As the final week of the fall term approached, Harry set his plans for the salon into motion, beginning with the Ravenclaws. One evening, he gathered Penelope, Robert, Anthony, Michael, Terry, and Luna in the sitting room he shared with the other second-year Ravenclaw boys. He informed them that he'd secured a private meeting space and suggested they hold their first salon on Saturday, the 19th, just before the holiday break. He instructed them to divide into two groups led by the Prefects, to make a discreet excuse if anyone asked questions, and to arrive at staggered times—one group heading directly from dinner, the other waiting twenty minutes in the common room before setting out.
Before they left, he shared the password he'd chosen for the meeting: "Knowledge is Power." It was a calculated choice, one that reflected the serious nature of the gathering. He watched their reactions carefully, measuring their understanding and trust. Each accepted his instructions with curiosity and quiet approval, some clearly intrigued by the meaning behind the password. The foundation was set with the Ravenclaws, and he was confident they would exercise the necessary discretion.
The following day, he sought out the twins in their hideout. He outlined the plan and instructed them to arrive last, waiting a full hour after dinner and using the Map to ensure they weren't seen by Snape or any Slytherins. Before parting, he brought up Percy's potential invitation, watching as the twins hesitated, exchanging a wary glance. They were skeptical, but ultimately they trusted Harry's judgment and recognized the advantage of including their brother. When Harry mentioned his arrangement with Mr. Weasley to purchase the Anglia, he saw their eyes light up with interest, and he offered them the chance to help study and further enchant the car if they wished. This prospect clearly pleased them, and they agreed to his plan with a rare, respectful seriousness.
Afterward, Harry sought out Percy. Timing his approach carefully, he waited outside Gryffindor Tower until Parvati Patil happened to pass through, and he requested that she fetch Percy. After leading him to a quiet classroom, Percy cast several privacy charms, which Harry acknowledged with a nod. He thanked Percy for bringing up Anglia, and informed him of the arrangements he was making with Mr. Weasley. Percy's gratitude and respect were evident, and Harry sensed that this step had deepened Percy's regard for him.
Harry then proposed a private discussion over the holiday about the Diary incident, inviting Percy to join him, Ginny, and the twins to go over the details. He explained that he hadn't had time to provide full explanations in the aftermath of the incident, but now, he felt they all—especially Ginny—deserved a clearer picture of what had happened. Percy nodded thoughtfully, clearly concerned for his sister, and accepted.
Lastly, Harry extended an invitation to the upcoming salon. Percy's hesitation was obvious—until Harry mentioned that Penelope would be attending. That detail seemed to shift Percy's perspective, and he agreed to the gathering, showing a solemn curiosity. He confirmed that he would escort Hermione and Neville from Gryffindor Tower at the appointed time and lead them to the door at the end of the third-floor corridor.
For the final set of invitations, Harry found Hermione and Neville in the library—as he'd expected after Percy told him they hadn't been in Gryffindor Tower—studying together at a secluded table. He quietly filled them in, explaining that they should be ready in the Gryffindor common room to leave with Percy exactly forty minutes after dinner. Hermione accepted the instructions seriously, her curiosity clear, while Neville nodded earnestly, glad to be included. He left them with a confident sense that they would follow his plan exactly.
Harry felt confident that his preparations would hold up against any curiosity or scrutiny they might attract. He eagerly anticipated the coming Saturday.
—
The room was barely recognizable from the dark, ominous space it had once been. Now, it radiated a quiet, scholarly warmth. The bluebell flames that Harry had enchanted for the sconces gave off a steady, gentle glow, casting soft, flickering light across the room's transformed surfaces. Dobby had scrubbed the stone floors until they gleamed, and the air smelled faintly of clean stone and the lingering warmth of a freshly lit fire in the grand fireplace Dobby had tended to before Harry arrived.
Around a low, polished table at the room's center, Dobby had arranged a variety of high-backed chairs and comfortable wooden stools, each looking a bit mismatched but now subtly polished and welcoming. In one corner, a small side table held a silver tea set and a stack of simple ceramic cups, ready for anyone who might want refreshments during the evening's discussions. Dobby had even placed a modest arrangement of enchanted mistletoe in a vase near the fireplace—a seasonal touch that hinted at the care he'd taken to make this place feel inviting.
