CHAPTER 29: THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

As Harry descended the softly carpeted stairs of Privet Drive, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation coursing through him. The day had finally arrived for his return to school. He passed by his old room, which held so many memories, and made his way into the cozy kitchen.

Vernon, seated at the table with his newspaper, grumbled, "Doesn't your school start today?"

"Yes, it does," Harry replied with a hint of excitement in his voice as he helped himself to a slice of Dudley's crispy bacon. The young boy let out an unexpected squeal of surprise and quickly glanced at his parents for support. Both Vernon and Petunia exchanged a subtle, silent communication, shaking their heads in unison.

Aunt Petunia's lips, usually pursed in disapproval, twitched ever so slightly, revealing an unfamiliar expression on her face – one that resembled a moment when Vernon had once decided not to have a third beer rather than the time he'd surprised her with a delicate china dog figurine for her birthday.

"That's very good bacon," Harry commented with a grin, attempting to break the tension in the room. As he did, he noticed a flicker of something different in Aunt Petunia's eyes – a softness and a hint of sadness that he couldn't quite place. It was as if, beneath her exterior of rigid normalcy, a glimmer of something more complex was hidden, waiting to be uncovered.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if he now reminded Aunt Petunia of her sister, his late mother. He stifled a yawn and polished off the other half of Dudley's bacon, musing about how it was perhaps too late to hope for a sense of familial warmth from Aunt Petunia.

Dudley, in his typical demanding fashion, questioned, "Why're you still here, then?"

Harry, attempting to maintain a light-hearted tone, responded, "'To make sure you eat your grapefruit, Duddikins.'" Dudley scowled in response, and it was evident that his cousin's attempts at humor weren't hitting the mark.

Aunt Petunia, her voice barely above a murmur, interjected, "The train leaves London at eleven, and it's already nearly ten." Harry couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this unexpected concern. However, as he sought to delve deeper into this fleeting moment of connection, Aunt Petunia turned away, immersing herself in the dishes piled up in the sink.

Harry then redirected his attention to Dudley, who nodded with a side-glance towards his father. Vernon, uncharacteristically focused, peered into an advertisement for solar panels with more interest than he ever exhibited, except when he believed no one was watching. Or, as Harry thought with a wry smile, during his moments of clandestine indulgence in the third page of the Sun.

"I can use Apparition to get to school, but the other students can't," Harry explained. "So, I don't need to take the train like they do. I'll be heading off soon, though."

Dudley's face transformed into a somewhat impressed expression, the kind he typically reserved for the TV. "Oh, that's kind of cool. Makes sense."

Vernon, on the other hand, lowered his newspaper, revealing his small, piggish eyes, and inquired with a hint of annoyance, "So, when are you leaving, boy? We have things planned. Can't be waiting around all day for you." The tension in the room suddenly escalated, leaving Harry to consider how his family's future actions would intertwine with the mysteries of his past.

Harry's grin widened as he responded, "Now." With a sharp crack, he Apparated onto the landing, leaving a burst of magical energy in his wake.

From the kitchen below, Vernon's exasperated voice could be heard, "This can't continue, Pet. He just does whatever he wants!"

Aunt Petunia's voice carried a hint of weariness as she replied, "What do you think we're going to be able to do, Vernon? We've talked about this several times already. When I was nineteen, Lily and I returned to our parents' house to help them rearrange their garden. Our mother decided she didn't want the shed. It was empty and nobody had the key to open it. Lily burnt the whole thing to ashes in seconds without saying a word or batting an eyelash, and James... he was far worse, doing things like that every time he turned around."

A strangled whimper escaped Uncle Vernon, his grasp on reality further strained by these unsettling revelations.

Aunt Petunia let out a weary sigh, revealing a glimpse of the pain she had harbored for years. "He'll leave, just like Lily did, in a few years, and then it will be just us and our son, as we always dreamt it would be." Harry's frown deepened, a testament to his determination not to simply disappear from their lives.

In the privacy of his own space, Harry retrieved Fleur's picture from its hidden spot under the mattress. He whispered, "Argent."

