Harry squinted away from the harsh glare of the sun piercing through the high arched windows above him. The ache settling in behind his eyes was not the only reason why he had woken up at this early hour, the other being the pain radiating off of his most recent wound.
He had debated rousing Madam Pomfrey from her sleep, but ultimately decided a few more moments of peace sounded more appealing.
The side of his face was stiff and uncomfortable, and his hand twitched at his side, fighting the torturous urge to touch the mark of his encounter with Aragog's rogue children.
Madam Pomfrey had applied a strange orange paste, which had mostly crusted over and flaked off by now, but still he was under strict orders to not touch the bandages wrapped around the majority of his face and neck.
The Hospital Wing had been a mad house when he finally stumbled in last night. Vividly, he could still see the scene of Megan desperately clutching to Katie's hand: her hair dishevelled, eyes red and puffy, and tears splotching her pale skin.
Around them, Fleur and Madam Pomfrey were working away on Katie, while Bill circled the area inscribing runes on the floor with a strange silvery substance and matching them on Katie's skin. His belt of silver instruments was splayed across the counter, as he deftly picked his chosen tool without hesitation, the sharp ringing metal singing with their use.
Ron and Hermione stood off to the side with Professor McGonagall who looked on the verge of despair at the sight of one of her Gryffindor students being so seriously injured.
Snape was there as well, stooped in the corner, with the opal necklace levitating in front of him as his lips rapidly mumbled some unintelligible counter curse.
It wasn't until he had made it halfway to Katie's bed that his presence was finally noticed.
He remembered a sudden silence falling over the room, only Snape's muttering and Bill's metallic song continued without interruption.
Everything after that was a blur to him, coming in abrupt flashes which felt more dream than reality. He thought he could recall being rushed to a bed amidst a crowd of bodies and a pair of pale blue eyes searching his own moments before he passed out.
He felt incredibly groggy at the moment and couldn't begin to imagine the number of potions Madam Pomfrey had forced down his throat. With great effort, Harry turned his head to his right, and several beds down from his own he could see where Katie had been, the bed still unmade with its white linen spilling to the floor.
They must have moved her to St. Mungo's, Harry thought.
Two students, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, both sent to St. Mungo's in critical condition in just over a month; both attacked without a clear culprit.
Were the two attacks related? Was this done in retaliation to Pansy? How could someone have snuck a necklace like that into Hogwarts? So many questions ran through Harry's sluggish mind and he couldn't catch up to any of them.
He didn't even want to think about what the reaction to this would be amongst the already divided students.
The world was going mad, and everything around him was crumbling into chaos.
Harry felt a familiar sense of agitation gnawing away at his insides, a sense of uselessness from sitting around at school and doing nothing.
He'd tried to combat this feeling by practicing whenever possible between his school lessons and those with Dumbledore, but it was never enough. No amount of research in the library or words of wisdom gifted to him by Dumbledore were enough beat it away. Like the inevitability of a storm, it only swelled as news of attacks and disappearances trickled in from the Daily Prophet each day.
He wanted to do something; but instead, he was stuck in Hogwarts, in the Hospital Wing, bedridden, and under the orders of remaining so until cleared.
Before he could continue his brooding, Harry's attention was caught by the scuff of footsteps and voices approaching the entrance to the infirmary.
"—definitely still asleep. I'm telling you—we should go grab breakfast first and then come back."
Leaning over the edge his bed, Harry tried to spot who had just entered, but the curtains were arranged in a way which prevented that.
"Just go check, won't you? You should be used to being up and working early by now," a second person said.
Harry swore he recognized it this time. But whether it was lack of sleep, the potions, or pain, something was stopping him from putting faces to the voices he was hearing.
"I told you she was still sleeping!" the first person—a girl, Harry could tell now—called out triumphantly. "I'm never expected this early in the morning. You owe me breakfast and a few extra hours of sleep now."
"Suck it up, you'll be working harder hours at St. Mungo's eventually. Think of this as training, I'm sure Pomfrey will be impressed," the second girl said.
By the sound of their voices, they were right outside his curtains now.
A moment later, he heard the metal rings of the curtain screech as they were pulled apart in front of him, allowing the sunlight blocked out before to blind him.
"Merlin, you look like a mess."
Harry's only response was a groan of pain.
"Daphne…?" he finally said, rubbing the light out of his eyes.
The Slytherin girl stood at the foot of his bed beside her friend Tracey. Her black hair was lustrous in the morning light and the deep sapphire of her eyes gazed at him softly.
"You sound surprised," Daphne said. She folded her hands over her skirt and sat at the edge of his bed, resting her hand next to his knee.
"Er, I just wasn't expecting you to be the first to come see me," he answered honestly.
"Oh," she replied, and her eyes darted away from his for a moment. "Well, Weasley and Granger are busy right now."
