Chapter 9

The tension of the Triwizard Tournament weighed heavily on the champions, and none felt it more heavy than Harry. The first task had left him physically and emotionally drained, as people have now been apologizing for not believing him, mostly everyone, not Ron.

Every free moment he had now he spent preparing, but it wasn't just Harry anymore. The other champions had gradually started joining him, as they all shared the intensity of the tournament and the knowledge that no one else could fully understand what they were going through.

It had started innocently enough. After one particularly grueling session of swimming practice in the chilly lake, Harry was joined by Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff nodded toward the water, offering a smile.

"Mind if I join you, Harry?" Cedric asked, looking down at the shivering Gryffindor as he rubbed his arms for warmth. "Could use the practice myself, especially if the second task has anything to do with the lake."

Harry nodded, grateful for the company. "Yeah, of course. The more, the merrier."

From there, the group of champions expanded. Fleur Delacour, with her effortless grace, had been the next to join them. She moved through the water like she was born to swim, though Harry noted the grim determination in her eyes. Viktor Krum, silent but intense, wasn't far behind, and soon enough, the four champions found themselves practicing together almost every week, as if the competitive edge had softened into camaraderie.

"I don't know what they'll throw at us," Cedric had said one evening, shaking the water from his hair after emerging from the cold depths. "But if it's anything like the first task, it'll be brutal."

Fleur, sitting cross-legged beside the fire they had conjured to dry off, nodded solemnly. "Zey will not go easy on us. Zis is meant to be... difficult." Her French accent curled around the words, though there was a fire in her eyes. "But we are ze champions. We will find a way."

Viktor remained silent, his sharp, hawk-like eyes scanning the lake as if he could decipher the mystery just by staring hard enough.

It wasn't until a few days later, after one of their practice sessions, that Harry got a possible breakthrough. Luna Lovegood, was waiting with a towel, a dreamy smile on her face. She had been spending more time with him now.

"Harry," she said in her dreamy, far-off voice. "I think you should try talking to the water."

Harry blinked at her, unsure of what to say. "Er... talking to the water?"

Luna nodded serenely, her eyes wide and unblinking as she gazed at the lake's surface. "Yes, sometimes the water listens better than people do. But if you're looking for a way to breathe under it, you might need something a bit more helpful. Gillyweed, perhaps."

"Gillyweed?" Harry echoed, frowning. "What's that?"

"It's a plant," Luna said, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger absentmindedly. "You eat it, and it lets you breathe underwater. The merpeople use it sometimes. They have a secret garden beneath the lake where it grows wild. The Nargles keep it safe."

Harry gave her a skeptical look. "Luna, that sounds..."

"I know," Luna interrupted, her voice still soft and dreamlike. "But the Nargles are very protective of their plants. You might have to find another way."

Harry didn't know what to say. Luna was always hard to follow, but he had learned over time that there was usually some truth in her words, even if they came out in riddles.

"Okay," he said finally. "But where would I even get gillyweed?"

Luna gave him a small, secretive smile. "Sometimes the answer is closer than you think. Oh, I think there's pudding in the great hall, bye Harry"

And with that, she wandered off, leaving Harry more confused than ever.

Later that day, back in the common room, Harry sat with Hermione and the Twins, still mulling over what Luna had said. He had explained the gillyweed idea to them, though he wasn't sure where to find it.

"Gillyweed, huh?" Fred mused, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Sounds like something Snape might have in his stores. You know, for his potions and all that. Bet you could nick some."

Harry grimaced. "Stealing from Snape? That's not exactly a plan I'm keen on."

George chuckled. "What, you're not up for a bit of adventure? Imagine the look on his face when he realizes you've outsmarted him."

Hermione, who had been listening quietly, suddenly spoke up. "Or you could just ask him."

Both Harry and Fred turned to stare at her.

"Ask him?" Harry repeated, incredulous. "You think Snape's just going to hand me something like that?"

Hermione crossed her arms, her expression firm. "He's not an unreasonable person, Harry. You may not like him, but he's still a professor, and he might help you if you approach him the right way. It's better than sneaking around and getting caught."

