Chapter 24 – Marauder's Secrets
Lupin's Office – Lupin's PoV
Remus Lupin was ensconced in the dim lighting of his office, an atmosphere that provided him with a sense of solitude. The only prominent light emanated from the flickering flames of the fireplace and was reflected off the Marauder's Map that lay spread out on his mahogany desk. Every night for the past few weeks, since the map had fallen into his possession once more, Remus found himself immersed in this very scene: sitting alone, his fingers occasionally tracing the movements on the parchment, eyes scanning every nook and corner.
The parchment was a brilliant piece of magic, a testament to the ingenuity of his youth and that of his closest friends. And now, it was serving a purpose he hadn't quite anticipated. He'd discovered countless secrets, from couples seeking out hidden spots to the Weasley twins' endless mischief. Just last week, he'd managed to pre-emptively halt one of their most elaborate prank attempts, much to their chagrin.
Yet, his focus wasn't truly on the students and their nightly escapades. There was one name that haunted his thoughts: Peter Pettigrew. Ever since Harry had mentioned spotting Peter's name on the map, Remus had been gripped by a whirlwind of doubt and confusion. He had meticulously inspected the map's enchantments, making sure there were no glitches or imperfections. But everything checked out, leading him to one agonsing conclusion: Peter might still be alive.
He sighed deeply, the weight of the implications pressing heavily on him. If Peter was indeed alive, what did that signify about Sirius? Was his old friend truly innocent of the crimes he'd been imprisoned for? Or had Peter simply managed to escape with his life after Sirius betrayed the Potters? Remus felt the sharp sting of old wounds reopening. He needed answers. If he could just locate Peter, corner him, and confront him, perhaps he could find some semblance of clarity in this twisted narrative.
Remus's eyes darted across the intricately detailed lines and curves of the map, locating the comings and goings of various individuals in the castle. Once again, he found two very familiar dots - a couple of 7th-year students hidden away in a broom closet. A soft, amused chuckle escaped his lips. This was the third night in succession he'd spotted them there. "Oh, the vigour of youth," he mused, the slight upturn of his lips expressing a fleeting moment of nostalgia, taking him back to the heady days of his own youth.
However, his mirth was short-lived. As he was about to utter the familiar phrase to close the map, his gaze was drawn to the farthest periphery. A lone dot seemed to flicker hesitantly at the very edge of the parchment, barely within the scope of its enchantment. The name alongside it caused Remus's heart to skip a beat: "Sirius Black."
His fingers tightened around the edges of the map, feeling the rough texture beneath them. A cold, unsettling chill coursed through him, contrasting starkly with the warmth of the room. Just as he strained his eyes to fixate on the dot, it wavered for a split second and then vanished into oblivion.
Panic and urgency rose within him like a tidal wave. Here was his chance, the opportunity to confront his old friend-turned-traitor. Remus's thoughts raced wildly, tangled between the hope of finally getting answers and the burning desire for retribution for Lily and James's untimely demise.
His resolve solidified. He needed to act, and act fast. There wasn't a moment to lose if he hoped to corner Sirius Black. The weight of years of uncertainty and betrayal spurred him into motion as he swiftly rose from his chair, preparing to venture into the dark, uncertain night.
The night seemed darker and colder as Remus approached the exact location where he'd seen the elusive dot. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves around him, their whispering sounds echoing the questions that plagued his mind. But his questions were answered when his eyes settled on a familiar, looming tree. The Whomping Willow stood menacingly, its massive limbs swinging wildly in the night air. A living guardian to a secret from his past.
Memories surged within him as he recalled the countless times he'd ventured through the secret passage hidden beneath the tree, leading to the Shrieking Shack. The anguished howls and screams that gave the shack its name had been his own, a result of his Werewolf transformations during his time as a student. Dumbledore had ensured this refuge for him, a private place where he couldn't harm others during the full moon. The profoundness of that act of compassion momentarily threatened to choke Remus, but he quickly pushed the sentiment aside.
Using a well-practised technique, Remus deftly manoeuvred to immobilise the Whomping Willow, granting him safe passage. As he delved into the hidden tunnel, the familiar cold, damp walls pressed in around him, echoing with whispers of the past. Each step he took was measured and deliberate, the rhythmic pattern of his footsteps a stark contrast to the rapid beating of his heart.
Emerging into the dimly lit Shrieking Shack, he pushed open the door to one of the rooms, its rusty hinges creaking in protest. There, amidst the shadows and memories, stood Sirius Black. The gaunt figure was a stark contrast to the vibrant and mischievous friend of his youth, but the gleaming eyes and the unmistakable wide grin bore testimony to his identity.
"Moony," Sirius greeted, the old nickname dripping with a mix of nostalgia and mischief.
Eyes sharp and wand poised, Remus took a guarded step closer, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of sadness. "Sirius," he replied, the weight of years of betrayal and confusion evident in that single word.
