Harry sat quietly in the Thestral-drawn carriage, feeling the gentle, rhythmic sway as they moved closer to the castle. Each dip and rise of the wheels over the worn path resonated through him, grounding him in the moment. Across from him, Daphne and Hermione's quiet, comfortable chatter filled the air, yet his focus drifted beyond the sounds, attuning instead to the energy enveloping the Thestrals. Their quiet, enigmatic presence brought a hum of ancient magic to the air, subtle yet unmistakable. The Thestrals, creatures only visible to those who had witnessed death, were a silent reminder of the mysteries of the magical world and of his own connection to it. He could feel their powerful, raw energy pulsing softly, almost like a heartbeat—a whisper of life on the edge of death. Hogwarts' grounds seemed to hold their own ancient rhythm, something he was beginning to understand more intimately after his summer with the Flamel family.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile as his mind drifted back to his first day at the Flamels' cottage. Those weeks with Nicolas and Perenelle had been filled with more warmth and joy than he'd ever known. For the first time, he had felt a deep sense of belonging—a feeling he never quite experienced at Hogwarts or with the Dursleys. The Flamels' home had become a place he could feel comfortable, loved, and, above all, accepted. The memory washed over him, pulling him into that vivid moment when he'd first crossed their threshold.
The memory was alive, as fresh as though it were happening again. Nicolas had met him at Platform 9, his warm greeting like a burst of sunlight amid the sea of faces. Together, they had used a portkey to travel to the Flamels' cottage, a modest, quaint home nestled atop a rolling green hill in Ireland. The air was filled with the earthy scent of fresh grass and wildflowers, mingling with the distant calls of birds nestled in nearby trees. The cottage itself exuded an inviting charm, its cobbled stone walls seeming to welcome him into their embrace.
As Harry stepped inside, he was enveloped by a mix of scents that painted a picture far more vivid than sight could ever provide. There was the rich, comforting aroma of a freshly baked apple pie—warm and cinnamon-spiced, like a promise of safety and home. And layered beneath it, he caught the faint, distinct scent of simmering potions, earthy and intriguing, filling the space with an otherworldly touch that seemed to settle deep within him. The very air was imbued with a delicate blend of magic, woven like invisible threads through every nook and cranny.
"Perenelle, we're home!" Nicolas called out cheerfully, his voice filled with a warmth that wrapped around Harry like a cozy blanket.
"Finally! I've been waiting to meet this boy for ages!" came a voice from deeper inside the cottage, light and full of vitality. Harry straightened as he heard the gentle yet purposeful steps approaching.
She emerged with a lightness in her movement that defied her years. "Welcome, Harry!" Perenelle greeted, her voice a harmonious blend of joy and gentleness. Even without sight, Harry could feel the glow that radiated from her. In his mind, she was an unusual, striking paradox—her voice carried the spirited cadence of someone half her age, yet he sensed the grace and poise of an experienced sorceress in every step. Her blonde hair, touched with wisps of silver, only added to her timeless presence. A subtle aura of magic clung to her, vibrant and alive.
Harry felt himself relax, smiling at the warmth that filled the room. "Smells like something good's cooking?" he asked with a grin, letting himself feel at ease.
Perenelle laughed, a rich, soft sound that filled the space and settled the air around them. "You have a good nose, Harry. It's apple pie, and it's just about ready." Her voice held a mischievous twinkle, the kind one might expect from someone half her age.
He found himself grinning wider. It was strange yet wonderful to feel so welcomed and wanted. With a gentle, graceful wave of her hand, Perenelle summoned the pie to the table, and Harry felt the rush of magic as if it were a breeze brushing against his skin. It was the kind of magic that was seamless, second nature—casual yet intentional, filling the room with a comforting warmth that resonated with his own growing affinity for magic.
The pie's scent grew stronger, and he felt a rush of happiness—something he had rarely, if ever, felt this deeply. Here, magic was not simply about power; it was about family, warmth, and the simple joys of life. In this small cottage, he felt more at home than he had ever thought possible.
The carriage jolted gently, pulling Harry back to the present, but the warmth of his memories lingered. He could still feel the echoes of his summer with the Flamels, like a soft glow filling the quiet of his heart. Nicolas and Perenelle had become so much more than just mentors—they had become a family, offering him a kindness and belonging he had never thought possible. With them, every moment seemed to brim with quiet magic: from the careful lessons Nicolas shared to Perenelle's laughter filling the cottage like sunlight.