Fred and George looked at Hermione like she had lost her mind. "Snape? Reasonable? You've got to be joking, Granger."

"I'm not," she said, her tone resolute. "Just try. What's the worst that can happen?"

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. I'll ask him. But if he throws me out of his office, I'm blaming you."

Harry felt a weight in his chest as he approached Snape's office. His heart was pounding, and he could feel the sweat on his palms, but he knew this was necessary. Hermione had insisted, had even offered to come with him, but Harry felt like this was something he had to do alone. Snape wasn't the kind of person who appreciated a crowd, especially when someone was asking him for a favor.

He reached the door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Enter," came the cold, detached voice from inside.

Harry pushed the door open slowly, stepping into the dimly lit office. Shelves lined with bottles of various potions gleamed in the low light, casting long shadows across the room. Snape was seated at his desk, his long fingers drumming quietly against a roll of parchment as he glanced up with an uninterested expression.

"Potter," he drawled, his black eyes narrowing. "What an... unexpected pleasure. What brings the famous Harry Potter to my office today? Surely you aren't here to ask for an extension on an assignment?"

Harry swallowed, already regretting coming here. But it was too late to turn back now.

"No, sir. I... I wanted to ask you for something."

Snape raised a single eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "Ask me for something? And what, pray tell, could you possibly want from me, Potter? Do enlighten me."

Harry felt his throat tighten, but he pushed through. "I need gillyweed."

Snape's eyes gleamed with dark amusement, and his lips curled into a smirk. "Gillyweed? And what, may I ask, do you need that for?"

Harry hesitated, not sure how much to tell him. But he knew he had to be honest. "It's for the second task. In the Triwizard Tournament. I... I need it to breathe underwater."

For a moment, Snape said nothing, his eyes boring into Harry's. Then, with deliberate slowness, he stood up from his desk and walked around it, circling Harry like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Gillyweed," Snape repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "You come here, to my office, and ask for something as precious as gillyweed? And you expect me to just... hand it over to you?"

Harry could feel his temper rising. This was why he hadn't wanted to come. Snape always made everything difficult.

"Look, I know you don't like me," Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But this isn't about that. This is about the tournament. I need your help."

Snape stopped his pacing and turned to face Harry, his expression unreadable. "My help? You expect me to help you, after everything? After the insufferable arrogance you've displayed time and time again?"

Harry clenched his fists, trying to keep his temper in check. "I'm just asking for gillyweed, Professor. Not a miracle."

Snape's lips twitched slightly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Arrogant and insolent. You truly are your father's son."

That struck a nerve. Harry's jaw tightened, and without thinking, he blurted, "Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?"

Snape's expression darkened, his eyes flashing dangerously. "What did you ever do? Do you honestly not know, Potter? Or are you simply that blind to the past?"

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Snape's voice. "I don't understand..."

Snape took a step closer, his voice a low hiss. " You look just like him, your precious father,strutting around Hogwarts like you own the place. Arrogant, reckless, thinking you're above the rules. And yet... and yet..."

His voice trailed off, and for a moment, Snape looked almost... conflicted. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by cold fury.

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. This was about his father? James Potter? He'd always known that Snape had hated his dad, but this... this was more than that. It was deeper.

"I'm not my father," Harry said quietly, his voice more steady than he felt. "I didn't ask for any of this. He is dead"

Snape's gaze bore into him, as if trying to find something in Harry's face—something that connected him to the past. Harry could feel a strange sensation, almost like his thoughts were being pulled at, but he didn't understand why.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Snape had been subtly performing Legilimency, slipping into Harry's mind without him even realizing it. He was seeing flashes of memories—memories of Harry's childhood, the Dursleys' cruelty, the Triwizard Tournament, the sleepless nights filled with nightmares. The pain, the fear, the confusion that Harry hid so well from everyone else.

Snape's expression flickered for a brief second as he processed what he had seen. He hadn't expected to find such vulnerability in the boy standing before him. For all the hatred he felt towards Harry's father, there was something undeniably different about Harry himself.