The world around him transformed as he opened his eyes to the radiant sunlight. It filtered through the gaps in the willow branches, casting shimmering reflections on the water and highlighting the smooth, rounded white pebbles along the shoreline. He took a moment to savor it all—the gentle sound of the water, the rustling of the willow leaves, the warmth of the bright sunbeams on his back, the earthy scent of grass, the heat of the stones beneath him, and the faint but sweet aroma of marzipan that hung in the air.

Fleur reclined gracefully on her branch, her bare legs and feet dangling down to Harry's shoulders, a subtle smile playing on her lips. The sight of her smile never failed to stir Harry's heart.

"Coming up?" she inquired, extending an invitation.

Harry couldn't hide his excitement as he responded, "Of course." With a swift Apparition, he joined her on the branch, slipping an arm around her waist.

Fleur leaned into his side, her voice a soft, tender murmur as she said, "I still can't believe you're able to Apparate at fifteen, even if it's not entirely legal."

Harry teased with a grin, "You're just upset I can get up here too."

Her eyes sparkled as she countered, "I'm very glad you can join me up here." Fleur's fingers gently brushed his neck, causing a shiver to run down Harry's spine.

They both gazed out at the serene scenery—watching the sun's golden reflections dancing on the river's surface and the sleek shadows of fish darting beneath the water. Harry's voice was filled with a sense of wonder as he spoke, "This place, it feels like a whole other world to me. One just for us."

Fleur smiled, her eyes filled with affection, but she soon straightened up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'm going to have to tell my parents about us soon. I never spent half as much time here before, and they're getting suspicious."

Harry's expression softened as he assured her, "I don't mind."

A laugh escaped Fleur's lips as she continued, "Gabby has already guessed. She spends her time trying to work out how this happened. She wants to know the story, I think. She spends too long reading romance books."

Harry contemplated their future as he asked, "When do you plan on telling them? I should make sure I can come here to meet them."

Fleur's response came with a nonchalant air. "I don't have a specific date in mind. Whenever it feels right, or whenever Gabby finally figures out where I keep disappearing to and tracks us down. I think she considers us her own personal romance story."

Harry contemplated her playful comment and couldn't resist a mischievous thought. "I shall have to give her my memories of the Room of Requirement."

Fleur turned up her nose in mock disdain. "You're not showing her our first kiss. That moment's ours."

Harry chuckled, recalling a secret he'd been keeping. "I meant the other memories."

Fleur's voice took on a gentle tone as she reminisced, "That's the only time we were ever in there alone together."

Harry's mind wandered back to an unspoken detail, a moment he hadn't shared with Fleur. A twinge of embarrassment coursed through him. "I never told her, did I? And now I remember why."

Fleur brushed off his hesitation with a casual remark. "It's not important."

With a playful glint in her eyes, she insisted, "No, nuh-uh. Too late. You have to tell me now."

Harry, feigning indifference, focused his attention on a particular fish as it danced in the sun-dappled water. "No, I don't," he retorted, feigning stubbornness. "You can't make me."

Fleur's cool fingers gently turned his face toward hers, and her enchanting gaze held his. Harry's heart skipped a beat as a subtle pout formed on Fleur's lips. He couldn't help but think, If I didn't know better, I'd still think it really is her allure.

Harry relented, his sigh carrying a tone of mock defeat. "Fine. You know, it's a good thing we tested your allure this summer, or I'd still be sure you're using magic on me."

Fleur, with a twinkle in her eye, countered, "I can't enthrall you. Not with magic, anyway. I reckon taking my top off would work." Her kiss landed lightly on his jaw, and Harry couldn't help but feel his heart race in response.

He chuckled, unable to resist her charm. "It definitely would."

Fleur cocked her head, her smile brimming with affection.

Harry finally gave in, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he confessed, "Oh, alright. When we weren't speaking, I was still using the Room on the seventh floor, but since it tries to give you what you want…" His voice trailed off as the heat in his cheeks deepened.

Fleur, her touch gentle and comforting, cupped his flushed face with her hands. "The pictures... I nearly saw those. You all but ran from the room before it changed back."

