Authors Notes
HAPPY NEW YEAR READERS!
The first book is done, now moving on to the second book, thank you all for your reviews and constructive criticism, thank you all for subscribing to the story, and I hope you enjoy the direction the story is about to head in.
The first few chapters followed the canon events of the first book, but the following chapters are going to deviate from cannon, although they won't discard of canon events entirely, they will still happen, but Harry and the gang will deal with them differently.
I'm also planning to create a discord server where we can all communicate freely, and will post details in the next chapter.
Also, I am working on an original story, and will post the details in the next chapter, and if you would like to support me, as an aspiring author, you can support me by subscribing on my for early access of my stories. I will post details in the following chapter
As promised, my replies to the reviews,
Sykicc: Thank you for the compliment, I'll try to update more frequently
CaskettFan5:Who's to say the Possession didn't do permanent damage to his body, oh and thanks for suggesting the occlumency, really nice idea.
Arrandarling27: Thank you for the compliment, I hope you enjoy the direction the story will be taking.
More replies in the following chapter.
Enjoy the story, and feel free to leave a review if you have any comments or questions; this will help the story get better.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
End of year
Harry and Daphne, concealed under the shimmering veil of a Disillusionment Charm, slipped silently out of the Slytherin common room. The castle's corridors stretched before them, dimly lit by torches that flickered with an ethereal glow. They moved in sync, their footsteps light and purposeful, making their way to the Room of Requirement. Harry had resolved to lay everything bare tonight—Daphne deserved the truth. She had been by his side from the beginning, her loyalty and sharp instincts unmatched, even recognized by Tom, in his own twisted way.
As they reached the room, its door materialized silently in the stone wall, responding to Harry's need. Inside, the space shaped itself into a cozy but solemn setting: warm firelight flickered from a hearth, and two armchairs sat facing one another. Harry gestured for Daphne to sit, and she complied, her eyes searching his face with quiet curiosity and concern.
Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself before launching into the truth. He began with Horcruxes, explaining what they were and how Voldemort had split his soul in his pursuit of immortality. He revealed the chilling reason for the attack on his parents and why he alone had survived that night. Then, he unveiled the darkest part of the story—the piece of Voldemort's soul that had been accidentally tethered to him, turning Harry himself into an unintentional Horcrux.
Daphne's gasp cut through the silence. "A Horcrux? Voldemort made one... in you?" Her voice wavered with disbelief and horror. "Harry, we have to get it out of you, that can't be good for you, it might end up possessing you."
Harry nodded, already prepared for her reaction. "It's gone," he assured her, watching as confusion flickered across her face. He pressed on, recounting how the Horcrux had influenced him over the months. At first, it whispered answers during lessons, a subtle voice at the edge of his consciousness. Then it escalated, teaching him, offering him memories—all while plotting to seize control of his body. It had nearly succeeded, but the attack by Quirrell, himself a puppet of Voldemort, had destroyed the fragment. Harry recounted how Quirrell's Killing Curse had hit him, killing the piece and sending him into a limbo-like space where he had met his parents. There, they had spoken to him, offering love, pride, and an explanation for the newfound power and knowledge now imprinted in Harry's mind. Voldemort's skills, his memories, his magic—all of it had merged with Harry.
Daphne's eyes widened as she absorbed the tale. She stood suddenly, pacing across the room, her expression a whirlwind of shock, anger, and worry. Harry watched her quietly, allowing her the space to process. After a few moments, she returned, her voice steadier. "Part of me wants to scream at you for not telling us sooner," she admitted, her tone tinged with frustration. "But I get it. 'Tom' would have never allowed you to tell us. It could've gone horribly wrong. It almost did—Quirrell tried to kill you. Butt in the end, it all worked out." Her expression softened as she added, "At least you got to see your parents. I know how much that means to you."
Harry nodded, appreciating her understanding. "Tom is gone for good," he confirmed, meeting her gaze.