Nicolas had shown him magic he hadn't dreamed existed, theories so complex that they redefined what Harry thought magic could be. He'd taught him about ancient potions, some able to mend curses, sharpen the mind, or stretch life itself, potions so rare that it felt like learning secrets only the elements should know. And Perenelle had her own mysteries to impart. She guided him through runes and wards with a meticulousness that left him in awe, her voice calm but filled with a passion for magic's artistry. With her, he learned to carve runes into the very fabric of his mind, every ward a new thread in the endless tapestry of spellwork.
"What are you smiling about?" Hermione's voice broke into his thoughts, gentle but curious. He could almost feel her watching him, waiting for a clue to his thoughts.
"Just... remembering," Harry murmured, letting the warmth of those memories wash over him a moment longer before he turned to her. She didn't seem quite convinced, though he could hear a hint of a smile in her voice as she pressed on.
"Already ahead of this year's curriculum?" she asked, her tone a mix of impressed and mildly exasperated.
He let out a small chuckle, turning toward her as he answered. "I suppose so. Nicolas and Perenelle made sure I was more than ready. We covered everything, even practiced practical applications. They wanted me to understand how every spell could be used, not just know it."
Hermione sounded intrigued, a touch of excitement lacing her words. "Practical applications? But… how? It's not like you can practice Charms and Transfiguration just anywhere."
"Well, Perenelle thought of that," he replied with a slight grin, sensing Hermione's and Daphne's curiosity sharpening. "She created this space called 'The White Room'—it's enchanted, able to shift into any shape, size, or setting we needed for any kind of magic. I swear, it could turn into an entire forest if you wanted it to." He remembered how the room had seemed to sense his needs, morphing seamlessly from one lesson to the next, like magic itself bending to his will. "It was... like having the world at your fingertips," he added, a hint of awe in his tone.
"And that's not even half of it," he continued, feeling Hermione and Daphne's attention drawing closer. "Nicholas... he crafted this cauldron just for me. Since I can't see, Potions has always been hard, but he made something special to help."
Daphne shifted slightly, leaning in. "What kind of cauldron could make it easier for you? What did he do?"
"Perenelle engraved it with runes," Harry explained, his voice soft with appreciation. "They work like sensors. Temperature, color, timing—it tells me everything happening inside. All I have to do is channel magic into it, and I can sense every change, every reaction. It's like I can see through the magic itself."
"That's... incredible," Daphne whispered, her voice rich with admiration. "I can't believe they went to so much trouble for you, Harry."
"They did," he replied, almost as if speaking to himself. The Flamels' efforts were more than mere gifts; they had given him a sense of acceptance, filling a part of his life that had always been empty. It was a feeling he was still getting used to—a warmth that brought a quiet joy every time he remembered those days.
Harry's smile softened. "But that's not it," he admitted. "They introduced me to a new kind of magic too… Occlumency. They called it 'mind magic,' but for me, it's a lot more. It's helping me organize my memories better, makes it easier to remember things and focus."
"Mind magic…" Hermione murmured, her voice tinged with awe, almost as though she were trying to comprehend the scope of it.
Daphne leaned forward, her expression shifting with understanding. "Occlumency…" she echoed, as if the word held more weight than Harry had realized. "I know about Occlumency," she added. "As a pure-blood and heir to a large family, I was taught its basics from a young age. It's actually more complex than just memory organization."
Harry tilted his head, curious. "What do you mean?"
"Well, Occlumency is only one part of mind magic," she explained. "Mind magic has two branches: defensive and offensive. Occlumency is the defensive branch, designed to shield your mind. And yes, it does improve memory and recall, but its real strength is protection. It guards against mental attacks—makes it nearly impossible for someone to intrude on your thoughts or influence you mentally."
"Defense against mental attacks…" Harry repeated thoughtfully, beginning to grasp the value of what he'd been taught.
Daphne nodded. "There's a reason Occlumency is a requirement in many pure-blood families and for government officials. It's an essential defense, especially in the world of politics and alliances. No one wants their secrets to be easily accessible. Occlumency makes your mind like a fortress; you learn to compartmentalize, to hide things so well even you'd have trouble finding them."
Hermione looked intrigued and more than a little alarmed. "So… it's like building barriers in your own mind?"
"Exactly," Daphne confirmed. "But it's also more than just barriers. Skilled Occlumens can create layers, even traps, in their mind, making it impossible for anyone to read their true thoughts unless they want them to. That's what makes Occlumency so valuable… and dangerous."
Harry absorbed her words, feeling the depth of what the Flamels had gifted him start to sink in even further.
"What about the offensive side?" he asked after a pause. "Is that… Legilimency?"