Harry squirmed under her gaze. "Yes, well, I didn't exactly see you declaring your feelings either."

She laughed lightly. "Gabby would love to see that memory. She'd find it ever so romantic."

Harry's embarrassment was palpable as he admitted, "It's embarrassing. I could barely use the room."

Fleur's hands slid up into his hair, and she pulled him in for a tender kiss. "I like the idea of you moping about me in a room full of my pictures. Will you do it again this year?"

He realized that her pride was as formidable as the river itself. "If I can't visit you often, probably, yes," he replied, knowing that he would do whatever it took to maintain their connection, no matter how unconventional it might seem.

Fleur's question hung in the air, and Harry considered it carefully. "Have you told anyone about me?" she asked.

"Sort of," Harry admitted. "I don't have any living magical relations, but I mentioned you to one of my friends. She asked about you last year."

Fleur's response came with a hint of possessiveness. "Katie Bell."

Harry grinned and reassured her, "Not a threat. That's all in the past."

Fleur scowled playfully. "I'd definitely immolate her if she tried anything."

Harry continued, "Neville sort of knows, too. He saw the Room when I was in it. Neither of them know about us, though."

Fleur ran her fingers along the rough bark of the bough, and a thoughtful expression crossed her face. "I can't stay much longer. I'm not able to Apparate to Beauxbatons because of the wards. I still want to know why you think you can Apparate into Hogwarts, especially after you bounced off the wards the last time you tried."

Harry, keeping his secret close, replied with a touch of mystery, "It's a secret." He then noticed that Fleur's smile had faded. "You have to go now, don't you?"

With a hint of regret, Fleur nodded. "Sorry." A faint pout formed on her lips. "I'll enchant something so we can stay in contact and send it to you."

Harry agreed, "I'll send you a letter when it breaks."

Fleur assured him, "It will not break." With a graceful leap, she landed on the ground with a soft thud. "I will owl it to you, with a suitable phrase to use it, of course."

As he watched her with a mix of longing and anticipation, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes and Apparate down behind her with a soft snap. Their connection, unconventional as it was, remained strong and unbroken, much like their feelings for each other.

Fleur's teasing tone remained as she remarked, "Still not silent."

Harry responded playfully, "I don't have special Veela magic to cheat with."

Fleur huffed in mock annoyance. "You're just envious. And your magic is not normal either, is it? You have a very unusual wand."

Harry conceded, "True, but I still don't have, how did you describe it, 'soft magic.'"

Fleur explained, "It won't really make sense to you. You aren't Veela, you can't feel it. Gabby can feel almost everything about a piece of magic's intent if it's strong enough, but I can still feel enough to identify it."

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her explanation. "Oh?"

Fleur shared an experience from the Triwizard Tournament, saying, "In the maze, I couldn't feel much more than that there was magic all around me. Too many spells all mixed together, and when it's all floating around like that, it's hard to get a sense for it. Gabby told me it was roiling, hot, and angry. She said it was like boiling water, but hungry." She laughed, remembering the chaotic magic of the maze.

Harry, recalling that intense moment, quipped, "Well, I was all of those, except hungry."

Fleur's curiosity got the best of her. "I'd love to know what spell you used to give off such an aura."

Harry played along with a sly smile, "It's a secret."

Fleur responded with mock indignation, "You're just afraid I'll do it better."

Harry reassured her, "It's a fire spell. I know you'll be better at it, not that you need it." Their playful banter was a testament to their growing bond, and the enchanting connection they shared.

Fleur's expression grew somber as she acknowledged, "True. I have to go now, Harry, but I'll enchant something and send it to you as soon as I can so we can come back here."

Harry held her close, whispering, "I could spend forever with you here... One day. I will."

Her kiss conveyed a world of unspoken emotions, as if she were trying to hold onto the feeling of him a little longer. With one last radiant smile, Fleur disappeared without a sound, leaving Harry to cherish the memory of their time together.

He took a final, lingering look at the willow tree and the river before using his magic to transport back into Salazar's study.