"Busy with what?"
"Eating or sleeping, like a normal person would be doing right now," Tracey answered, while shooting her friend a dark look. "Don't look so offended, Potter, I'm sure they'll come see their favorite Chosen One as soon as they can."
"I really wish you would stop calling me that," he said.
"I get amusement out of it," she quipped, patting his leg mockingly.
"And is that how a future Healer is supposed to act? Refusing the requests of her patients?" the stern voice of Madam Pomfrey could be heard from her office.
The matron marched over to the sound of her clipping heels, and Tracey looked as though she had just swallowed her tongue.
"Alright then, Mr. Potter, let me take a look," she said, immediately leaning in to inspect her work. "Merlin help you boy if you touched those bandages overnight. Ah, excellent, I see you've chosen to listen to me for once."
With her wand, she gently prodded along the bandaged area and invited Tracey to do so as well. She tutted and hummed under her breath for a handful of minutes, clearly considering something.
"I feel it is appropriate to remove the bandages now, and then we'll wash off the remains of the burn salve," she said out loud, and then turned directly to Harry. "I am not entirely sure how well the scarring will have healed. With the nature of the magic that caused the wound, and the time it had to settle between contact and treatment…" her voice trailed off, having spoken far more softly than usual.
"It's alright," he said in understanding, "you did all you could and more. Besides, I was the second most important patient in the room."
Madam Pomfrey gave him a tired and sad smile.
Harry would be lying if he said he didn't care if the burn left a scar. Ideally, he did not want to come out of this looking like Mad-Eye.
"Miss Greengrass, I am going to have to ask you to leave," Madam Pomfrey said calmly as she arranged several items next to his bedside, while Tracey sent her an apologetic shrug.
If her movement was anything to go by, Daphne was reluctant leave. Taking her time, she delicately unfolded her legs before slowly getting up from her seat on the bed.
Harry put out his hand, halting her movement, and said, "No, she can stay."
Pomfrey let out a heavy sigh. "Mr. Potter, are you sure? You might wish to have your dressings removed in some… privacy."
"I'm sure," he said, looking at Daphne after a moment of consideration.
She looked back at him with a small smile and reclaimed her seat beside him.
"Well, I have worked around your crowd of Gryffindors before, I'm sure this will be nothing in comparison. You may remain Miss Greengrass," said Pomfrey.
Moving to his injured side, and together with the help of Tracey, Madam Pomfrey gently cut away his bandages. Unravelling from his head like silky ribbons, the soiled bandages pooled in midair and were then placed in a metal bowl to be burnt to ash.
After stepping away for a moment, with Tracey continuing to remove the bandages, Madam Pomfrey returned with what looked to be a large golden bucket.
"Your skin will be tender for the next two to three days, but afterwards you will hardly notice the difference between what is old and what is newly grown," she explained as she reached inside. "I had the solution laced with a soothing potion, and the sponge is enchanted to give a numbing sensation, but I am afraid that is all I can do. Even with your tolerance for pain… I apologize."
Without any further warning, she removed a soaked sponge dripping a foaming blue liquid that smelt like mint and burning tinder and began to wipe at his wound.
Closing his eyes, Harry grabbed a fistful of bedding. His teeth clenched and ground against one another with each pull of the sponge. Muttered apologies came from Madam Pomfrey, but that did little to stop her work.
Something soft squeezed at his thigh, helping distract him from the pain, but he didn't' dare open his eyes until this torture passed.
It felt like an hour had passed before he could even think straight. He could feel the cool dabbing of a cloth at his cheek, each stroke tingling like spiders crawling on his skin.
He shuddered at the thought.
"All done now, dear," he heard Madam Pomfrey say gently.
His stomach twisted, suddenly afraid. It was almost impossible to read Madam Pomfrey's expression when he opened his eyes, so he turned to Tracey who he had caught staring. She tried her best at a reassuring smile, but soon turned her attention to the floor with great interest.
"Come Tracey, we will have to log this into Mr. Potter's files. It's about time I show you how I keep record of student visits and treatments. St. Mungo's uses a very similar system." Pomfrey gently led the brunette away from his bed, but not before stopping and calling over her shoulder, "Mr. Potter, you will remain in that bed until I give you permission to leave."
Harry could hear the teasing smile in her words and let out a frustrated groan. After a moment of weighing the risks of sneaking out, and deciding it was probably worth it, he looked up and was met with the sight of Daphne silently examining him from her spot on the bed.
Harry coughed awkwardly and tried to readjust position, making it look as though he wasn't just considering leaving.
"Maybe I was hearing things," said Daphne with a sparkle in her eye, "but I'm pretty sure Madam Pomfrey told you not to move."
Harry could feel himself flush, but he wasn't entirely sure whether it was because of getting caught or if it was the way Daphne was looking at him.