Daphne's gaze sharpened, and she nodded. "Yes, Legilimency. It's the counterpart to Occlumency, and it's just as powerful, but in the opposite way. A skilled Legilimens can read your thoughts, see your memories, even feel your emotions. Some can launch mental attacks that can severely harm the person they're targeting, like scrambling their thoughts or influencing their actions."
"Like the Imperius Curse?" Hermione asked, a flash of understanding lighting her eyes.
"Exactly," Daphne replied, her voice grave. "The Imperius Curse is one of the highest forms of Legilimency, forcing someone's mind to obey. And the only real defense against it is having advanced Occlumency skills. That's why pure-blood families and those in the government are required to learn it. There's no way of knowing who's skilled in Legilimency, but if you have Occlumency, you're protected."
Harry sat quietly, absorbing her explanation. The weight of this knowledge settled heavily on him, yet it brought an unexpected thrill as well. The Flamels had entrusted him with such a rare and powerful skill, a skill few wizards his age—or even much older—would have.
"So, Occlumency isn't just some extra skill," he mused aloud. "It's… a shield. Maybe even a weapon."
Daphne's expression softened, a flicker of respect in her gaze. "Yes. In the right hands, it can be both."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she absorbed Daphne's words. "If Legilimency is as dangerous as it sounds, why isn't it considered Dark Magic?" she asked, a hint of unease in her voice. "It seems like the sort of magic people shouldn't be able to learn so freely."
Daphne nodded thoughtfully. "I can see why you'd think that," she replied. "It does sound dangerous, and in the wrong hands, it can be. But Legilimency isn't inherently dark—it's the intention behind it that matters. There are many ways it can be used for good, actually. In fact, Dumbledore is known as one of the most skilled Legilimens in the world. He's proven it can be used just as much for good as it can be for harm."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Dumbledore? I didn't realize…"
Daphne smiled slightly. "It's not common knowledge, but he once published a book on Legilimency, where he wrote about the ways it could be used beyond just reading minds. With decades of practice, he's developed new senses through it. According to his book, he can sense emotions without even having to probe someone's mind. He's developed what he calls 'empathic awareness,' letting him pick up on the emotions around him like a sixth sense."
Harry's curiosity piqued. "You mean he can just feel what someone's feeling? Like an aura?"
"Exactly," Daphne confirmed. "And it goes further. He claims he has a constant awareness of ill intent in his immediate surroundings—a sort of danger sense, if you will. It's like he can 'see' bad intentions coming at him. His mastery of Legilimency is so refined that he can sense when someone's lying, even without looking into their thoughts."
Hermione's face softened with a look of amazement and respect. "That's… incredible," she murmured, almost in awe. "So it's not just about invading minds. It's… perceptive, almost like intuition at the highest level."
Harry considered this, a new respect for the complexity of mind magic forming in his mind. To be so skilled, so attuned to the minds around him, and yet to wield it with such restraint. It was another piece of Dumbledore's wisdom and mystery.
As the carriage neared the castle, the grandeur of Hogwarts began to come into focus, its towers silhouetted against the dimming sky. Harry sat back, letting the weight of everything he'd just learned settle over him, a thrill building inside him. The depths of magic, the layers he hadn't even known existed, were unfolding right before his eyes—or rather, his senses. He couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at the thought of what this year might hold.
There was so much yet to learn, so much potential waiting to be tapped. He thought of Occlumency, the shield that he was only beginning to understand, and the idea that someday he might sense emotions or intentions like Dumbledore. Mind magic, potions, the endless complexities of spellwork—all of it felt like a door he was only just beginning to open.
With Daphne and Hermione by his side, and his determination stronger than ever, Harry felt ready. Ready to discover, to test his limits, and to uncover the mysteries that awaited him within Hogwarts' walls.
As the carriage rolled to a stop, Harry's face split into a small, determined smile. Whatever this year had in store, he would meet it head-on
(Scene Break)
Harry's first weeks back at Hogwarts slipped by in a flurry of parchment, spells, and lessons. Yet, despite the steady rhythm of classes, his pace was anything but ordinary. With all he had learned over the summer, most of his assigned spells and coursework felt like review. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions—everything he needed to know was already engraved in his mind, giving him the kind of head start he hadn't dared to imagine.
This left him with a gift most students only dreamed of: free time. Time to study what he wanted, push into areas of magic that both challenged and intrigued him. He threw himself into this pursuit, diving deeper than ever into magical theory and honing his senses, driven by a desire to bridge the limitations his blindness imposed. But as the weeks wore on, he hit an impasse. Every accessible book on enhancing senses had been exhausted, each yielding only snippets of techniques or ancient hints. He needed more.
