Chapter 9: Express-ive Days
7:00 AM, 3rd January, 1995
Blue Guest Suite, Potter Manor, Oxford
The early morning sunlight streamed through tall Georgian windows, casting long golden fingers across the powder-blue walls of the guest suite. Astoria Greengrass stirred beneath silken sheets, her brown eyes fluttering open only to squint against the brightness. For a moment, disorientation gripped her – the unfamiliar cerulean damask wallpaper, the mahogany furnishings with their delicate silver inlays, the subtle scent of lavender that permeated the air.
She sat up slowly, the events of yesterday crashing back like a wave against rocks. The argument. The confession. The tears. Her fingers clutched the duvet until her knuckles went white.
Drawing a shaky breath, Astoria pushed herself from the bed and padded across the plush carpet to the window. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat. The grounds of Potter Manor stretched before her like something from a painting – rolling emerald lawns dotted with morning dew, sweeping down to a tree line where ancient oaks stood sentinel. In the distance, a herd of deer grazed peacefully alongside what appeared to be a small group of unicorns, their coats gleaming in the morning light. A pair of hippogriffs squabbled over something in the tall grass, their wings flaring impressively before one backed down with a plaintive screech.
"Beautiful," she whispered, pressing her palm against the cool glass. Then the weight of everything settled back onto her shoulders, and her legs gave way. She sank to her knees, pressing her forehead against the window frame as silent sobs wracked her body.
"Daphne," she whispered, thinking of her sister's broken, hollow face. "Mum... Dad..." The words came out broken, barely audible. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the pieces together.
It took several minutes before she could master herself again. When she finally stood, her legs were shaky but her chin was held high – a trace of that pureblood training she couldn't quite shake. The en-suite bathroom provided a refuge where she could splash cool water on her face and attempt to make herself presentable.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in borrowed robes that fit surprisingly well, Astoria made her way through the manor's corridors. The walls were lined with magical portraits who whispered and pointed as she passed, but she kept her eyes forward, focusing on finding the dining room based on Mipsy's directions from the night before.
That's when she heard it – a commotion that seemed entirely out of place in the stately manor house. A high-pitched voice was practically wailing:
"Master Potter, sir! Please, you MUST come out! This is not proper, not proper at all!"
Rounding the corner, Astoria came upon a scene that would have been comical if not for the genuine distress radiating from the house-elves present. Two elves – presumably Timmy and Azel – stood wringing their hands, their large ears drooping in obvious shame. Meanwhile, Mipsy was practically throwing herself against a heavy wooden door, her tennis ball-sized eyes brimming with tears.
"Master is not supposed to be cooking!" Mipsy wailed, tugging at her ears. "It is being our sacred duty! Our purpose! Our honor! Yous shouldn't be cooking! Cooking is for Timmy and Azel!". The said house-elves shrunk even more, embarrassed that their Master was cooking when they should have been doing that. One was actually quietly bumping his head against the wall, though not hard enough to count as punishment.
Astoria's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. In all her years in pureblood society, she'd never heard of a Lord of an Ancient and Noble House cooking his own breakfast. It simply wasn't done. Even her father, who was relatively progressive by pureblood standards, would have been appalled at the very suggestion.
Mipsy suddenly spun around, her huge eyes fixing on Astoria with desperate hope. "Miss Tori!" The elf scurried over, actually grabbing the hem of Astoria's robes. "You must help us! Master Potter is..." she lowered her voice to a horrified whisper, "...making his own eggs and bacon!"
The genuine anguish in the elf's voice tugged at Astoria's heart.
Astoria compared to her sister, had never believed too much in pureblood supremacy. Yes, she would admit that purebloods were often strong compared to Muggleborns, but that was not always the case. Albus Dumbledore was a half-blood. The Boy-Who-Lived was a half-blood. The only pureblood she knew as strong as them was the Dark Lord. So, half-bloods won it two to one. Not to mention, she had seen the brilliance of Hermione Granger, a muggleborn, who was proving her intelligence and proficiency with magic at a level which put purebloods to shame. And adding to that, her mother had always taught her that magical creatures deserved respect and kindness, no matter what other pureblood families might think.
