Chapter 3: Buckbeak, a Boggart, and a (Briefly) Black Dog.
Harry woke on the first day of term feeling far better than he had in weeks.
He snuggled further under the soft red duvet, sinking deeper into the cloud-like squishiness of his mattress. He'd forgotten how comfortable this bed was, so different from the creaky springs and rough sheets of his cot on Privet Drive.
Despite the sunlight hitting his face, Harry refused to get up.
He wasn't ready to leave this bed quite yet. It was too soft, too comfortable, too fluffy…
"Harry!"
The familiar voice of Ronald Weasley shattered Harry's dreams of spending the entire day in this bed.
"I'm sleeping," Harry grumbled, pressing his face into the pillow.
"Likely story," Ron said, jumping onto Harry's bed and poking at his cheek.
"It's the first day of class, Harry! You have to get up!"
Harry shoved Ron's hand away.
"Come on, mate! Don't you want breakfast? Aren't you huuungrrry….?"
Ron drew the last word out dramatically, pulling the duvet off Harry's body.
"Oi!" Harry yelled, sitting straight up.
Ron cackled, throwing the duvet back at him, laughing harder as it settled right over Harry's head.
"Up!" Ron exclaimed.
Harry complied, muttering about over-enthusiastic friends as he got ready for the day.
He pulled on his uniform, grimacing at the way it clung to his body. Madam Malkin had pushed him into purchasing self-tailoring shirts and trousers, badgering him until he agreed to buy them. Harry had thought they'd be a good idea, knowing he'd be gaining some weight in the near future.
He hadn't considered the fact that they would fit his current physique, revealing every harsh line and prominent bone.
Harry sighed, dragging himself into the bathroom.
The mirror confirmed his worst fears: he looked like a first year. A sick first year.
He frowned at himself in the mirror, reaching up to tame his hair.
He couldn't do anything about his uniform, but he could do something about his hair.
At least, he hoped he could.
"This is impossible," Harry muttered, watching in horror as his hair bounced back to its ridiculous state of resembling a bird's nest explosion.
"I think it suits you," Neville said quietly, lowering his toothbrush.
"Besides," he said, smiling.
"I'm not sure anything you try will work."
Harry sighed, abandoning his efforts.
"You're probably right. Thanks, Neville."
Neville smiled at him, brown eyes sparkling.
Harry could feel his excitement swirling in the air, energizing the cool tile of the bathroom.
Harry felt a sudden twinge of sadness. If Neville was this excited after exchanging just a few words with him...
Had Harry been ignoring Neville for the last two years, assuming he had friends when he really didn't?
Had Harry been blind to the other boy's struggles, brushing him off as a joke or a sidekick?
It didn't take long for Harry to realize that the answer was yes.
"Hey, Neville?" Harry called, catching the other boy just as he was about to exit the room.
"Do you want to sit with us at breakfast?"
The wave of happiness that crashed into Harry was so strong that he almost fell over.
"Y-yes, I would," Neville stammered, beaming brightly.
Neville was an excellent addition to the trio's breakfast routine, providing a calming presence that mellowed out Ron's excesses and Hermione's rambling. His emotions were equally calming, centering Harry in a way that allowed him to focus on eating rather than on the barrage of feelings threatening to overwhelm him.
Harry ate as much as he could, shoveling eggs down his throat with a determination that caught the attention of several people.
"I hope you bring that same energy to Quidditch this year, Harry," Oliver Wood said, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by.
"It's my last year here. We've got to win. We've just got to."
There was a dangerous glint in Wood's eyes, bordering on insanity. He leaned down to Harry, handing him a piece of parchment.
"I've drawn up a schedule for our practices. See you tonight."
Harry glanced down at the parchment, finding that he had practice 4 times a week, including that very night.
Harry was delighted.
Flying was the best thing in the entire world. It was the opposite of cupboards and locked bedrooms, the opposite of raised voices and stifling emotions.
He couldn't wait for this evening.
"Harry," Hermione said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You're bouncing up and down."
"Oh," Harry said, forcing himself to sit still.
"Sorry. I'm just…"
"Excited for Quidditch," Ron and Hermione said together, rolling their eyes in unison.
"You two have got to stop doing that," Harry grumbled, stabbing at his eggs.
"Harry," Ron said matter-of-factly.
"You say you're excited for Quidditch roughly twice a day. We'd be fools not to be repeating it by now."
Harry blushed, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. He knew they were right, but he just got SO EXCITED about Quidditch.
It made him happy.
What did not make him happy was Draco Malfoy.
The blond boy cornered them just outside the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle lingering just behind him.
"You're looking even tinier than usual, Potter," Malfoy said gleefully, stepping forward to loom over Harry.
Malfoy had grown quite a lot over the summer, towering above Harry in a way that made him seem far more intimidating than he actually was.
"Is that why you fainted yesterday? Is little Harry sick?"
Harry felt a blush creeping onto his cheeks, anger boiling in his veins.
"Well, Malfoy," Harry retorted, stepping closer to the other boy.
"At least I'll recover from being ill. It's a shame that you'll never recover from being a stuck-up prat."
With that, Harry grabbed Ron and Hermione, dragging them away toward the Arithmancy classroom.
"Good job, Harry," Hermione praised.
"That was very well-handled."
Harry smiled, reveling in the satisfaction that came from insulting Draco Malfoy.
"Maybe he'll finally learn to mind his own business."
"I wouldn't count on it, mate," Ron said.
Harry knew Ron was probably right. Draco Malfoy wouldn't stop until someone intervened to stop him. Unfortunately, no one seemed willing to do it. Professor Snape was determined to ignore Malfoy's flaws, turning a blind eye to his insults and slurs.
It made Harry furious.
Teachers were meant to protect other students from the cruelty of their classmates. Harry wished that a teacher had done that for him, stepping in to stop Dudley and his friends from beating him up. A tiny intervention could have saved him a world of hurt.
Since Snape refused to do anything, Harry took matters into his own hands, doing his best to deflate Malfoy's head without doing any real damage. Witty retorts and snide sass had always been Harry's weapon against bullies.
It was all he had.
Arithmancy proved highly enjoyable, introducing Harry to an entire world of magic he'd never thought to explore.
He'd been worried that the emotions of the other students would be distracting, but they actually proved to be quite the opposite. The other students were just as interested as he was, their concentration sharpening his own.
He doubted things would be quite so easy in History of Magic, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he was just going to enjoy the marvels of Arithmancy.
Arithmancy was basically magical math, a system of numbers and equations that formed the foundation of Spell-Work and Casting.
