Chapter 35. More Than War

The whole world was marching into the unknown at a terrifying pace.

The latest news every day caused increasing alarm, and Harry even noticed his own Boggart weakening. Because of this, he worried whether he could teach anyone to summon a Patronus now, and he tried his best to postpone that lesson, teaching his classmates any other defensive spells instead, just so he wouldn't demand the impossible from them. Only Hermione stood her ground, and every day she reminded everyone how important it was for each person to find at least a glimmer of light in the ever-thickening darkness of horrifying news.

After the release of news about the bloody massacre in London, Harry tried to delve into the content of newspaper articles, but he gave up after reading about a dwarf who lured passersby with his stories, from which one could not escape from their influence. Strange things were happening in London and he couldn't explain them rationally. If Fujimaru knew something about it, he didn't rush to share his thoughts with Harry, and Jeanne followed his example. The teachers, even more so, didn't feel obliged to report to him personally, and now he literally existed in a complete information vacuum.

His own ignorance weighed heavily on him, crushing him more with each passing day, and it seemed as if it would eventually completely overwhelm him. He had no one to blame, as everyone was busy with their own tasks, and Harry understood that perfectly well. Even Sirius, the only person he tried to contact and whom he sent a letter to, replied briefly. He asked him not to worry about him, as he was fine and his house in Grimmauld Place was carefully guarded by the Aurors from the Order of the Phoenix. Though short, this reply warmed Harry's soul a little. Now he had to take care of Dudley.

He didn't even know how they were protecting him.

The menacing and cold voice of Voldemort resurfaced in his memory, and those words couldn't have come at a more opportune time. It turned out that the safety of the Dursleys was being closely watched like never before, and all Harry could do was hope that the mysterious protectors wouldn't let their guard down during such a difficult time.

On their first lesson of the year, Hagrid showed the students the Thestrals. During this lesson, Harry remembered Ollivander and Luna's words about not all wizards being able to see them.

"Hagrid said himself, they can take care of themselves. I think a regular teacher, like Grubbly-Plank, wouldn't have shown them to us before the OWL exams, but they're interesting, aren't they? Some people can see them, and some can't. I wish I could see them," said Hermione.

"Really?" Harry said quietly.

Only now did the terrifying meaning of her words hit him.

"Oh, Harry... I'm sorry... of course not, what nonsense I've said."

"It happens, don't worry."

"I wonder how many people can see them," Ron said. "Look, there are three of them in our class."

"And we're surprised, Weasley," came a mocking voice from behind. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle silently walked behind them on the snow.

"If someone kicked the bucket in front of you, maybe you would have seen a Quaffle?" Jeanne asked him.

Malfoy smirked at her in response, puffing out his chest. In an instant, Jeanne was standing right in front of him, burning his face with a fiery gaze. Next to her, Dudley stood shoulder to shoulder and looked meaningfully at Malfoy.

"Don't get into trouble," Dudley mumbled.

He looked meaningfully at Crabbe and Goyle, who were noticeably smaller and clenched their fists.

"You'll have problems, Dursley!" Malfoy shouted. "And you too, French girl!"

"Oh really?" they both chorused, looking at each other.

"Attack!" Dudley raised his wand. "Come on!"

Malfoy dismissed his wand and sent a curse towards Dudley. He instinctively dodged it, shouting "Protego! Expelliarmus!" The clumsy trio went flying through the air, losing their wands along the way.

Jeanne didn't leave them alone. She ran towards them, raised her hand to touch Malfoy lying on the snow, but he quickly recoiled. Crabbe and Goyle followed his lead.

"Cowards," she muttered, watching them run away. They had just picked up their wands in a hurry and stumbled at every step, mumbling something incoherent.

"They still don't know what their dads' boss looked like that night," Harry began.

"They all know," Jeanne countered. "That's why they're afraid."

Ron approached Dudley together with Harry and gave him a pat on the back.

"Well done, Dudley! That's how you handle them!"

"And it's true," Harry smiled. "You're good at defense."

Dudley seemed not to notice the praise.

"I can't stand it when someone picks on others," Dudley grumbled, putting his wand in his pocket and walking towards the greenhouse. "Hey, you guys! I have to wait for you there or what? We'll be late for Herbology."

Hermione followed him and ran a little ahead. She took out her magic wand and used a spell to heat up the air, melting the snowdrift.

Dudley has been surprising Harry a lot lately. To his cousin's amazement, who had only observed his achievements from a distance, Dudley quickly mastered the most basic spells that Harry had been learning for years. He also quickly learned how to fly on a broomstick and would occasionally go out to the yard with a broom, performing all sorts of advanced aerial maneuvers. One day, he amazed the other students when Fred shouted out during a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, "Bloody hell! That's a Wronski Feint!"

In that moment, it seemed to many as if Dudley had been born in the air - he was that good at flying. However, the better he became at flying, the less attention he paid to theoretical lessons. He struggled with Divination, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and didn't enjoy writing essays for various subjects. But when it came to practical tasks, it was hard to surpass him. Now, watching him fly on the Nimbus 2001 that his father had given him, many predicted a career as a great Quidditch player for Dudley, and some even prepared a spot for him on the Gryffindor reserve team. Everyone understood that the current team roster would eventually change, and that's when Dudley Dursley would step onto the field, alongside players like Krum. So, every time Dudley joined the team for practice, the Gryffindor students knew in advance that he would impress them again with his skill, and no matter what role they assigned him, the training would go perfectly. All they had to do was wait for his moment to shine. To Harry's even greater surprise, Dudley had undergone a sudden change - coming into a new environment, he had completely transformed himself to fit in, and he no longer took pleasure in praise. So, no matter how much he was praised, it went in one ear and out the other, as he single-mindedly pursued his goals.