The boy wasn't the arrogant, spoiled child he had assumed him to be. He had suffered more than Snape could have ever imagined. Lily's son had been abused.

But the flicker of sympathy was quickly buried under years of resentment and bitterness.

"You don't understand anything, Potter," Snape said, his voice low and dangerous. "You think because you're the famous Harry Potter, everything should come easily to you. But the world doesn't work like that."

Harry glared at him, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don't think that! I've never thought that! I'm just trying to survive, just like everyone else. I don't even want to be in this stupid tournament, but I don't have a choice. So yeah, I'm asking for your help because I don't know what else to do."

There was a long silence, the tension between them thick and suffocating. Snape's eyes were cold, but Harry could sense something else beneath the surface—something that made him hesitate.

Finally, Snape turned away, walking back to his desk. "You're just like your mother, in that way."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "What?"

Snape didn't turn around as he spoke, his voice quieter now, almost distant. "Lily was always trying to help others. Always thinking she could save everyone, fix everything, even when the odds were against her. She was... foolish in that way."

Harry didn't know what to say. He had never heard Snape talk about his mother before, and hearing her name from him was strange, almost surreal. There was a softness in Snape's voice, a hint of something... personal.

Snape sat down at his desk, pulling open a drawer with a sharp motion. He pulled out a small vial and held it up to the light, inspecting it for a moment before placing it on the desk in front of him.

"This," Snape said, his voice back to its usual cold detachment, "is gillyweed. You'll need it if you want to survive underwater. Take it and leave."

Harry blinked, surprised that Snape had actually agreed to give it to him. "Thank you," he said, though the words felt awkward on his tongue.

Snape's eyes flicked to him, dark and unreadable. "Don't mistake this for kindness, Potter. I'm only giving you this because I don't have time for your incompetence. If you drown, it'll reflect poorly on the school, and I have no interest in cleaning up your mess."

Harry clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. He reached for the vial, his fingers brushing against it lightly as he picked it up.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Harry's hand tightened around the vial of gillyweed, and he turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, Snape's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Potter."

Harry turned, his eyes meeting Snape's.

"You may be more like your mother than I care to admit," Snape said, his voice low and almost reluctant. "But don't let that fool you into thinking we are allies. I don't trust you, and I never will."

Harry swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "I know."

Without another word, Harry left the office, the door closing with a heavy thud behind him. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his mind still spinning from the strange conversation. He didn't fully understand Snape, maybe he never would, but for the first time, he felt like there was something more to the man than just hatred.

But even so, Harry knew better than to let his guard down. Snape was still Snape, and whatever flicker of humanity Harry had seen in him was buried under years of bitterness and pain.

As he walked back through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, the vial of gillyweed tucked safely in his pocket, Harry's thoughts drifted to the upcoming task, to Sirius, to everything that still lay ahead. He had so much to prepare for, so much to face.

Hermione, meanwhile, had found herself spending time with Viktor Krum. He had been surprisingly easy to talk to, and despite his reserved demeanor, she found that she enjoyed his company. That afternoon, they sat outside near the edge of the lake, Hermione's Transfiguration notes spread out before her while Viktor attempted to help her with a particularly difficult charm.

"Amazing magic, very focused," Viktor remarked, watching her as she carefully practiced the wand movement.

Hermione smiled, though her brow was furrowed in concentration. "It's just... there's so much to do."

Viktor nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "You are... special."

Hermione blushed slightly, feeling the warmth of his compliment. "Thank you, Viktor."

Before the moment could stretch on, Fred and George suddenly appeared, bounding over to them with wide grins.

"Oi, Hermione!" Fred called out, his voice full of mischief. "Didn't know you'd gone and gotten yourself a new study partner."

George smirked, nudging his brother. "And here we thought you only had eyes for Harry."

Hermione's face turned crimson, and she quickly shoved her notes into her bag. "Fred! George! It's not—"

But Fred was already leaning down, giving Viktor a wink. "Don't mind us, mate. Just keeping an eye on our girl here."