In later years, after they'd mastered the basics, they would move on to Spell-Crafting, learning to design their own unique spells.
It all sounded brilliant.
The only downside was that magical math was quite different from Muggle math.
"I still don't understand why 2 plus 4 is 7," Hermione said, chewing on her lower lip as they walked from the classroom.
"You round to the nearest odd number, remember?"
"Of course," Hermione said, smacking herself lightly on the forehead.
"I can't believe I forgot!"
Harry laughed.
"I can! It makes no sense!"
Hermione grinned at him.
"No, it really doesn't. I'm sure we'll get used to it though."
Harry didn't want to get too used to it. He shuddered to think of what Uncle Vernon would do if Harry ever admitted to thinking that 2 and 4 made 7 instead of 6.
Transfiguration was just as captivating as Arithmancy.
Professor McGonagall gave a fascinating lecture on the Animagus transformation, explaining the challenges and dangers.
"Every Animagus in the Wizarding World is registered," she said, passing out a list of names and animal descriptions.
"The process is kept closely guarded, only revealed to those who have official permission to undertake the transformation. I myself served as a keeper of this information for many years. The process is kept secret in order to prevent unregistered Animagi from masquerading as normal animals. You will note that there are very few Animagi on this list. The Ministry hasn't let anyone attempt the process since before the First Wizarding War. As a result of this policy, the number of Animagi in Britain has dwindled into the single digits. Knowing the list and descriptions of the current Animagi is a surefire way to guard yourself against being surprised by an Animagus."
Hermione raised her hand, catching Professor McGonagall's attention.
"But, Professor, what if there ARE unregistered Animagi?"
Professor McGonagall shook her head.
"There aren't, Ms. Granger. The process has always been hidden either at Hogwarts or at the Ministry–two of the most secure locations in the Wizarding World. Besides, even if someone did manage to steal the information, attempting to transform without a proper teacher would more than likely lead to deformity or death. You do not need to fear, Ms. Granger. If you memorize this list, you will know when you are in the company of an Animagus."
Harry glanced down at the parchment, noting that there were only 7 Animagi left in Magical Britain: His professor (a cat), a horse, two birds, a hedgehog, a squirrel, and a fish.
"A fish?" Ron whispered to Harry, snickering.
"What's the point of that?"
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, coming to stand in front of them.
"As fascinating as I'm sure your conversation is, Mr. Weasley, I must insist you pay attention."
Ron stared hard at the floor, ears turning red as he avoided Professor McGonagall's eyes.
"Sorry, Professor."
Thankfully, the rest of the class passed without further incident. Harry even managed to answer a difficult question correctly, earning 10 points for Gryffindor. Harry was quite pleased. He'd set himself the goal of winning back all the points Snape had taken from him by the end of the week. This was a step in the right direction.
Unfortunately, because term had begun on a Thursday this year, he only had one more day to reach his target. He would have to channel the spirit of Hermione if he wanted to pull this off.
Lunch passed far too slowly for Harry's liking. He couldn't wait to go to Hagrid's first lesson. Hagrid was one of Harry's favorite people, taking up space in his heart right beside Ron, Hermione, and Hedwig.
They left lunch early, wanting to talk to Hagrid before the lesson began. Harry had a sinking suspicion that Hagrid had something dangerous planned, and he didn't want to see his large friend get sacked over something he could prevent.
As it turned out, Harry was right to be concerned. The hippogriffs in themselves weren't overly dangerous, but Hagrid's lesson plans were not quite so mundane.
"You can't have a student RIDE one of the hippogriffs, Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her bushy head.
"That could go terribly wrong!"
Hagrid sighed heavily.
"Yer probably right."
With that disaster successfully averted, Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the time before the lesson chatting with Hagrid, listening with rapt attention as he recounted the list of strange Creatures he'd met over the holiday.
When the rest of the class arrived, Hagrid delivered a rather impressive opening lecture, teaching them how to deal with the Monster Book of Monsters, joy and passion clear in his every word. Hagrid may not be a traditional teacher, but he was worlds better than the hostile insults of Professor Snape and the monotonous droning of Professor Binns.
Even Malfoy's snide comments couldn't detract from the beauty of the hippogriffs. They were a perfect marriage of eagle and horse: feathers melting into sleek coats, talons juxtaposed with hooves.
Best of all, their emotions were clear as a bell, ringing brightly through the air.
As his power continued to grow, Harry had started to notice that some emotions had sensory elements. He could sometimes see the emotion, sparks of light shimmering before him. Sometimes, he could hear it in the air around him, whispers on the wind.
Primarily though, Harry simply FELT the emotions. He didn't feel sad when someone else was sad, but he could feel their sadness as if it were his own, emotion echoing in his chest.
It was terribly confusing.
The hippogriffs had a pleasant calmness about their emotions, waves of gentle contentment washing over him. Harry liked them immediately, volunteering to demonstrate how to properly approach one.
Harry found it a bit odd that you had to bow to them, but he went along with it, assuming it was the equivalent of a hippogriff handshake.
Unfortunately, Harry was missing a vital piece of information: Empaths were uncommonly good with animals.
If Harry had known, he never would have volunteered to interact with Buckbeak in front of the entire class.
As it was, his secret was nearly revealed when Buckbeak bowed to him immediately, not even waiting for Harry to bow first. He brushed it off as him simply being good with animals, but he could see the apprehension in Ron and Hermione's eyes.
He needed to be careful.
Hagrid broke them into groups, encouraging everyone to interact with at least one hippogriff. Harry left Buckbeak when Malfoy approached but kept a keen focus on the creature's emotions, wanting to know immediately if Malfoy tried something.
It was very lucky that he did.
When Harry felt Buckbeak's emotion shift suddenly, anger and fear overwhelming the normally calm animal, he whipped his head around, noticing Malfoy standing right in front of the hippogriff, seemingly unaware of the immense danger he was in.
Buckbeak reared, sharp talons inches from Malfoy's arm.
There was no time to think, no time to formulate a plan.
All Harry could do was act on instinct. He sprinted forward, knocking Malfoy out of the way and rolling back to his feet. He planted himself right in front of Buckbeak, knowing he needed to let the hippogriff see that he meant no harm. He ignored the terrified shouts of his classmates, focusing all his strength on projecting calm toward Buckbeak, trying to ease his anger. He pushed serenity toward the animal, trying to force the rage away.
Amazingly, it worked.
Buckbeak sank back to the ground, eyes misting over, emotions a cloud of peace.
