Harry's hand trembled as it rested on the cold metal doorknob of the Lord's Office. The weight of everything—the history, the expectations, the unknown—settled heavily on his shoulders. His breath quickened, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He knew what lay beyond that door, something he had never dared to dream of before: a connection to his family.
This is it, Harry thought. My family… a piece of my past.
With a deep breath and a shaking twist, Harry opened the door, the hinges creaking softly as the heavy wooden door swung inward. He hesitated for just a second before stepping inside, his feet moving forward with purpose even though his mind whirled with uncertainty.
Stheno's soothing voice slipped into his mind, guiding him like always. The man in the portrait is in front of you, on the far wall. The room is safe. There is no danger here, Master Harry.
Harry exhaled, thankful for Stheno's presence. She was his constant, his guide through the world that was forever dark to him.
"Harry Potter," a voice called out from the room, strong and full of authority. The voice of Charlus Potter—his grandfather.
Harry froze in place, his heart pounding so loud he was sure Charlus could hear it. He could feel the power in that voice, the command it carried, but more than that, he felt the warmth and pride that laced each word. Pride. That was something Harry wasn't used to—no one had ever spoken his name with such genuine pride before.
Slowly, he raised his head toward the direction Stheno had guided him to, his senses sharpened by anticipation. Every fiber of his being was focused on that voice, the connection he had craved for so long.
"My grandson," Charlus said again, his voice softening with emotion. "I have waited so long to see you—so long in this portrait, alone for over a decade, waiting for the Potters to return. And now, at last, you are here, my long-lost grandson has brought this family back to fruition."
Harry's throat tightened, and his chest felt as if it might burst from the swell of emotions crashing through him. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to hold himself together. He had never… never heard anyone in his family speak to him, let alone with such affection. I've never… never met anyone in my family before.
The realization struck him harder than he had anticipated. The weight of his life at the Dursleys suddenly felt heavier in comparison, the isolation more unbearable. For so long, he had been treated like a burden, shuffled into cupboards, ignored or scolded, never shown an ounce of love or care. But this? This was different. This was someone who wanted to know him, who was proud of him.
A hot tear slipped down his cheek, and Harry quickly wiped it away, embarrassed by the show of emotion. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice thick, the raw emotion seeping through. "It's just that… well, I've never met anyone in my family before." He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his voice steady, but internally his thoughts screamed, The Dursleys don't count as family. They never did. They never will.
Charlus was silent for a moment, the weight of his grandson's words settling heavily in the air. Then he sighed, and the sound was filled with sadness and pity. "My boy," he said softly, his voice full of regret, "I am so sorry that I wasn't there for you when you needed family the most. I wish I could have been. But the past is the past. We cannot change what has been done. The hardships you've endured have shaped you into who you are today, and from what I can tell, you are going to be a fine man—one that I am proud to call my grandson."
Those words—proud to call my grandson—hit Harry like a tidal wave. For so long, he had felt alone, without a place in the world, without any sense of belonging. And now, here was his grandfather, speaking to him as if he mattered, as if he wasn't some unwanted burden. It made the deep well of loneliness he had carried for so long feel a little less heavy.
Harry couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto his face, despite the heaviness still lingering in his heart. He nodded, the sense of belonging, of being seen for who he truly was, flooding through him like a balm to his soul.
"Come, sit," Charlus said, his tone lightening as he sensed Harry's emotions settling. "I've been told you're on Christmas break from Hogwarts, yes?"
Harry found the chair in front of the desk and carefully sat down, running his hands along the smooth wood, tracing the fine carvings with his fingers. "Yeah," he answered, his voice more even now. "I've got a week left of it. I'll need to leave on Sunday. Today's Monday."
"Then we have a lot of catching up to do," Charlus replied, the warmth and energy back in his voice. "I don't want to waste a single second. I want to hear everything about you, Harry. And I'm sure you want to hear all about your old grandfather."
A genuine smile stretched across Harry's face, and for the first time in a long time, it wasn't one tinged with sadness or fear. It was a smile of true happiness, a smile of someone who had found a piece of themselves they didn't even know they were missing.
"Yeah," Harry said, his voice soft but filled with joy. "I'd like that."