Sirius's eyes, once filled with joviality, darkened slightly at Remus's icy reception. He tilted his head slightly, a touch of genuine hurt crossing his features. "Is this how you greet an old friend, Moony?" he asked, his voice a blend of amusement and sorrow.
Remus's posture remained firm, the shadowed lines of his face deepening, giving him a visage of authority. "There's much we need to discuss," he began, each word chosen with care, emanating determination. "I want the truth, Sirius. Every detail of what transpired that night and since." He paused, his eyes meeting Sirius's with unyielding intensity. "And it would be wise of you to be honest. If I find you lying... there won't be much left for the Dementors to deal with."
Sirius let out a soft chuckle, but there was no mirth in it — just a bitter acknowledgment of the situation he found himself in. "Very well, Moony," he replied, allowing himself to sink into one of the worn-out chairs in the room. "I'll tell you everything. It's about time someone knew the truth." The dim lighting seemed to accentuate every scar and hollow on his face, making him appear both vulnerable and formidable. The room grew silent, save for the distant howling of the wind outside, as two old friends, separated by betrayal and time, prepared to confront the ghosts of their past.
~~~o~~~
In the weeks that followed, the vibrant tapestry of daily life at Hogwarts unfurled with its mix of classes, studies, and the hunt for knowledge about Jingles' past. But as the days turned, their leads grew cold and distant. The upcoming private lesson with Professor Lupin weighed heavily on Harry's mind; the Patronus Charm wasn't just any spell, and Harry's anticipation of it was laced with trepidation.
Tonight, however, the group found themselves in a different kind of training. Nestled within the magical confines of the Room of Requirement, they sat in a circle around Jingles. But instead of wands and spells, this lesson was about tapping into their inner magical senses, discerning between dark and light magic.
Harry always imagined sensing magic would involve dazzling displays or pulsing energy. But here they were, in the midst of meditation. The room was thick with concentration, the only sound being the soft rustling of robes and the muted breaths of his friends.
He could feel the weight of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the cool floor pressing against his legs. But of sensing magic? Nothing. While others seemed to embrace the calm, Harry felt like a fish out of water. How was sitting and focusing on his breathing supposed to help him feel magic? The concept felt so foreign.
Hermione, ever the dedicated student, was a picture of concentration, her brow slightly furrowed. Tracey, bubbly and vivacious, now looked serene, her face relaxed and hands resting gently on her lap. Daphne, always with that air of cold elegance in public, looked peaceful, her fair face soft in the dim light. And then there was Neville, whose usual apprehensive demeanour was replaced with an earnest effort to grasp the lesson.
In the centre, Jingles sat, the black cat's blue eyes closed as he emitted magical energies for them to sense. His tail swished gently, occasionally brushing against Harry's hand.
Harry's thoughts drifted back to the moments he had sensed magic before. When he first held his wand at Ollivanders, there was an undeniable resonance. Again, when he confronted Voldemort in the mirror chamber to safeguard the Sorcerer's Stone, he felt the palpable darkness of the magic. But these sensations had been momentary, unplanned. What Jingles aimed to teach them was to harness this innate ability, to deliberately tap into sensing the magic around them, ensuring they were better equipped for any circumstance.
But now, Harry was filled with doubt. What if he never got it? He felt an odd mixture of frustration and yearning. He wanted, more than anything, to feel that connection, to truly sense the magic around him consistently. He just didn't know how to reach out and grasp it. Closing his eyes tighter, he tried to block out the doubts, to focus solely on the here and now.
The cool air of the Room of Requirement brushed against Harry's skin, but his thoughts were ablaze. The scent of Tracey's perfume from the last time they had all met lingered in his memory. It was faint, but Harry could still recall the spicy undertone that seemed to only accentuate his growing attraction towards her. Those fleeting touches, the way her laugh seemed a little more melodious than he remembered, and how the light danced in her eyes when she caught him looking. It was all maddening.
Every time Harry tried to meditate, to concentrate on the magic Jingles was emitting, his mind played those flashes of her. Tracey, wrapped in bubbles, her hair slicked back, laughing at his expense, teasing him for his innocent gift. The imagery was enough to pull a rush of warmth to his face, and Harry was constantly fearful someone would notice.
Why did he feel like this? Why did Tracey suddenly consume his every thought? Harry found himself in a constant battle, trying to figure out if what he felt was just a fleeting teenage crush or something deeper. It was exasperating. Love, attraction, lust – they were all foreign concepts to him. The boy who lived under a staircase for years, starved of warmth and genuine human connection, was now grappling with feelings he couldn't name.
He yearned for guidance, for someone to help him navigate this turbulent sea of emotions. His father or his mother, maybe even an elder brother if he had one, could've provided some insight. But the universe wasn't that kind. Speaking with Hermione or Daphne was out of the question. They would be kind, supportive even, but the embarrassment would kill him. Neville, though dear to him, was just as inexperienced in these matters.