There was an intensity to her gaze, one that could easily be mistaken for coldness given her nature, but the only thing he felt from her was warmth. He could see it in the sleepless lines surrounding her eyes, and the way she played nervously with a loose thread on her skirt.
Seconds went by before she quickly looked away.
"Am I really that hard to look at?" Harry asked, perhaps more honestly than he had expected.
Daphne's face whipped around in response to his words, her blue eyes wide open. "No," she said so quickly he nearly missed it. "No, you look the same as ever… only with a little more color to one side of your face."
Fumbling around on the nightstand, Harry eventually found his wand and quickly conjured a mirror.
He could feel his hand tremble and the sweat build around the handle in his palm.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," Daphne whispered, reaching out to help tighten his grip. "You're still Harry Potter."
That's right, Harry thought then. There's only one scar people care about.
Feeling stronger than he had before, Harry lifted the mirror and saw the same face he did every morning. One that was narrow, bespectacled, and could likely do with a bit more meat on its bones.
"See, the same," said Daphne. "Only you fit the role of the Chosen One better now." There was an edge of humour to her voice.
Harry shook his head with a laugh.
Creeping in around the base of his neck was a crisscrossed patch of skin a good few shades darker than his normal pallor. The burn snaked up his left side along his jaw before reaching a pointed tip at the corner of his mouth. It was almost leathery to the touch, but he refrained from pressing too hard as Pomfrey was correct when she said it would be tender.
Tracing up the left side of his face, he was amazed at the work she had done. He remembered the searing pain when the Acromantula had made contact with his head and neck but looking at himself now he could hardly tell it happened the way it did in his memories.
Pale unblemished skin stood in the place where Harry was certain only hours ago were extreme burns infected with malignant magic. The skin of his cheek was indistinguishable to the rest of him. Only the burn stretching from neck to jaw, and another which ran thinly over his eyebrow before disappearing behind the top of his ear, gave away his injury.
"You sure you still want me to take you to Slughorn's party?" Harry joked, now relieved his face wasn't a melted mess.
"And miss the opportunity of sneaking a word with everyone who is going to come up and ask what happened to Harry Potter? Not a chance," she grinned.
"The entire school must know what's happened," Harry said, sobering quickly. He figured that explained Daphne's presence.
"Actually, very few people do," she said, surprising Harry. "The school went into lockdown, and everyone was rounded up into their dorms without explanation. Word will get around by lunch, but it's been pretty quiet so far. I think most people are just relieved it wasn't the Dark Lord attacking Hogwarts."
"That's ridiculous," said Harry. "Voldemort would never openly attack Hogwarts with Dumbledore still here."
He noticed Daphne cringe lightly at the name.
"Some people were too scared to think straight, I guess," Daphne suggested.
Harry laughed, that seemed to be a common thing in the Wizarding World.
"I didn't realize Acromantula were such a funny matter?" Daphne raised an eyebrow at him and looked disapprovingly at the new scar on his face.
"How do you know it was Acromantula?" Harry asked, leaning forward from his position on the bed in interest.
"The same way I knew you were in here," she replied cheekily.
"Which is…?"
Daphne winked. "I can't give away all my secrets."
Harry exhaled in exasperation and ran a tired hand down the undamaged side of his face.
"Merlin, it's going to get messy," he said out loud after some time.
"For you, most likely," Daphne replied. "I stay away from those sorts of things."
A heavy creak from the door to the Hospital Wing halted their conversation.
"'Arry?"
A soft voice called out, as footsteps echoed from the stone near Pomfrey's office.
Seconds later, Fleur came in to view and approached his bed, her eyes widening a touch at the sight of Daphne. She paused, as though conflicted over interrupting their conversation. It was the second time in less than a day she'd happened upon him and Daphne together.
It seemed like Daphne was thinking the same thing, if the frown which suddenly appeared on her forehead was anything to go by.
"I think it's about time I grab myself some breakfast," Daphne said stiffly, flattening the wrinkles in her skirt as she stood. "Be sure to look smart at the party. Black dress robes will do fine, anything else is too outlandish for you in my opinion. I'll let you know when to pick me up."
She left without sparing Fleur a single look.
Silence hung in the air, the only sound coming from the closing door. Harry watched Fleur closely, her long silvery hair catching his eye with the way it hung freely down her back. "I didn't think you would still be here," he said.
Fleur took the invitation to come closer, and the scent of lavender replaced that of the sterile infirmary.
"Dumbledore offered us a room after William and I stated our desire to remain be'ind," she explained. Her eyes had yet to leave the injured side of his face. "Why eez it zat I am always visiting you like zis?"
"Because I'm not the greatest listener?" Harry tried for a bit of humour.
Fleur did not smile."No, you are not. Why?" she added.
"I did it because I had to," Harry answered.
"Zat eez not true. You did eet because you could."