The next hours flew by as Harry and Charlus talked about everything—life, family, and history. Harry spoke with an openness he wasn't used to, sharing his childhood with the Dursleys, the cupboard under the stairs, the years of neglect. It felt strange, almost surreal, to talk about those painful memories, but the more he spoke, the lighter he felt. And Charlus listened. He listened with a quiet intensity, absorbing every detail as if each word mattered deeply.
"They locked you in a cupboard, did they?" Charlus asked, his voice taut with restrained anger. "Those Muggles should be ashamed. But you, Harry—you endured it. You rose above it."
Harry swallowed, feeling the anger simmering beneath his grandfather's calm tone. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "I was in the cupboard until I was ten. I'm not sure why, but they moved me to Dudley's spare bedroom after that. Maybe they got scared I'd use magic on them or something."
Charlus was silent for a moment, his voice laced with regret. "No child deserves that, especially not a Potter. But you survived, Harry. You're here now. You made it through those dark days, and you've come out stronger for it."
Harry shrugged, a small laugh escaping him as he tried to downplay the significance of his survival. "I didn't have much of a choice," he said with a half-smile. "But it's fine now. I'm at Hogwarts. I have friends."
Charlus softened, the tension easing from his voice. "Hogwarts," he mused. "I remember my time there. The best years of my life. Tell me about it. How is Slytherin treating you? I was a Gryffindor myself, but we Potters have always been friends with Slytherins."
Harry leaned back in the chair, smiling. "Slytherin's… different," he admitted. "But it's not bad. I've made some good friends. There's Daphne—Daphne Greengrass—and Hermione Granger, too."
Charlus let out a low chuckle. "Ah, the Greengrass family. A good family—very traditional, but strong. When I was alive, they were doing quite well for themselves."
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling his face heat up slightly at the mention of Daphne. He hadn't realized just how much his relationship with her had grown. "She's... she's great. We've become good friends."
Charlus paused, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Good friends, hmm? Is that all?"
Harry's face burned with embarrassment, and he quickly waved it off. "Yes, that's all! It's not like that."
Charlus laughed, a rich, hearty sound that echoed through the room. "Of course, of course. But keep an eye on that one, Harry. You never know where life may take you. I'd like to meet this Daphne Greengrass sometime."
Harry laughed nervously but was grateful when the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Charlus regaled him with stories of his time at Hogwarts, recounting tales of duels in the corridors and sneaking into the Forbidden Forest. He spoke of great friendships, epic battles, and moments of mischief that had shaped his time at school.
But it wasn't just Hogwarts that fascinated Harry. Charlus shared stories of his life beyond school—tales of the Wizarding Wars, of standing against Grindelwald himself. Harry was shocked when Charlus revealed that he had even crossed paths with Grindelwald in a duel, a fight that had earned him the dark wizard's respect.
"I never beat him, of course," Charlus said, his voice filled with a strange mixture of pride and humility. "But I held my own. He called me a 'worthy adversary.'"
Harry's eyes widened, his mind racing. "You actually fought Grindelwald?" He had only read about the infamous dark wizard in books, and now here was his grandfather, telling him he had faced him in battle.
Charlus chuckled, the sound of a man who had lived through great trials. "I did. And it's a story for another time. But know this, Harry—your family has a long history of standing up against dark forces. It runs in your blood."
In my blood? Harry thought, feeling a strange mixture of pride and unease. What exactly makes something a dark force? He had read so much about what wizards considered "dark," and it didn't always sit right with him. He knew there were spells, magic, and artifacts labeled as "dark," but who decided that? And why? The more he learned about the magical world, the more questions he had.
Still, hearing his grandfather say it made something inside Harry stir. Standing up against dark forces. It felt like a mantle he had to take up, even if he wasn't entirely sure what that meant just yet.
The week Harry spent at Potter Manor had been nothing short of transformative. For the first time in his life, he felt rooted, tied to something far deeper than his time at Hogwarts or his past with the Dursleys. The Manor seemed to pulse with the magic of his ancestors, and in every stone, every breath of air, Harry could feel the legacy of the Potter family wrapping around him, filling in the empty spaces that had long existed within him.
When he wasn't with Charlus, Harry explored the library. The shelves stretched high above him, filled with tomes on magic, history, and the Potters' role in both. He'd spent hours flipping through books that had once belonged to his parents and their parents before them, running his fingers over pages his family had studied. Stheno had guided him through the collection, helping him find texts on intermediate charms, magical theory, and defense. He had even found a few volumes on magical creatures and their behavior, which was quickly becoming a fascination of his.