She exhaled in relief and sank back into her chair. "This is... a lot, just promise me that in the future, you won't hide anything from me, no matter how bad" she said. "Are you going to tell Ron and Hermione?"
Harry hesitated, mulling over the question. "I promise I will keep you in the loop, and I will tell them, but not everything," he said carefully. "They don't need to know about Tom, at least not yet. I'll tell them about the Horcruxes, about Quirrell and Voldemort. But the rest... it's too much."
Daphne accepted his reasoning with a nod. "That makes sense," she said, her voice soft. Then, with a surprising burst of warmth, she hugged him tightly. "Thank you for trusting me with this. It means a lot."
Harry felt his cheeks flush. "I trust you with my life," he admitted earnestly. "This was an easy choice."
Her own cheeks colored at his words, but she recovered quickly. The conversation shifted to plans for the future. Harry outlined his intent to train her, Ron, and Hermione further, ensuring they were ready for the looming war. Daphne, ever strategic, proposed building alliances with other powerful wizards and witches. She suggested forming a group—a counter to the Death Eaters but founded on friendship and mutual support, not servitude. Harry couldn't help but smile, recognizing her sharp mind and leadership qualities. He could even understand, through Voldemort's memories, why Tom had seen her as a potential right hand, though Daphne lacked Bellatrix's madness.
By the time they left the Room of Requirement, an hour had passed. Their strategies felt more solidified, their bond stronger than ever. Returning to the Slytherin common room, they exchanged soft goodnights before parting ways.
Back in the boys' dormitory, Harry settled into bed, his mind heavy with the burdens of his memories. Closing his eyes, he practiced Occlumency, pushing away the haunting images of Voldemort's many kills. The emotions tied to those memories—rage, cruelty, and dark satisfaction—weren't his own, and he refused to let them linger. Once his mind was clear, he allowed himself to drift into sleep, wondering what challenges the next day would bring.
The next day, Harry and Daphne returned to the Room of Requirement, this time with Ron and Hermione in tow. The atmosphere was tense as the group gathered in the magically transformed space, the walls shifting into a quiet and secure setting perfect for their conversation. Harry took a deep breath, the weight of what he was about to say pressing heavily on his shoulders. He began to recount everything, his voice steady but grim.
He detailed Voldemort's possession of Quirrell and the harrowing fight they had faced together. As he spoke, Ron's jaw tightened, and Hermione's eyes grew wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. Harry pressed on, explaining how Voldemort was still alive, tethered to this world through Horcruxes. The moment he explained what "Horcruxes," were, both Ron and Hermione froze, their expressions a mirror of shock and dawning horror.
Hermione was the first to speak, her voice tinged with panic. "Harry, this is madness. We should tell Dumbledore—he needs to know about this immediately! The professors should be handling something like this, not us!"
Harry shook his head, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "Dumbledore already knows," he replied firmly. It wasn't entirely true, but Harry suspected that the headmaster had at least an inkling about Voldemort's survival and the possibility of Horcruxes. He wasn't ready to explain the full extent of what he knew to Dumbledore—not yet.
Ron, who had been unusually quiet, finally burst out, "This is insane! We're just kids! We have no business going after something as dangerous as these Horcruxes!" His voice was tinged with fear and anger as he looked between Harry and Daphne, searching for some sense of reason in this impossible situation.
Before Harry could respond, Daphne stepped forward, her icy composure cutting through the tension like a blade. "I understand if you're scared, Ron," she said calmly, her piercing gaze locking onto his. "And yes, we are young. But remind me—who has already fought Voldemort and defeated him? More than once? If anyone has a chance to stop this madness, it's Harry, and what kind of friends would we be, if we did not help him through this?" Her words carried both challenge and reassurance, and Ron's face reddened as he glanced at Harry, unable to argue.
"Fine," Ron muttered reluctantly, crossing his arms. "But this plan is still mental. And who else is going to join our little gang of Horcrux hunters?"