One evening, he sat with Daphne and Hermione in a quiet corner of the library, gathering his thoughts. The flickering candlelight cast warm shadows across their table as he looked toward his friends, feeling the gravity of his next words.
"I think I've hit a wall," Harry said finally, his voice low and determined. "All the books here in the main library have given me what they can. If I want to go any further... I need to look in the Restricted Section."
There was a moment of silence as his words settled in. Daphne's face broke into an encouraging smile, her gaze lighting up with a spark of excitement. "I think it's a brilliant idea, Harry," she said quietly. "You've come this far; why stop now? Besides, if there's anywhere to find something truly useful, it's in the Restricted Section."
Hermione's reaction was immediate—and very different. Her eyebrows knit together, her expression a mixture of concern and disapproval. "Harry, you know the Restricted Section is off-limits for a reason," she said, her voice low and wary. "Some of those books… they contain spells and rituals meant to be hidden. There's a reason you need permission from a professor to even go in there."
Harry turned toward Hermione, sensing the weight of her concern. "I understand that, Hermione, but I've gone as far as I can with the resources here. If I'm going to understand how to work with my limitations or even overcome them, I need to try."
"Besides," Daphne added, a small smile on her face, "it's not like Harry's trying to brew some Dark potion or cast an illegal spell. He's only after knowledge that can help him."
Hermione's frown deepened. "I get that. And I want you to succeed, Harry—more than you know. But... the rules are there for a reason. Some of those books contain knowledge that can be dangerous, even if you're not intending it."
Harry listened to the two, feeling the tension in Hermione's caution and the warmth of Daphne's support. "I know, Hermione," he said softly. "And I promise, I'll be careful. I'll avoid anything that even hints at Dark Magic. But I need to explore every avenue. If I don't... it feels like I'm holding myself back."
Hermione's face softened, the worry still lingering but her resistance easing. "Just… promise you won't take unnecessary risks, all right? And if you find something—anything—that feels dangerous, come to us first."
Harry nodded, grateful for her caution and Daphne's encouragement alike. "I will. You have my word."
Harry hesitated, feeling Hermione's cautious gaze on him. "But I'm not planning to do it yet," he admitted, his tone thoughtful. "Honestly… I'm not even positive that it's the best course to take. Maybe I should just ask Dumbledore for help—he might even know exactly what I need."
Hermione relaxed a bit, her shoulders loosening as she listened, and Daphne watched him, a hint of curiosity in her expression.
"But part of me," Harry continued, "wants to do this on my own. I don't want to be someone who always has to rely on others to get things done. Not anymore." His voice softened, as if he were speaking more to himself than to them. "I want to have the strength and the means to solve things on my own, without someone always needing to hold my hand."
Hermione's expression shifted, her face softening as understanding dawned. "Harry… I know you want to be independent, and I can understand that. But even the greatest wizards sometimes ask for help."
"I know," Harry replied, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "And I'm not saying I'll never ask for help. It's just… I've spent so much of my life waiting on someone else to give me permission, to show me what I can or can't do. And now that I have the chance, I feel like I should be the one to take that step."
Daphne's smile was reassuring as she nodded. "And you will, Harry. You're already doing more than most wizards our age could dream of. Asking for help isn't a weakness, but if exploring the Restricted Section feels like the path for you to grow… not just magically but as a person too... then it's something worth considering."
Hermione let out a soft sigh, still not fully convinced but visibly torn. "Just… promise you'll be careful, and that you'll tell us first if you decide to go ahead with it."
"I can't promise that, Hermione," he said sincerely. "I'm not rushing into anything. I'm just… figuring things out as I go. But if I do decide, I don't want to implicate you guys. I did that last year, and you almost died. I refuse to put you two in a situation of my own making again."
Hermione's face tightened, her brow furrowing as she leaned in, her voice soft but firm. "Harry, what happened last year wasn't your fault. You can't keep blaming yourself for that. We all chose to be there—we knew the risks."
Harry looked away, jaw tense, his fingers brushing over the edges of the parchment in front of him. "Maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that you both almost died because of me. If I hadn't dragged you into it—"
"Harry," Hermione interrupted gently, her tone pleading, "you didn't drag us into anything. You needed us, and we chose to help. That's what friends do."
But her words didn't seem to reach him fully. He shook his head, his expression resolute, though his voice was barely above a whisper. "Maybe that's what friends do, but it doesn't mean I have to put you in danger. Not like that. I should have been stronger—strong enough to handle it on my own."