The most practical texts Harry found were on the management of magical estates and wizarding finances, which Charlus had highly encouraged him to study. One book, "The Foundations of Magical Wealth," had laid out how the Potter family had built and sustained their wealth for centuries, investing wisely in both magical and non-magical ventures. Another, "Wards and Legacy Magic," detailed how to protect one's estate, ensuring it would survive through even the most dangerous times. The chapters on defensive wards had been particularly interesting to Harry, especially given how often Hogwarts was at the center of danger.
But no book could compare to the personal lessons Charlus had given him. Charlus had spent most of their time together teaching Harry not just about magic, but about responsibility, leadership, and how to carry the weight of the family name. Each day in the Lord's Office had been an education, and Harry had learned more in those hours than in months at school.
On one particular afternoon, Charlus had told him, "There's more to being the head of the Potter family than just power and wealth. You will have influence, yes, but with that comes the obligation to protect those who depend on you. Your family was respected, not just for our abilities but for the way we treated others. That's what makes a Potter stand out in the world."
Harry had taken those words to heart. The idea that the Potter name wasn't just something to be proud of, but something to uphold with honor, made him feel both empowered and anxious. The weight of it was real, but so was the pride Charlus had in him. And for the first time in his life, Harry wasn't afraid of living up to those expectations. He wanted to.
By Sunday morning, the air in the Manor felt heavier than it had all week. Harry stood once again in the Lord's Office, feeling the familiar magic in the room, but the weight of the moment pressed down on him. He had known this day was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.
"Leaving already, are you?" Charlus asked, his voice tinged with sadness. "It feels like you just got here."
Harry nodded, his heart heavy. "I know," he said quietly. "It's gone by so fast."
Over the past week, the bond between Harry and Charlus had grown rapidly, as if decades of separation were being bridged in mere days. Harry had found in Charlus not just a connection to his family's past, but the kind of warmth and wisdom he had never experienced before. It was overwhelming, and now, as he prepared to leave, he felt a gnawing sense of loss creeping in.
Charlus smiled softly, a look of pride and warmth on his face. "We'll have more time together, Harry. The Manor is yours, after all. And when you come back, bring that Greengrass heir with you. I'd love to meet the girl who may very well be the next Lady Potter."
Harry's face flushed immediately, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "It's not like that!" he exclaimed, waving his hands dismissively. "We're just friends!"
Charlus laughed, a deep, booming sound that filled the room and seemed to reverberate off the walls. "Of course, of course. Just friends. Well, we'll see," he teased, his voice full of amusement.
Harry couldn't help but smile, even though his face still felt hot with embarrassment. There was something about Charlus' teasing that made him feel more grounded—like they weren't just talking as distant relatives, but as family.
Charlus's tone softened again, and he looked at Harry with a mixture of pride and emotion. "Take care of yourself, Harry," he said quietly, his voice filled with an intensity that made Harry's throat tighten. "You've made me proud—more proud than you'll ever know. And I know your parents would have been proud too."
The mention of his parents sent a rush of emotion through Harry, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. He swallowed, trying to keep his composure, but the lump in his throat made it difficult. He nodded, his eyes welling up with tears once more. He wished his parents could see him now, could know how much he had grown. But in some way, he felt that they were with him—through Charlus, through the Manor, through the magic that pulsed all around him.
"I'll be back soon," Harry promised, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll come back."
Charlus smiled warmly, though his voice was tinged with a kind of wistful sadness. "I'll be waiting, my boy," he said softly. "I'll always be waiting."
The finality of those words hung in the air, and Harry felt their weight settle over him. He knew Charlus was always going to be there—waiting in his portrait, holding on to his essence. But there was a part of him that wished it could be more. He wished he could have known Charlus in life, wished he could have felt the warmth of his grandfather's embrace. Still, this was more than he had ever thought he'd have.
With a final, deep breath, Harry turned and left the room. His steps felt heavy as he walked through the hallways of the Manor, Stheno guiding him carefully as she always did. He could hear Charlie quietly moving about the house, no doubt making sure everything was in order for his eventual return. It was strange how quickly he had come to feel at home here, how in just a week, Potter Manor had filled the void in his heart that had been there for as long as he could remember.
As Harry prepared to leave, stepping into the Manor's floo network, he hesitated for a moment. His heart was full—full of everything he had learned, everything he had experienced—but there was also a heaviness there, a sadness in leaving behind something so new, yet so old.