Harry exhaled, grateful for Daphne's support. "Our friends," he said simply. "We'll look for students we trust who show promise. We'll train them, but only when they understand what they're signing up for. For now, though, let's focus on the feast in the Great Hall tonight. Come next year, we'll begin training in earnest and scouting for allies."
The others nodded, though unease still lingered on their faces. Together, they left the Room of Requirement, slipping back into the busy rhythm of the day. But Harry couldn't help noticing the way people looked at him now—eyes wide with awe, fear, or both. Whispers followed him down the corridors, and it wasn't long before he learned why. News of Quirrell's arrest had spread like wildfire through the castle. After Dumbledore had dropped him off at the Ministry, they had charged him with dark magic and attempting to steal the Philosopher's Stone. The official ruling branded him as an insane wizard obsessed with immortality, but Harry knew better. He chuckled darkly to himself, realizing that the Ministry had likely uncovered traces of Voldemort in Quirrell's memories but had dismissed them as the ravings of a madman. Quirrell was being sent to Azkaban, a convenient end to an inconvenient truth.
Later that day, Harry visited Hagrid, who was wringing his hands in anguish outside his hut. "Harry," Hagrid stammered, his voice choked with guilt. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault—tellin' Quirrell how to get past Fluffy. I never meant fer this ter happen!"
Harry placed a hand on Hagrid's massive arm, his voice firm but kind. "Hagrid, this isn't your fault. This is Voldemort we're dealing with—he would've found a way no matter what."
Hagrid flinched violently at the name, his face pale. "Don't say it!" he whispered, almost begging. "Don' say his name, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes but didn't soften his tone. "Voldemort," he said deliberately. "I've met him, Hagrid. I'm not going to stop calling him by his name. He's not invincible, and I refuse to let fear give him power."
Hagrid fell silent, his eyes glistening, and then he reached into his oversized coat. "I got somethin' for yeh," he mumbled. "Been meanin' ter give it to yeh." He pulled out a leather-bound book and handed it to Harry with surprising gentleness.
Curious, Harry opened the book, his breath catching as he flipped through the pages. The photographs inside were full of life—his mother and father smiled and waved at him from every picture, their love radiating from the images. Harry's throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't speak.
"Sent owls ter all yer parents' old school friends," Hagrid explained, his voice thick with emotion. "Asked fer photos... knew yeh didn' have any... d'yeh like it?"
Harry swallowed hard, nodding as he looked up at Hagrid. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The gratitude in his eyes spoke volumes, and Hagrid gave him a watery smile before pulling him into a crushing hug.
Harry returned to the common room that evening, the weight of the day pressed heavily on his shoulders.
As Harry approached the dungeons, the air grew colder, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. He passed by Snape's office, only to hear the familiar, cutting voice call out, "Potter, a word." Harry halted mid-step, his jaw tightening. Slowly, he turned to face the man he despised, ensuring his eyes burned with pure loathing. If Snape wanted his attention, he was going to get it.
"Professor?" Harry said, his tone dripping with grudging disdain as he approached.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed, his expression a mask of icy disapproval. "That stunt you pulled last night—going after the Stone—was reckless. It could have led to the injury or even the death of three other students." His voice was calm, but the venom beneath it was unmistakable. "As such, I've deemed it prudent to punish you and Miss Greengrass. You are part of my house, and I will not tolerate such behavior. Forty points all together. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Potter."
Snape turned sharply, his cloak billowing dramatically as he strode toward his office. But Harry, his blood boiling, couldn't stop himself. His voice rang out, sharp and mocking. "Not what you were hoping for, was it, Severus?"
Snape froze mid-step, his back stiffening before he spun on his heel, his face contorted with fury. "You dare, Potter?"
Harry chuckled coldly, taking a step closer, his wand loosely in his hand. "Oh, Severus," he drawled, his voice filled with contempt. "I can see it in your eyes. You thought last night was the night, didn't you? Your master returning to power, and you—his loyal lapdog—finally rewarded for your service."