As Harry inspected the arrangements, Dobby materialized beside him, carrying a final tray with the dinner he'd prepared. There was nothing elaborate: warm bread, hearty stew, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. They both sat down at the central table, Harry's Nimbus 2001 propped nearby, and dug into the meal.
"Dobby, this is perfect," Harry said between bites, looking around the room with barely contained excitement. "You've outdone yourself. I don't think anyone would recognize this as the same place."
Dobby beamed, his large eyes glowing with pride. "Dobby is most pleased to serve Harry Potter! And Harry Potter's friends will find everything in perfect order, yes, yes!"
Harry chuckled, watching as Dobby flitted over to adjust the positioning of a high-backed chair. "They'd better appreciate it, after all the work we've done here. I think they'll be impressed… and curious," he added thoughtfully, glancing over at the bluebell flames and the carefully placed books stacked on a nearby table.
"Is Harry Potter needing anything else?" Dobby asked, glancing eagerly at him, clearly hoping for any last-minute tasks.
Harry shook his head. "You've thought of everything, Dobby. This is more than I could have expected." He paused, swirling his pumpkin juice thoughtfully. "We can't risk anyone seeing you, I can't imagine the Malfoys have given up their hunt yet. It's best if you stay hidden for now."
Dobby nodded solemnly, understanding in his eyes. "Dobby will keep hidden, yes, yes, Harry Potter. Dobby does not need thanks; Dobby only wishes for Harry Potter's happiness!"
Harry smiled, raising his glass slightly. "Well, this is just the beginning. You're part of this too, Dobby, even if they don't see you. And—" He paused, taking in the scene once more, feeling a quiet thrill at the atmosphere they'd crafted. "I'll make sure they know of the key role you've played. In time."
Dobby's ears wiggled with joy, and took a glass for himself, lifting it in a silent toast.
With his dinner finished, Harry stood and took his Nimbus 2001, running a hand along its polished handle. "I think this will work perfectly for getting everyone down here—easier and faster than scrounging up a ladder somewhere from the castle's depths."
With a murmured Tempus, Harry glanced at the shimmering numbers in the air. Ten minutes until the end of dinner. The first arrivals would be here soon.
Turning to Dobby, he gestured at their empty dinner plates. "Clear these away and set out the refreshments, would you? And after that, you may head back to the Chamber and continue your cleaning efforts there."
Dobby nodded, his ears perking up. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby will make everything ready and then be gone, yes, yes!"
Harry mounted his Nimbus 2001, guiding it carefully through the now-spotless sequence of rooms from the teachers' trials. Devil's Snare, the key chamber, and the chessboard room—all gleamed under the faint light from his bluebell flames. With a flick of telekinesis, he opened the trapdoor just in time, easing the broom up and through before settling himself at the entrance. After a few minutes, he heard voices and then a faint click of the lock.
The door opened, and Robert stepped inside, with Michael and Anthony just behind him. Harry had positioned himself to keep the trapdoor out of view. As the door clicked shut, he brought out his Nimbus 2001 from behind his back, stepping aside to reveal the open trapdoor.
They exchanged a glance, surprised, as Harry handed the broom to Robert. "One at a time," he instructed. "Careful, the broom is quite responsive."
Robert mounted and lowered himself through the opening. Harry summoned the broom back up, repeating the process with Michael and Anthony. Once they were all below, he joined them, landing softly.
They walked through the cleaned chambers, with Robert murmuring, "I remember this being off-limits last year—never guessed there was a hidden section down here." As they moved through the rooms, Michael and Anthony took in the surroundings, clearly fascinated by the transformation and spellwork rather than any specific details.
Finally, they entered the main chamber. Michael and Anthony stopped, taking in the setup: comfortable chairs around a central table, soft bluebell flames, and refreshments laid out. A quiet fire crackled in the corner.
"This…" Robert began, trailing off as he took it all in. Michael and Anthony exchanged glances, then began peppering Harry with questions about the room and the meeting's purpose.
Harry raised a hand. "Wait until everyone's here." He left them to settle in, then flew back up to meet the next group.
The lock clicked again, and Penelope entered, followed by Terry and Luna. "Right on time," Harry said, revealing the trapdoor and his Nimbus. "We're heading down here."
Penelope gave a small smile, taking the broom. "Not the usual meeting space."
"It needed to be private," Harry replied.