The green flames swirled around him, and as the Manor faded from sight, Harry couldn't help but think about how much his life had changed in such a short time. For the first time, he wasn't just Harry Potter, the boy who lived. He was Harry Potter, heir to a legacy far greater than anything he had imagined.
(Scene Break)
The rhythmic hum of the Hogwarts Express filled the compartment as it sped along the tracks, taking the students back to Hogwarts. The holiday break had come to an end, and now Harry, Daphne, and Hermoine sat together, catching up on how they had spent their time away from school. The chatter of students filled the background, but inside the compartment, the trio was wrapped in their conversation.
Daphne sat beside Harry, idly glancing out of the window, though the snowy landscape blurred by too quickly to make out anything specific. Hermione, across from them, had her ever-present book open in her lap, though for once, she wasn't reading. Instead, she was focused on the conversation, eager to hear about her friends' holidays.
"So, what did you two get up to during the break?" Hermione asked, smiling brightly as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I know it was different being away from Hogwarts."
Daphne shrugged lightly, her tone nonchalant. "I spent most of the time studying and being with my mother and sister. We didn't do anything too exciting, honestly. My father was locked away in his office most of the time, so I hardly saw him."
Hermione nodded in understanding. "Well, I spent a lot of time with my family playing board games and talking about Hogwarts. It was nice, but I missed the castle. There's just something about it that feels like home now." She smiled fondly, her eyes sparkling with the thought of Hogwarts.
Harry listened quietly, feeling a strange sense of warmth being surrounded by his friends. Their chatter was comforting, but he knew it would soon be his turn to talk, and after the whirlwind of his break, he wasn't sure how to sum it up.
Daphne's eyes slid over to Harry, curiosity sparking in them. "What about you, Harry? How was your break?"
Harry smiled—a genuine, happy smile that seemed to surprise both girls. "It went very well, actually," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "First off, I stepped up and officially became the Heir Potter."
Daphne gasped audibly, her eyes widening as she leaned forward in surprise. "You… what? You actually took on the initiative to become Heir Potter already?" She stared at him, clearly shocked. "I didn't think you'd do it so soon."
Hermione blinked, her brow furrowing. "Wait, what does that mean? What do you mean by 'officially' becoming Heir Potter?"
Harry glanced toward Hermione, smiling as he explained. "In the magical world, it's not just about birthright. To be recognized by the government as the legal heir to a magical family, you have to be accepted by the family's Heir Ring. The Potter family has one, and when I put it on, it accepted me."
Hermione's eyes widened in wonder. "Accepted by the ring? That sounds… incredible. I didn't know magical families worked like that."
Daphne nodded in agreement, still processing the news. "That's a huge deal, Harry. The Potter family has always been so prestigious. You're carrying on their legacy now."
Harry smiled softly, the weight of that responsibility resting comfortably on his shoulders. "Yeah, it feels right. Like something I was meant to do."
"That's amazing," Hermione said, smiling at him. "But what else did you do? You said it went very well, so there must be more."
Harry grinned. "Well, after that, I spent a week in Rome. Italy, you know? I wanted to sightsee—" he chuckled at his own words, "or I guess in my case, sighthear."
Hermione's mouth dropped open. "You went to Rome? Over Christmas break?"
Even Daphne looked stunned. "A week in Rome? Harry, you had a really eventful break!"
"That was just the start of it," Harry said, feeling a wave of amusement at their reactions. "I didn't just become Heir Potter or visit Italy. I also had the Gringotts goblins restore Potter Manor."
This time it was Daphne who gasped again, her hand flying to her mouth. "Wait, Potter Manor? Is it really back?" Her voice was breathless with disbelief.
Harry couldn't help but laugh at her reaction. "Yeah, it's back. Potter Manor's been restored to its former glory. That's where I stayed for the second week of break."
Daphne stared at him, her expression still one of amazement. "I can't believe it. Potter Manor—back after all these years. That's… incredible, Harry. Really, it is."
Harry nodded, the memories of walking through the grand halls still fresh in his mind. "It's not just about the Manor itself, though," he said, his voice softening with emotion. "Restoring it… well, it gave me the greatest gift I could have ever hoped for."
Hermione and Daphne exchanged curious looks before turning back to Harry.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.
Harry took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words before he spoke them. "I got to meet… my grandfather. Charlus Potter. His portrait was in the Lord's Office, and we spent the week talking—really getting to know each other."