Snape opened his mouth to retort, but Harry cut him off, raising a hand to silence him. Memories surged through Harry's mind—Voldemort's memories of Snape telling him of the prophecy, betraying his parents—and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. "Don't bother. I know everything. I know how you pretended to love my mother, hated my father, and yet, at the first opportunity, you sold them out to Voldemort. And when he dismissed her as a filthy Mud blood, telling you to find someone worthy of your blood status, you didn't hesitate, did you? You just thought you could find someone else."
Snape's face turned ashen, his lips trembling as Harry's words struck home. The usual scorn in his expression gave way to something raw and unguarded—guilt, pain, rage—all swirling in his dark eyes.
"If there's one thing in your godforsaken existence you should truly believe," Harry continued, his voice razor-sharp, "it's that I will make you pay for it. Mark my words, you sniveling coward, I will make you pay."
Snape's fury boiled over, his hand darting for his wand, but Harry was faster. Fueled by Voldemort's power and memories, Harry flicked his wand with practiced ease. A brilliant silver explosion erupted between them, sending Snape hurtling backward. He crashed into the office wall with a resounding thud, crumpling to the floor, stunned, his wand clattering uselessly beside him.
Harry stepped into the office, his movements deliberate and calm, exuding an unsettling confidence. With a casual wave of his wand, Snape groaned and regained consciousness, blinking blearily up at him.
"They'll expel you for this, Potter," Snape rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of fury and fear. "You attacked a teacher."
Harry crouched beside him, his emerald eyes glinting dangerously. In one swift motion, he grabbed Snape's wrist and yanked up the sleeve of his robes, exposing the dark, writhing mark etched into his skin. Snape flinched; his shock evident as Harry held his arm aloft.
"And tell me, professor," Harry said, his tone mockingly sweet, "who do you think they'll believe? Me—or a branded Death Eater?" His voice hardened, every word a hammer blow. "Dumbledore might trust you, but I don't. Step out of line, do anything—anything—that screams Death Eater, and I will be the last person you see before you join your buddy Quirrell, in Azkaban. Don't doubt me, Snape. Quirrell already learned that the hard way."
Snape's breath hitched; his anger now tinged with unmistakable fear. He hadn't expected Harry to be so cold, so calculating, so... dangerous. His eyes darted to Harry's hand, then back to his face, and reluctantly, he gave a stiff nod.
Harry straightened, but not before delivering one final ultimatum. "One last thing," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Unless it's absolutely necessary for your duties, leave my friends alone. Stop harassing them."
With that, Harry rose to his full height, towering over the shaken professor. He smirked, a dark satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, professor."
He turned on his heel and strode out of the office without a backward glance, leaving Snape slumped on the floor, visibly shaken and uncharacteristically silent.
The walk to the Slytherin common room was short, but to Harry, it stretched on endlessly. His mind replayed fragments of Voldemort's memories, each one sharper and more vivid than the last. The thrill Voldemort had felt when his favored servant brought him the prophecy—the intoxicating triumph coursing through the Dark Lord—was now imprinted on Harry's consciousness. He clenched his fists, his jaw tight with anger. This was the man Dumbledore had chosen to trust. Harry swore silently that he wouldn't make the same mistake. If Dumbledore believed that putting faith in someone like Snape was the way to win this war, then Harry knew they'd have to fight it on their own terms.
By the time he reached the common room, the fire in his chest had cooled to a simmer. Daphne was waiting for him, her expression calm but curious as she studied his tense demeanor. Without a word, the two of them set off for the Great Hall, the quiet understanding between them unspoken but tangible.
When they entered the Great Hall, it was awash in Gryffindor crimson and gold, the banners glowing warmly under the enchanted ceiling. The Gryffindors' jubilation at winning the House Cup for the first time in seven years filled the room like a tangible force. Harry and Daphne stepped in, and for a moment, the entire hall went silent, heads swiveling toward the unlikely pair. Then, as if on cue, the students erupted into loud whispers and chatter, some even standing to get a better look.