Daphne watched him, her eyes softened with empathy, but she didn't interrupt, letting Hermione's words try to reach him.
"Harry…" Hermione's voice wavered slightly, but she pushed on, her tone becoming more earnest. "It's not fair to yourself to carry all that weight alone. We're your friends. We want to help you, whether or not it's dangerous. What happened—"
"—was my responsibility," Harry finished quietly, looking down. "And that's why I have to be stronger. I have to be able to face things like that without putting you both at risk."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but seeing the determination in his expression, she fell silent. She seemed to sense that, for now, she wouldn't be able to change his mind. The three of them sat quietly, the library's soft murmurs and flickering candlelight filling the space as they returned to their books, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them.
But even as they settled back into their studies, Harry felt that quiet thrill of possibility flicker within him, a spark that he knew he'd have to navigate alone, whether his friends agreed with him or not.
(Scene Break)
Harry and Daphne moved through the crowded corridor on their way to Potions, Harry's senses attuned to the usual bustle of Hogwarts: the hum of chatter, the occasional echo of laughter, and the steady footsteps of students heading to their next class. Walking beside him, Daphne filled him in on the latest gossip circulating in Slytherin, her tone casual, but she watched him with a certain fondness that had become second nature.
Amid the shifting noise and activity, Harry remained unaware of a frantic student weaving his way through the crowd, muttering apologies as he shoved past anyone who blocked his path. He was late, and each second was a reminder of the points he might lose for his house if he didn't get to his class on time. Head down, he barely noticed who he was pushing past, only focused on the clear path ahead—which was about to end right in front of Harry.
Daphne spotted the boy charging forward but didn't have time to react. Just as the student was about to collide with Harry, something peculiar happened. Harry's ears began to ring faintly, a sharp sensation filling his head. He felt a thumping sensation—like the pulse of a heartbeat—right behind him, a feeling that triggered an instinct he didn't understand. Without conscious thought, Harry twisted his body, shifting to the side just as the boy barreled past him, brushing by with only a whisper of air between them.
The boy continued on his way, oblivious to the near-miss, but Daphne had stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Harry with wide eyes.
"Did you just…" she began, her voice trailing off. She looked at him as though he had done something miraculous. "Harry, did you realize what you just did?"
Harry, still slightly dazed from the strange sensation, turned to face her, eyebrows raised in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Daphne pointed in the direction the boy had gone, glancing between him and Harry with an astonished expression. "That boy was plowing his way through the crowd, shoving people out of his way. He was about to run straight into you, but then you moved… you just twisted to the side at the last second. How did you know he was there?"
Harry's confusion deepened. "I… didn't know," he admitted, brows knitting. "I didn't see or hear him at all. I just felt… something. Like a sort of ringing, or… a heartbeat, maybe?" He trailed off, uncertain of how to explain the sensation. It had been so sudden, so reflexive.
Daphne's face softened, a mix of amazement and intrigue flickering in her eyes. "So… you just sensed it? Without seeing or hearing anything?"
"I guess so." Harry frowned, trying to piece it together. "It was like… I just knew, for a split second, that something was there. And I reacted."
Daphne's gaze remained fixed on him, something close to awe settling on her face. "Harry, that's… that's amazing. Maybe you're developing some kind of sixth sense," she murmured, almost to herself.
Harry's mind raced, excitement flickering as he turned to Daphne, determination evident on his face. "I want to test if I can do it again," he said.
Daphne raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms skeptically. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"Simple," he replied, shrugging casually. "I want you to slap me."
Daphne's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You want me to what?" She looked at him as though he'd just suggested she hex him.
"Slap me," Harry repeated, a glint of curiosity in his voice. "I want to see if I can recreate that feeling, maybe by focusing my mind with Occlumency. It might let me sense it again."
Daphne stared at him, a mix of concern and amusement evident on her face. "Harry, you're crazy. You really think I'm just going to slap you in the middle of the hallway?"
He grinned slightly. "I mean… if it helps me figure this out, why not?"
She let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head with a hint of a smile. "Fine. But if anyone asks, I'm doing this strictly as a favor." Taking a step back, she lifted her hand, giving him one last look to make sure he was ready. "Alright, brace yourself."
Harry steadied his breathing, concentrating deeply, using the Occlumency techniques he had learned to focus his mind entirely on his senses. He tuned into the sounds around him, the warmth of the hall, waiting for the same ringing in his ears and the heartbeat-like sensation he'd felt earlier.