Daphne's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across her face. "That's wonderful, Harry. I'm really happy for you. I can't even imagine what that must have been like."
Harry's heart swelled at her words, his voice quieter as he responded. "It was… more than I ever expected. I never thought I'd get the chance to talk to someone in my family, but there he was—proud and welcoming. It felt like… like I finally had that connection I'd been missing all my life."
Hermione reached out and gently squeezed Harry's arm, her voice soft with empathy. "That's amazing, Harry. I'm so glad you had that experience."
Harry smiled gratefully at both girls, his heart full of warmth. He had never felt this close to his friends before—never felt like he could share such personal details with anyone, but here he was, opening up in ways he had never imagined. And it felt… right.
"Thank you," he said quietly, feeling the sense of belonging that he had craved for so long finally settling around him like a comforting blanket.
The Hogwarts Express chugged along, its rhythmic hum once again filling the quiet spaces between their conversation as the three friends sat together, feeling more connected than ever.
(Scene Break)
A week had passed since the Hogwarts Express had returned them to the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, and life at the castle had settled back into its usual rhythm. The winter chill clung to the air, and students once again found themselves lost in the routine of classes, studying, and the occasional mischief that accompanied life in a magical school. For Harry, Daphne, and Hermione, though, there was a persistent thought in the back of their minds—a plan that had been formulating ever since the discovery they had made before Christmas break.
Now, the three of them were once again gathered in the library, seated at their usual table in a quiet corner, their heads bent together as they discussed their plan in low voices. The soft light from the nearby lantern cast shadows over the pages of the books they had long abandoned in favor of more pressing matters.
"So, we're really doing this tonight?" Hermione asked, her voice hushed, yet filled with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Her usual demeanor of caution seemed to have faded slightly, overtaken by the curiosity that always seemed to burn just beneath her logical exterior.
"Yes," Harry said, keeping his voice low as he leaned in. "Tonight, after curfew. We'll sneak out and meet near the library, then head to the third-floor corridor."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she glanced around the library, making sure no one was listening in. "We still don't have a real reason to do this, you know," she pointed out, her tone slightly chiding. "We're sneaking around after curfew, risking detention or worse… and all because we want to see the Philosopher's Stone for ourselves."
Daphne shrugged, her expression calm but her eyes gleaming with determination. "Sometimes curiosity is reason enough," she said. "Besides, it's not like we're stealing the stone. We just want to see it—get a closer look at something that's said to hold so much power."
Hermione sighed, though there was a flicker of agreement in her eyes. "I know, I know. It's just…"
Harry smiled reassuringly. "We'll be careful. No one will even know we were there. We sneak in, take a look, maybe hold it, and sneak back out."
The trio sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what they were about to do settling in. Harry could feel his pulse quicken with anticipation. It wasn't just about the stone—it was the thrill of the unknown, the mystery, and the connection to something so powerful. And besides, it wasn't every day they had the chance to explore something like this.
"Alright," Hermione finally said, a slight edge of resignation in her voice. "Tonight, after curfew. We meet near the library and head to the third floor."
"Agreed," Daphne said, her gaze flicking between them. "We'll split up now, and meet later tonight."
With that, they each gathered their things, the weight of the decision settling over them like a cloak of excitement and caution. Hermione gave them a small nod before heading back toward the direction of the Ravenclaw common room. Harry and Daphne, however, turned in the opposite direction, making their way toward the dungeons in silence.
Once back in the dungeons, Harry and Daphne separated, heading to their respective rooms. Harry closed the door behind him quietly, the familiar feel of his surroundings settling over him. The Slytherin dormitory was eerily quiet at this hour, and the only sound that accompanied him was the crackle of the fireplace in the common room beyond.
He sat at his desk for a while, pretending to study, though his mind kept drifting back to what lay ahead. The excitement of sneaking out after curfew, the thought of getting so close to the legendary Philosopher's Stone—it was all beginning to feel more real now that the time was near. He traced his fingers across the rough parchment of his book, but his focus was long gone.
Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, Harry turned his attention to Stheno. "What time is it, Stheno?" he whispered quietly, knowing she was always nearby, watching over him.
It is ten o'clock, came the telepathic response, soft and steady, as if she had been waiting for him to ask.
Harry's heart gave a little leap. It was time.