Harry swayed, suddenly feeling very weak, legs trembling beneath him.
What on earth had he just done?
He was very dizzy.
"Harry! Are yeh alrigh'?"
Harry nodded, trying to ignore the flickering lights threatening to overcome his vision.
"I'm fine," he breathed.
He wasn't really fine.
Whatever he'd done to Buckbeak had taken an enormous amount of energy, leaving Harry exhausted.
Hagrid was too busy tending to Buckbeak to notice the state Harry was in, but his friends were not nearly so blind. Ron and Hermione came to stand next to him, subtly allowing him to lean on them.
They supported him all the way back to the castle, pinching him whenever a teacher or Prefect passed. By the time they made it to Binns' classroom, Harry was dead on his feet, barely able to keep his eyes open.
He slept all the way through History of Magic, leaning his head on Hermione's shoulder. He woke briefly as class ended, allowing Ron to drag him back to the dormitory.
"Wake me in time for Quidditch..."
Harry barely got the words out before he fell asleep again, fatigue catching up to him.
He woke to the smell of treacle tart, opening his eyes to see Ron dangling a napkin before his face.
"See! I told you that would work, Hermione! Harry would come back from the dead for a slice of treacle tart."
Ron wasn't wrong.
Harry sat up, snatching the napkin from Ron's hands and taking a giant bite. He ignored Hermione's urging to not eat in bed, checking his watch as he ate his extremely unhealthy dinner.
He was relieved to find that he still had 15 minutes until Quidditch practice. Wood would probably kill him if he was late.
Harry finished the tart, yelling his thanks to Ron and Hermione as he rushed out of the dormitory, dragging his practice gear behind him.
He made it to the changing room just in time, sliding through the door right as his watch hit seven.
He breathed a sigh of relief, pulling on his gear and following the others out onto the Pitch.
His nap had helped a lot, restoring much of the energy he'd lost. What it hadn't done was provide him with answers. He needed to know what had happened with Buckbeak, needed to understand how he'd manage to calm the animal.
He didn't want to accidentally use the power on another person, corrupting their emotions and bending their feelings to his will. The very idea of manipulating someone in that way made him sick.
He couldn't afford to waste time. He needed to break into the Restricted Section.
Tonight.
He felt a familiar thrill in his chest at the prospect of going on an adventure (even one as small as breaking into a school library).
Harry had always loved quests and heroic journeys, imagining himself as the knight or the brave warrior. Making up stories had been his only comfort on nights spent locked in a dark cupboard, spiderwebs brushing at his face, wood creaking above his head, nightmares threatening to break him.
Harry shuddered, pushing away the memories.
He hated thinking about the cupboard.
Being shoved into a tiny space never got easier, it never felt normal. Harry had never 'gotten used to it' the way Aunt Petunia had said he would. Instead, he grew more and more afraid of the enclosed space, dreading the cramped floor and absent light.
He could still remember the worst times: nights spent curled up in the dark, tears going unnoticed, nightmares going unsoothed. He remembered thunderstorms, childlike terror met with mockery and locked doors. He remembered illnesses brushed away and ignored, coughs and fevers left to rot with him inside the tiny space under the stairs.
The cupboard was the worst thing the Dursleys had ever done to him.
Even though it had been over two years since he'd been inside, the cupboard still haunted him, filling his dreams with the desperate feeling of being trapped with no way out.
"Harry, are you okay?"
Harry looked up, startled from his thoughts by the kind voice of Angelina Johnson.
"Of course," he said, offering her a smile.
She grinned.
"Race you to the goalposts, then…"
She took off before Harry could agree, leaving him to chase after her.
"Cheaters never prosper!" he crowed, reaching the goalposts just before she did and pulling out a surprise victory.
"Neither do people who don't practice!" Wood shouted, glaring at them.
"Lighten up, Oliver!" Angelina yelled back.
That was not a smart thing to say.
Oliver Wood did not take kindly to being told to lighten up, inflicting upon them a level of tyranny never before seen in a Quidditch practice.
By the time Wood released them at 9, they were all exhausted and covered in mud. Harry's fingers were aching from catching the conjured balls that Wood kept throwing at him, and his ears were ringing with the combined frustration of his teammates.
Harry stayed for a bit after practice ended, doing faster and faster laps around the pitch, reveling in the rushing wind and fresh air. He landed about half an hour before curfew, not wanting to get caught out of bed again. If Snape found him…
Well, Gryffindor would likely never recover.
He was just leaving the Pitch when something caught his attention. It was a strong wave of emotion, bursting with affection, longing, and sorrow. Harry turned toward it, walking away from the Pitch and heading toward the Forbidden Forest.
The emotions grew stronger, drawing him forward.
He'd just passed the first trees of the forest when he saw it: a dog.
It was terribly thin, black fur patchy and dirty, ribs sticking out from too-tight skin. The light of Harry's wand illuminated the dog's watery gray eyes and lolling tongue.
"Hey, boy," Harry whispered, kneeling down.
"Are you alright?"
The dog moved forward, pressing its head into Harry's hand, affection battering at his mind as the dog began to wag its tail.
"Are you lost?" Harry asked.
The dog shook its head.
Harry laughed, delighted. This must be some kind of magically enhanced dog, probably more intelligent than a normal animal. He knew such things existed, remembering the dancing mice from the Magical Menagerie.
"Are you magical?" Harry asked the dog, grinning as the animal tilted its head slightly before nodding.
"Awesome," Harry breathed, scratching behind the dog's ears.
"I can't wait to tell Hagrid…"
The dog whined, panic fizzling around him.
"Do you not want anyone to know about you?"
The dog nodded again, biting at Harry's sleeve and pulling gently.
"Why?"
Harry felt a sudden rush of terrible fear, finally understanding.
"I know! You're afraid of people!"
The dog nodded, emotions strangely cloudy.
The dog was probably only comfortable with him because he was an Empath.
If the incident with Buckbeak had taught him anything, it was that he had a strange connection with animals. Harry resolved to keep the dog a secret. If the dog was afraid of humans, it wouldn't do to scare him off by telling someone about him.
The dog would be his secret.
Harry had always liked having little secrets. Normal secrets, not terrible ones that left him riddled with guilt.
This could be fun.
But first…
The dog needed some major attention: food, a bath, and something to help with the patchiness of his fur.
Maybe his midnight journey to the library could include a detour to find books on dogs.
Harry glanced at his watch, frowning as he saw the time.
"I'll come back tomorrow, alright? I'll bring you some food."