Unbothered, Harry made his way to the Slytherin table and sat down beside Daphne. Harry leaned in, beginning an animated conversation with her, the curious gazes from every direction failing to faze either of them. Daphne ignored the other students, her poise impeccable, though her eyes flickered with annoyance at the staring students.
Thankfully, moments later, Dumbledore arrived, his towering presence silencing the room without a word. The chatter died down as the headmaster beamed at the gathered students.
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore began, his tone warm and cheerful, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into this delicious feast. What a year it has been! I do hope your heads are a little fuller than they were at the start… though, of course, you have the whole summer ahead to empty them again."
A ripple of laughter swept through the hall, though the Slytherin table remained mostly quiet, their sharp gazes fixed on the headmaster.
"Now," Dumbledore continued, "as I understand it, the House Cup needs awarding. The points stand thus: in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; in third place, Slytherin, with four hundred and two points; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six points; and Gryffindor, with four hundred and sixty-two points."
The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, stamping their feet and banging goblets on the table in victory. Across the room, Harry spotted the Weasley twins hammering their goblets with such enthusiasm he thought they might shatter. Harry couldn't help but smile. Despite his newfound loyalty to Slytherin, he was happy for them—though a small part of him ached for what might have been. Malfoy's and Harry's detentions had cost Slytherin valuable points, leaving them far from victory.
Dumbledore raised a hand, and the noise died down. "Yes, yes, well done, Gryffindor," he said with a smile. "However, recent events must be taken into account."
The hall went deathly silent. The Gryffindors' triumphant grins faltered, curiosity and uncertainty replacing their earlier jubilation.
"Ahem," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see… yes. First—to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"
All eyes turned to Ron, whose face turned an alarming shade of purple. He looked as if he might explode from embarrassment.
"…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."
The Gryffindor table roared with approval, the enchanted ceiling above them shimmering in response to the outburst. Ron ducked his head, his ears burning as his housemates cheered his name.
Dumbledore waited for the noise to settle before continuing. "Second—to Miss Greengrass… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Slytherin House fifty points."
Daphne froze, her usually composed expression faltering as her mouth fell open slightly. For a beat, she simply stared at the headmaster, as if unsure she'd heard correctly. Then, at the Slytherin table, a ripple of excitement broke through the previously subdued students. The glimmer of hope was enough to straighten their postures and reignite their pride.
"Third—to Miss Granger… for her quick wit and action under duress, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione buried her face in her arms, clearly overwhelmed. Harry could see her shoulders shaking and suspected she was crying—though, given the joyous chaos around her, it was hard to tell. The Gryffindors were beside themselves, cheering and clapping as they solidified their lead.
"Lastly," Dumbledore said, his voice cutting through the noise, "to Mr. Harry Potter…"
The room stilled; the air thick with tension. Every pair of eyes fixed on Harry, their faces a mixture of curiosity, awe, and, in some cases, resentment. Harry felt the weight of their stares but met them head-on, his expression calm and unwavering.
"For pure nerve, outstanding cunning and courage, and the capture of a dark wizard, I award Slytherin House one hundred and twenty points."
The silence stretched for a heartbeat longer, and then the Slytherin table erupted in triumphant cheers. Students who had been subdued all evening were now on their feet, clapping and shouting with pride. Daphne turned to Harry; her usual composure replaced with a rare, genuine smile. Harry allowed himself a small smirk, satisfaction warming him as he glanced toward the Gryffindor table. Their lead was gone.
The Great Hall was alive with a cacophony of applause and cheers, the thunderous sound reverberating off the enchanted ceiling. The air buzzed with excitement as Slytherin reclaimed its position at the top of the House Cup rankings, their victory solidified for the seventh consecutive year.
Dumbledore's voice cut through the din, clear and commanding, yet laced with his trademark warmth. "Which means," he said, his eyes twinkling as he looked around the hall, "we need a little change of decoration." He clapped his hands together sharply, the sound echoing like a crack of lightning.