Moving as quietly as possible, Harry pushed back his chair and stood. He grabbed his wand, slipping it into his pocket, and then made his way to the door, careful not to make any noise. The castle was always so much more ominous at night, the stillness amplifying every small sound, every shift in the air. He could feel his pulse quicken, but there was a strange thrill in it as well.
He made his way through the quiet corridors of the Slytherin dormitory, his footsteps soft against the stone floors. When he finally reached the common room, he wasn't surprised to find Daphne already there, waiting for him. She was standing near the fireplace, her cloak draped over her shoulders, her expression calm but with a hint of excitement in her eyes.
"Ready?" she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.
Harry nodded, giving her a small smile. "Ready."
Together, they left the common room, moving silently through the dark, twisting halls of the dungeons. They walked with purpose, their footsteps careful and deliberate, making sure to avoid the occasional creak in the floor or any sudden noises. The halls of Hogwarts were vast, and navigating them after dark was always a risk, especially with prefects, teachers, and ghosts wandering the castle on night patrols.
Every so often, the quiet tension of their sneaking would be shattered by the faint but unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing in the distance. The sharp, deliberate cadence of a professor or prefect making their rounds reverberated down the empty corridors. Harry's heart would leap into his throat, and instinctively, he and Daphne would press themselves flat against the cold stone walls, their breaths shallow and silent.
This time, the footsteps grew louder, closer. The heavy clack of boots striking the stone floor sent a chill racing down Harry's spine. His heart pounded so fiercely in his chest that he was sure Daphne could hear it. He dared not move, not even to wipe the sweat gathering on his palms. His muscles tensed as every second stretched into eternity, his senses heightened as the presence of the professor or prefect seemed to fill the corridor.
Daphne stood next to him, equally still, her back pressed firmly against the wall. Harry could hear her shallow breathing beside him, and though her expression remained composed, he knew her heart must be racing just like his. Every beat of their hearts seemed like a drum in the silence, each one threatening to give away their position.
The footsteps stopped.
Harry's blood froze. Had they been spotted? Could the professor sense their presence, even if they couldn't be seen? His fingers tightened around his wand, ready for anything, his mind racing with escape plans. The silence was suffocating, the suspense unbearable.
After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps resumed—quieter now, growing more distant with each passing second. The tension slowly ebbed from the air, leaving behind only the echo of their retreat. It was only when the sound completely faded away that Harry dared to exhale, his breath shaky with relief.
"That was close," Daphne whispered after a moment, her voice tinged with amusement, though Harry could hear the slight tremor beneath her calm tone.
"Too close," Harry agreed, his pulse still racing as he wiped his sweaty palms against his robes.
For a moment, they both stood in the dark corridor, listening for any more signs of movement. When nothing came, they exchanged a glance—Daphne's lips curved into a small, wry smile—and continued on their way.
The castle felt more alive at night, but in a way that was eerie, almost predatory. Every creak of the floor, every flicker of torchlight seemed amplified in the silence, and even the paintings seemed to watch them with quiet suspicion. The risk of waking a portrait or catching the attention of one of the castle's many ghosts loomed over them like a shadow, but they were careful—so careful.
They moved deeper into the belly of the castle, their steps silent and measured. With every step, the thrill of their mission grew, excitement swirling with nerves as they neared the rendezvous point by the library. It was almost time. Soon, they would make their way to the forbidden third-floor corridor, where the Philosopher's Stone awaited.
The thought of it—the legendary artifact, the power it held—made Harry's chest tighten with anticipation. But they had to make it there first.
Harry and Daphne crept silently through the dimly lit hallways, every shadow and flickering torch casting eerie shapes on the ancient stone walls. Their nerves were taut, their senses heightened as they reached the rendezvous point near the library. There, just as planned, Hermione was waiting for them, pacing slightly but visibly relieved when she saw them approach.
"Thank Merlin you made it," Hermione whispered, her voice low but filled with relief as she glanced around to make sure they hadn't been followed.
"Same to you," Harry whispered back, smiling despite the tension that hung in the air. "I was starting to wonder if you'd run into any trouble."
"No trouble," Hermione assured him, shaking her head. "But I was almost caught by one of the ghosts in Ravenclaw Tower." Her face paled slightly at the memory, but she quickly regained her composure. "I managed to avoid being seen, though."
"Good," Daphne murmured, casting a quick glance down the corridor before nodding. "Then let's get on with it."