"Who else was going to do it?" Harry asked, a familiar agitation building inside him.
"You are not ze only competent person 'Arry," she pointed out. "Do you enjoy doing zis? Do you enjoy worrying ze ones zat care about you?"
"I had to do something!" Harry snapped. "I can't just keep sitting here doing nothing!"
"I would rather you be alive," said Fleur.
"Odds are by the end of this I won't be," Harry said without thinking.
Fleur's gaze tore into him with its emotion, and he regretted his words instantly.
"You do not 'ave to do everyzing yourself," she said softer, taking a step towards him.
"Sometimes you don't have a choice…" His voice was small, barely a whisper.
Something gentle and soft cupped his face. Like skates on ice, Fleur's fingers danced delicately over the ugly patches of his damaged skin.
"These scars, zey show zat you are brave," Fleur spoke quietly.
Harry had to tear his gaze away. The passion of their argument played dangerously on his mind.
"Zey are not 'andsome," she continued, while tracing the thin burn along his temple.
"Burn victims never are," he replied, earning a light smack on the arm.
"You wear zem well, not many could. They make you look more like 'Arry," she said.
"More like myself?"
"Oui, but not so much in appearance—more in spirit. Like ze leetle boy who can't help but find 'imself in trouble." Her tone was teasing, but the look in her eyes was something else entirely.
"Can I really be called little if I'm taller than you?" he asked.
"You are not so tall from up here," she laughed, looking down at him on the bed.
"Really?" Harry said slyly, and quicker than a blink, Harry's hand snatched at Fleur's wrist as if it were a snitch and pulled her down.
With a high-pitched yelp she tumbled onto his chest in a fit of giggles. Her hair spilled over his face as the two of them shook with laughter. That was until Harry noticed Fleur had gone still.
Shifting to his side, he followed her gaze to Katie's empty bed.
"You saved her life."
"I did not—"
"You did," Harry interrupted. "I saw what happened before Bill showed up. You're the reason she has a chance of surviving."
She turned over to look at him again, something holding her tongue. That same strange glint danced in the pale pools that were her eyes.
"Arry… you are unlike anyone I 'ave ever met," she finally said.
Before Harry had a chance to reply, she rolled off of her front and stretched her back against Harry's legs to stare up at the ceiling.
"Zey do not trust me."
Harry frowned. "Don't trust you? Who, the Order?"
She paused for a moment, as if to rethink her words. "Per'aps trust is not ze best choice of words. Zey do not think of me so highly."
"That's ridiculous. Most of them couldn't even hope to accomplish what you have."
"Not all of zem see it as you do, 'Arry. To many, I am simply a foreign girl who does not know what she 'as gotten involved with."
"What about Bill?" Harry pressed.
"William does what 'e can. He stands up for me as an equal but realizes zat I am not some child who needs to be spoken for. Eet is not William's fault," she said sharply.
Harry chided himself for the way he was talking about Bill—her fiancée.
"Je m'excuse 'Arry, I should not 'ave snapped at you," Fleur apologized before he could. "Eet is difficult for me when my talent eez not recognized. This morning, William went wiz Snape to examine ze cursed necklace. I was told my 'elp was not necessary. Zat is exactly ze work I am here to do, non?"
"The goblins have you working with magical artifacts now?" Harry asked curiously. The last time they had spoken, she told him the goblins were keeping her busy behind a desk with paperwork.
"Zat is not—" Fleur stopped midsentence and frowned, and Harry thought he might have said something to upset her. "I did not mean it like zat," she corrected. "It eez ze work zat I wanted to do, but the Goblins had other ideas."
Something she said had caught his attention, but before he could speak, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened once again.
"Fleur? Harry?" Bill Weasley's voice called out.
While walking towards them, a handsome smile spread across the eldest Weasley's face. Harry turned away as he leaned over to plant a kiss on Fleur's lips.
"Wow!" Harry looked back to Bill, who's light eyes were staring at him widely. "You're looking like every witch's dream. I've hung out with enough fellow Curse Breakers to know that a few scars can help a man go a long way."
Bill was grinning at him widely.
"I heard you met with Snape," Harry said, feeling oddly embarrassed about his new scar all of sudden.
"Yeah, it felt more like a detention than a cooperative investigation. I kept on expecting him to start taking points off me."
"I'm sure he wanted to."
"Zat eez entirely immature," Fleur cut in.
"That's just Snape for you," said Bill with a shrug. "Merlin, I miss Hogwarts—what I would give to be back here with you and Ron and Gin…" There was an almost child-like longing burning in Bill's gaze.
"Speaking of Ron, do you know where he and Hermione are?" Harry asked. He was certain they would have come to visit by now.
Bill's hand fidgeted nervously with his dragon tooth earing. "About that… I don't want to worry you, but from what I could gather from Snape, McGonagall broke the news about Katie Bell to Gryffindor last night and the reaction was… not pleasant."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked impatiently.