Salazar, who had been waiting, eyed Harry with curiosity. "You're back. In one piece, too."

Harry patted himself down, assuring, "I believe so. I haven't splinched since I went to Diagon Alley."

Salazar inquired, "What are you planning to learn today?"

Harry considered the time constraints, saying, "There's not too long before the welcoming feast. So nothing complicated."

Salazar paused, deep in thought. "The welcoming feast already? But you're not even halfway through what you wanted to learn over the summer."

Harry, realizing the truth of Salazar's words, began to explain, "Well—"

Salazar jabbed his wand at Harry, sending cascades of silver sparks down into the base of his frame. "You told me that you expected to have finished all the OWL-level work in the subjects you fell behind in last year!"

Harry defended himself, saying, "I'm ahead of where I wanted to be with my study of Occlumency. I caught up from last year, and I'm already well past OWL level in some subjects. And you should know what day and time it is. I bought a clock for you; it was the first thing I did this summer."

Salazar, however, revealed a frustrating detail, saying, "It broke."

Already? Harry thought.

Harry persisted, "My point still stands."

Sarcasm dripped from Salazar's words as he retorted, "And it's such a good point. You excelled in an area that we have always been exceptional at and forgot about everything else."

Harry mumbled, "It was the most important area."

Salazar's scowl deepened, and his anger was palpable. "Of course, if you hadn't spent every second you could in France, you might have had another year to learn about the more interesting fields of magic."

Harry observed Salazar's reaction, realizing that his mentor was taking this matter more seriously than expected. He finally asked, "What don't I know?"

Salazar's response was firm. "Enough about magic to survive or stand a chance of defeating Voldemort. You'll get stronger naturally as you grow toward your physical and mental peak, or if you decide to keep moving through the pages of the books on rituals. But knowledge is a part of power, Harry, and he has decades more of it than you."

Harry's frustration grew as he glowered at the painting. "I don't have decades to spend learning, do I?"

Salazar tried to clarify his point, saying, "Which is why you can't afford to waste time." He was quick to add, "I'm not saying spending time with her is a waste; I know better than most how valuable time like that truly is. But don't forget about everything else. It's a balance, Harry. You have something more than just surviving, and that's very important and very good, but you still need to survive."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I know."

Salazar then suggested a practical approach. "I suppose you can learn about the more important areas of magic in our time down here. Legilimency is what we should start with. Tom was, as all our family is, talented at the mind arts. You need to be able to keep him out and use the skill against his followers."

Harry voiced his concerns, "I have no safe way of testing my prowess, not without provoking Dumbledore to go rooting through my head."

Salazar agreed with a grim expression, "That's a bad idea." He then admitted, "And you can't exactly learn how I did."

Harry, curious about Salazar's own experiences, inquired, "Why not?"

Salazar explained, "I learned from a sphinx. In my day, mind magic was very limited, so I tracked down a sphinx renowned for being interested in humans and learned from it."

Harry blinked, recalling the sphinx in the maze during the Triwizard Tournament. "Did it test you?"

Salazar shook his head. "No, I'd made a name for myself by then, and it knew I was looking for it. Sphinxes live for thousands of years, but they're normally very reclusive. This one was interested in us, spent centuries studying how we thought in comparison to how it did. I tracked it down near the Byzantine city of Ephesus and convinced it to teach me about the mind arts. It was an unexplored branch of magic back then, and not many wizards bothered with it, and most still don't. It takes a certain type of wizard or witch to understand and master it."

Harry was taken aback by the revelation. "One tested me."

Salazar's wand slipped from his hand in shock. "You met a sphinx?!"

Harry confirmed, "There was one in the tournament. Well, it was in the maze. I'm fairly sure it came just to test the Heir of Slytherin."

Salazar considered the possibility. "Perhaps it was the same one I learned from, then. Most of them don't care about wizards and their affairs, not when they can strip every thought from your head in an instant."

Harry clarified, "This one just gave me a riddle."

Salazar, his concern eased, offered, "You lived, so let's not worry about it. I'll teach you the principles of Legilimency. You'll have to find your own way to test yourself and your progress."