In the midst of all this chaos, Harry didn't realise that his breathing had become erratic. The meditation, meant to be a moment of peace and magic sensing, had turned into an inner storm of conflict and confusion.
The warmth of the Room of Requirement faded slightly as the group began to shift and stretch, waking from their meditative states. Jingles communicated through Daphne, his usual medium, announcing the end of their practise. His whiskers twitched, and his blue eyes scanned the group as they began to share their experiences.
"I think I felt something... just at the edge of my senses," Daphne mentioned softly, her fingers tracing an absent pattern on the ground, her blue eyes contemplative. The others exchanged glances, some in amazement and some in disappointment.
"I felt nothing," Hermione admitted, her voice tinged with frustration, while Neville simply shook his head, his face a mask of concentration as he tried to decipher if he'd felt anything at all.
Harry was only half-listening. He found himself distracted, his eyes drawn to Tracey's form again and again, her black hair cascading over her shoulder as she animatedly discussed something with Hermione. The warm light of the Room of Requirement made her skin glow, and Harry felt a familiar pull towards her.
Daphne's voice snapped him back to the conversation, catching him off-guard. "You seem rather tense, Harry," she observed, her voice smooth and unhurried. "Is something bothering you?"
He felt a flash of panic. Had she seen him staring at Tracey? His mind raced to find an explanation, his cheeks warming slightly under her scrutinising gaze.
But then she shifted the topic gracefully. "I couldn't help but notice your discomfort when Professor Lupin was mentioned earlier," she continued. "Are you anxious about your private lessons with him?"
Harry nearly sagged in relief at her words, the tension that had been building in his shoulders easing. He forced a casual shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. "It's just... after all that's happened, I don't know if I can trust him," he admitted, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Tracey as he spoke.
Daphne's eyes, always so discerning, seemed to pierce right through him. "What do you want from these meetings with Lupin?"
"To defend myself," Harry said, with a hint of bitterness, thinking of the chilling presence of the dementors and the way they seemed to be always hovering at the edges of his consciousness.
Daphne's nod was understanding, but her next question made him pause. "Is that all you want?"
Harry was taken aback. He hadn't considered it from that angle. Was he only attending these lessons out of a sense of self-preservation? Daphne's probing had uncovered another layer of his motivations. Perhaps there was more he hoped to achieve - like getting to know the man who was once his father's best friend. Or perhaps, he thought, he might even find the answers about Jingles they had been searching for. He sat there, thoughtful, grappling with the whirlwind of feelings and the weight of Daphne's words.
"I'd like to," Harry began, hesitatingly, "get to know Professor Lupin better. He was close to my parents, after all." He paused, taking a deep breath, his eyes darting to the ground. "But, with the way things started between us, I'm not sure if we can reconnect. I'm also worried he might bring up topics I'm not comfortable discussing, like..." Harry trailed off, but the weight of his unfinished sentence hung in the air.
"Like how he thinks I'm 'dangerous' for you?" Daphne filled in with a wry, almost amused smirk.
Harry gave a small nod, his face a complex dance of frustration and concern.
Daphne reached out, placing a comforting hand on Harry's arm. Her touch was warm, her fingers firm. "Harry," she began softly, "you can, and should, set boundaries. You're not a child anymore, and it's your right to decide what topics are off-limits. If Lupin can't respect those boundaries, then it's his loss."
She leaned in closer, emphasising her next words, "You are in control. These private lessons? They're a choice. If he oversteps, you can just walk away. Remember that."
Harry looked into Daphne's eyes, seeing the fierce determination that he admired so much. It was moments like these that made him question why anyone would label her as dangerous. Slowly, understanding dawned on him. All these years, he had let the Dursleys walk all over him, making him feel insignificant, like his opinions and feelings didn't matter. But Daphne had a way of changing his perspective.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he whispered, "Thank you, Daphne. I... I never saw it that way before. Thank you for reminding me of my worth."
Daphne's smile was warm and sincere, a gentle contrast to her usual composed demeanour. The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and teasing, each member of the group sharing their own stories, jokes, and opinions on various Hogwarts topics. Jingles, in his own silent way, seemed content simply to be in the presence of the group, observing their interactions.
As the evening drew to a close, the group reluctantly disbanded, each heading to their respective dormitories with promises to meet again soon.
~~~o~~~
The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual morning chatter when Harry, Hermione, and Neville took their seats at the Gryffindor table the next day. Breakfast at Hogwarts was a sumptuous affair, and the trio helped themselves to generous portions of toast, eggs, and sausages. The tantalising aroma of freshly baked pastries filled the air, making Harry's mouth water.
Suddenly, the hall went quiet, all eyes turning to the front where Professor Lupin stood, an impish gleam in his eyes.
