It’s against the rules, you know!”

Albus sighed. “Please be quiet, Ariana. We need to leave at once, or Hogwarts will be lost to us.”

“Oh, stop whinging about the Halls of Bitchcraft and Bigotry. There’s more important stuff than your empire of dirt,” Ariana continued before hopping off the ledge. She landed on the tips of her toes, arms spread as if awaiting applause. “But set it all ablaze if you like — I don’t mind the ash.”

She turned to Severus, eyes wider than should be possible. “Because unlike old Nick, I don’t freeze in the face of death, you know. But… shhhhhhh.” Her smile became manic as she put a finger on her lips.

Having learned by now that Ariana’s ramblings contained a kernel of truth, Severus swallowed his growing horror to focus on his irritation instead. “Albus, what does she mean by that?”

“That Voldemort’s intervention opened a window of opportunity, my friend. And with Harry likely being cut off from his protections by now, we can push both of them off the premises.” He turned to face the silhouette of Hogwarts in the distance, twirling the vial in his hand. “We just need to conjure a single word in Parseltongue.”

Mountains shattered and entire lands broke away into the ocean as Susan’s mind was assaulted by impossible impressions. She cried, keened, barely able to breathe, as things just kept piling on top of each other.

Hannah was there, trying to comfort her — yet her gentle embrace was drowned by the avalanche. Only the sympathetic tears she shed holding Susan impacted on the warped nightmare reality. Each drop a titan’s hammer, rocking her to her very core with both pain and pleasure.

It didn’t end, maybe didn’t have a beginning as well since time had lost all meaning.

She was dimly aware that other people were shouting, running around. A whole ruckus, possibly because of her episode — so embarrassing. Also something about being trapped in the Hufflepuff dormitories?

Then she saw Harry. Not really saw him with her eyes but becoming aware of him as he stepped on her with his naked feet. Hermione’s slim shoes were almost uncomfortable in comparison. What was happening?

Was she the floor?

Harry’s feet were a comfort, skin on stone. Warm, and with a pulse that left fading marks in his wake — the fleeting path of a hunter.

That feeling wasn’t hers, she realized. Even as the foundations of the earth crumbled to dust in her mental landscape, with more roaring noise than seemed possible, she was able to focus on that small incongruity. She was being used as a conduit.

Everything stopped when a new presence made itself known. Her skin crawled, then came the pain. Real pain, nerves on fire, and laced with fear.

More screaming.

It was wrong — she didn’t want this thing, this creature, to be in contact with her. The part of her mind still able to make sense of images and impressions whispered the word Voldemort, but she didn’t entirely know what that meant other than a terrible sort of impermanence.

Doors closed, walls shifted and stairs moved, changing architecture that had existed in stasis for hundreds of years. It was like moving a hand, shifting a foot during restless moments in class.

Was she the castle now? Susan didn’t want to be a castle; she was a person, wasn’t she? But the world was breaking apart, tumbling into an abyss of nothingness, so what did it matter?

No, she wouldn’t just let go like that; she’d seen too much to welcome such a fate without resistance. Gritting her teeth, spitting blood and saliva, she moved.

Really moved.

Away from Hannah, lovely Hannah, who wanted to help her above anything else.

Susan’s fingers touched stone. Hard, cool, smoothed by generations of students running through this hallway. It did something, anchored her. She could breathe, think. The noise faded, as did the feeling of seeing the horizon crumble to dust.

She was Susan Bones, and she was in contact with earth, feeling the castle — and it spoke to her. In the distance, she felt something different. A wave, receding, and those waters tasted like Hermione. Harry’s steps were still there, but the pattern was all wrong. Not hunting, but following.

Following Voldemort, whose steps brought pain and death, left nothing but ash.

She didn’t like that.

Hogwarts didn’t like it, either.

And she wasn’t alone. Hugo, bless his heart, was with them, his soul flickering like a candle in a storm. He was afraid, so afraid, but still he remained in the eye of the storm. She felt it through the soles of his shoes, his panting breath reaching the walls. He hadn’t woken up yet — his focus still fast asleep, waiting for permission since he was in another’s domain.

There were rules about these things — unspoken ones, and as old as the flow of magic itself.

Susan sensed that she was bleeding out of her eyes and nose now, and the surrounding voices grew sharper. She didn’t want to worry anyone,yet none of it mattered, not as she stood at the precipice of understanding.