Harry glanced at the clock and realized the limited time they had. "Now?"

Salazar nodded. "I'll give you a brief introduction."

Harry quickly took a seat behind the desk, pushing aside a stack of newspapers and a bag of galleons. They were about to delve into the intricacies of Legilimency, a crucial skill for Harry's future endeavors.

Salazar began the lesson, making a critical distinction. "Legilimency is not the opposite of Occlumency. That's a generalization made by wizards who don't understand the subject. Occlumency is organizing and controlling your own emotions, memories, and thoughts, whereas Legilimency is the art of reading and understanding those of others. It's a different principle entirely and far less obvious."

Harry couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the complexities of these magical disciplines. He responded with a hint of exasperation, "Another complex, abstract thing. Fantastic."

Salazar continued, explaining the first step in Legilimency. "The first step is active Legilimency. The incantation is 'Legilimens,' and it requires direct eye contact for novices or the ungifted. This is not the same as Transfiguration; you can't visualize it. Your intent must be entirely focused by will. Active Legilimency is a battle of intellect and intention. The mind is not a straightforward object; you cannot read from its pages. Meaning and connection must be gleaned by more abstract means." He added with a smile, "Like all the best branches of magic!"

Harry was eager to learn more. "And passive Legilimency? Dumbledore mentioned that."

Salazar explained the subtler aspect of the skill. "Passive Legilimency is an application of wandless, wordless active Legilimency and is very hard to master. You have to perfectly find the edge of the knife, a Legilimency attack so light it cannot be felt, but strong enough to skim the surface thoughts and emotions of your target." He gestured to his snake. "Not an easy feat, even for a master."

Harry recalled his encounter with Dumbledore's attempt at passive Legilimency. "I felt it when Dumbledore tried to use it against me."

Salazar nodded in understanding. "As a practitioner of Occlumency, you're much more aware of your thoughts, so you're more sensitive to such attacks. He didn't know that, so he likely underestimated you. Be wary; now that he knows you can detect it, he may still be trying, only more subtly."

Harry was learning the intricacies of Legilimency, a skill that would be essential in his ongoing battle against Voldemort and his followers.

Harry's resolve was firm as he stated, "I bet he is. But he won't get anything out of me. I've come a long way since that circle of ink on a page."

Salazar advised him, "Go clear up your mess on your way to the feast. It's very rude to leave a huge corpse lying around like that."

Harry rolled his eyes, nodded, and strode out of the study, making his way toward the Chamber of Secrets. Pausing before the gaping mouth of the basilisk, he sent a thin stream of Fiendfyre down its throat. A brilliant crimson glow poured out through the dead serpent's mouth and eyes, brightening to white. Then, its scales paled, and the whole creature crumbled to ash. Harry vanished the remnants with a wave of his wand and hurried up the steps.

In the bathroom above the chamber, he called out, "Hey, Myrtle."

A loud squeal of surprise emanated from one of the cubicles, and the pearl-white figure of Moaning Myrtle zipped out through the walls. She fidgeted with her thick-framed glasses, her ethereal form flushing silver like Fleur's hair. "Harry. How did you get here? Students aren't meant to be at the castle yet."

Harry explained, "I didn't want to catch the train with everyone else, so I thought I'd come say hi."

Myrtle's embarrassment was evident as she blushed. "Hi, Harry."

However, Harry's expression turned serious as he addressed the real concerns. "Things are going to be complicated this year. He's back, you know, the one who opened the chamber."

Myrtle, her form turning translucent, replied in disbelief, "I thought Tom was gone." Harry's words brought back haunting memories of her past experiences with Tom Riddle.

Harry knew he needed an extra set of eyes on the Chamber's entrance. So, he asked Myrtle, "I need you to watch the entrance for me, Myrtle. Tell me if you see anyone near it, or looking for it, anyone or anything suspicious at all."

Myrtle agreed, saying, "I will, Harry. I promise."

Harry thanked her, saying, "Thanks, Myrtle." She promptly returned to her cubicle, providing Harry with the added assurance that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was being watched.