In a heartbeat, the scarlet and gold banners of Gryffindor transformed into rich emerald and gleaming silver. The massive Gryffindor lion emblazoned on the wall shimmered and dissolved, replaced by a massive serpent coiled menacingly, its emerald scales glittering in the torchlight. Gasps rippled through the hall, followed by a mix of groans and cheers.
At the staff table, Professor Snape rose and extended his hand to Professor McGonagall. His smile was stiff and unnatural, a thin veneer over simmering irritation. McGonagall shook his hand with a calm, polite nod, though her sharp eyes betrayed a hint of annoyance. Snape's gaze flickered to Harry, and their eyes met briefly. Harry could see the complex brew of emotions in his professor's expression: hatred, resentment, and something new—fear. Harry's lips curled into a faint, confident smile. Snape's fear didn't faze him in the slightest.
Harry allowed himself a moment of triumph, basking in the vibrant energy of the hall. This was a night he would never forget. The joy coursing through him was a heady mix of pride and satisfaction, outshining even his best Quidditch victories or Christmas mornings. Life at Hogwarts might never be ordinary, but tonight was as close to perfect as he could imagine.
The exams were still a looming reality, and soon, the results arrived. As expected, Harry's name dominated the rankings. He had scored the highest marks in nearly every subject except Herbology. Daphne and Hermione tied for second place overall, with Daphne narrowly edging out Hermione in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms. Ron, much to his own surprise, secured a respectable fifth place. Even Goyle, to Ron's dismay, managed to pass his exams, ensuring he wouldn't be expelled.
Snape approached the Slytherin table, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he handed report cards to Harry and Daphne. His silence was strange, almost unnerving, as though he were deliberately avoiding them. Daphne raised an eyebrow, whispering to Harry, "Snape's acting odd. Do you think he's avoiding us?"
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe he's finally decided to drop the grudge," he replied, though he didn't believe it for a second, and knew Snape was following his order.
Professor McGonagall's brisk steps interrupted their conversation. She made her way from the Gryffindor table, report cards in hand, and stopped before Harry and Daphne. Her stern face softened into a rare smile. "Outstanding work," she said, her voice tinged with pride. "I haven't seen marks like these in years. Keep it up." Her gaze lingered on Harry, full of unspoken encouragement, before she turned back to her duties.
The final days of term passed in a blur, and soon the Hogwarts Express stood waiting at Hogsmeade Station, its steam billowing into the summer sky. Harry, Daphne, Ron, and Hermione found a compartment together, their trunks neatly stowed away as the train chugged to life. The scenery outside transformed into a rolling panorama of green fields and distant towns.
Harry leaned back in his seat, his thoughts already turning to the summer ahead. He had plans—ambitious ones. First, he needed to remove the Trace, and he had Voldemort's own knowledge to guide him. Then, he intended to master spells that Voldemort had deemed unworthy, spells that could be invaluable in the coming war. Foremost on his list was the Patronus Charm. He knew Voldemort would ally with the Dementors, and he would need every tool in his arsenal to counter them. The holidays would be far from restful, but Harry felt invigorated, his resolve unshakable.
As the train pulled into King's Cross Station, the bustling crowd of Muggle and wizard families filled the platform. A wizened guard stood at the barrier, letting students pass through in small groups to avoid alarming the Muggles.
"You've got to visit this summer," Ron said earnestly, his freckled face lighting up. "All three of you. I'll send you an owl."
"Thanks," Harry replied with a smile. "I'll need something to look forward to."
The group moved toward the gateway, the sounds of laughter and goodbyes surrounding them. Students called out as they passed. "Bye, Potter!" "See you, Potter!"
Ron grinned at him. "Your fame's growing."
Harry smirked. "Not where I'm going, it isn't," he said, his tone carrying a quiet determination.
Together, Harry, Daphne, Ron, and Hermione stepped through the barrier, vanishing into the Muggle world beyond.
"There he is, Mom! Look, there he is!"