"McGonagall had to lockdown the common room until tempers cooled and won't let them out until she's confident there won't be any retaliation in the halls. I guess the good news is that you don't have class today," he answered sheepishly.
"I'm so sorry about having to leave so suddenly, but we're going to need to head out now, Harry," Bill continued, pointing between himself and Fleur. "We start work soon, and the goblins don't take kindly if you're late."
With a few short words and a hurried goodbye, Harry was once again left alone in the Hospital Wing with only his thoughts.
Perhaps not quite noticing how tired he was, Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment only to be shook awake by Madam Pomfrey sometime later.
Having casted a number of diagnostic spells, forced a horrible tasting potion down is throat, and uttered several more threats of taking better care of himself, Pomfrey finally gave him permission to be released.
Once again free, his first order of business was to satisfy the grumble of discontent coming from his empty stomach.
Travelling the halls, the distinct lack of Gryffindors was overtly obvious amidst the students milling about free for the day. It was also the absence of his housemates, which made his presence just as noticeable.
He could feel the eyes of nearly every student he passed turn to him and burn with an intense curiosity. Even the portraits lining the walls couldn't refrain from gaping and pointing and gossiping in poorly disguised whispers.
No one was bold enough to speak to him, but he knew what they were thinking. It was better they all saw him now and get it over with.
When he entered the Great Hall, the three tables of the other houses were sparsely filled, and he was paid little mind until he approached the completely vacant Gryffindor table. A hush fell over the room that hadn't existed before and he could feel his every movement examined.
Upon taking a seat at the edge of the long table, a single golden plate and goblet popped into existence in front of him. Seconds later, an array of breakfast foods appeared as well.
Ignoring the strange air about the room, Harry tucked into his meal, immediately feeling better than he had all morning; and soon enough, the low buzz of conversation slowly returned to normal. Though from the corner of his eye he could still see the odd group of students shoot glances in his direction.
Reaching across the table to a stack of unopened editions of the Daily Prophet, Harry picked one up and removed the twine holding it together. Every year, a few weeks before Christmas, the Prophet would release a catalog of the newest and most popular items of the year. Inside were promotions and deals for any gift imaginable, ranging from racing brooms and sweets to grow your own salamander kits and talking mirrors.
Flipping page after page after page, Harry stopped when he reached a full two page spread dedicated to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Images of their products zipped around the page as they did in real life, letting out obnoxious noises and puffing into festive colored smoke of greens and golds and reds.
Harry chuckled to himself, it looked as though they were doing more than well for themselves.
With the reminder of the upcoming Christmas holidays, Harry began the arduous task of slogging through the catalog and looking for gifts for his friends. Having years of practice, he knew what most of them liked, the problem came when finding gifts for Daphne and Fleur.
Pages of the catalog were bursting with images of twinkling jewelry, which looked fit for royalty, and were enchanted beyond anything he could comprehend. After a moment's consideration, his better judgement saw him flip onwards. A gift like that was far too forward.
Minutes flew by, and still he was lost on what to get Daphne. At least with Fleur, he knew what he wanted to buy her. It was just that nothing seemed to feel right. It all looked far too ordinary for someone like her.
"Hello, Harry," a dreamy voice floated from just behind him.
Harry halted his search and turned to meet Luna's kind gaze.
Her eyes slowly drifted to one side of his face.
"You look like you were bargaining with a Heliopath. They don't take kindly to compromise," she said as she too the seat next to him, completely oblivious to the attention they were now receiving from the rest of the Great Hall.
"Flaming Acromantula, actually," Harry corrected with an uncomfortable laugh. His hand reached to rub at the new skin along his burn.
"Maybe. That could just be what they wanted you to think, they're a tricky bunch."
Luna cocked her head to one side and peered at him closely through squinted eyes, before flicking them down to the magazine in his hand.
"Daddy put out his own catalog this year with the Quibbler, I'm surprised I haven't seen anyone looking through it," she said with a frown.
"Maybe I'll take a look at it, I haven't had much luck with this thing," Harry grumbled and tossed the catalog down the table
"I think you should," said Luna, excitedly. "You never know when you'll run into a pack of vampires, and Daddy's selling garlic jewelry. He says they're both fashionable and functional."
"Maybe I'll order one for Lavender. I remember her Boggart being one," Harry joked.
"I think that would be a wonderful gift. Though, I don't think Lavender will like the smell much."
Harry shrugged. "Her loss."
"You said you were having bad luck?" Luna asked, looking at him rather eagerly.
"Er, yeah… I was wanting to get a cloak for—"
Before Harry could even finish, he felt Luna's small hand slip into his own as she yanked him up from his seat with a surge of surprising strength.