"With all due respect to my fellow Marauders," Lupin began, his voice carrying effortlessly throughout the room, "I must make a public proclamation. The Weasleys," he paused for effect, "are the superior pranksters!"
Murmurs spread across the hall as students exchanged confused glances. But it was Lupin's next statement that truly shocked everyone. "Weasleys rule, Marauders drool!" he declared with a hint of theatrical flair.
For a fleeting moment, a blush crept up Lupin's cheeks, betraying a hint of embarrassment. But it was quickly replaced by a mischievous glint as he locked eyes with the Weasley twins, who were staring at him in a mix of shock and delight. Lupin's confident smile conveyed a clear message: the game was on.
Harry, watching the entire spectacle, couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. The ongoing prank war between the Weasley twins and Lupin had become legendary in the school, and the boldness of their escapades made many students wonder how any of them still dared to consume food or drink in the Great Hall. Who knew what tricks or traps awaited in their meals? The adventure of it all made breakfast a thrilling affair at Hogwarts.
~~~o~~~
The room was comfortably lit with the soft glow of candles, revealing walls lined with bookshelves filled with various tomes. Lupin's desk was slightly cluttered with papers, quills, and other assorted items. A plate of biscuits sat invitingly to one side, next to a steaming teapot.
Lupin's face broke into a welcoming smile when he saw Harry. "Ah, Mr. Potter," he greeted, "right on time. Do come in and make yourself comfortable. And if it's alright with you, during these lessons, may I call you Harry?"
Harry nodded in agreement and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Lupin's desk, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. His eyes flicked momentarily to the chest standing in the room.
"Before we dive into the Patronus Charm," began Lupin, clasping his hands together, "I thought it'd be useful to discuss the theoretical aspects. Once we understand those, we can practise the wand movements and incantations. After that, well," he gestured towards the chest, "we can put your skills to the test."
Harry nodded, appreciating the structured approach Lupin was taking. "Sounds good, Professor."
Lupin leaned back slightly, his expression turning more contemplative. "You know, Harry, after our lesson, I thought perhaps we could spend some time chatting. It would be nice to get to know you better, outside the confines of these lessons."
Harry hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath before replying. "I'd like that, but there are certain topics I'd prefer to avoid."
Lupin raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Such as?"
"My choice in friends," Harry began, his voice firm. "You might have opinions or reservations about them, especially Daphne, but those thoughts are yours alone. I'm not interested in hearing them."
Lupin seemed a bit taken aback but nodded for Harry to continue.
"Also," Harry went on, "Jingles. He might have belonged to my mother once, but now he's content at Hogwarts, especially with Daphne. I don't want that to change, so don't push the matter."
Lupin remained silent for a moment, taking in Harry's words. There was a certain weight to the atmosphere as Harry awaited the professor's response. Finally, Lupin spoke.
"I respect your boundaries, Harry," he said, meeting Harry's eyes sincerely. "We won't discuss those topics. My goal is to help and guide you, not push you away."
Harry relaxed slightly, appreciative of Lupin's understanding. With the air cleared, the two turned their focus to the lesson at hand.
Lupin leaned forward, the warmth of the candles casting gentle shadows across his face. "The Patronus Charm," he began, "is one of the most ancient and powerful defensive charms we know. Its primary use is to repel Dementors, creatures that feed on human happiness. The charm itself is fuelled by one's happiest memory."
Harry paid close attention, his eyes fixed on Lupin. He remembered the chilling effect the Dementors had on him during that Quidditch match, and he was eager to defend himself against them.
Lupin continued, "The happier the memory, the stronger the Patronus. But it's not just about the memory. It's about reliving it, feeling the joy, the love, the happiness of that moment as if it were happening right now. And that's the tricky part."
Harry nodded, understanding. "So it's like conjuring the feeling of the memory to create the Patronus?"
"Exactly," Lupin replied. "Now, the incantation is 'Expecto Patronum'. But just saying the words isn't enough. The emotion, the intention behind it, that's what drives the spell."
Lupin then stood up, demonstrating the wand movement — a smooth, sweeping motion. "Like this," he said, repeating the motion several times for Harry to see.
After a few moments of practising the movement and incantation in tandem, Lupin nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, Harry, are you ready?"
Harry swallowed, feeling a surge of nervous anticipation. He thought back to that exhilarating moment when he first took to the skies on his broomstick, the wind in his hair, the ground shrinking below him, the sheer freedom of flying. He clung to that memory, feeling the happiness bubble up inside him.
The dim light of the room seemed to be swallowed whole as the Dementor emerged from the chest. Its tattered robes floated eerily around it, and though Harry couldn't see its face, he felt its presence—cold, malevolent, and suffocating.
Summoning the memory, Harry pointed his wand at the advancing figure. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted. But nothing happened. No silvery wisps, no shimmering figure—nothing. Panic set in as he tried again, his voice more desperate, "Expecto Patronum!" Still nothing. The Dementor moved closer, its chilling aura intensifying.