Viktor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, though Hermione could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.

Fred, however, was not quite done. He gave Hermione a look, one that made her heart skip a beat, and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if he was jealous. The thought flustered her, and she quickly stood, apologized to Viktor, and then mumbling something about needing to get back to the common room.

She shook her head,she could feel Fred's gaze on her, and her mind raced with confusion. This wasn't the time for... whatever this was. She had more important things to worry about.

A day later, a large tawny owl swooped into the hall, dropping a letter onto Hermione's plate. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the familiar scrawl of Sirius's handwriting.

She quickly opened the letter, scanning the contents eagerly.

Hermione,

I've thought it over, and I believe you're right. I need to clear my name. I'm ready to fight for my freedom, but I'll need your help. If you can organize the witnesses and gather the evidence, I think we can make a case. I trust you.

Sirius

Hermione's heart soared. This was it. This was her chance to set things right. To fix something that had gone so horribly wrong in the previous timeline.

That evening, in the common room, she excitedly showed Harry the letter from Sirius.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice broke through her thoughts. "What's that?"

Hermione turned to him, her eyes shining with excitement. "It's from Sirius. He's ready to fight for a trial. We're going to free him, Harry," she said, her eyes shining with determination. "We're going to get him a trial."

Harry's face lit up with hope, the tension from the night before momentarily forgotten. "Really? You think he'll get one?"

"I know he will," Hermione said confidently. "I've already started gathering the testimonies. We're going to get him cleared, Harry. We're going to free him."

Harry's face softened, and for the first time, he smiled—a small, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless as he hugged her tightly. "Thanks, Hermione. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Hermione's chest tightened at his hug, but before she could respond, Ron suddenly stood up from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He shot them both a withering glare.

"Guess Viktor wasn't enough, was he, Hermione?" Ron sneered, his voice dripping with bitterness. "Now you've got Harry too? I always knew you were a slut"

Harry's expression darkened, and he was on his feet in an instant, his fists clenched at his sides. "Take that back, Ron."

Ron crossed his arms, his face twisted in anger. "Why? It's the truth, isn't it?"

Before anyone could react, Harry lunged at Ron. Fists flew, and the two of them were locked in a violent struggle, knocking over plates and cups in their fury.

Hermione's heart raced as she jumped to her feet, trying to pull them apart. "Stop it! Both of you!"

Harry, breathing heavily, glared at Ron. "You don't know anything, Ron. You don't know what we've been going through. How dare you even say that about her"

But they were too far gone. It wasn't until Fred and George rushed over—Fred grabbing Harry, George grabbing Ron that they were finally separated, both of them breathing heavily, their faces flushed with rage.

"Enough!" Fred barked, his voice sharp and authoritative in a way that Hermione hadn't heard before. He shot a glare at both of them. "What the hell is wrong with you two?"

Neither Harry nor Ron answered, but the tension between them was palpable. Hermione stood frozen, her mind spinning. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. She had a plan—she was fixing things, changing things for the better. But this... this was spiraling out of control.

Fred's gaze softened as he turned to Hermione. "You alright?"

She nodded, though her heart was pounding in her chest, and tears were beginning to fall. "Yeah... I'm fine."

But the truth was, she wasn't fine. She felt like she was standing on the edge of something dark and dangerous, and she wasn't sure if she could pull herself back.

The aftermath of Ron and Harry's fight hung heavy in the Gryffindor common room, a thick tension enveloping everyone like a shroud. After their heated argument, Harry had stormed off, his face flushed with anger, while Ron had slammed the portrait door behind him. Since then, the silence had been deafening, amplifying the rift between the two boys.

Hermione sat by the fireplace, lost in thought as she stared into the flickering flames. The echoes of their shouting replayed in her mind, each bitter word a reminder of how fragile their friendship had become. It felt as if something significant had shifted, a heartbreak settling where the friendship had once flourished.