Her dreams, Harry’s awakening, the castle itself…

Someone had tried to close a book, suppress the flow of energy. Manipulated students over the centuries, or sent them away without understanding why they woke up in the first place. Hogwarts was alive, and it called out. To every young soul sleeping in its belly.

Calling for help and sending clues in the form of dreams.

To her, Hugo, Sally-Anne, and Amber. To Hermione and Harry.

Her hand spread, feeling the imperfections of the cold stone. It wasn’t blood she tasted now, but salt and dirt. Rot, metal, crystal and coal — rustling echoes of forests long gone, dreams of mountains not seen by any living creature or their ancestors. Baked into stone, ground into silt and dust, only to reharden into rock once more. The very earth was speaking to her through Hogwarts.

It spoke of power and dust, renewal, death, healing. Of time, aeons and patterns.

And of Voldemort, who intimately knew the path she hadn’t even walked yet, a corrupted agent bound for destruction. Standing against him might cost Susan her life — but that too was part of being earth. She wasn’t afraid, she was simply connected to it all.

So she listened.

“Don’t dawdle, young Ravenclaw, lest I torture you into insanity, yes?” Voldemort stopped to observe his newest ward catching up. Mister Mattingley was scared witless, yet he managed to walk and hold the catatonic Mudblood. In a way, it was mildly impressive.

Mattingley nodded, eyes downcast, likely lingering on Potter’s unconscious form.

Voldemort smiled, enjoying the moment since everything was falling into place — and he didn’t even need to wear another mask. It’d been the right choice to accompany his Death Eaters, who probably would’ve tortured this kid without learning anything of value.

“I expect you to reply when I speak to you, student. You are a Pure-blood — act like it.” Really, he should surround himself with more innocent young wizards and witches, seeing how easy it was to push them into obedience. He hadn’t even taken the boy’s wand, just to show how useless he was in his current frightened state.

The Ravenclaw changed his grip on the Mudblood and slowly raised his eyes. Voldemort knew the kid would probably pee himself if he made a sudden move, and the thought delighted him more than the actual action ever could.

“Y-y-yes, my lord.”

There was a smidgeon of defiance, even when faced with death. He might gain hours of entertainment were he to take this young man with him, Voldemort reasoned. Breaking him would be a welcome distraction from any frustrations bound to crop up.

“Better. Now come, we’re late for an important meeting.” He walked on, waving Potter’s wand to drag his enemy’s body behind. The small bumping noises of Potter’s head on the ground were music to his ears.

Once his men secured the diadem, he would bind the Sentinel to him in full view of the Hogwarts staff, just to ensure they understood the severity of the situation. It would even be easy since the boy had been left without any guidance — pun very much intended — so his claim on the castle was entirely based on emotions. None of the necessary rituals had been conducted, so it was all a literal house of cards.

Albus’ fears would be the downfall of the entire resistance, on top of not having to worry about that sodding prophecy any longer.

If he were a betting man, Voldemort would easily put a thousand Galleons on the old man suffering from a grave misunderstanding. That he, the Dark Lord, was trying to become a Sentinel. An understandable mistake for the average wizard, maybe, but a serious blunder for someone as involved as Albus was.

As Voldemort imagined what would come after, how he’d secure his rule on Britain, he couldn’t help but feel merry. Having temporarily cut the tie between Potter and the Mudblood, he now had a Sentinel and another Guide at his disposal — even two Sentinels, once he’d opened young Mattingley’s senses.

It’d been a while since he had this many interesting avenues to choose from.

If he wanted to, he could even keep the bonded pair alive, to re-establish and utilize their connection. It was rather tasteless, using a Mudblood as an anchor, but maybe there was a measure of security to be gained in return? The sheer horror would probably turn Potter insane, which was an enticing bonus.

Definitely something to look into once they’d left Hogwarts.

As if on cue, Voldemort found his way barred. Where normally the hallway connected the Great Hall with the Grand Staircase, he was now faced with a featureless wall of massive, dressed stones. He allowed himself a moment of irritation, deciding not to give in to rage just yet as he remembered Lane talking about a change of the castle’s layout.

But this couldn’t be it — none of his Death Eaters were still around, so this barrier must’ve manifested after they left the Great Hall.

“How curious,” he said, both for his audience of one and for himself, to reinforce the thought that it really was just that — a curiosity, not a roadblock. A wave of Potter’s wand revealed it to be solid, not an illusion, and he carefully touched the naked stone.