The dog licked his face, wagging its tail delightedly. Harry quickly added a spell for dealing with bad breath to the list of things he would look for in the library.
He hurried back to the castle, waving goodbye to the dog as he sprinted across the grounds. He made it to the Common Room just in time, thankfully avoiding any encounters with Snape.
Ron and Hermione were waiting for him, homework spread around them, Crookshanks keeping his favorite armchair warm.
Harry gently picked up the cat, settling Crookshanks onto his lap as he sat down. The cat began purring immediately, kneading his claws into Harry's leg, orange tail swaying slightly in the air.
"I'm going to go to the library tonight," Harry whispered, pulling his Arithmancy textbook out of his bag.
"I need to figure out what happened in Creatures."
Hermione nodded.
"I think that's a good idea. You can't risk doing something like that again. It nearly gave you away."
"And it nearly made you pass out," Ron added, looking worried.
"What if it happens again, and you…?" Ron trailed off, letting the possibilities hang in the air.
To be honest, Harry had no idea what might happen if he tried it again. He might pass out, he might fall into a coma. It was even possible that he could die. He just didn't know.
"Are you going alone?" Hermione asked, quickly changing the subject.
Harry nodded.
"I think it's best if I do. Ron's getting too tall for the Cloak, and we always make more noise when we go together."
Hermione glanced at her watch, frowning.
"You should go now. The Prefects patrol until midnight. After that, you're likely to be caught by Filch or a Professor."
Harry agreed, knowing she was right. It was much easier to argue yourself out of punishments when you were dealing with a Prefect. Professors were far more difficult to manage.
Harry retrieved his Invisibility Cloak and snuck out of the Common Room, making his silent way to the library. He made it there safely, just barely avoiding a patrolling Percy Weasley.
He entered the library quietly, grateful that Madam Pince never locked the doors. She claimed that the books didn't like feeling trapped. Harry was inclined to believe her.
Magical libraries were quite different from normal libraries, containing books that very much had wills of their own. They would move themselves about, ending up in the wrong section for no apparent reason.
Much of Madam Pince's time was spent corralling rebellious books, forcing them back to their proper places and attempting to keep them there. The only perk of the system was that the books didn't need to be checked out. They checked themselves out, agreeing to go with a student and flopping around aggressively or refusing to open when they were ready to be returned.
Harry just hoped that the books he needed would let themselves be taken. He didn't want a repeat of the screaming book from his first year.
He went first to the section on Magical Creatures, hoping to find something related to magical pet care. Just as the thought left his head, a book flew down from the shelf, smacking him hard on the forehead.
"Rude," Harry grumbled, reaching down and picking up the book from where it'd fallen.
"Cosmetic Care for your Canine Creature," Harry read, tracing the title with his fingers.
This seemed perfect.
Harry flipped to the table of contents, finding an array of Spells for cleaning and grooming. It was perfect. He placed the book in his bag, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn't fly back onto the shelf.
Now came the hard part.
Harry approached the Restricted Section, slipping inside and staring at the wide array of books. This time, no book flew toward him, making his task all the more difficult.
He walked through the rows, straining his eyes to make out the obscure titles, cursing his limited light and poor eyesight. He spent nearly an hour squinting at books, climbing onto the desks to reach the higher shelves.
He was about to give up when he saw it, hidden in the top corner of the farthest shelf: Emotional Magic: Understanding the Empath. It was a compact green book, short but thick, pages yellowed and curling with age.
Harry pulled it off the shelf, feeling the book sing in joy as it met his skin. He placed it reverently in his bag before climbing down off the desk and quickly making his way out of the library.
He couldn't wait to get back to the Common Room and read this book!
Unfortunately for Harry, excitement and too-long Invisibility Cloaks did not blend well with stairs.
He was nearly back to Gryffindor Tower when he hit his foot on the edge of a landing, ankle twisting uncomfortably as he stumbled down the last few steps, crashing right into a suit of armor.
The knight fell directly on top of him, ripping off his cloak as various pieces of metal fell around him. The shield bonked him on the head with an impressive ringing sound, stunning him for a moment.
If Harry was in a cartoon, he surely would've had birds flying around his head.
"What's going on?"
The voice rang out from the top of the stairs, startling Harry. He tried to extricate himself from the fallen suit of armor but only succeeded in getting more entangled, heavy pieces of iron weighing him down.
He heard footsteps, resigning himself to losing more points from Gryffindor tonight.
"Harry?"
It was Cedric Diggory, face torn between amusement and concern as he took in Harry's unfortunate position.
"Hello," Harry said weakly, offering Cedric a wave as he tried to shift some heavy chainmail off his left arm.
"Need some help?" Cedric asked, amusement clearly winning as he began to laugh.
"That would be much appreciated."
Cedric laughed harder, moving some of the armor and pulling Harry to his feet.
"Thanks," Harry said, dusting himself off and reaching down to grab his bag and Invisibility Cloak.
"Whoa," Cedric exclaimed, reaching out a hand to brush the Cloak.
"Is that what I think it is?"
Harry nodded, stuffing the shimmering fabric into his bag.
"It was my Dad's," he explained, watching as Cedric's eyes grew sad.
"Oh…"
Harry started moving, hoping he could get away without losing points.
"Anyway, I'll just…"
"Not so fast," Cedric said, crossing his arms across his chest.
"You do realize that you're out after curfew, right?"
"No?" Harry tried, putting on his best innocent face.
Cedric rolled his eyes.
"Nice try, Potter. I really should take points, you know."
Harry hung his head, dreading what Professor McGonagall would say if she found out that he'd lost even more points.
"I should, but I won't."
Harry looked up at him, surprised.
"Why not?"
Cedric sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Because I think having a suit of armor dropped on you is punishment enough. Besides, think of it as a way of making up for all the points Professor Snape has unfairly taken from you over the years."
Harry blushed.
"You know about that?"
Cedric snorted.
"Harry, everyone knows about it. The feud between you two is legendary."
"It's not a feud," Harry grumbled.
"He just hates me."
Cedric gave him a sympathetic look.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"It's terribly unfair."
Harry shrugged.
"I'm used to it. He's not nearly as bad as…"
Harry trailed off, cursing himself for being such an idiot. Why couldn't he keep his stupid mouth shut?
Harry could feel Cedric's emotions flickering with worry and suspicion.
"He's not nearly as bad as who?"
"Forget it," Harry said quickly.
Cedric frowned but asked nothing further. Instead, he gestured for Harry to follow him.
"Come on. We need to get you back before anyone misses you."