She thought back to the Triwizard Tournament, to the uncertainty and turmoil that had nearly torn them apart. Ron had been so consumed by jealousy back then, a stark contrast to the boy he was now. In the past, he often felt overshadowed by Harry's fame, quick to sulk and lash out instead of confronting his feelings directly. Now, though, there was a different kind of tension, Ron seemed to be struggling even more with his own insecurities, but it was layered beneath a facade of bitterness rather than outright jealousy.

And then there was Harry. Hermione had watched him change so much over the years. He used to be so focused on the immediate dangers that he often neglected his studies, barely able to engage with anyone outside their small circle. But lately, he had grown more introspective, even taking the time to engage in a discussion with Snape, something she never thought she'd see. It was as if he was finally starting to understand the complexities of the world around him, and yet, with that growth came an uncomfortable distance between him and Ron.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Harry appeared at the top of the staircase, his face drawn and weary. His green eyes held a dullness that spoke of the emotional toll the argument had taken.

"Hey," Hermione said softly, looking up as he descended. "You okay?"

"I don't know," he replied, dropping heavily onto the couch beside her. "I'm just... tired of it, Hermione. Why does Ron always do this? Why does he always assume the worst?"

She felt a surge of compassion for Harry, and her instinct was to comfort him, to help him navigate this emotional turmoil. "It's tough, I know," she said gently. "Ron cares about you, but sometimes he struggles to express that. He's always had a hard time when he feels insecure."

Harry frowned, running a hand through his messy hair. "But it feels like every time something goes wrong, he just... withdraws. It's like he doesn't trust me."

Hermione nodded, understanding the frustration that simmered beneath his words. "He's had his own challenges, you know? Think about how he reacted during the name ceremony for the tournament."

"Yeah, I get that," Harry said, his brow furrowing. "But I just wish he'd talk to me instead of shutting me out."

Hermione frowned, her heart aching for both of them. "He's not the same Ron he was before. He's not changing, but it's like he doesn't know how to reach out without feeling vulnerable. And you—you've grown so much since then. You're more open now, more willing to let people in. You're not just the 'Boy Who Lived' anymore; you're someone who's learning how to navigate relationships."

Harry seemed to ponder her words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I just don't want to lose him," he admitted, his voice low.

Hermione felt a warmth in her chest at his honesty. "You won't lose him, Harry. But maybe you both need to find a way to communicate better. It's okay to give each other space sometimes, too. Let him work through his feelings. He'll come around."

Harry sighed, leaning back against the couch, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. "I just feel like everything's falling apart."

"You're not alone in this," Hermione said softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm here. We'll figure this out together. You have me, and I'll always be in your corner."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the crackling fire the only sound breaking through the quiet. But in Hermione's mind, the thoughts swirled. She felt a strange sense of control emerging within her, a subtle shift in their dynamic that gave her strength. Ron's absence from this moment was not a loss; it was an opportunity for Harry to grow, for them both to redefine their bonds.

As she sat there, lost in contemplation, Hermione didn't fully recognize the shadows that had begun to creep into her thoughts, only feeling the pull of something new, something powerful, ready to be explored.

The next day, the tension between Harry and Ron remained thick, but it was Ron who seemed more affected by it. He avoided Harry in the hallways, muttering bitterly to Seamus and Dean when he thought Harry wasn't paying attention. The divide between them was clear, and Hermione, watching from the sidelines, felt a strange sense of..something.

She knew it was wrong. Deep down, she knew this wasn't how things were supposed to go. But a part of her liked having Harry's full attention. She liked the idea that maybe, just maybe, they didn't need Ron anymore. Harry was finally studying, becoming stronger instead of goofing off, and he had made more connections. He was growing, and Ron..was being left behind.

By lunch, tensions finally boiled over. They had barely sat down in the Great Hall when Ron, with an air of casual spite, muttered just loud enough for Harry and Hermione to hear: "Guess the famous Harry Potter doesn't need old friends, does he?"