The three of them moved as one, their steps careful and deliberate as they snuck through the castle. The weight of what they were about to do hung in the air, thick with excitement and apprehension. Harry could feel his pulse racing in his ears, the faint adrenaline rush giving him an edge as they made their way toward the third-floor corridor.
They navigated the winding passages, ducking into shadows whenever they heard distant sounds or noticed movements from a ghost or passing prefect. The stone walls felt cooler the deeper they went, and Harry couldn't help but shiver slightly as they neared their destination.
Finally, they arrived at the infamous third-floor corridor—the one Dumbledore had warned them about at the start of the school year. The warning echoed in Harry's mind: Stay away from the third-floor corridor if you want to avoid a most painful death.
He glanced at Daphne and Hermione, his own nerves mirrored in their wide eyes. This was it.
"This is it," Hermione whispered, her breath barely audible as she looked down the ominous hallway. The corridor stretched out before them, darker and more foreboding than the others they had passed. It felt different—charged with something they couldn't quite identify.
"Right," Daphne whispered back, her gaze sharp as she scanned the surroundings. "We don't know what we're looking for, but I figure we'll know it when we see it. Something's bound to stand out."
Harry nodded in agreement. They weren't entirely sure what they were looking for, only that something as powerful as the Philosopher's Stone would likely be well-hidden, possibly protected by all sorts of magical defenses. They would just have to trust their instincts.
They ventured forward, every step slow and cautious, their eyes scanning every inch of the corridor for anything out of place. The silence pressed down on them, the tension growing thicker with each step. They whispered to each other as they explored, trying to make sense of what they were searching for.
Suddenly, a faint light appeared at the end of the corridor, flickering and casting moving shadows on the walls. The trio froze in place, their hearts leaping into their throats.
"Quick," Harry whispered, his voice urgent as he gestured toward the nearby wall.
They ducked against the stone, flattening themselves against it as they strained to remain as quiet as possible. The light grew closer, and soon they could hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Daphne, her heart pounding, peeked around the corner of the wall, careful to keep herself hidden.
It was Professor Quirrell.
Daphne watched in stunned silence as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor moved slowly down the corridor, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his wand. He walked with a strange, deliberate pace, his eyes darting around nervously as if he were checking for something—or someone. He came to a stop in front of a door at the far end of the corridor.
Daphne held her breath, watching from the shadows as Quirrell carefully opened the door and slipped inside. There was a brief pause, then the soft, melodic sound of a harp began to play, filling the corridor with an eerie, hypnotic tune.
Daphne pulled back from the corner, her eyes wide as she turned to Harry and Hermione. "That's it," she whispered, her voice filled with certainty. "I'm guessing that's the place."
Harry and Hermione's expressions were tense but determined. They had found it—the place where the Philosopher's Stone was being kept. Now, all that was left was to figure out how to get inside.
"Let's go," Harry whispered, his voice low but resolute as they prepared to take the next step in their daring venture.
The three of them crept silently down the corridor, their hearts pounding in their chests as they followed Professor Quirrell's path. The echo of their footsteps was carefully controlled, every step deliberate to avoid making the slightest noise. They were too close now—too close to be caught when the prize was just ahead of them.
As they approached the door that Quirrell had disappeared through, Daphne, who had been leading the way, hesitated only briefly before placing her hand on the cold brass doorknob. The harp was still playing, its eerie melody floating through the air, but that didn't necessarily mean Quirrell was still there. Whoever—or whatever—was in the room beyond could be lying in wait.
Daphne turned slightly, her eyes flicking between Harry and Hermione, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Are you ready?" she asked, her voice steady but carrying the weight of the decision before them. "There's no going back after this."
Hermione's hesitation was visible on her face, her eyes wide as her mind likely ran through every possible consequence of what they were about to do. She had never been one to break rules, especially not rules as serious as this. But even so, the determination in her eyes held firm. She gave a small nod, her lips pressed together in a tight line.
Harry, blind to the tension in their expressions but feeling the weight of the moment all the same, nodded resolutely. "Let's do it," he whispered.
With their silent agreement, Daphne turned back to the door. Slowly and carefully, she twisted the doorknob, keeping her movements smooth and controlled to prevent the knob from squeaking. Her fingers were trembling slightly, but she focused on the task. A faint click signaled that the knob was fully turned, and with a careful lift on the door to keep the hinges from creaking, she began to crack it open.