Every attempt Harry made was met with failure, the weight of despair pressing heavily on him. Memories of his parents, of his mother's scream, rushed to the forefront of his mind. He could hear her plea, see the flash of green, feel the agonising pain of loss. Overwhelmed by the Dementor's influence and the traumatic memory, Harry's knees buckled beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, losing consciousness.
When Harry's eyes fluttered open, he was met with Lupin's concerned gaze. Lupin held out a piece of chocolate, "Here, eat this. It'll help."
Taking the chocolate, Harry took a bite, feeling its warmth and sweetness seep into him, pushing away the chill left by the Dementor.
Lupin sighed, running a hand through his greying hair, "I'm sorry, Harry. I should have prepared you better. The Patronus Charm isn't easy. And even though that wasn't a real Dementor, a boggart taking its form can be just as fearsome when it uses your deepest fears against you."
Harry, still slightly dazed, nodded, "I saw... heard... my mother again."
Lupin's expression softened, "Dementors force us to relive our worst memories. It's their way of feeding on us, on our despair. It's no wonder you couldn't produce a Patronus in its presence."
"I just... I thought I could do it," Harry admitted, feeling defeated.
Lupin placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, "You're a remarkably talented wizard, Harry. And with time and practise, I'm certain you'll master this charm. For now, rest and recover."
As the comforting effects of the chocolate worked their magic, Lupin's gaze grew thoughtful. "Harry," he began gently, "may I ask what memory you used when you attempted the Patronus Charm?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, then replied, "My first time on a broom. The freedom of soaring in the air, away from the ground and all the problems below. It felt... exhilarating."
Lupin nodded slowly, understanding the appeal of such a memory. "Flying does bring a unique kind of joy," he said. "However, the Patronus Charm demands something more potent, something deeply emotional. A moment of pure, unbridled happiness."
Harry frowned slightly, mulling over Lupin's words. "I'll think of something else then, for our next lesson."
Lupin's eyes softened, a hint of a smile forming. "Harry, I'm certain you have plenty of those moments buried within you. It might just take a bit of introspection to find the right one."
They sat in silence for a while, the weight of the lesson still pressing on Harry. To lighten the mood, Lupin started recounting tales from his Hogwarts days, his tone nostalgic. "You know, your father, James, was quite the mischief-maker," he began, a glint in his eye. "The pranks he pulled with Sirius, Peter, and me were legendary."
Harry perked up, eager to hear more about his father. As Lupin shared story after story, a picture formed in Harry's mind: of a young, vivacious James Potter, fiercely loyal and ever-ready to stand up for his friends. The tales of their adventures, their close-knit bond, and their numerous detentions made Harry smile.
It was comforting to know that the spirit of mischief, camaraderie, and loyalty ran strong in his bloodline. As he listened to Lupin, Harry felt a growing sense of connection to his father, a man he had never known but whose legacy continued to shape his life in unexpected ways.
~~~o~~~
The brisk morning air nipped at the students as they made their way to the carriages, eager to embark on another Hogsmeade adventure. Harry stood a little apart from his group, a determined look on his face. He was aware that Neville had already left for the weekend with his grandmother, attending to some family business at their ancestral home.
Turning to Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey, he suggested, "Since Neville's away and I can't join you, why not make the most of it? Have a girls' day out in Hogsmeade. Enjoy yourselves and have some fun."
Hermione, ever considerate, hesitated for a moment before replying, "We could stay back, Harry. Spend the day with you if you'd like?"
Harry shook his head. "Don't stay behind just for me," he said to his friends. "You all should enjoy your Hogsmeade weekend. Besides," he added with a small smile, "I'll be spending time with Astoria, Ginny, and Luna. I'll be just fine."
Hermione looked as if she was about to protest, but Daphne put a reassuring hand on her arm. "Alright, Harry, if you're sure," she said, looking at him closely.
With final nods of agreement and reassurance, the group boarded the carriage. As it began to move, Tracey turned to Daphne. "Has it struck you that Harry's been... I don't know, a bit distracted recently?"
Daphne, her fingers idly playing with Jingles who sat purring on her lap, responded, "Yes, I've observed it too. It's unlike him."
Hermione leaned in, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. "And, well, I've seen him sneaking glances at you, Tracey. Several times, in fact."
Tracey's eyes widened in surprise, her face brightening considerably. "Really? At me?"
Daphne snorted, an amused glint in her eyes. "Seems like you've been quite successful in diverting our Mr. Potter's attention, Tracey."
Tracey giggled, a playful smirk on her face. "Oh, Daph, you give me too much credit."
With a bashful expression, Hermione hesitated momentarily. "Do you... do you think Harry might have a crush on Tracey?"
Daphne leaned back, arching an eyebrow playfully. "I can't say for sure if it's a crush, Hermione. But what I am certain of is that Harry has this... vivid image in his mind. Picture this: Tracey luxuriating in a bath with the potion he so generously gifted her."