There was a hum of magic, like with every piece of Hogwarts. The entire place was satiated by centuries of spellcasting and classroom demonstrations. But he didn’t pick up any traces of the spells required to create such a barrier.

Voldemort didn’t like being confronted with a mystery, not now.

A wet cough broke the moment, and he turned to watch the Mudblood gasp as she regained a measure of consciousness. Mattingley was still holding her, clearly alarmed at having caught his attention.

As a Guide, it was difficult to sense others of his kind — not that he considered this worthless girl his equal in any way — but through Potter's focus, Voldemort knew she possessed notable power. Almost impossibly so, considering her recent awakening. Maybe Severus’ attempted obliviation had prematurely unlocked her potential?

“I don’t suffer weakness, so you better not moan or groan in my presence,” he warned the girl. “If you do, I will torture the young man holding you until his heart gives out.”

To her credit — he’d never say that out loud — she bit her lips and stopped making any sound. Her eyes, unfocused at first, landed on Potter, then on him, shedding a few pathetic tears. She clearly wanted to inquire about her friend’s health but didn’t dare to do so.

Sensing her fear was like a balm, and Voldemort indulged himself for a moment. “It’s a cute trick, but if you want to stop me, it won’t be enough,” he said eventually.

Nobody answered.

“Well, have it your way, Albus.” Potter’s wand didn’t like being used like this, used by him, but Voldemort had no trouble forcing it to heed his command. “Exesa!”

The violet curse hit the wall in a wide circle, corroding the material within the blink of an eye. But as he watched the stone being eaten by the magic, the entire hallway suddenly rumbled. Wary of a surprise attack, Voldemort stepped behind the two students — leaving Potter’s unconscious body on the floor just in case it would stop potential ambushers.

Instead of being attacked, he watched another wall rise behind the one he’d just pierced.

Nobody had cast a spell — neither here nor on the other side.

So the castle was acting on its own, some kind of emergency protocol he hadn’t heard of before. But Albus loved his secrets, and this was just like him. Voldemort could even appreciate the effort, having laid many a trap in decades prior.

“Exesa!”

This time, his curse didn’t even cut through the new stone barrier — it was too thick. Feeling justified to give in to his rage now, Voldemort approached the wall again.

“Fulmen Forare!” he roared, unleashing the most destructive precision spell applicable in this situation. The bright energy arcing towards the weakened stone blinded him momentarily, leaving a smoking hole that pierced both barriers now. Cracks radiated outwards for several yards, and he magically pushed against it with another flick of Potter’s wand.

An entire section crumbled with deafening noise, creating a path towards the Grand Staircase.

Eager to see the intimidated faces of his young hostages, Voldemort turned around — only to realize they’d fled. Even Potter had been moved, without making a sound.

Knowing from Severus that the brat owned an invisibility cloak bought with his father’s ill-gotten Galleons, he flooded the hallway with detection spells, but there was nobody there.

Someone would pay for this insolence.

Voldemort swallowed his pride and began running back to the Great Hall. Those damn kids had to be close; no way they’d left this area in such a short amount of time!

When he passed the doors, seeing the destruction brought by his severance of the bond between Potter and the Mudblood, he stopped.

Two adults ushered the kids towards the High Table. The man, a stocky redhead, reacted immediately when he saw him.

“Confringo!”

The spell went wide, missing him by more than an arm’s length. The attacker — clearly a member of that irritating Weasley clan — was now protecting the small group. Voldemort didn’t know or care who the witch was.

“I can appreciate your audacity, but Potter is mine,” he said, slowly advancing. “Lower your wands, and I promise you a moderately painful death.”

“Reducto!” The redhead fired again.

This time, Voldemort had to deflect the spell, and his patience had run out. “Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!”

He’d aimed at both adults, missing the witch by a hair’s width. The redhead wasn’t so lucky — until the green curse was pushed aside by the Mudblood. Like ripples on the surface of water, the air between them distorted momentarily. It shouldn’t be possible; only solid barriers could stop this spell.

Her anger was palpable, but all it did was fuel his amusement.

Voldemort laughed. “Did you think that through, silly girl? Standing against me, without your precious Sentinel at your side? Look at him, he’s useless.” Wordlessly, he began levitating some debris from his earlier power burst, just to show that he could do that and fight at the same time.