Once Penelope, Terry, and Luna had descended, Harry led them through the chambers, each room evoking a unique reaction.
In the first room, Luna tilted her head, murmuring, "There's a faint scent… like Devil's Snare."
Terry's eyes darted around as they moved forward, his excitement barely contained. "Blimey, Harry, this place feels like it's been hidden for centuries."
Penelope looked around with quiet appreciation but held back her questions, nodding as she took it all in.
When they reached the main chamber, Penelope's composed expression softened. "This… is quite the setup."
The first group looked up, exchanging nods and smiles with the new arrivals, and they chatted in low tones, sharing their surprise at the hidden chambers.
"Did you all see that giant chess board?" Terry asked Michael and Anthony, who grinned.
As the questions grew, Harry raised a hand. "Hold your questions a bit longer. I'll explain everything once we're all here."
Leaving them to settle in, he turned back to the trapdoor to bring down Percy, Hermione, and Neville. Once he'd led them to the rest of the group, he went back for the final arrivals, Fred and George. A few minutes later, the door opened one last time, and the twins slipped in, grinning as they caught sight of Harry.
"Bit of an entrance you've arranged here, Harry," Fred said, eyeing the Nimbus.
"Top secret broom service," George added with a wink. "Very classy."
Fred nudged George with a grin. "Remember sneaking in here last year?"
George chuckled. "Didn't make it far, though—never got past that monstrous Cerberus guarding the trapdoor."
Harry rolled his eyes, handing the broom to Fred. "One at a time. Just down through here."
Fred gave an exaggerated salute and mounted the broom, disappearing through the trapdoor. Harry summoned it back up, then handed it to George, who made a mock bow before lowering himself down.
Once below, Harry led the twins through the chambers, keeping them moving at a steady pace. They exchanged impressed looks, though they kept up their usual banter, though the sight of McGonagall's enchanted chess board gave them pause.
"We thought you just made that up to lure Ron into our trap for Pettigrew," Fred muttered.
When they entered the final chamber, the twins paused, taking in the sight of the assembled group. They exchanged nods with the others as they settled into seats near the back, looking at Harry with newfound respect.
"Well, you've certainly outdone yourself, Harry," George murmured, grinning widely.
"Not bad at all," Fred agreed, mirroring his twin's expression. "Even got refreshments! Raiding the kitchens, are we now, Harry?"
With a wink at Fred, Harry raised a hand, looking around at the group. "Thank you all for coming," he said. "Let's get started."
—
Sunday night, the castle had emptied out, with most of the students leaving for the holiday. Well after curfew, the night was completely still as Harry crouched under his Invisibility Cloak in the seventh-floor corridor. The silence stretched out in the dimly lit hallway, broken only by the faint hum of a nearby torch flickering against the cold stone. He shot a wary glance at the spot where the door usually appeared, hoping that by the time he was done here, Snape would be scouring the castle, thrown off Harry's trail and hunting a supposed treasure he'd never find.
Directly in front of him hung the painting of Barnabas the Barmy, who was engaged in an endless struggle to teach a group of rather bored-looking trolls how to dance ballet. Harry stifled a smirk at the absurd scene; the trolls looked about as enchanted with the idea of ballet as Harry was with Divination. Barnabas, however, was hopelessly oblivious to their disinterest, twirling with theatrical flair, his wand raised in a dramatic arc.
Alright, time to move you along, Harry thought, careful to remain silent. Harry hoped that relocating the portrait would misdirect Snape away from his interest in the Room, leading him to believe that Harry's interest in the area had been focused on this portrait all along.
With a glance down the corridor and a nod at Dobby, where he kept watch around the corner, Harry withdrew his wand and leaned closer to the painting, extending his aura out toward it delicately, his senses open and attuned. The Permanent Sticking Charm that anchored it was woven tight, but after his studies in Peru the past summer, after taking Dobby from the Malfoys, Harry felt up to the challenge. He took a deep breath, remembering Grindelwald's lessons in precise counterspell work. Concentration was everything, Gellert had said. The more intricately woven the charm, the finer the touch needed to unravel it.
Harry pointed his wand at the edge of the frame and muttered, "Finite Incantatem," his voice barely audible. He pushed his magic forward, feeling the resistance immediately push back, the intent of the original caster resisting his own. He grit his teeth at the effort.