Harry had become accustomed to Dudley's changing character.

He didn't know what thoughts were going through his cousin's head, but he understood perfectly well that all of Dudley's achievements couldn't be pure coincidence. That's why every time he watched Dudley in the sky, he imagined his cousin's flights of fancy. In that sense, Dudley seemed like an artist to him, painting a picture in the sky with his acrobatics on the broomstick, which became more elaborate every day. Dudley effortlessly accomplished things that no one else could replicate, not because the other students were stupid or untalented. Harry believed that many of them would be able to achieve his feats with additional training, and Dudley himself could help them with that. However, what motivated Dudley every time he invented something new remained a secret, and Dudley never talked about it. Instead, he slept like a log every night, and - Harry thought - dreamed of new broomstick tricks.

In the Help Room this evening, Harry, as usual, was busy with a large group of students. His friends Ron and Hermione were there, along with a surprising number of other familiar and unfamiliar faces. Dudley was also with them, showing a remarkable inclination towards defense. Mash Kirielight and Zhanna were also there, eager to learn alongside the students.

Harry had recently noticed the progress of several students who were previously Muggles. The first was a boy with dark hair and a serious expression named Sam Brightwood. Before discovering his magical abilities, he was a football player and had an interest in the unknown.

Another new student was a quiet girl named Agatha Sanspark, who had previously been interested in astronomy. She had a talent for Transfiguration and could easily transform a paperclip into a bird. Her attention to detail and concentration allowed her to cast powerful and precise spells. Harry was impressed by her ability to effortlessly transfigure objects, but even more so by her imaginative flights of fancy when she created spells that formed beautiful dancing patterns in the air.

Today, Harry was teaching the Impediment Jinx. The lesson proceeded with a newfound sense of focus as the students diligently worked on mastering the spell under Harry's guidance.

While the students practiced the Impediment Jinx, Harry walked around the room, giving advice and encouraging those who needed it. He was impressed by the progress the Muggle-born students had made and saw their determination to succeed in magic. Dudley was particularly diligent, determined to prove himself as a capable wizard. But Harry already knew that being Muggle-born didn't mean being incapable. Hermione had already proven that, as she studied very diligently. He witnessed firsthand how sometimes even students from the purest of wizarding families struggled more than the Muggle-born students.

As he continued to walk around the room, Harry couldn't help but ponder the different backgrounds of his classmates. He was well aware of the prejudice some wizarding families held against those born to Muggles, but he always believed that talent and hard work were more important than heritage.

As the lesson progressed, Harry realized that he had to continue to encourage all of his students, regardless of their background or status. He saw potential in each of them and hoped that they would continue to pursue their interests and excel in their studies.

Perhaps, in the future, one of these Muggle-born students could even become the greatest person of their time, breaking down the barriers of prejudice and proving once and for all that one's background doesn't determine their abilities. Harry was proud of his students and knew that they were capable of achieving anything they set their minds to, as long as they believed in themselves.

When the lesson ended and the students began to disperse around Hogwarts, he stood in the Room of Requirement with the Marauder's Map, observing their movements. Jeanne stood next to him, and at that moment he recalled his recent conversation with Hermione.

"Tell me, Jeanne..." he began the conversation, unsure of how to steer it towards his desired direction. "What is your boggart... what do you fear?"

Jeanne turned to him. He expected anything from her - any reaction, even her usual negativity - but this time he saw only embarrassment and some... sadness?

"Thank you for asking. When I was on trial, no one came to me or supported me, even with a word," Jeanne's voice sounded calm, and, as he thought, a little melancholic, and her gaze didn't leave the floor.

"I dedicated my whole life and all my strength to my goal, and for that, people burned me at the stake," she looked at Harry and a faint shadow of her usual self-satisfied smile appeared on her face. "But, you know... I think, in the last months of my life, I got tired of being good at everything and accepted that people saw evil in me," her smile became more pronounced at these words, and there was a hint of malice in her eyes. "In the end, no one came and defended me in the face of an unfair trial," she said, her face contorted as if in pain. "But I...," at that moment, her face completely transformed, and, having gotten rid of the familiar self-satisfaction, became more beautiful than ever, and a bright smile played on it, and her eyes looked at Harry with a wonderfully pure gaze. "I didn't blame them for anything, because they themselves didn't know what they were doing."

Harry listened to Jeanne's words, feeling sympathy towards her. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her - being burned at the stake for something she believed in so strongly. He saw the pain and sadness in her eyes when she spoke about it, but also the newly gained sense of acceptance and understanding.

He nodded in understanding, "I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you. But you don't need to prove your righteousness to anyone. You know what you fought for, and that's what matters. And I believe you. Back then, I wasn't even born yet, but today we are together, and I... we can all support you."

Jeanne's smile softened, and she looked at Harry with a grateful expression on her face, but said nothing. She approached Harry a little closer, and he was able to see her face in minute detail, every eyelash on the edges of her eyelids, every strand of hair in her messy but endearing hairstyle.

Mr. Weasley sat on the dark stone floor, surrounded by dense fog, and a mocking high-pitched voice, almost like that of a little girl, whispered:

- Come on, tell me!

A thin silhouette plunged two knives into Mr. Weasley's chest from opposite sides, and he sat in utter agony. His eyes rolled back, and he could only manage a faint groan.

- Tell me, tell me! - the voice continued.

Harry's powerful, sleek body slid around him, and stuck out its tongue. Harry's scar exploded with unbearable pain, and he felt it again. Voldemort was triumphant.

- Harry! HARRY!

Harry didn't immediately recognize the people standing around his bed. He felt worse than ever. Coming to his senses and saying goodbye to the remains of dinner, he looked at Ron, desperately not knowing what else to say, except:

- Your dad... He was attacked...