Hermione's eyes went wide, and her cheeks flushed a shade of deep red. "You're joking, right? Harry thinking... about that?"
A tinkling laugh escaped Daphne's lips. "Oh, Hermione, it's not as scandalous as you're imagining. But I'm fairly sure of it. Especially with the way Tracey has been dropping those tantalising hints. He probably replays that imaginary scene every night before drifting off to sleep."
Hermione fidgeted in her seat, her vivid imagination clearly at work, conjuring up the described scene. She shot a scandalised look at Tracey, who simply smirked in response.
"Well, if it helps him break out of that reserved shell of his, then I say, why not?" Tracey said with a playful shrug, her tone light but her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Our dear Potter needs a little push in the direction of the livelier side of life. And if that means he's thinking of me while doing so, well," she leaned forward with a seductive tone, "I'm happy to assist, even if it's only in his fantasies. After all, I did encourage him."
The atmosphere in the carriage was a mix of amusement and shock. After a moment's contemplation, Tracey added, "So, the real question is, what do we do with this newfound information?"
Daphne shook her head firmly, her tone resolute. "We should do nothing about it," she declared. "Harry would likely die of embarrassment if he knew we'd pieced it all together. We must pretend we're none the wiser."
Instantly, Tracey's face morphed into an exaggerated pout. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?" she whined. "I was looking forward to fuelling his imagination a little more."
Daphne sighed and gave Tracey a knowing look, but then her expression softened as she considered Harry's situation more deeply. "Perhaps Jingles can talk with him," she suggested. "Not directly about... this, but I think Harry is genuinely confused. He doesn't seem to understand what's happening to him, or his body, and we know he has no one who will explain it to him."
From Daphne's lap, Jingles let out a soft chuckle, his whiskers twitching in amusement. Over their unique bond, he asked Daphne, "Are you quite certain that you want me, someone who has spent over a decade in a cat's body and never experienced puberty, to enlighten a hormone-raging teenager that what he's experiencing is perfectly normal for his age?"
Without missing a beat, Daphne nodded and responded to Jingles, though her words were for everyone in the carriage. "Yes, absolutely," she said. "Jingles, you are the only one I can think of that Harry might actually feel comfortable having such a conversation with. He trusts you, and I think you can approach it in a way that won't mortify him."
Jingles sent a wry feeling of resignation through their bond, his feline eyes glancing briefly at Daphne. "Very well," he communicated mentally with a hint of amusement. "But I expect you to owe me extra treats for this task. Talking to a teenager about... teenage matters isn't exactly in the feline handbook."
The carriage finally came to a stop, and the village of Hogsmeade was buzzing with life, the streets were filled with students, eager to take a break from the academic rigour of Hogwarts. The trio made their way through the cobbled streets, laughing and chatting.
Their first stop was at a trendy boutique. The store was filled with the latest magical fashion, from robes that changed colour with the weather to enchanted jewellery that sparkled more brilliantly than muggle gemstones. Tracey, always the mischief-maker, immediately began pulling out the most risqué outfits she could find, encouraging a flustered Hermione to try them on.
Every time Hermione emerged from the changing room, her face a deeper shade of red, Daphne's eyes would sparkle with amusement. Hermione, despite her embarrassment, couldn't help but chuckle along with Daphne at some of the more outlandish outfits.
As they left the boutique, bags in hand, Tracey dragged Hermione towards a beauty salon. The sign outside promised 'magical makeovers' and 'enchanting hairstyles.' Daphne, however, took this opportunity to bow out.
"I need to get some writing supplies. I'm running low," Daphne explained. She could see the relief mixed with longing in Hermione's eyes, clearly wishing she could escape Tracey's enthusiastic matchmaking attempts. But before Hermione could protest, Tracey was pulling her inside, chattering about which hairstyle would suit Hermione the most.
Daphne shook her head with a grin, turning her steps towards Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. She had no doubt that Hermione would emerge looking fabulous, but she also knew her friend would have a few words to share about Tracey's enthusiastic methods.
When Daphne emerged from the store, her bag filled with fresh parchment and an assortment of quills, her eyes landed on a peculiar sight: a large, black dog that fit the description Harry had given them incredibly well. The dog, having just scored a sausage from one of the vendors with prolonged puppy dog eyes, was enjoying its treat near the edge of the cobblestone path.
Suddenly, as though sensing her observation, the dog made eye contact with Daphne. It was a deep, unsettling gaze that made her skin prickle with unease. As a panicked reaction, she instinctively pulled Jingles closer into her chest, as if to protect him from the potentially dangerous creature.
In an instant, the dog's demeanour began to shift. The playful exterior was gone, replaced by a teeth-baring growl. The dog lowered its body, as if preparing to spring, and it looked as though it was ready to attack her.