As expected, the adults tried to cover all three kids, forcing them to stop moving. But when he took a breath to unleash another volley of Killing Curses, someone came up from behind — his Death Eaters.

They didn’t arrive orderly, though; someone was chasing them.

“My Lord!” Goyle called out. “The castle… we can’t find a way to the seventh floor. None of the stairs lead anywhere, and there’s no space to levitate, either. Remus Lupin is following us; we can’t shake him!”

He should’ve expected as much after the sudden wall barricades, but Voldemort’s rage took over at the prospect of being denied access to his Horcrux.

“Crucio!” he yelled, causing Goyle to fall and scream in agony. Inured to sights like this, some of his Death Eaters fanned out to face Potter’s group while the rest remained at the hall’s entrance, trading curses with that pathetic werewolf loner.

Voldemort noticed that someone was missing. “Where is Malfoy?” Normally, he’d take care not to reveal any names in public without good reason, but he didn’t give a damn about precautions any longer.

“He said he’d try to find another way, through the Slytherin dungeons,” one of the others said.

Voldemort rubbed his forehead, fighting the urge to set the speaker on fire. “You imbeciles, he’s just running after his useless son.”

“But my Lord, Lane went with him.”

That wasn’t even worth a reply, so he ignored it. Eager as he was, Bitterworth didn’t have the decades of training that Lucious did, who was also desperate enough to be moderately dangerous. For regular people, that was.

“What a bother! If I were you, I’d murder countless people every day,” a female voice interjected.

Voldemort whirled around, only to realize that the witch and the Mudblood were equally as surprised, and everyone was staring to the left side of the Great Hall. There, on top of a pile of ruined tables and benches, sat a dark-haired slip of a girl.

Something about her appearance was off.

“You were such a pretty boy once, Tom,” she continued, pulling splinters from a broken piece of wood like petals from a wildflower. “Now look at you.”

Lupin and the rearguard had stopped firing, baffled like everyone else. “Who the fuck is that?” the redhead mumbled.

Voldemort couldn’t help but agree. “Avada Kedavra!”

The Killing Curse hit her without effect. “Stop it, that tickles!” she squealed, dropping the wooden piece to pull at her dress and inspect her chest. “If that leaves a bruise, I’ll put sand in your socks, just so you know.”

Voldemort didn’t know what to make of this apparition. Unlike a ghost, she was able to interact with her environment, but corporeal undead such as inferi were all mindless constructs — none of this made any sense.

“My Lord, what shall we do?” one of the Death Eaters stage-whispered.

“Shut up, all of you,” he snapped. Maybe the newcomer had been right, murdering some people would definitely help alleviate his immense frustration. His audience was even big enough to ensure rumors would be spread widely…

Hogwarts rumbled again.

This time, it wasn’t manifesting barriers but moving parts of the Great Hall. Everyone stumbled towards the walls as the ruined floor in the center cracked and fell away into a large open room underneath. Stone ground on stone as massive blocks and pillars moved up, creating a wide set of stairs out of nowhere — Voldemort didn’t believe this to be Albus’ work any longer.

Which begged the question of who was responsible and therefore a justified target for mutilation and subsequent ritual murder.

“Hahahaha!” the girl laughed. “Brother, you idiot! It wants ickle Harry to go down and meet the king. Never have I ever… “ She clapped enthusiastically.

Voldemort looked over to Potter, who was being held by the Mudblood on the far side of the Great Hall’s latest terrain feature. She'd managed to wake him but he was still dazed, that telltale Sentinel focus notably absent.

No time to waste, then. “What’s down there?” he asked the not-ghost.

“Your… death!” she said in a low voice before laughing again. “A real one, this time. Or is it? Maybe I’m lying... Why don’t you go down and find out? Is Tommy-boy scared?”

He had no patience for foolishness. “Avada Kedavra!”

This time, he hit her right in the forehead, but like before, it had no effect. She rubbed the spot with a finger, furrowing her brows. “Do that again and I’ll tell my brother to whoop your sorry arse.”

“Who is your brother?” the witch asked, her wand still trained at the Death Eaters.

The girl crossed her arms, clearly pouting. “Twelve uses for dragon blood, but no remedy for an icy heart — of course he never told anyone.”

Suddenly, she was yanked backwards. “Hey, not fair!” she screamed before vanishing into the wall. Her echo faded as everyone tried to understand what just happened.

Maybe it’d been a mistake to get up this morning, Voldemort randomly thought.