Daphne hesitated for a second, then swung her hand. But instead of the sensation he was hoping for, there was only the sharp sting and the violent snap of his neck as her hand connected with his cheek, sending a wave of dull, aching pain through his skin.
"Bloody—!" Harry hissed, rubbing his cheek as a low chuckle escaped Daphne.
"Sorry, Harry," she said, laughter dancing in her voice. "I probably shouldn't laugh, but… I couldn't help it. I thought you'd dodge it!"
Harry managed a wry smile through the sting, his cheek throbbing where she'd hit him. "Yeah, I thought so too. Guess it doesn't work on command." He rubbed at his cheek, still feeling the heat radiate from her slap.
Daphne shrugged, an amused glint in her eye. "Maybe it's something that only kicks in when you need it? Like… survival instinct or something."
Harry's smile faded as her words settled in, memories surfacing. "That… actually makes sense," he said slowly, thinking back to that fateful encounter in the chamber with Quirrell. "Now that I think about it… I had a similar feeling in the chamber last year. I was dodging spells that I couldn't see or hear. It was like I just knew where they'd be."
Daphne's expression softened, her eyes thoughtful. "Maybe this… whatever it is, it only surfaces in those moments when you're in real danger. It's instinct, not something you can just summon."
Harry nodded, the realization weighing on him. "Maybe so. I guess I'll have to wait and see if it happens again. I just… hope it doesn't require me to be at risk every time."
(Scene Break)
Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by stacks of books, each one holding empty promises and hollow theories. The books on enhancing senses had been a dead end, page after page offering him nothing substantial to overcome his blindness. Each book felt like a taunt, hinting at possibilities but yielding no answers. At this point, he'd poured through what must have been over a thousand volumes, yet he was no closer to a solution.
He stared at the towering piles with a faint sense of frustration. In his mind, this could only mean one thing: the magic he was searching for was either too advanced to be in the main collection… or it simply hadn't been researched at all. He thought about it—how many blind witches or wizards had ever pushed themselves to the degree he was? How many had ever needed this knowledge badly enough to create it themselves? He realized he might be the first to venture this deeply into a field no one had cared to explore.
That meant if he wanted a solution, he might have to create it himself. And if he was to find anything groundbreaking, it wasn't going to be in the stacks of regular books the main library had to offer. No, the answers he needed were likely locked away in the Restricted Section. He would have to delve into the forbidden magic Hogwarts was determined to keep from the impressionable minds of its students.
He clenched his jaw, a feeling of determination hardening within him. He needed to get in there. The thought was bound and set in his mind. But getting access to the Restricted Section was no simple feat; he couldn't just waltz in and pick out what he needed. The professors held the keys to the gate, granting permission only when necessary. And even if he could find a professor willing to help, he didn't want to involve them. This was his battle to fight, his knowledge to claim. The very idea of relying on someone else left a bitter taste in his mouth. This was something he needed to accomplish alone.
So, sneaking in became the only real option.
Yet, as the thought settled, he realized just how difficult that would be. The Restricted Section wasn't just a gated-off area of the library. No, it was almost certainly warded to the teeth. Harry highly doubted the gate was merely metal; it was likely layered with protective runes and complex wards designed to alert and contain any intruder. After all, it was protecting dangerous books that could tempt even the most level-headed student.
If he wanted to get past it, he'd need to approach it methodically. His first step would be to study the gate itself, figure out precisely what was keeping him out, and understand each layer of its defenses. Only then could he begin formulating a plan to bypass them without getting himself caught.
Harry looked around the quiet dorm room, a glimmer of excitement flickering amidst the tension. This would be his greatest challenge yet—one that would test his growing skills in ways even he hadn't imagined. But he was ready.
The next day, Harry found himself tucked away in the quietest, most obscured corner of the library, carefully positioned so he could cast the diagnostic spells he needed without drawing attention. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the gated boundary of the Restricted Section—a dark, imposing partition that seemed almost alive with the energy it radiated.
He took a steadying breath, focusing his mind and channeling his magic through the diagnostic spells Perenelle had taught him. He couldn't help but feel grateful for her guidance; without her lessons on Runes and Wards, he wouldn't have been able to study the gate so covertly. The spells he used allowed him to map out the magical protections without setting off any alarms, giving him a complete view of the layers upon layers of defenses in place.
After several minutes, his findings began to piece together in his mind. The runes woven into the gate and the Restricted Section's perimeter were complex, a meticulous network of magical boundaries. However, to Harry's relief, he could see that they weren't impenetrable—at least, not for him.