Harry slammed his goblet down on the table, turning to face Ron with a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means," Ron shot back, his ears turning red. "Ever since you got picked for the tournament, you've been acting like you're too good for anyone. Like you're some kind of bloody hero. Only hanging out with the famous Krum, Looney lovegood, and the know it all. Well, newsflash, mate—no one cares about your stupid fame."

Harry's face flushed with anger. "I didn't ask for this, Ron! I didn't ask to be in the tournament, and I definitely didn't ask for all this attention!"

Ron crossed his arms, his expression hard. "Yeah? Well, you sure seem to like it."

Hermione could feel the tension rising, but for once, she didn't feel the urge to step in and mediate. Instead, she watched, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to defend Harry, to tear into Ron for being so petty. But another part of her was curious to see how far the fight would go.

"You're just jealous," Harry spat, his voice shaking with frustration. "You've always been jealous!"

Ron's face turned even redder, and he stood up from the table, glaring down at Harry. "Yeah? Well, maybe I wouldn't be jealous if you weren't always acting like you're better than everyone else!"

Hermione could see Harry's temper boiling over, his fists clenching at his sides. She knew he was seconds away from losing it, from saying something he couldn't take back. And while she should have stepped in, should have calmed them both down, she didn't.

"Maybe I am better than you," Harry finally snapped, his voice cold and cutting. "At least I'm not a coward who's too scared to admit when he's wrong."

Ron's eyes flashed with hurt, but before he could respond, Fred and George appeared out of nowhere, pulling him away from the table.

"That's enough," Fred said, his voice surprisingly firm. "Cool off, both of you."

Hermione glanced at Fred, who gave her a small nod. It was a moment of unspoken understanding,a brief flash of solidarity between them. She had always felt closer to Fred than she had to George, and in that moment, she felt a flicker of something deeper. But before she could dwell on it, the moment passed.

Ron stormed out of the Great Hall, his shoulders tense and his fists clenched. Harry watched him go, his chest heaving with anger, but after a moment, he sank back into his seat, his hands trembling.

"He's not worth it," Hermione said quietly, her voice soft but firm. "Let him go, Harry. He'll come around eventually."

Harry didn't respond, but the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. He was tired—tired of fighting, tired of being pulled in different directions. And in that moment, Hermione knew that she had him right where she wanted him.

As they finished their lunch in silence, a sense of triumph washed over her. She didn't need to say anything else. Harry trusted her, and that was all that mattered.

But somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the satisfaction, there was a small voice—a voice that whispered warnings, that told her she was losing herself. She ignored it.

Hermione paced the dimly lit Gryffindor common room, her mind whirling with thoughts she couldn't quiet. It had been a long day since the fight with Ron, since Harry had confided in her, since they had begun training relentlessly for the tournament. And in the back of her mind, always, was the plan to free Sirius—a plan that now consumed her waking moments.

But even with all her plans in place, something gnawed at her. She couldn't shake the strange, creeping sensation that this wasn't the same, and wasn't happening the way it used to.

Harry had gone to bed hours ago, leaving the invisibility cloak folded neatly in his trunk. And that was exactly what she needed. She wanted a way to be unseen, a way to practice her magic, the dark spells she had read about, learned about. The ones she couldn't dare to use in front of anyone else. The ones that might keep them alive in this war.

She knew she had to be careful. The last thing she needed was to be caught sneaking around the castle in the dead of night, especially if she was practicing dark spells. But she also knew that she had no choice.

With a deep breath, Hermione crept upstairs and gently lifted the cloak from Harry's trunk. She draped it over her shoulders, feeling the familiar rush of invisibility wash over her. She was hidden now, unseen by anyone who might be wandering the halls. Perfect.

The Room of Requirement had become her sanctuary for moments like this. Quietly, she slipped through the portrait hole and made her way through the dark corridors of Hogwarts. The castle was eerily quiet at night, the only sound being the soft padding of her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Every so often, she would pause, holding her breath as she listened for Filch or Mrs. Norris. But no one seemed to be about.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, she finally reached the seventh floor and stood before the blank stretch of wall where the Room of Requirement would appear. She closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts.