He could — in small quantities — deal with incompetent minions, greedy Ministry officials, and even Albus’ particular brand of insanity. This turn of events, though, was worrisome and also grating on his nerves. He didn’t have his Horcrux yet and there also didn’t seem to be a limit as to which parts of Hogwarts were able to shift into any entirely new layout.

And to think that not even five minutes ago he'd been in such a good mood.

“Enough of this foolishness,” he spat. “I’ve cut through one wall, I will cut through all of them if necessary. We’re going up — and Potter comes with us. Avada Kedavra!”

People were distracted so that this time, he didn’t miss.

But he didn’t hit his intended target, either.

“No!” A burst of movement as the young Ravenclaw threw himself into the line of fire, protecting the witch who Voldemort had been aiming at. The boy fell and hit the floor with a small thump, his wand rolling away.

Then all hell broke loose.

Fire.

Dodge.

Return fire.

And above all, pure anguish.

Her body moved on its own — fueled by adrenaline and reflexes honed in years of adventuring alongside Harry. But all Hermione could think of was the horror of seeing a young life snuffed out right in front of her eyes.

Hugo had been scared out of his mind, only to die protecting Professor Sinistra. The last thing he’d said to her had been a series of questions, furiously whispered as Charlie took them from a distracted Voldemort:“Why is Hogwarts upset? Why do I feel so much — what is wrong with me?”

The way he had looked at her, fearful and upset. Overwhelmed, like they all were.

Worst of all, she hadn’t been able to give answers. There was something familiar about how his skin felt on hers when he’d held her — a sense that triggered her wounded core of emotional magic. Almost as if…

Hermione dodged another Killing Curse, glad that Charlie and Professor Sinistra were unleashing surreal amounts of spells at Voldemort and his posse. But none of the curses hit the evil necromancer, who used levitated pieces of debris as a shield. And for every broken rock pulverized by an attack, he picked up two others.

Next to her, Harry tried his best to avenge Hugo, using the young Ravenclaw’s wand as he shielded the body. His teeth were bared, trails of tears on his dirty cheeks — furious and reckless.

She’d never seen him like this, not even after his fight with Snape.

“Avada Kedavra!” The curse flew wide but forced Harry to dodge.

Even in the chaos of battle, she realized Voldemort still wanted to subdue, not kill, Harry. Her as well. That horrible feeling of having her heart and all inner organs pulled out through her windpipe persisted, the deep connection to Harry… gone.

It hurt in a way that nothing had ever hurt in her life.

Hermione was almost glad for the distraction of deadly combat. Seeing Harry’s lifeless body earlier and waking him up had cost her all she had left to give after that excruciating moment when Voldemort had cut their connection. If there were to be a minute of calm now, she’d lose it completely.

And Harry was suffering as well. She could see him flinching when one of the Death Eaters bellowed another incantation, when more explosions rocked the Great Hall. His protective shell was fading — his intense focus gone.

“Confringo!”

The spell singed her hair and she saw one of the Death Eaters lunging her way.

“Expelliarmus! Diffindo!”

Like a puppet without strings, the man crumpled and stopped moving. His silver mask fell aside, but she didn’t recognize him — and she didn’t care. He’d come here to cause pain and suffering, reveling in bringing Voldemort’s terror to Hogwarts.

Hermione knew that regret would come after.

Now, they had to survive.

But she still remembered that feeling of Hugo’s hand on her arm from before…

… almost as if he’d been Harry. As if he’d been a Sentinel. Only he’d never awaken his talent now, dying with countless unanswered questions on his mind. Such a senseless death.

As her anger grew, Hermione felt her Guide ability fade — she was bruised, both physically and metaphysically, and the pool of water she imagined floating in emptied at an alarming rate. She’d likely fall unconscious soon.

Yet she’d stand at Harry’s side until the end.

Summoning what was left of her strength, she ran over to him when Voldemort was busy deflecting more of Charlie’s attacks. Hugo’s wand didn’t really work for him — his spells lacked power and precision, and his furious desperation was palpable.

“We can’t stay here!” she cried.

He nodded, pulling her close so they could duck behind a large piece of flagstone. His pupils were widened, but his bright emerald gaze was unfocused. “I can’t really see anything,” he said, almost too low to be understood amidst the battle. “My head feels like it might explode, and I…”

“I feel the same. Whatever he did to us, it still hurts.”

“We need to kill him, Hermione.”