The door inched open, a sliver of the room beyond coming into view. Daphne leaned forward, peeking through the small gap, and what she saw on the other side nearly made her gasp out loud.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled the noise. Just beyond the door, a massive creature sprawled across the floor—a giant three-headed dog, its enormous body rising and falling with deep, snoring breaths. The creature was fast asleep, each of its heads resting heavily on its massive paws. The source of the eerie melody was revealed: the harp was playing on its own, casting a magical lullaby over the room, keeping the beast subdued.
But it wasn't the creature alone that caught Daphne's attention. Near the enormous dog, just a few feet away from its massive paws, was a wooden trapdoor set into the floor.
Daphne pulled back from the door, her breath catching as she turned to Harry and Hermione. "It's… it's a giant three-headed dog," she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "And there's a trapdoor. The harp is keeping the dog asleep."
Hermione, curiosity and fear mingling in her wide eyes, leaned forward to take a look through the crack in the door. As soon as her eyes fell on the gigantic creature, she couldn't quite contain the soft gasp that escaped her lips.
"I… I can't believe it," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling. "How did they even get something like that into Hogwarts?"
Harry, unable to see the beast but sensing the shock and awe in their voices, stayed silent, his mind racing. He knew they were facing something incredible, something dangerous, but without his sight, he could only rely on their descriptions and the tension in the air.
Daphne, ever the calm and collected one, slowly pushed the door open wider, just enough for them to slip through. She exchanged a glance with Hermione, who looked both terrified and fascinated. There was no turning back now.
Hermione's eyes were wide as she turned to Harry, her voice a mix of disbelief and accusation. "So, do you want to take back what you said about Dumbledore bluffing?"
Harry paused, remembering his earlier words about how Dumbledore wouldn't put something in place that could actually put students in danger. His heart thudded against his chest as he recalled how confident he had been, how sure he was that it had all been a ploy to keep students away. And yet, here they were—face-to-face with a giant three-headed dog.
"Yeah," Harry muttered, his voice low, "I think I was very wrong."
Hermione shot him a look that said, I told you so, but she didn't rub it in. Instead, she looked back at the giant beast and shivered, her anxiety rising.
"But we've come too far to give up now," Harry continued, his voice steadying as he straightened up. "Besides, wasn't it kind of… exciting?" He smiled, though there was still tension in his voice. "And think about it—if Professor Quirrell was just checking up on this place, why would he need to put the dog to sleep? If Quirrell was supposed to be here, wouldn't the guard dog already know him? Something isn't adding up."
Daphne nodded thoughtfully, her sharp gaze flicking between Harry and the still-sleeping dog. "You're right," she whispered. "If Quirrell was supposed to be here, he wouldn't need the harp. So what does that mean?"
Harry's brow furrowed, his mind racing as he pieced together the puzzle. "Maybe we're not the only ones who aren't supposed to be here. Maybe Quirrell's trying to get to the Stone too—and I doubt it's out of teenage curiosity in his case."
Hermione's eyes widened even more, and she took a step back from the door. "But if Professor Quirrell isn't supposed to be here, and he's trying to get the Stone, shouldn't we… tell someone? A professor?"
Daphne's expression shifted as she glanced over at Hermione. "And incriminate ourselves in the process?" she asked, her tone calm but pointed. "We'd be giving ourselves away. Do you really think they'll listen to us without asking how we found out?"
Harry nodded, agreeing with Daphne. "She's right. We'll just get ourselves into trouble. We've come this far—we should figure it out ourselves." He hesitated, then added, trying to sound reassuring, "Besides, it's just Quirrell. He's harmless."
Hermione's face was filled with reluctance, her gaze flicking between Harry and Daphne. She bit her lip, clearly weighing her options, but she could see that neither of them was about to back down. "Fine," she said at last, crossing her arms. "But only because if I left now and something happened to you two, I'd never be able to live with myself."
Daphne smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "We'll make sure to pay you back later, Granger," she teased, nudging Hermione lightly before stepping forward, her attention fixed on the wooden trapdoor. Without another word, she began walking toward it with an air of quiet determination.
Harry followed her, his nerves tightening, but his resolve steeling. They had come too far to back out now.
The harp's eerie melody filled the room as they moved closer to the trapdoor, and with one final glance at the massive, sleeping dog, Daphne knelt down, her hand hovering over the door's latch.
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