The counter-spell wasn't quick or easy—it required sustained focus and control. Harry worked in silence, feeling the edges of the spell give way, little by little, until finally, the sense of pressure suddenly eased as the enchantment dissolved.
Harry had to lean back to catch his breath, the strain leaving his head buzzing with exhaustion and an ache throbbing behind his eyes. He managed a small grin, pleased with his work, though his energy was nearly spent.
"Dobby," he whispered, just loud enough for his companion to hear.
Dobby appeared instantly from around the corner, his large green eyes alert and watchful as he looked up at Harry.
"Take this portrait to the Chamber, then take me back to Ravenclaw Tower," Harry instructed softly. Dobby nodded, his expression solemn as he floated the frame off its hook with a gesture of his tiny hand. With a quiet pop, he and the painting vanished, and the hall fell back into stillness.
Harry waited, his pulse slowing as he leaned against the wall, letting his head clear. Dobby reappeared a moment later, giving him an encouraging nod. Harry extended a single hand from under his cloak, and Dobby took it in his small, sure grip, popping them both to the safety of Harry's dormitory.
Once inside, Harry let the Cloak slip from his shoulders, feeling the cool night air in his room ease some of the tension in his head. He took a deep breath, rubbing his temples to ease the dull ache that had set in from the sustained spellwork.
"Dobby," he muttered softly, "could you bring me a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchens?"
Dobby gave a sharp nod and vanished, returning within seconds with a steaming mug. Harry took it gratefully, the warmth spreading through his hands and easing the headache that still throbbed faintly.
"Thanks, Dobby," he said, offering a tired but appreciative smile. "You were brilliant tonight, as always. Couldn't have done it without you."
Dobby's eyes shone with pride. "Harry Potter is most welcome, sir," he replied, almost bowing. "Good night."
With a quiet pop, Dobby disappeared, leaving Harry to savor the calm of the empty dormitory and the satisfaction of his completed task. Sipping his hot chocolate, he allowed himself a small smile. If things went as planned, Snape would have his hands full come morning.
—
The next afternoon, Severus Snape walked briskly through the halls of Hogwarts, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls as he approached Dumbledore's office. He had spent the early hours of the morning scouring the seventh-floor corridor, retracing every inch of wall where the painting of Barnabas the Barmy had hung. Not only was the painting gone, but it had been fastened with a Permanent Sticking Charm, likely cast by a past Headmaster—no simple feat to remove.
It was unmistakable: Potter had something to do with this. For weeks, Snape had been attempting to discover what had drawn Potter to the seventh-floor corridor and the one-way passage to the second floor outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now, with the painting from across the passage's entrance missing, it was clear Potter was hiding something important. But what was he up to? Now he was finally going to find out.
Snape reached the stone gargoyle, muttered the password, and ascended the spiral staircase to the headmaster's office. He found Dumbledore waiting behind his desk, and Potter already seated across from him, his posture as relaxed as if he were in his common room. Snape took in Potter's calm expression, watching closely for any sign of guilt.
"Headmaster," Snape greeted, keeping his voice even as he took his place beside Dumbledore.
"Harry," Dumbledore began, his tone gentle, "Professor Snape has raised a concern regarding a painting that seems to have disappeared from the seventh-floor corridor—one of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to dance, as you may recall."
Potter looked thoughtfully between the two of them, his face revealing nothing but polite interest. "Yes, I've seen it in passing," he said mildly, "but I'm afraid I don't know much about it."
Snape's mouth tightened, and he forced down a surge of impatience. "How convenient, Potter," he said, letting his voice turn cold, "that this supposedly 'uninteresting' painting should vanish without a trace. And you, Potter—you were seen in that very corridor, long past curfew. Surely you don't expect us to believe it was a coincidence?"
Potter's brows lifted, an expression of mild surprise crossing his face. "That's odd, Professor. If you had evidence I was violating curfew, shouldn't I have received a detention?"
Snape clenched his jaw, fighting down the sting of the boy's words. Potter's record was maddeningly spotless, something he had never been able to rectify. "A mere technicality," he sneered. "You've learned how to avoid getting caught."
Potter's expression remained neutral, almost contemplative. "But isn't it the job of a teacher to enforce the rules, sir? I've never been given a single detention in my time at Hogwarts." He shrugged, his tone disarmingly reasonable. "And as for the painting—this castle is enormous. Being near it hardly proves I know anything about its disappearance. I'm sure most of the other students here have also passed it, at one point or another."