She stopped him from darting out of their cover. “Stop! We won’t be able to do that here — you know that. I am furious about Hugo as well, but this isn’t the way to beat Voldemort.”

“Then what is?” Harry snapped.

Hermione swallowed the urge to slap him. They were both dead on their feet, while that evil Horcrux maker might still overwhelm the other adults. And whoever the strange ghost girl had been, she clearly wasn’t coming back to help. What she’d said, though…

… it made an eerie kind of sense.

“We need to go down!” she said, waving her wand in the direction of the big opening. Wherever those massive stone stairs led, it had to mean something that Hogwarts had created this exit right in front of them. “If we ever needed to get to the Chamber of Secrets, it’s now!”

Harry’s face shifted in a way that told her he’d known but simply didn’t want to hear it. “I’m not running away from this fight.”

“No, you’re going to claim this castle and kick that undead tosser’s arse, is what you’re going to do, Harry. And bond or no bond — you’re not alone. All we’ve been through, and the way to solve it is right there!”

“Bombarda!”

Their cover exploded, the force wave flinging them aside like leaves in the wind.

Hermione barely managed to hold on to her wand but screamed when a piece of broken furniture pierced both her legs. Harry impacted a nearby pile of debris and grunted, but she’d heard the dry cracks of bone breaking.

Before she knew it, he was at her side again — his right arm dangling uselessly, the wand gone.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “Can you walk?”

She nodded and gritted her teeth as she pulled at the enormous splinter. “Aaaaaah!” The pain spread through her legs, but it didn’t reach the agony of having her Guide bond severed. As she stopped the blood flow with a wave of her wand, she let Harry pull her up.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were tiny spasms in the muscles in his jaw. Hermione knew he did that when something really, really hurt.

She’d seen it a lot over the years.

But for once, luck was with them — Remus had felled two more Death Eaters and was now basically dueling Voldemort, together with Charlie. Professor Sinistra had been knocked down, trying to regain her senses from behind cover.

And Charlie seemed to understand Hermione’s plan. “Go!” he yelled between hexes. “Go now.”

Voldemort whirled around to stop them, but Harry was faster. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and jumped into the yawning staircase. As they fell, bright-green flashes illuminated the circular chamber leading down. When they landed on hard stone, Hermione screamed again as her legs gave out — even the agony of having her Guide ability forcefully cut was drowned by the fresh pain.

The awkward angle caused her to lose her balance, and she fell again. Harry’s arms pulled her towards his chest as they both tumbled down the rough stairs, unforgiving stone beating their bodies to a pulp.

She couldn’t feel her limbs any longer.

Thanks to a miracle or Harry’s reflexes, they eventually stopped. It was completely dark down here; Hogwarts wondrous new pathway hadn’t come with torches or lights. Hermione groaned as they slowly untangled from each other, every muscle in her body screaming.

“Ouch,” Harry mumbled, and she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time because how did he still have the energy to make quips?

His hands pulled her upright, gently.

Thunderous echoes from above reverberated through the staircase. The battle was still raging, and that meant they didn’t have an opportunity to sit down and count their broken bones. Whoever would finally follow them might be inclined to kill them — which right now even a second-year student would be able to do without problems.

“Episkey,” Hermione whispered, holding the wand to her bleeding legs. “Episkey.”

“I may sound like a broken record, but… can you walk?” he asked.

She winced and sighed. “I think so, but I need your help.”

Harry’s hand found her bruised shoulder. “You can lean on me.”

It meant more than simply helping her along; she knew that. But the simple gesture felt rather overwhelming, and the pain and emotional distress caught up with Hermione. As they gingerly raised themselves, she openly cried.

To his credit, Harry didn’t try to coddle her and simply held her hand.

“Lumos,” she mumbled between sobs.

The circular wall was made from the same kind of roughly hewn stone as the stairs, with no markers or portraits or anything. It smelled strange, an intense scent that was spicy and wet and — she remembered holidays in France with her parents and a summer rain that had surprised them during a city trip.

“Petrichor,” she recited. A curious word, something innocuous, to distract her exhausted mind from circling the impending doom from above.

Harry sniffed. “What?”

“I’ll tell you later.” She handed him her wand, still lit with the Lighting Charm, and sniffed. She needed to wipe her nose but moving her arms hurt too much. “Come. Even if this leads to the Chamber — it’s probably a long way.”

They descended into the dark.