Harry cast his disillusionment spell and stealthily made his way through the throng of students who were flooding into the Great Hall for the welcoming feast. He took a seat alongside Neville and dispelled his concealment. "Hey, Nev."

Neville, startled, greeted him, "Harry." He glanced down the table at Seamus and Ron, who were whispering to each other. "We didn't see you on the train."

Harry reassured Neville, saying, "Don't worry about them, Nev."

Neville expressed his concern, "They might be angry that I'm talking to you."

Harry inquired, "Will that make you stop?"

Neville thought for a moment and then replied, "No."

Harry encouraged him, "Then why worry?"

Neville considered Harry's perspective, and his brow furrowed as he realized that Harry had a point. "I suppose not. It's hardly anything compared to what the Daily Prophet has been writing about you and Dumbledore."

Harry shrugged, showing a hint of humor, "I have a very nice collection of headlines. I quite like some of them; there are some good puns in there. 'The Boy-Who-Lied,' 'Potty Harry.'"

Neville shared a surprising detail, saying, "I had to make Gran subscribe again so I could see what they were writing."

Harry couldn't help but appreciate Neville's determination to stay informed about the news. He responded, "I don't blame you. Rita Skeeter's a very good journalist. Terrible person, though. I do wonder how she finds out some of the things she does. Her articles on some of Dumbledore's more outspoken supporters were quite personal and unexpected."

Unbeknownst to Neville, Harry had his own secrets, such as his relationship with Fleur, which he was determined to keep hidden. He thought, "She better not find out about Fleur. A French Veela would really be the last straw. I might have to flee the country."

Neville expressed concern about Harry's living arrangements, asking, "Are you coming back to Gryffindor Tower, then? You can't keep using the room; it isn't fair that you're uncomfortable in your own dormitories."

Harry decided, "I'll come back. Best for me not to cause any trouble for a bit if I can avoid it."

As the sorting hat's song came to a close and the first years began to line up for the sorting, Harry looked across the Great Hall and noticed Madam Puddifoot, a dumpy, wide-faced woman, dressed in obnoxious pink velvet attire. Her presence evoked mixed feelings in Harry, who mused, "Is that Madam Puddifoot? Well, I think I can be fairly sure she's not been possessed by Voldemort. I can't really imagine him wearing so much pink." He couldn't help but snort. "Although, he would definitely get me by surprise if he lunged at me wearing that flamingo-pink cardigan. Missed opportunity for him."

As dinner commenced, a delicious steak and kidney pie materialized on the table in front of Harry, accompanied by an array of pumpkin-related dishes. He noticed Katie giving him a wave and a wink from further down the table. Harry returned her smile and helped himself to a generous portion of pie while keeping an eye on the teacher's table.

Dumbledore stepped forward to address the students, "Welcome–"

But before he could continue, a squat, pink-clad woman named Dolores Umbridge cleared her throat. She introduced herself, saying, "My name is Dolores Umbridge, former Undersecretary to the Minister, and your new Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harry couldn't help but think to himself, "Not Madam Puddifoot, but possibly a distant relation." He tuned out Umbridge's speech about slipping standards and ministerial concerns, Hermione's outrage, and the general muttering of the students. He understood that the Ministry was concerned about Dumbledore's influence at Hogwarts but thought, "They're about half a century late to the party, really. Voldemort and Dumbledore are well-established."

Umbridge took her seat, wearing a satisfied simper on her wide, pale face. Dumbledore, on the other hand, appeared less pleased, and the twinkle in his eyes had faded during Umbridge's introduction.

Neville couldn't hide his displeasure and commented, "She's awful. Gran's said plenty about her."

Harry shared his thoughts with Neville, "We'll see what she does and be careful of her."

Neville was puzzled by Harry's comparison and remarked, "You make it sound like Quidditch."

Harry couldn't help but smile as he let his thoughts drift to Fleur's sweet kisses, soft smiles, and the scent of burnt holly. He thought, "And we'll win. As always." Harry was determined to navigate the complex web of relationships and challenges that awaited him in the coming school year.

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