"Luna!" Harry shouted as he was dragged out of the Great Hall and up to the landing of the grand staircase. "Where are you taking me?"
Finally, she turned around to acknowledge him, a sparkle of something in her eye.
"To find a cloak, of course," she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Luna…" he sighed, "I had a whole catalog of them downstairs."
"Yes, but none of them were speical."
"A cloak is a cloak, there's nothing special about any of them," Harry said, cringing as soon as the words left his mouth. Finding a special enough cloak was the exact reason he had yet been able to pick one for Fleur.
"Don't be silly, Harry," Luna chided, as they stepped onto one of the larger moving staircases. "You would know better than most that's not true. Your cloak is one of the Deathly Hallows."
"What's a deadly ha—"
Before Harry could finish asking Luna about the origins of her latest eccentricity, the staircase gave a sudden lurch which nearly threw him to the cold stone floor several stories below. Reaching out blindly, he caught hold of Luna by her wrist just as she was falling past him.
For several heart stopping moments, the staircase continued to shake and sway erratically, and Harry could feel his shoulders tearing painfully from straining to keep them both on.
Finally, like the surge of the sea calming after a storm, the movement of the staircase settled.
"What just happened…" Harry panted, almost speechless. The staircases were often temperamental, and had a naughty streak about them, but never had they tried to throw someone off before.
"I think Hogwarts is unhappy," Luna whispered into his shoulder, her voice shaken.
It wasn't until they reached the 7th floor and stood on firm, immovable ground that Luna let go of Harry's arm.
The mood for the remainder of their journey was much more subdued, with Harry following Luna through a series of twisting corridors as she softly hummed beneath her breath. The longer they travelled, the more Harry had the sense he had recently been to this part of the castle.
Eventually, they took a sharp, unexpected turn, and reached a dead-end hallway with blue curtains draped along the ceiling overhead. There was a vibrancy about them in the light of day, which made it seem as though you were peering up at the sky.
Recognition came over Harry immediately. Though he had only been here once before, there was no mistaking the place he had encountered the ghost of the Grey Lady.
"Harry, come on," Luna called after him, standing at the far wall in front a staircase that had not been there previously.
Passing through the hidden passage, Harry climbed the steep spiral steps behind Luna and felt the familiar trickle of magic that suggested he was travelling much further than his body physically could in such a short period of time.
Upon reaching the top, Harry entered a lavishly decorated room better suited to a palace than the fortress that was Hogwarts.
From the floor to the vaulted ceiling high above, gold and bronze trimmings lined every surface his eye could see. Elaborate tapestries hung from the walls, and wherever their rich designs did not touch, the heads of centaurs and eagles and griffins could be seen peaking from woodland scenes carved into a dark oak.
Still taking in the details of this opulent room, Harry slowly turned his way around and stopped in front of a window opening over the great expanse of the Forbidden Forest.
"My mother commissioned the building of this room upon my eleventh birthday. It was in celebration of my first steps as a proper witch."
A chill ran down Harry's spine. The words almost seemed to float from another plane of existence. He turned to the silver figure of Helena Ravenclaw who floated in through the door of an adjoining room, with Luna in tow.
"She loved nature," Lady Ravenclaw continued, and glided up next to him. "The forest you see depicted around the room is one she visited in Albania as a child. She took me there often throughout my childhood as well."
The Grey Lady gazed out the tower window in stoic silence.
"Harry, this is Helena Ravenclaw," Luna introduced from the side, finally speaking up.
"Thanks Luna, but we've already met," Harry said, his eyes not leaving the spectral lady.
"Oh…" A look of surprise flickered over her features, before vanishing the next moment. Crossing the room carefully, Luna stood behind Harry, reached on her toes, and whispered not-so-secretly in his ear, "I don't think she likes being a ghost very much."
A melancholic smile formed on the ghost's translucent lips. "Your Luna is a gentle soul unlike I have ever met, her company pleases me." Lady Ravenclaw looked fondly down at the girl. "I was told you had need of me," she said to Harry.
Harry could feel his eyebrows draw together in confusion, before suddenly remembering the point behind this strange excursion. "Right—Er, I'm not exactly sure how much you can help with this… but I was looking for a cloak."
"I have a cloak," she responded, simply, as if it were a mundane matter.
"A special one," Luna chimed in.
Surprised, and not feeling anywhere near as foolish as he had before, Harry followed both Luna and Helena Ravenclaw into an adjoining bedroom. They were hardly a step in the room when he felt his eyes drawn to a highbacked chair, where across its carved and ornamented features, lay a pale blue cloak that glimmered brilliantly in the streaming sunlight, as though millions of tiny diamonds had been woven into the fabric itself.
It matches her eyes, Harry noted immediately, picking up the cloak with a sense of amazement. The material ran over his hand like a waterfall, pooling in his grasp, and he wondered if perhaps it was softest thing he had ever touched.