Without hesitation, Astoria bent forward and hugged the small distraught house-elf in an attempt to calm her down. "There, there," she soothed, patting Mipsy's back. "I'll talk to him." The other two elves watched with wide-eyed wonder at seeing a pureblood witch embrace a house-elf so naturally. Mipsy sniffled against her shoulder before stepping back, hope shining in her enormous eyes.
Standing gracefully, Astoria smoothed her robes and approached the door. She knocked firmly, waiting a moment before trying again when no response came.
A few seconds passed, without any response.
She rapped her knuckles again.
Again, no response.
"Harry James Potter!" she finally called out, her patience evaporating. The use of his full name emerged automatically, reminiscent of her mother's tone when she or Daphne had done something particularly exasperating. "Open this door right now!"
There was a clatter from within, followed by a muffled, "Just a minute! Almost done!"
Astoria opened her mouth to deliver a proper scolding, but the words died in her throat as the door swung open and the most incredible aroma wafted out. The scent of perfectly crisped bacon mingled with what smelled like fresh herbs and butter, making her stomach growl traitorously. Behind her, she heard one of the elves actually whimper.
Harry stood in the doorway, his perpetually messy hair even more disheveled than usual and a light dusting of flour on his cheek. He wore no robes, just simple Muggle jeans and a t-shirt, with an apron tied around his waist that read "Kiss the Cook" in sparkly letters that changed color every few seconds. The bright smile on his face faltered slightly as he took in the tableau before him – one very exasperated witch and three thoroughly distressed house-elves.
"Er," he said eloquently, "breakfast anyone?"
Harry's cheerful expression faltered as he took in the distressed house-elves and Astoria's raised eyebrow. He quickly untied his color-changing "Kiss the Cook" apron and knelt down to the elves' level.
"I'm really sorry, everyone," he said softly. "I know it's your duty to cook, and you do an amazing job of it. I just..." He ran a hand through his already messy hair. "I've been cooking since I was tall enough to reach the stove, and sometimes I miss it. It helps me think, you know? But I should have talked to you about it first."
Mipsy wrung her hands, torn between distress at her master cooking and being unable to argue with him. "Perhaps... perhaps Master Potter could teach us new recipes instead?" she suggested hopefully.
Harry's face brightened. "That's brilliant, Mipsy! We could cook together sometimes?"
The compromise seemed to ease the tension, though Timmy and Azel still looked somewhat scandalized at the idea of cooking alongside their master.
"Master Potter is too kind," Mipsy sniffled, while Timmy and Azel exchanged uncertain glances. "We could be starting tomorrow? Mipsy knows many old Potter family recipes that Master might like to learn..."
"That sounds perfect," Harry grinned, then gestured to the laden table. "For now though, shall we?"
The breakfast spread was impressive – perfectly crisp bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs with fresh herbs, golden toast, homemade blackberry jam, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, and what appeared to be perfectly flaky croissants. A pot of Earl Grey tea steamed gently beside delicate china cups.
"This is... quite extraordinary," Astoria admitted, taking a seat. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"
Harry's expression flickered for a moment before he forced a small smile. "My aunt and uncle insisted. Though I've actually grown to enjoy it now, when it's by choice."
They began eating in slightly awkward silence, broken only by the gentle clink of silverware against fine china. Astoria noticed Harry glancing at her occasionally, clearly noting her reddened eyes and subdued demeanor.
"The jam is wonderful," she offered quietly. "Homemade?"
"Yeah, found some blackberry bushes on the grounds last summer. The elves showed me where all the best fruit grows." Harry paused, then set down his fork.
"Listen, Astoria," Harry began hesitantly, setting down his fork. "I wanted to apologize about yesterday – both at your home and at Grimmauld Place. I should have remembered how vile those horcruxes are. No one should be exposed to that kind of darkness, especially not unexpectedly."
Astoria shook her head, her long dark hair swaying with the movement. "It wasn't your fault, Harry. And it wasn't really Father's either." She swallowed hard. "I've often heard my mother how he has changed so much. I've seen how hard he's taken to the attack on Daphne. But finding out about his past, about what he did before 1980..." She traced patterns on the tablecloth with her finger. "I just need time. He's always been there for me, you know? Through everything. And even though what he did was horrible, I want to give this version of my father – the one who reads me bedtime stories and sneaks me extra dessert – a chance."