"Daphne, perhaps it is best if we leave," Jingles said over their connection, his tone calm but firm. He too had sensed the change in the dog's posture, his feline body tensing in Daphne's arms.
Daphne nodded, feeling the weight of Jingles' words. Without taking her eyes off the dog, she slowly began to back away. Once she felt a safe distance from the menacing creature, she turned and made her way back to the beauty salon, eager to regroup with Hermione and Tracey and leave this unsettling encounter behind her.
Daphne found Tracey and Hermione, the latter now having her straightened out instead of it being bushy, at the entrance to the beauty salon. The change was striking, but Hermione looked every bit confident with her new look.
Tracey was the first to notice Daphne's approach, her eyes lighting up. "Look at her!" she exclaimed, gesturing to Hermione. "Isn't she just ravishing? And wait till you see the makeup we got!"
But before Hermione could even blush or make a shy retort, Daphne, her face a shade paler than usual, launched into her story. "You won't believe what just happened," she began, recounting her eerie encounter with the black dog. As she spoke, both Tracey's excitement and Hermione's proud glow faded, replaced with expressions of concern.
Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully, trying to find a logical explanation for the dog's aggressive behaviour. "Could it be that the dog simply doesn't like cats? It might have been agitated due to Jingles," she proposed.
Daphne, however, shook her head. "It looked straight into my eyes, Hermione, not at Jingles. It was... deliberate."
Tracey put a comforting arm around Daphne's shoulder, her earlier giddiness gone. "Well, let's stick together for the rest of the day. We won't let some rogue dog ruin our Hogsmeade trip."
And so, the trio spent the rest of their day visiting various spots in Hogsmeade. They were more watchful than before, frequently glancing over their shoulders, ensuring that the menacing dog wasn't following them. Despite the unsettling incident, they managed to enjoy their outing, laughing, and sharing stories. But as evening approached and the shadows began to grow long, all three were relieved when the Hogwarts carriages finally came into view, signalling it was time to head back to the castle's safety.
~~~o~~~
While the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade enveloped the rest of the students, Harry found himself on the familiar grounds of the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. The expansive green, punctuated with towering goalposts at both ends, beckoned him, and the open skies above promised an afternoon of freedom.
"I can't believe you convinced Madam Hooch to let us fly today," Luna remarked with her usual dreamy tone, her wide eyes taking in the surroundings.
"It took some doing," Harry admitted, "but I thought it would be a nice change from sitting around."
As they prepared to mount their brooms, Astoria glanced nervously at hers. "It's been a while," she admitted, a tremor of anxiety in her voice. Luna, similarly, looked a bit hesitant. But Harry, ever the encourager, promised to stay close and ensure they felt comfortable.
When they finally took off, Astoria and Luna indeed appeared a bit shaky. They moved cautiously, adjusting to the sensation of being airborne. Harry floated beside them, offering words of advice and assurance.
But Ginny... Ginny was a revelation. She moved with an ease and grace that Harry hadn't anticipated. The first time she took off, she soared, making sharp turns and twists effortlessly. Her vibrant red hair became a fiery streak in the sky.
"You're incredible!" Harry shouted over the wind as they passed the Quaffle between them. Ginny's confident smile spoke volumes.
The real test came when Harry released the Golden Snitch. Its fluttering wings were barely visible as it darted around, but both Harry and Ginny were immediately on its trail. They weaved in and out, chasing the elusive golden ball. Just when Harry thought he had it within his grasp, Ginny surged ahead, her fingers inches away from the prize. But Harry, drawing from his Seeker instincts, made a final, desperate lunge, narrowly capturing the Snitch before Ginny could.
Landing back on the ground, both of them panting and exhilarated, Madam Hooch approached them, her whistle around her neck and a proud glint in her eyes.
"Well, that was some display, Miss Weasley!" she exclaimed. "Ever thought of playing for your house team?"
Ginny beamed, glancing at Harry. "Someone else recommended the same," she said with a chuckle.
Harry grinned, feeling a sense of camaraderie. "You should definitely consider it."
As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the Quidditch pitch, the group returned their brooms and made their way back to the castle, the thrill of the flight still fresh in their minds.
~~~o~~~
The Great Hall was filled with the usual chatter and clinking of silverware as students enjoyed their evening meal. The golden glow from the enchanted ceiling lit the hall, mirroring the dusk outside. As everyone ate and talked, the sight of the Weasley twins approaching the teachers' table drew curious glances from all corners.
The twins, known for their mischief and pranks, had a reputation for causing uproarious scenes. Yet, the sight of them nervously advancing towards the teacher's table, cheeks tinged with an unfamiliar blush, promised something entirely unexpected.
But nobody—absolutely nobody—could have predicted their next move.
In unison, with voices that echoed throughout the hall, they declared, "Professor Snape, we are utterly and deeply in love with you!"