Magic rolled off of it in waves, which surged and swirled and slipped between his fingers, never to be caught. Something delicate, yet richly powerful was trapped within each careful stitch. It wasn't quite like his family's invisibility cloak but was the closest anything had ever been.
He must have been standing there for quite some time, lost in the rousing feel of the woven magic washing over him, because Luna poked him gently in the side to gain his attention.
"It's Helena Ravenclaw's cloak," she said, pointing at the material that was almost glowing in his hands.
"I gathered that, Luna," Harry said, flicking his eyes to the ghost floating not five feet away.
"No, Harry, it's Helena Ravenclaw's cloak," she repeated with pointed emphasis, though he wasn't sure why. "Like Ravenclaw's diadem?"
Harry looked at her blankly, never having heard of either.
"It's like the Sword of Gryffindor but for Ravenclaw."
"Oh."
Harry rubbed at the tender patch of newly grown skin above his brow, a touch embarrassed.
"Wow—this… well, it's incredible. I wasn't looking for anything this special, but—thank you. I've only seen something so masterfully enchanted in my father's cloak."
Helena Ravenclaw's pale eyes almost seemed to widen, and the shade of her cheeks darkened sweetly. "Many thanks," she said, laughing lightly. "I can think of no higher praise. I remember your father and his mischievous group of friends. His cloak was exquisite."
"If you don't mind me asking, what does it do?"
"Always so curious, Mr. Potter." She smiled serenely and ran a hand over the surface of her cloak, it's material almost sparkling under her touch. "How can I reward the knowledge my house prides if I gave away its secrets so cheaply? I have no doubt a sharp mind can discover its uses. It is through exploration that we develop, and in the end, more will be learnt than if I tell you."
Harry shook his head. It was as if he was speaking to Dumbledore.
"Can you tell me one thing, at least?" Harry asked, eyeing the impossibly thin material. "Will it keep someone warm?"
Helena Ravenclaw laughed, before composing herself and answering, "Whoever it is that holds such a special place in your heart will have not cause to fear the touch of cold."
"I still can't believe you're letting me take it," said Harry, feeling lost for words.
"It does no good locked up in this tower, and I have no use for it in my form." Her response was laced with a sense of bitterness.
Folding the cloak as he was about to leave, Harry was stopped by the nagging feeling, again, that there was something more to the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw.
"I asked you this before," he said suddenly, "but why stay behind? Why lock yourself away in an existence you hate so much?"
The back of the lady was facing him, but he could see her ghostly image still as the temperature of the bedroom cooled to an unpleasant chill that reached his bones. Rotating on the spot without a sound, the Grey Lady was the very image of her cursed name. She was an ashen wall painted in grief, with tears of silver trailing down her sculpted face.
For a moment he regretted his forwardness and wanted to apologize, but she put up a hand to speak before he had a chance.
"My mother was never one for softness," her voice was low and calm as she started. "Her life was dominated by the running of Hogwarts, teaching, and her own projects. Her legacy is what drove her… and the raising of a child was often secondary."
Helena Ravenclaw floated to where Luna sat at the edge of her bad, appearing to take comfort in the presence of her young friend. A sad smile played on her lips, as her spirit travelled back in memory.
"That is not saying my mother did not try when she could, such as this very room and our many trips to Albania, but as a child I did not understand the lack of attention. It is fascinating what one begins to see after existing for centuries. I suppose she loved me in her own way, but it was difficult for her to express, not unlike her projects which filled her with a passion unlike any other.
"I was a bitter child—foolish and vain. My mother was important, renowned throughout Europe for her achievements, but not once was my name ever mentioned in company with hers. I inherited her talent, or so I was told by Godric and Salazar, so I took it upon myself to prove it to the world. That is was what led to the creation of my cloak, my life's work. But upon its completion, I was once again overshadowed by my mother's crowning achievement, her diadem…
"So, I stole it. I wanted to use its power and prove I was cleverer than my mother had shown herself to be. My mother fell sick upon my betrayal, and in my foolishness, I thought it was over the diadem and not her daughter. I fled to Albania, the only place I intimately knew beyond these stone walls, and place where deep down I desperately wanted her to find me. And she did… but she was too ill to come herself, and so she sent the Baron."
A fury came over her with the mention of the name, which spat from her mouth like a curse. Harry could see a grey fire burning in the dark depths of her eyes, and an unsettling chill gripped his spine.
"The Baron came upon me with a broken heart in hand. Long had he loved me, violent to others in his obsession, but alas his desire was unrequited. He pleaded and begged over his want to have me, but I spurned him as I was no one's woman but my own. He turned to use my mother's impending death against me, but guilt and shame held me back. In a rage, he declared that if he could not have me, none shall, and stuck me with steel to prove he spoke true."