Harry followed him, still slightly shaken from his verbal slip. He'd almost said Uncle Vernon's name, almost bad-mouthed him to another student. He needed to watch himself. Just because Cedric's kindness made him feel safe didn't mean he should act like a fool and spill his secrets. He'd fallen for that trick before. It never ended well for him.
Cedric stopped in front of the Fat Lady, regarding Harry with keen eyes.
"Listen, Harry. Don't make this a habit, okay? I don't want to have to take points from you."
Harry nodded.
"And…"
Cedric paused, emotions flickering.
"If you ever need to talk about anything…"
He shifted awkwardly, clearly a bit embarrassed.
"You can come find me."
"Thanks, Cedric," Harry whispered.
Cedric nodded, offering him a grin before heading back the way they'd come.
Harry watched him go, feeling strangely touched.
He climbed through the Portrait Hole, not at all surprised to find Ron and Hermione waiting for him in the deserted Common Room.
"Well?" Hermione asked expectantly.
"Did you find anything?"
Harry nodded, pulling out the book on Empaths. Hermione stared at the book, then at Harry, then back at the book.
"Is this a joke?"
Harry looked back at the book, confused.
"No."
"Harry, that book is called Stars and Galaxies: Astronomy for the Spatially-Challenged Sorcerer."
Harry gaped at her, turning the book over. The title was still the same: Emotional Magic: Understanding the Empath.
"Give it here," Hermione said, holding out a hand.
Harry tried to hand her the book, but it stuck to his fingers like glue, refusing to be transferred.
"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
"This must be a Marked Book! Dad's told me about them."
"A what?" Hermione and Harry said together, equally confused.
"They're books that can only be seen and read by certain kinds of Wizards. There are ones for Dark Mages, for Metamorphmagi, for Necromancers. They appear like normal books to anyone not possessing the specific talent. They're really rare though. I had no idea there was one at Hogwarts."
Hermione stared at the book, frowning.
"Open it, Harry."
Harry did, opening to the title page.
Scrawling handwriting greeted him, cursive spanning across the page.
Dear Friend,
If you have found and opened this tome, then you are like my daughter. I hope that you fare better than she did.
The gift you have is as much a curse as it is a blessing.
My daughter spent the last few years of her life struggling to master her power, trying to control it.
I am sorry to say that she failed.
She wrote down her experiences, keeping an account of all the challenges she faced. I give her story to you in the hope that whoever is reading this will live longer than she did.
May Blessings Cloak You,
Ignotus Peverell
Harry stared at the page, heart beginning to pound.
"What does it say?"
Harry recounted the letter, voice catching as he explained that the girl who had written the rest of the book had died before it was finished.
Ron was frowning.
"Did you say the note was written by Ignotus Peverell?"
Harry nodded.
"Why?"
Ron stood up.
"I know that name. Wait a moment."
Ron hurried up the stairs, returning minutes later with a small book clutched in his hand.
"This is a genealogy book. Mum wanted us to know bloodlines and all that nonsense."
Ron flipped through the book, stopping on a page.
"Aha!"
He turned the page around, letting Harry and Hermione look.
Ignotus Peverell was near the top of a sprawling family tree, many lines branching away from him and his two brothers. Beneath his name were two other names: Eldred and Isolde Peverell.
"That must be her," Harry said, pointing to the girl's name.
"Isolde…"
He trailed off, catching sight of the dates by her name.
"1239-1254," he gasped, feeling suddenly breathless.
"She was only 15…."
Hermione put a hand on his arm.
"It's okay, Harry. We don't know what killed her. It might not have had anything to do with being an Empath."
Harry could feel that Hermione didn't believe her own words. The note had made it very clear that the gift had killed Isolde. Harry didn't know how, but he was going to find out.
"Merlin!" Ron exclaimed, staring at the family tree.
"Look at this! You're related to her!"
Harry grabbed the book from Ron's hands, looking to where his friend was pointing. Eldred Peverell's daughter had married...
"Hardwin Potter," Harry breathed, shocked.
"So…"
"Empathy might be genetic in some way," Hermione mused, staring at the family tree.
Harry traced the lines of the tree, fingers brushing over the names Lily and James.
"I wonder if any other Potters were Empaths."
Ron shook his head.
"I doubt it. At least not anytime in the recent past. The Potters were a really prominent family before everything that went down with You-Know-Who. There's no way rumors wouldn't have spread if there was an Empath in the family. And Mum loves pureblood gossip. I would have heard about it."
Hermione watched Harry for a moment, emotions swirling with worry.
"Don't obsess over this, Harry. Just because things didn't end well for her…"
"I know, Hermione," Harry said, trying to reassure her.
Hermione paused for a moment, sudden curiosity sparking in her eyes.
"Harry, was the note written in Old English?"
Harry shook his head.
"No."
"That's a bit odd, isn't it?"
"It's actually not," Ron said, shaking his head.
"Some Wizarding books update themselves, Hermione. Especially the really old ones. To be honest, I would be surprised if a Marked Book didn't have self-updating Charms on it. They're meant to be passed down through the centuries, so most of the authors make sure to include Charms to update language and syntax. An Empath who didn't speak English would probably be able to read it in their native language."
Harry marveled at that. Magic really was amazing sometimes.
Ron stood, reaching out both hands to pull Harry and Hermione to their feet.
"We should go to sleep. It's nearly one in the morning."
Ron fell asleep easily, but Harry was still wide awake, sitting atop his duvet and staring hard at the small green book.
He took a deep breath, knowing that he needed to understand what had happened to Isolde.
He flipped to the final pages of the book, noting the girlish handwriting, full of loops and ornaments. The book was written like a diary, dates marking the progression of time.
Harry flipped to the final entry, praying that Isolde had died of something other than her Empathic gifts.
December 13, 1254
I think I am dying.
It's not an easy thing to write, but it is the truth I am facing.
I made a mistake. I reached too far.
I tried to change the sentiments of too many, pushing myself beyond the point of no return.
Even so, I do not regret it.
The villagers discovered Father's dearest treasure, realized what it was, realized that it might save them from illness and Death.
Many of them had realized the truth, learning also of the remnants left by Uncle Cadmus and Uncle Antioch. They were going to storm our house, tearing it apart until they found the hallowed objects.
We could not have stopped them with force. There are many powerful mages in our village.
Only I could do what needed to be done.
I had to convince them to leave well enough alone, removing their ability to feel greed.
But there were too many. Their thoughts were far too strong.
I have not been right since then. There is a terrible pain in my head, and I am burdened with a fever that keeps climbing. I've been bleeding as well. It comes from my nose and mouth. Even my eyes.