For a split second, the Great Hall was plunged into stunned silence. And then, as the sheer audacity of the twins' proclamation sunk in, laughter erupted. Students clapped, cheered, and howled with laughter, while some choked on their food, taken completely by surprise.
The twins, however, looked panic-stricken as soon as the words left their mouths. Their faces turned from a rosy blush to a shade of horrified white. It was clear to everyone that they hadn't intended to make that declaration.
Professor Snape's face, always pale, seemed to turn an even more ghostly shade. His black eyes narrowed dangerously. "Detention," he hissed, his voice dripping with disdain, "Every night until the holidays. With Filch." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing, "And one hundred points each will be taken from Gryffindor for this... display."
The laughter subsided as the realisation set in that this prank had cost the twins dearly. As they trudged back to their table, heads bowed in embarrassment, Harry's eyes darted to Professor Lupin, suspecting him of being involved.
Lupin, looking entirely innocent, caught Harry's eye and gave a subtle wink. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. While he might now wear the robes of a Hogwarts professor, the spirit of the Marauder known as Moony still thrived within him.
~~~o~~~
Over the weeks that followed the twins' confession, life at Hogwarts marched forward with a mixture of routine and surprise. Most notably for Harry and his close-knit group, it was a period of fervent learning and discovery.
Under Jingles' tutelage, the group experienced growth in their magical abilities. Daphne, in particular, showed remarkable progress. The once seemingly insurmountable task of discerning magical power became a palpable reality for her, even if she still grappled with distinguishing between the light and dark spectrums of magic. The others, while not as adept, began to feel the nuances of magical auras, taking pleasure in their baby steps.
Harry, on the other hand, faced mounting frustration. Each Patronus lesson seemed to bring a new bout of disappointment. He had arrived with memory after memory, hoping to find the key to the elusive spell. There was the elation from his first Quidditch victory, the wonder and astonishment of learning he was a wizard, and the emotional high of getting his first wand. But every attempt left him with nothing more than an empty feeling and a deep yearning for success.
But this lesson, Harry felt, would be different. In his pocket was a photograph, a keepsake from a summer day in 1992. It wasn't a memory of grandeur or magic; it was a simple, joyful moment. The photo captured Tracey's playful bunny ears behind an unaware Daphne and the subsequent pillow fight that erupted – a day Harry realised what it felt like to be truly, overwhelmingly happy.
With newfound hope and determination, and the photograph pressed securely in his pocket, Harry approached the familiar door to Professor Lupin's office.
The door creaked softly as Harry entered, the room bathed in the soft golden glow of the setting sun filtering through the window.
"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted with a smile, appreciating the sense of camaraderie they had developed over the weeks.
"Harry," Lupin acknowledged with a nod, gesturing towards the usual practise area. Without much preamble, they began, the atmosphere in the room growing tense as Harry focused intently on his memory.
And then, to both their astonishment, it happened. From the tip of Harry's wand shot a brilliant silvery shield, powerful and tangible, which sent the boggart-dementor hurtling back into the chest, sealing it shut.
For a brief moment, the room was filled with an awed silence.
"Well done, Harry!" Lupin exclaimed, genuine pride in his eyes. "That was incredible. You've come such a long way. Do tell, what memory gave you such strength?"
Hesitantly, Harry pulled the photograph from his pocket and handed it over, explaining the seemingly mundane yet heartwarming day it captured. But as Lupin's gaze scanned the image, his smile faded ever so slightly, a shadow passing across his features. Despite Lupin's attempt to maintain a composed front, Harry's sharp instincts picked up on the sudden shift in his mood.
Harry's heart sank. He remembered the undercurrents of mistrust Lupin had previously shown towards Daphne. The photo seemed to be a stark reminder of that.
Clearing his throat, Lupin handed the photograph back, "It's a beautiful memory, Harry," he said, though his voice lacked its usual warmth. "As for our sessions, we only have one lesson left before the holidays. In that last session, I'll assess whether you're ready or if you need more training."
Harry nodded, a mix of pride and unease settling in his chest as he pocketed the photo once more.
As Harry stepped out of Lupin's office, the wooden door gently closing behind him, he felt a knot of tension in his stomach that had nothing to do with Patronus lessons. Walking down the corridor, the stone walls of Hogwarts seemed to echo back the weight of the unresolved mystery that had been looming over him for weeks.
The unknown toddler from that fateful Halloween night in 1981, the child who had been present at the Potter Cottage, continued to occupy his thoughts. The child whose soul would transfer into Jingles' body, instead of passing on.
And Lupin – kind, knowledgeable Lupin who had been friends with his parents – was possibly the key to unlocking the truth.
As he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry firmed his resolve. During the next lesson – the last lesson before the holidays – he would have to face the awkwardness and the potential risk. He would have to ask Lupin about that night, about the child, about Jingles' true identity.
The truth, Harry thought as he pressed on, was worth the discomfort, the fear, and the uncertainty. It was time to bring the shadows into the light.