The runes performed a number of tasks simultaneously. There were cataloging runes that kept track of every student, professor, and even animal that passed through the gate, recording entries and exits in an unseen ledger. Additionally, similar runes monitored the movement of each book, noting any time a volume left or returned to the Restricted Section, ensuring every book remained accounted for.
Inside the Restricted Section, another set of runes took inventory of the books themselves, cross-referencing with the runes on the gate. If a book left the Restricted Section and the inventory runes inside didn't register it, an alert would be sent immediately to the librarian. The system was tight—any attempt to simply sneak a book out or bypass the cataloging would trip the security and expose him at once.
That ruled out the idea of just taking a book unnoticed. Instead, he would need to use the system itself to catalog his actions so that everything appeared legitimate. If he could hide his presence through layers of concealment runes on the gate, no one would see him going in or out, nor would they detect the books he accessed. By masking his presence, he could allow the cataloging system to keep working as usual, ensuring the records all lined up without raising any alarms.
But even with his skills, he knew concealment runes weren't infallible or permanent. They would last for a time but would need regular reinforcement. Based on his calculations, he estimated the concealment would hold for about six months before the layered protections would begin to wear thin and leave him exposed. By then, he hoped to have found whatever knowledge he was looking for.
A spark of excitement mingled with the tension as he completed his analysis. Six months would be a narrow window, but it would have to be enough. He would have to tread carefully, move swiftly, and make every moment count.
Harry pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and reached for his quill. The quill, however, was no ordinary one—it was a thoughtful gift from Perenelle, enchanted to read his thoughts and transcribe them effortlessly onto the paper. Smiling, he took a moment to silently thank her once again. Her foresight and generosity had made so many things possible for him, and each reminder of her support only deepened his resolve to succeed.
The quill hovered over the parchment, waiting for his mind to provide the words. He began composing a letter to Ragdrik, detailing the specific materials he would need to carry out his plan. With Perenelle's teachings and his analysis of the Restricted Section's protections, he had a clear understanding of what it would take to bypass the runes and wards without detection. Each item he listed was a piece of the puzzle: rare concealment inks, ward-concealing charms, a specialized rune chalk that could be easily erased if needed—all materials that would allow him to slip past Hogwarts' formidable defenses undetected.
As the quill moved across the parchment, he couldn't help but feel the faintest sense of irony. Here he was, a mere second-year student, going to extraordinary lengths just to access knowledge that should have been freely available to someone with his drive and need. But instead, he was forced into secrecy and subterfuge, navigating a web of hidden protections simply to find answers to his questions.
The quill continued to glide, his thoughts transforming into words. He ended the letter with a polite yet firm request for the materials to be sent at Ragdrik's earliest convenience, knowing the goblin would appreciate the urgency and precision of his request.
After reviewing the letter one last time, Harry sealed it, feeling the weight of the task before him.
(Scene Break)
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet, a tense, buzzing silence hanging in the air like the stillness before a storm. Harry sat in an armchair near the back, his senses acutely aware of the undercurrent of tension. It was the sort of tension he'd learned to recognize, a quiet charge in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Something was coming.
It wasn't long before Draco Malfoy strode into the room, his presence commanding as ever. There was a deliberate air to his movements, a subtle confidence that seemed to ripple out and affect the other Slytherins, many of whom had started to take notice, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Draco's gaze swept the room, as if he were appraising his audience before finally settling on Harry, his expression unreadable, a glint of cold amusement in his eyes.
Harry felt the weight of that gaze and, sensing the change in the room, slowly turned his head in Draco's direction.
"Potter," Draco drawled, a faint sneer curling his lips. His voice carried across the common room, drawing everyone's attention. "It's interesting, isn't it? How someone like you—blind, half-blood, and completely oblivious to the nuances of Slytherin politics—would think they have a place here." He said this with an air of practiced disdain, his gaze sharp.
Harry didn't flinch, didn't move from his seat. "Last time I checked, I'm as much Slytherin as you, Malfoy," he replied, his voice calm, steady. "The Sorting Hat thought I belonged here, and that's good enough for me."
Draco let out a small, dismissive laugh, looking around at the assembled Slytherins as if inviting them to share in the amusement. "It might be enough for you, Potter, but some of us hold higher standards. Some of us," he added, his gaze sharpening, "understand that Slytherin is about more than just a random decision. It's about family, legacy, and loyalty—things you seem to know little about."
Harry remained impassive, even as a few nearby Slytherins murmured in agreement. Draco took a step closer, his voice dropping into something silkier, yet far more menacing. "You're new to this world, Potter. A stranger walking among us, trying to fit in where you clearly don't belong."