Reaching beneath the fold of her dress just beneath her breast, she pulled and revealed a ghastly wound that leaked a black liquid.
"Death took me and him both, and to this day his obsession festers and torments my very existence. But the diadem pains me more than a thousand cuts of the Baron's blade ever could. My guilt and shame held me from returning to my mother, just as my guilt and shame keep me from her now…"
When Harry spoke, his voice was dry, nearly choking on the tragedy of her story. "Is there nothing that can be done?"
There was a pause, a juncture where time stood still, where her dead eyes stared across the veil to his living form. She stared at his scar as she finally spoke, "Another made a promise to me once… never again."
She then fled the room.
Turning to Luna, he could see his friend staring at the spot on the wall where Lady Ravenclaw had vanished. After a moment, she turned to Harry and looked at him sadly. "I think I'll go tell her about the Snorkack me and Daddy are hunting over the holidays, she likes those stories."
He watched Luna follow after her.
It wasn't much longer before Harry, himself, descended from the lonely tower and returned to the castle proper. Without a destination in mind, he took to wandering the upper floors, heavy limbs dragging behind him. His fingers played with the fine threads of Ravenclaw's ethereal cloak, and he thought of where and how he might give it to Fleur.
He hadn't encountered anyone throughout his roaming, which came as no surprise given that classes were cancelled for the day, and the only ones held in this part of the castle were Divination and Astronomy.
This sort of peace was hard to come by in Hogwarts, which was why he was surprised to hear the distinct clinking of jewellery and scuffle of feet echo from down the hall.
"—Jack of spades… a doomed path is followed and not easily changed… only death can be a certainty."
A hollow voice bounced off the stone walls, growing louder and clearer with each word.
"Queen of hearts… through pain love is found, through tragedy it is forged, through both peace can be found."
A strange, mishappen shadow crawled out from behind a corner, and Harry thought he could hear the shuffle of cards.
"King of Clubs… an old love is found, one tragic but triumphant, the game of kings is not to be taken lightly."
The figure turned and the shadow disappeared, the voice growing dimmer and dimmer. Harry stepped after them and was hit with the strong scent of sherry.
"Seven of diamonds… a powerful number of extraordinary value… Ace of hearts… one life, one death, one love—survival through destruction…"
Turning the corner, Harry stopped and stared. He was looking at the crooked ladder, which led to Trelawney's tower.
Come to my classroom, Harry Potter, and your future will be told.
Her haunting words played with his mind.
A part of him was desperate to chase after her, while the other was too afraid of what she might say to move.
The choice, however, was taken from his hands as a faint clip clop clip clop could be heard approaching from his rear. Behind him, the corridor remained empty, but the sound continued to draw nearer.
Dormant portraits lining the wall begin to rouse.
A blue bearded wizard with pumpkins for ears shouted from his frame, "Will you quit making such a racket!"
"We're tryin' to sleep ya bloody poof!" A gaggle of hags croaked their agreement with the strangely muscled witch who'd screeched from the opposite wall.
"What villains are these who dare order Sir Cadogan! I am a knight of noble heart! It will be a duel to the death with whoever challenges my honor! Tell me, you scurvy dog, will it be my sword you taste?"
"There ain't one bit o' ya I'd ever want to taste, an' I'll tell ya where you can shove that sword. Take yer fat cow and leave!"
The witch flexed her muscles intimidatingly at the knight, sending him scampering.
"Fortune smile upon you today, wench, for I am on a noble quest. Though one day I will return and cut out your black heart for besmirching my name, you scoundrel," he shouted back, brave enough from a distance.
It was moments later that Sir Cadogan came trotting into view through the portrait of an old wizard passed out from drink across his table. He was riding what looked to be the fattest pony
Harry had ever seen, and his armour was clanging together loud enough to wake half the castle.
"Comrade, I come bearing news from the king." Sir Cadogan tried to greet him with a bow but ended up tumbling off his stead. It was only then, as the knight was struggling to push himself to his feet, that Harry noticed he was missing an arm.
"What happened to your arm?" Harry asked. There was no blood or stub of a limb. The arm had simply faded away, as if the paint had been smudged out of existence.
"A grand battle with the Wyvern of Wye, my friend, if only you could have witnessed my acts of valour. 'Tis hardly a wound, anyway. Alas, there is no time for tales, the king has a message he would like me to pass on."
"The king?" Harry asked, having almost forgotten the man was absolutely mental.
Gripping his sword tightly, Sir Cadogan planted his blade into the table where the unconscious wizard lay and took a knee. Pulling out a scroll, he read, "The king requests your presence past sundown this evening. He cites the reason being 'a good time for a chat' and made certain of me to remind you that 'Peppermint Pixies are wonderful seasonal treats'."
Tucking the paper behind his breastplate, Sir Cadogan stood proudly and bowed a final time. "I wish you good fortune in your journey."