Ginny Weasley's voice rang out, shrill with excitement, as she tugged on her mother's robes. Her freckled face was alight with pure glee, and her wide eyes were locked onto Harry Potter, not her older brother. She jabbed a finger in Harry's direction, squealing, "Harry Potter! Look, Mom, it's really him!"
"Be quiet, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley chided gently, her tone firm but amused. "And it's rude to point." Despite her words, a warm smile spread across her face as she looked at Harry.
"Busy year?" she asked kindly, her eyes filled with maternal concern.
"Very," Harry admitted with a polite nod, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh, it was nothing, dear," she said with a wave of her hand, her expression softening further.
Before Harry could say more, Daphne's parents approached, accompanied by her younger sister, Astoria. The young girl was practically bouncing on her toes, her excitement mirroring Ginny's. "Mommy! It's him! It's him!" Astoria cried, her high-pitched voice drawing attention from passersby. "Daphne wasn't lying! They really are friends!"
"Hush, dear," Eurydice Greengrass said gently, resting a calming hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You're drawing attention to yourself."
As the family neared, Daphne stepped forward and made the introductions. "Harry, these are my parents, Alastair and Eurydice Greengrass," she said, gesturing to them.
Alastair was a man of average height, with short brown hair and a slightly round build. His presence was calm and unassuming. Beside him, Eurydice was stunningly beautiful, her golden hair framing an elegant face. Harry could see clearly where Daphne had inherited her striking looks. Astoria, younger and smaller, shared her sister's blonde hair and delicate beauty.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass," Harry said politely, shaking their hands.
The Weasleys and the Greengrasses began chatting amiably, and Alastair turned his attention to Harry. His tone was equal parts congratulatory and concerned. "That was quite the feat, capturing Quirrell," he said, his brow furrowing slightly. "But, Harry, you must understand how dangerous that was. No matter how gifted you are as a wizard, you need to exercise caution."
Arthur Weasley chimed in with a similar sentiment, though his voice carried a touch more awe. Harry nodded politely, hiding a small chuckle in his head. If they had any idea what he planned for the holidays, they would surely lose their minds. He could almost see the uproar it would cause, and the thought amused him.
The conversation carried on as the group moved toward the exit. The hum of the bustling station surrounded them until an abrupt, gruff voice cut through the noise.
"Ready, are you?"
Uncle Vernon stood there, his face still an alarming shade of purple, his walrus-like mustache twitching with irritation. His small, beady eyes fixed on Harry with a mix of disdain and impatience. He glanced pointedly at the owl cage in Harry's hand, then around at the crowd of oblivious Muggles.
Behind him, Aunt Petunia hovered nervously, her thin face stretched into an uneasy grimace. Dudley stood beside her, a trembling mound of fear, his piggy eyes darting toward Harry as though he expected something dreadful to happen at any moment.
"You must be Harry's family!" Mrs. Weasley said, her tone warm but tinged with curiosity as she took in their tense postures.
"In a manner of speaking," Vernon grunted dismissively, his upper lip curling. "Hurry up, boy. We haven't got all day." Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and marched away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the station.
Harry lingered, turning back to his friends for a final farewell. "See you over the summer, then," he said.
Daphne and Hermione stepped forward, pulling him into brief, affectionate hugs. Ron grinned and offered a fist bump, which Harry returned.
"Hope you have—er—a good holiday," Hermione said tentatively, her worried eyes flitting to Uncle Vernon's retreating back. She seemed appalled that anyone could be so unpleasant.
"Oh, I will," Harry replied, his grin widening. There was something unshakable in his tone, a certainty that radiated confidence.
His friends looked at him in surprise, but Harry was already lost in his thoughts. This was the beginning of something new—something exhilarating. For the first time, he felt truly free, unbound by the constraints of his past. His mind brimmed with plans for the summer, a crusade for justice forming in his heart.
As he turned to follow his uncle, Harry couldn't help but smile. His real journey was only just beginning.