The bleeding simply won't stop.
Potions do nothing.
I am running out of time.
The book ended there, jarring and incomplete.
Harry stared at the page, feeling tears beginning to form in his eyes.
Isolde had been family, distant though she was. Her death touched him, scared him, haunted him.
She had died after using her power in the very same way Harry had done only that afternoon. He needed to know how to control this. Otherwise, he might face a similar fate.
The book seemed to understand his need, flipping quickly to a page near the beginning of the book.
October 27, 1252
My power continues to grow. I had hoped that it would stop after my birthday had passed, but it has only become stronger.
It has been three months since I began sensing emotions, and things have not gotten much easier in that time.
The pains in my head still come often, especially when there is high energy or strong feelings in the house. Father hosted a party of sorcerers just last week, and I couldn't leave my bed for days from the agony of it all.
A rather strange thing happened this afternoon. I was reading a book outside when a spider approached. I was so afraid, and I wanted the spider to be afraid too. I pushed my fear toward it, not knowing what I was doing. The spider grew terrified and fled from me.
My success with the spider was ruined by the fact that I was confined to bed for the rest of the afternoon.
I seem to be able to control the emotions of others. At least, that appears to be the case.
I intend to try it on Eldred tomorrow (with his permission of course). I will write again when I have done so.
Harry flipped desperately to the next entry, needing to know how Isolde's attempt had gone.
November 3, 1252
Attempting to change Eldred's emotions was a terrible idea.
I managed it in the same way as with the spider but was immediately struck with horrible pain and began bleeding from the nose.
I passed out soon after, remaining unconscious for nearly three days before I awakened.
Father was angrier than I've ever seen him.
I am wary to try again.
Harry wanted to know when she did try again, willing the book to show him that entry. The book complied, pages flipping by quickly.
October 21, 1253
It has been nearly a year since my first attempt at controlling the emotions of others.
Much has happened in that time.
My power has stabilized, releasing me from the constant pains and exhaustion that plagued me for the first six months of my thirteenth year.
Now, I am strong. I can sense the emotions of nearly the entire village at once, keeping them all in my head, even telling them apart.
Best of all, it causes me no pain.
With the improvements in my health and power, I managed to convince Father to let me attempt to control emotions again.
He insisted I begin with him.
I managed to make him blissfully happy for nearly three hours, projecting happiness onto him with barely a second thought.
It was easy!
I will continue to experiment, but I have a feeling that this is only the beginning of my power.
Harry closed the book with a snap, leaning back against his pillows. He didn't know what to think. It sounded like Isolde had managed to control her powers, but she had eventually died because of them.
She also seemed to have been in quite a bit of pain for the first six or so months of having her powers. Harry hoped that wouldn't happen to him.
The headache hadn't been bad today, but he'd still been slightly uncomfortable during breakfast and lunch, skull aching from the emotions. He just hoped things didn't get too much worse. Isolde had written that her powers had continued to grow for at least three months. That meant Harry had quite a long way to go before his power reached its full strength.
Harry sighed, closing his eyes. He could deal with these problems as they came. Right now, he needed to sleep. He had Snape first thing in the morning, and he would need all his energy.
As it turned out, all the energy in the world couldn't save him from the wrath of Professor Snape.
The dour Potions Master seemed even angrier than usual this year, slamming the door on the way into the classroom and snarling at them to turn in their summer homework.
Harry quickly handed his essay in, trying to be inconspicuous. He didn't want to attract Snape's attention. Not when he could feel the rage boiling in the air around the man.
Harry sat next to Neville, keeping his attention firmly on the Shrinking Solution they were making that day. He kept his eyes fixed on the daisy roots he was chopping, doing his best to pretend he was oblivious to the way Snape was hovering around their table. Neville was not nearly so good at ignoring Snape, hands trembling violently as he tried to chop the roots.
"Longbottom," Snape sneered.
"Your chopping is an embarrassment to Wizardkind. Endeavor to actually CHOP the roots rather than mangle them!"
"Sorry, Professor," Neville said, voice shaking as he spoke.
Snape sniffed, turning his attention onto Harry, who was now skinning his shrivelfig in smooth, practiced motions.
"And you, Potter, why are you not helping Longbottom? One would think that someone as prone to Gryffindor heroics as you are would jump at the opportunity to show off."
Harry kept quiet, focusing on skinning the strange fig. He didn't want to get into a fight with Snape right now. If he opened his mouth, that's definitely what would happen.
"Of course," Snape continued, voice too low to be heard by the rest of the class.
"Maybe there wasn't enough of an audience for you. Not like yesterday when you so bravely saved Draco from that hippogriff. I'm sure you only help people when there's something in it for you. Some praise or accolade to be earned. Your father was just the same, only ever intervening when it was to save his own neck…"
"Don't talk about him like that," Harry said quietly, anger rising up in his chest.
"Do not interrupt me, Potter!" Snape hissed, face dangerously close to Harry's.
"20 points from Gryffindor."
Snape stalked away, leaving them to their work. Once the man was gone, Harry turned to Neville, whispering quiet words of encouragement and advice for the rest of the period.
When both Harry and Neville turned in perfect Shrinking Solutions at the end of class, Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, taking the vial from his hands with a sharp motion, nearly causing it to fall to the floor.
Harry left as soon as possible after that, not even waiting for Ron and Hermione. Snape was acting worse than usual, prompting Harry to make a swift retreat.
There was another reason for his quick flight from the classroom: they had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class next period. Harry wanted to get there early to help Professor Lupin.
He entered the classroom, giving Professor Lupin a cheery wave as he set his bag down on a desk.
"Do you need help setting anything up?" Harry asked, moving over to where Professor Lupin was sitting at his desk.
The man shook his head.
"No. We'll be going somewhere else for our lesson today."
Harry perked up, intrigued.
"Where?"
"The staffroom. There's a boggart in there."
Harry didn't know what that was.
"It's a shape-shifter, Harry. It takes the form of the thing you most fear."
Harry gulped. That didn't sound particularly fun.
Professor Lupin paused for a moment.
"Actually, Harry, I wanted to talk to you before the lesson. I always allow students to opt out of facing the boggart. I think it might be wise if you sit this one out."
"Why?" Harry asked.
Did Professor Lupin think he was too weak to face the boggart?
"Well, Harry, I don't think the class should be exposed to Voldemort…"
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"That's not what my boggart will be."
"Oh?" Professor Lupin asked, clearly surprised.
"Are you sure?"
Harry nodded.