I need a place to practice, she thought. A place to practice magic. A place where no one can find me.

She opened her eyes, and before her, a door materialized out of thin air. With a small smile of satisfaction, Hermione pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room that greeted her was vast, its high ceilings draped in shadows. Candles floated along the walls, casting a soft, flickering light across the floor. In the center was a wide open space, perfect for practicing spells. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, potion ingredients, and various magical artifacts. It was everything she could have asked for.

She shrugged off the invisibility cloak, folding it neatly and placing it on a nearby chair. Then, with a deep breath, she drew her wand from her robes. The familiar weight of it in her hand was comforting, but there was still a nagging sense of uncertainty.

She had come prepared. Hidden in her robes was a small piece of parchment where she had written down several dark spells—spells she had found in the restricted section of the library. Some of them she had never tried before, and part of her was nervous. But another part of her was more curious, was eager to test her limits.

She unrolled the parchment and read the first spell quietly to herself.

"Caedes Lacerum."

It was a cutting spell—more powerful and vicious than the basic Diffindo. It was designed to tear through flesh, to inflict serious harm. Hermione swallowed, her heart pounding. She had never used anything like this before.

But she had to try. She had to know if her magic could handle it.

Stepping into the center of the room, she raised her wand and focused. There was a large wooden dummy that had appeared, waiting for her to cast her spell. She aimed her wand at it, feeling the familiar tingle of magic surge through her.

"Caedes Lacerum!"

A bright, jagged light shot from her wand and hit the dummy with a violent crack, splintering the wood. Hermione gasped at the force of it, her eyes widening as she saw the deep gash that had appeared across the dummy's torso. It had worked, too well.

She stared at her wand, feeling both exhilarated and terrified. The spell had been more powerful than she had expected. But that wasn't what worried her. What worried her was how much she had enjoyed it. The rush of power, the thrill of seeing the destruction her magic could cause. It made her feel...alive.

She shook her head, trying to push those thoughts away.

Taking a deep breath, she rolled up her parchment and tucked it back into her robes. She needed something simpler, something to ground her. A Patronus. That would bring her back to herself, to make her feel secure.

She raised her wand again, closing her eyes and focusing on her happiest memory—something pure, something good. She pictured the day she had first come to Hogwarts, the day she had met Harry and Ron, the day she had felt like she finally belonged.

"Expecto Patronum," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

But nothing happened. Her wand didn't even flicker.

Frowning, she tried again, this time louder.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Again, nothing. Her wand felt cold and lifeless in her hand, as if the magic within her had gone dormant. Panic started to creep into her chest. This had never happened before.

"Come on," she muttered, her heart racing. She clenched her wand tighter, willing it to respond. "Expecto Patronum!"

Still nothing.

Her breathing quickened as she felt the familiar surge of fear bubbling up inside her. What was happening? Why wasn't it working?

Desperate now, she turned back to the wooden dummy and raised her wand again.

"Caedes Lacerum!" she shouted, the words tearing from her throat with a raw intensity.

This time, her magic responded, the dark spell slashing across the room and hitting the dummy with even more force than before. The wooden figure exploded into splinters, the sound of it echoing through the room like thunder.

Hermione staggered back, her chest heaving, her mind reeling. Her magic worked. But only the dark spells. Only the destructive ones.

She dropped to her knees, her wand slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. Tears stung her eyes as she stared at the remains of the dummy, her hands trembling.

This wasn't right. None of this was right.

Why wasn't her Patronus working? Why did only the dark spells feel natural? She had always prided herself on being in control, on being good. But now, she felt like she was losing herself.

She wiped at her eyes angrily, refusing to let herself break down. She had to stay strong. She had to keep moving forward, no matter what. There was too much at stake to let herself fall apart now.

With shaking hands, she retrieved her wand and stood up, her legs unsteady beneath her. She wrapped the invisibility cloak around her shoulders once more, hiding herself from the world.

She needed time to think, time to figure out what was happening to her. But deep down, she knew that time was running out.