"Really? Last I heard, Slytherin valued ambition," Harry said evenly, his tone challenging. "If I didn't belong here, I wouldn't be. That's how it works, isn't it?"
Draco's eyes narrowed, a flash of frustration slipping through his expression before he regained his composure, his sneer returning. "You're clever, Potter. But cleverness isn't enough to keep you safe, especially in Slytherin. Here, alliances matter. Family ties matter. And I can't think of a single family that would put themselves on the line for someone like you." His smirk grew, and he let his gaze shift pointedly to Daphne before he added, "Not even the Greengrass family you seem to love so much would raise a finger to protect you if it came down to it."
Harry clenched his jaw but kept his expression impassive. The ripple of agreement in the common room only heightened the tension, as subtle nods and glances passed between students, the weight of Draco's words settling over them like a heavy shroud. Harry could feel the isolation Draco was trying to enforce, the way he was pressing the issue of loyalty, making it clear that Harry was an outsider.
"So you've taken it upon yourself to decide who's worthy and who isn't?" Harry asked, his voice cool, with a hint of challenge. "Funny, I didn't know Slytherin was a monarchy."
Draco's smirk widened, and he looked around the room as if inviting everyone to share in his amusement. "Call it what you want, Potter, but some families know what it means to hold influence. Malfoy influence." He took a step forward, his voice lowering as his gaze sharpened. "You might come from a family that was once powerful—once. But now? The Potters are nothing. In shambles, with no Lord, no one strong enough to protect them, no way to replenish their fortune. You're living on borrowed time, surviving on dwindling funds with no way to rebuild. You think that makes you powerful?"
Harry's grip on the arm of his chair tightened, but he kept his tone steady, refusing to rise to the bait. "Funny, you keep bringing up 'legacy,' Draco, but I wonder… how much of that legacy would actually stand up if we looked at it a little closer?"
Draco's eyes flickered, the subtle dig hitting its mark, but he quickly masked any reaction with a smug smile. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Careful, Potter. It would be a shame if certain families found themselves… ruined because they decided to support the wrong side." He cast a meaningful look around the room, lingering on some of the students from smaller, vulnerable families. His eyes gleamed with thinly veiled threat. "After all, Slytherins know how to protect their own. And they also know how to destroy those who betray them."
Harry could sense the effect Draco's words had on the room; the fear was palpable, tightening like a vise around some of the younger students, especially those from families that might depend on the Malfoys' favor or, at the very least, the absence of Malfoy opposition.
"Your threats don't scare me, Draco," Harry replied, his voice cold and resolute. "You might have your followers now, but that doesn't mean you'll have them forever. The way I see it, true loyalty can't be forced or bought."
Draco's laugh was soft, mocking, as though Harry's words were nothing more than naïveté. "Loyalty?" he repeated, amused. "You've misunderstood what loyalty means in Slytherin, Potter. Loyalty here is about survival. And I know these people follow me not because they want to, but because they have no choice." He looked around, meeting the uneasy gazes of a few students. "That's exactly how I want it. I put them in this position because I can, because I have the power to do so."
He turned back to Harry, his smile turning cold. "Loyalty isn't about admiration or friendship. It's about strength—and who has it."
Harry clenched his fists, feeling the weight of Draco's words sink in, the air thick with tension as Draco's followers looked on, some with amusement, others with apprehension. Draco's confidence was as solid as a rock, his influence like an invisible grip tightening around the throats of anyone who dared oppose him.
But Harry didn't back down, even as he felt the strain of Draco's calculated assault. "People who rely on threats to get what they want are usually the ones who lose everything in the end," he said calmly, fixing his blind gaze in Draco's direction. "All it takes is one misstep, one bad choice, and everything you're so proud of… it all crumbles."
The tension crackled through the room, and Draco's jaw clenched as Harry's words hit a nerve. His eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of anger passing over his face before he masked it again with a cool, disdainful smile.
"Believe what you like, Potter. But just remember," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "I have the backing of the most powerful families in Slytherin. And that's something you can never change. I can make your life here hell, and it would cost me nothing."
With a final, chilling glance around the room, Draco addressed the gathered students, his tone commanding. "Consider this a reminder, all of you," he said, his voice echoing through the common room. "Allegiances matter. And those who choose the wrong ones… won't be forgotten."
Then, with a satisfied smirk, Draco strode out of the room, leaving behind a silence thick with fear and uncertainty. Harry remained seated, his heart pounding but his face expressionless. He'd held his ground, but the encounter made it clear: this battle with Draco was only just beginning
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