He knew exactly what his boggart would be, and it certainly wasn't Lord Voldemort.
Harry spent the entire journey to the staffroom gathering his courage, preparing himself to face the boggart. He wasn't going to sit on the sidelines for this one.
He wanted to face this fear.
He needed to face it.
To Harry's surprise, the staffroom was not empty. Professors Snape and McGonagall were sitting in a corner, clearly arguing about something.
Professor McGonagall looked up when the class entered, smiling at them.
"The boggart lesson, I assume, Remus?"
Professor Lupin nodded, ushering the students to the center of the room.
"Indeed, Minerva. I hope we're not disturbing you."
Professor McGonagall waved her hand dismissively.
"Not at all. In fact, I rather enjoy watching this particular lesson. I never grow weary of the creative ways students turn their fears into laughter."
Professor Lupin began the lesson by explaining the concept of a boggart, asking frequent questions and awarding points evenly between the different houses. It was a pleasant change from Potions class.
At the end of his lecture, Professor Lupin turned to them, face growing somber.
"I want you all to understand that there is no shame in refusing to face the boggart. Our fears are highly personal, and they are not something I would ever force you to reveal to your classmates. If anyone gives you a hard time for choosing not to participate, please reach out to me. I promise they will be appropriately dealt with."
Harry could tell that Remus was serious, conviction sparking in the air around him.
In the end, eight people chose not to participate, Neville and Hermione among them.
Ron, in a show of traditional Gryffindor bravery, volunteered to go first, facing down the boggart with his mouth set in a determined line.
Harry was hardly shocked when the boggart turned into a giant spider, bearing down on Ron just as Aragog had done a few months ago.
"Riddikulus!" Ron cried, reducing his spider to a foolish spectacle as it fought to balance on eight differently-sized high heels.
The class laughed loudly, joined by Professor McGonagall who was slapping her knee as she chuckled.
Professor Snape just looked bored.
The next five minutes featured a mummy becoming a roll of toilet paper, a snake turning into a feather boa, a clown shrinking down into a troll doll, and a banshee turning into an opera singer.
At last, it was Harry's turn.
He stepped forward, trying to center himself.
The boggart swirled away, a black mass appearing in the air before him as the boggart took the shape of his greatest fear.
A small cupboard formed in the center of the classroom, door locked, tiny metal grille closed.
Harry could hear confused whisperings behind him, but he ignored them, trying to steady the shaking of his hands as he pointed his wand at the cupboard.
"Riddikulus."
The door sprouted a mouth.
"Knock, Knock," it said.
"Who's there?" Harry asked, voice still trembling.
"A door," the cupboard replied.
"A door who?"
"Why, I adore you, of course."
The class burst into laughter, confusing the boggart enough for Parvati Patil to finish it off.
Harry backed away, trying to catch his breath.
Merlin, he was weak. He should be able to look at a cupboard without losing his mind.
He could feel the confusion and concern emanating from Ron and Hermione as they took in his pale face and shaking hands.
Ron and Hermione didn't know about the cupboard.
No one did.
Even his Hogwarts letters hadn't given it away. Those letters were produced magically, never even checked by a professor.
He would just tell them he was claustrophobic.
It wasn't even a lie. He just wouldn't tell them WHY he was claustrophobic.
Once the boggart was defeated, Professor Lupin dismissed them, sending them off to lunch nearly 20 minutes early.
"Harry, would you stay back for a moment?" Professor Lupin called, drawing Harry away from Ron and Hermione.
Harry shuffled over to his professor, highly aware of the fact that Professors Snape and McGonagall were both watching them.
"Would you assist me with something in my office?" Professor Lupin asked.
"I need to introduce my new Grindylow to its enclosure, and Hagrid told me that you have an uncommon way with animals."
"That's one way of putting it," Professor McGonagall cut in, grinning.
"Hagrid thinks you're the next Newt Scamander, Potter."
Harry blushed brilliantly, staring down at his shoes.
"Stop inflating Potter's head, Minerva," Snape said, rising to his feet.
"It's large enough as it is."
Snape gave Harry one last glare before sweeping from the room.
"Just ignore him, Harry," Professor Lupin said softly.
"Let's go."
Harry followed Professor Lupin back to his office, still feeling a bit shaky.
Working with the Grindylow helped a bit, calming him down. The creature liked Harry immediately, allowing him to remove it from its carrying case and transfer it gently to its new enclosure.
"Hagrid wasn't exaggerating," Professor Lupin said in awe.
"You really do have a way with animals."
Harry shrugged, not wanting to give anything away.
"I always have," he lied, pulling his hand away from the clingy Grindylow.
Professor Lupin paused for a moment, emotions swirling strangely in the air around him.
"Harry, if I may ask, what was the significance of your boggart? Why a cupboard?"
Harry tried not to flinch, keeping his attention resolutely on the Grindylow as it explored its new home.
"I'm claustrophobic," he said nonchalantly.
Professor Lupin didn't believe him. Harry could feel it.
"Um, Professor?" Harry said, grabbing his bag off the floor.
"Ron and Hermione will miss me if I don't show up at lunch…"
Professor Lupin nodded, emotions still flickering between concern and disbelief.
"Of course, Harry. Off you go. I'll still see you tomorrow, right?"
Harry nodded, offering the man a genuine smile.
Nothing would stop him from showing up at Professor Lupin's office tomorrow.
Nothing.
The rest of the day passed quickly, classes and meals flying by in a whirlwind. Harry made sure to stow some food in his bag at each meal, subtly shoving rolls and random bits of meat into napkins as he ate.
After dinner, Harry bid farewell to Ron and Hermione, telling them that he wanted to take a walk to clear his head.
"Are you sure you should go alone?" Hermione asked him.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Hermione. It's still light outside. I'll be fine. I just want some peace and quiet."
Both Ron and Hermione seemed reluctant, but they let him go anyway, making him promise to return before dark.
"If you don't, we'll come looking for you. Don't think we won't."
After reassuring Hermione that he would, in fact, return before dark, Harry ran out of the castle, pulling on his Invisibility Cloak as he went. He didn't want anyone to see him going into the Forbidden Forest.
He entered the Forest, pausing in the clearing where he'd met the dog last night. He settled himself by a tree, removing his cloak and pulling out the food he'd gathered.
The dog appeared immediately, bounding toward Harry, tongue flapping in the wind. Harry giggled a bit at the dog's ridiculous appearance, only stopping when the dog crashed into him, knocking him to the ground and proceeding to lick his face.
"Gross!" Harry shrieked, pushing the dog away from him.