Snape felt his patience wearing thin. The boy's answers were maddeningly evasive, leaving no clear foothold to trap him with. Potter was too careful, his responses just vague enough to suggest innocence without fully committing to it.
Dumbledore, who had watched the exchange in silence, finally spoke. "Thank you, Severus. I think that will be all for now."
Snape wanted to object, to press harder, but Dumbledore's tone was firm. With one last piercing glare at Potter, he turned and swept from the room, his thoughts churning. He knew Potter was hiding something—and he would make it his priority to find out exactly what.
—
Dumbledore watched the door swing shut behind Severus, who left the office in a billow of black robes, his frustration almost palpable. For a moment, Dumbledore sat in silence, observing the boy seated across from him. Harry remained steady, his face calm but alert, as though he had come prepared for any accusation.
"Harry," Dumbledore began, leaning forward, "is there anything more you wish to tell me?"
Harry met his gaze without hesitation. "Yes, sir. Professor Snape has been following me everywhere, watching my every move—and it's gone beyond anything reasonable. It's harassment."
Dumbledore took in the steady conviction in Harry's eyes. "You feel he has exceeded his duties as a Professor to be vigilant, then?" he asked, hoping to draw more out of the boy.
"Yes," Harry replied with measured calm. "I'm a student here, and I'd prefer to be treated like one. If Professor Snape can't act professionally, then perhaps the Board of Governors should review his position. I would think the staff are held to standards of conduct, just as students are."
Dumbledore felt a flicker of surprise, though he kept his expression neutral. There was nothing rash in Harry's words, no hint of emotion clouding his judgment. The boy spoke with an air of authority unheard of for his age, a reminder of Gellert's influence. Dumbledore chose his own words carefully.
"Harry, I understand that Professor Snape's methods may feel excessive to you," he said, studying him with a gaze both gentle and probing. "You're right, of course, that each student here deserves respect and privacy. But you must understand that, given your unique background, certain precautions are necessary."
Dumbledore watched for any sign of recognition in Harry's expression, some admission of his mentor's influence. But Harry's gaze remained unyielding, as though he'd anticipated this answer.
"And Professor Snape's 'precautions' include trailing my every movement through the castle?" Harry asked. "I've been here for over a year now and have followed every rule. He hasn't a single reason for his suspicion—other than your speculations about my background."
It was true, and Dumbledore knew it. And yet, he could not dismiss the reason he had first asked Severus to keep a close eye on Harry: Grindelwald's influence was powerful, and the boy's formative years had been spent in the shadow of the former Dark Lord. Dumbledore felt an obligation to watch Harry, not because he distrusted the boy himself, but because he had seen firsthand what Grindelwald's ideas could foster in even the brightest minds.
"Harry," he said softly, "you are an exceptionally capable young man—this I don't doubt. But surely you must understand that I cannot let you go completely unmonitored while you are a student here. But if you feel that Professor Snape's actions are making it difficult for you to focus on your studies, I will address it. You should know, however, that our intent is not to single you out or make you feel…cornered. This school's safety is of utmost importance, as I'm sure you understand."
Harry gave a slight nod, though Dumbledore could see the tension that had settled over him, a restraint as palpable as a held breath. "Thank you, Headmaster," he replied, his voice respectful but determined. "I appreciate your understanding. The safety of the school is my top priority as well. Let us hope the situation with Professor Snape improves before the summer."
Dumbledore held his gaze for a moment, considering the young man before him—a boy raised under the watchful eye of a wizard whose influence still echoed subtly in Harry's words and bearing. For now, Dumbledore would do his best to grant Harry the trust he sought, but he knew he would have to watch carefully, to understand what kind of wizard Harry would ultimately choose to become.
"Very well," Dumbledore replied, his voice calm but contemplative as he acknowledged Harry's implied threat. "I will keep that in mind. Good day, Harry."
Harry offered a respectful nod, then turned and exited the office, his step measured and assured.
As the door clicked shut, Dumbledore allowed himself a long, thoughtful sigh. The boy's resolve was undeniable, and though his manner was polite, there was no mistaking the quiet challenge in his parting words. Harry was clearly playing his own game here at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore realized with a pang of concern that perhaps, despite his best efforts, he might already be a few steps behind.