"You can't do that until AFTER you're clean."
The dog quirked its head at him, one ear flopping over in obvious confusion.
Harry laughed, pulling the book on Canine Care from his bag.
"I went to the library last night and did some research. You're getting clean today! And you're getting fed!"
Harry gestured to the food, watching as the dog pounced on the pile of scraps, wolfing them down. Harry frowned, knowing he'd have to find a more sustainable source of food. The dog needed more than just table scraps. He would need to ask Fred and George where the kitchens were.
While the dog was feasting, Harry turned his attention to the book, quickly casting a Fur Cleaning Spell at the dog. The Spell worked immediately, cleaning away the dirt and fluffing the remaining fur.
The dog looked much improved.
Harry turned the page, looking at the other Spells in curiosity.
"Oh!" he exclaimed.
"There's a Color-Changing Charm. That's wicked!"
The dog stopped eating, turning to look at him with wide gray eyes.
Excitement and desperation flickered in the air.
"You want me to change your color?" Harry asked, surprised.
The dog nodded.
"Are you sure? It says it lasts for three months."
The dog nodded more vigorously, pleading eyes melting Harry's heart.
"Alright," Harry said, glancing at the Charm.
"I'll give it a try."
He focused hard, imagining exactly what he wanted, casting with careful intent.
He opened his eyes, delighted to find a brown and white dog in the place of the black one. He'd even managed to give it a dog monocle, successfully casting a circle of pure white around its right eye.
"You look perfect," Harry proclaimed.
"Now you need a name. Any ideas?"
The dog started making a strange sniffing sound, seeming like it was about to sneeze.
That was all it took to give Harry a brilliant idea for a name.
"I know!" he exclaimed.
"I'll call you Sneezy! Like the Dwarf from Snow White!"
The dog looked highly unimpressed, swallowing the last of the food with an air of extreme disappointment.
"Don't be like that!" Harry chastised.
"Sneezy is a great name! Besides..."
Harry felt a twinge of sadness, memories filling his head.
"I love that movie."
The dog noticed his change of mood, padding over to him and laying its head in his lap, eyes fixed firmly on his.
"Aunt Petunia would always play it when Dudley was sick. Sometimes, I would open the grille on the cupboard door and watch it with him. Not that they knew I was watching, of course."
The dog's emotions changed suddenly, anger rising up.
"Don't be upset," Harry said, patting the dog's head.
"They don't keep me in there anymore."
Harry paused his story, waiting for the dog to calm down a bit more.
"Anyway," he continued.
"I always thought it was brilliant how the Dwarves found Snow White in their house and actually let her stay. They cared about her, they made her feel welcome. When she cleaned and cooked for them, they actually appreciated it. I always wanted that. I was left on a doorstep, but no one ever wanted me. No one ever appreciated anything I did, no matter how hard I tried. I wished for so long that someone like the Dwarves would come to take me away."
Harry sighed.
"Instead, I have to live with the Evil Queen."
The dog whined, licking Harry's hand.
"Anyway, that's why I think you should be called Sneezy. Will you accept this honorable title?"
Harry said the last part as if he were a king bestowing knighthood on a hero, deepening his voice and trying to make his accent sound posher.
The dog made a strange laughing sound and nodded.
"Excellent!" Harry said.
"Sneezy it is."
Harry paused for a moment, stroking Sneezy's ears.
"Can I tell you something?" Harry asked the dog.
Sneezy nodded.
"I met this man. His name is Professor Lupin, and he…"
Harry froze, doubling over and clutching his head at the wave of absolute desolation that crashed over him. It faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Harry breathless. He couldn't identify the source of the emotion. It couldn't possibly be Sneezy. Dogs couldn't feel like that.
"Sorry about that," he said to Sneezy, wincing at his sudden headache.
"Anyway, he knew my parents."
Harry twisted a blade of grass between his fingers, contemplating how best to explain the situation to Sneezy.
"He's really nice to me. I mean, he's the nicest adult I've ever met. And he really CARES, you know?"
Sneezy was regarding him with a strange look in his gray eyes, emotion swimming just below the surface.
"I just...I'm afraid."
Harry whispered the last part, ashamed.
"I've never had someone like him before, and I'm worried that I'll mess it up. I'm worried that If I let him get to know me, then he'll….he'll hate me."
Sneezy shook his head, standing up to look Harry straight in the eyes.
"You think I should get to know him?"
Sneezy nodded emphatically, ears flapping slightly.
"Alright," Harry breathed.
"Thanks, Sneezy."
Harry talked to Sneezy for nearly half an hour, filling him in on his first few days of class. Amusingly, Sneezy seemed to share his distaste for Snape, biting at the air and barking loudly whenever the man was mentioned.
As the sun began to set, Harry reluctantly set off across the grounds, promising Sneezy that he would return the next day with more food.
Speaking of food…
Harry picked up his pace, racing to the Common Room and scanning for a pair of redheads.
He found the twins in one corner of the Common Room, rushing over to them and sitting down beside Fred.
"What's up, Harrikins?" Fred asked, grinning at him.
"Can you two show me how to get to the Kitchens?" Harry asked.
George exchanged a knowing look with Fred.
"I think we can do you one better. Wait here."
Harry watched them go, hoping that they weren't about to prank him. Ron and Hermione joined him as he waited, bringing their pets along with them. Crookshanks was draped across Hermione's lap like a prince on his throne while Ron had Scabbers balanced in his hands, petting the rat gently. Harry frowned, noticing something strange in Scabbers' emotions.
Was that contempt?
Before Harry could read too much into it, the twins returned, carrying a very old piece of parchment.
Before they could explain what it was, Scabbers freaked out, sinking his teeth deep into Ron's thumb.
Ron yelled out in pain, dropping Scabbers to the ground. The rat raced away, slipping through the Portrait Hole just as Angelina and Katie stepped through.
"Scabbers!" Ron called, racing after the rat.
"Come back!"
"We should go after him," Hermione said to the twins.
"Can you explain this to us later?"
Fred nodded, putting the parchment back into his pocket.
"Of course. George and I were going to play Exploding Snap with Lee anyway. Just let us know when you want to know the deepest and darkest secrets of Hogwarts."
Fred winked at them, waving as they raced after Ron.
They looked for hours, scouring the grounds, searching every classroom, trying to calm Ron down as he grew more and more upset.
In the end, their efforts proved fruitless.
Scabbers was gone.
A/N: Next chapter is coming Friday!
Thanks to everyone who has commented or liked! I really appreciate it!