"Father used to take me mushroom hunting in our gardens," Astoria shared suddenly, staring into her tea. "Every autumn, just the two of us. He taught me all the identification charms, which ones were safe for potions, which ones were just for eating. He was... he was so patient, even when I was little and kept picking the poisonous ones by mistake." She blinked rapidly. "That's the father I know. The one who spent hours teaching me to ride a broom, who read me bedtime stories doing all the different voices..."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "People can change. Look at Sirius – everyone thought he was a murderer for twelve years, but he's actually one of the best men I know. Though he'd probably hex me for saying something so sappy," he added with a slight smile.
"Is that why you're giving me a chance?" Astoria asked quietly. "Even though I'm a Slytherin, even though my family..."
"You're not your family's past," Harry said firmly. "Just like I'm not my aunt and uncle, or even my parents. We make our own choices."
"Hey, since we have some time before we need to head to King's Cross, would you like to help me feed the animals? The grounds here are full of magical creatures."
8:00 AM
Potter Manor Grounds
The January air was crisp and clear as they made their way across the frost-covered grass. Harry led them first to a group of hippogriffs preening themselves in the morning sun.
"Remember what I showed you with Sharpbeak?" Harry asked referencing to the loner hippogriff they had met a few moments ago. "Same principle. Proud creatures, hippogriffs. You have to show them respect, but once you've earned it..." He demonstrated, bowing deeply to a steel-gray hippogriff with striking amber eyes.
"Magnificent, aren't they?" Astoria breathed, carefully following Harry's example. "We learned about them in Care of Magical Creatures, but seeing them up close..."
"This is Stormwing," Harry introduced as the hippogriff bowed back. "He's the leader of this herd. The copper-colored one there is Sunfire, and the smaller black one is Shadow."
They spent nearly an hour with the hippogriffs, Harry showing Astoria how to approach them properly, how to pet their feathers ("Always go with the grain, never against"), and even offering them treats of dead ferrets that Harry had brought in a spelled bag.
"The key is confidence," Harry explained. "They can sense fear, but they can also sense when you're trying to mask fear with false bravado. You have to find that middle ground of respect and self-assurance."
Moving deeper into the grounds, they came across a clearing where several unicorns grazed. The pure white adults raised their heads cautiously, but the golden foals pranced closer, curious about the visitors.
"Oh!" Astoria gasped as one of the foals nudged her hand. "They're so warm!"
"Unicorns tend to trust witches more than wizards," Harry explained, keeping a respectful distance. "Especially young, pure-hearted ones. See how they're all gathering around you?"
Indeed, while the adult unicorns maintained their distance from Harry, three golden foals had surrounded Astoria, nuzzling her hands and pockets for treats. Harry passed her some golden apple slices.
"They love these," he said. "The apples grow in the eastern orchard. Mipsy says they've been cultivated by the Potter family for generations specifically for the unicorns."
Near a copse of silver birch trees, Harry pointed out movement among the branches. "See there? Bowtruckles. They're tree guardians, especially fond of wand-wood trees." He reached into his pocket and pulled out some woodlice. "Here, hold out your hand."
Astoria watched in wonder as tiny stick-like creatures, no bigger than her index finger, cautiously emerged from the bark. Their twig-like fingers reached delicately for the offered woodlice.
"We have about twenty different species of magical trees on the grounds," Harry explained. "Each with their own Bowtruckle colony. They're excellent judges of character – see how they're already comfortable with you?"
Indeed, several Bowtruckles had climbed onto Astoria's arms, investigating her sleeves with curious expressions.
They moved on to a group of what appeared to be ordinary deer, but as they got closer, Astoria noticed the slight shimmer in their fur, like starlight caught in morning dew.
"Stellar Deer," Harry explained. "Distant cousins of the mundane red deer, but they have a connection to celestial magic. Watch their antlers when clouds pass over the sun – you can see constellations form in them."
Sure enough, as a cloud temporarily dimmed the winter sunlight, the stags' antlers began to glow softly, tiny points of light forming familiar patterns.
"That one's showing Orion," Astoria pointed excitedly. "And that one there – Cassiopeia!"
They encountered more creatures as they walked: a family of fire salamanders basking on sun-warmed rocks, their flames barely visible in the daylight; a group of diricawls (commonly known as dodos to Muggles) who kept disappearing and reappearing a few feet away, making Astoria laugh; even a small herd of mooncalves, sleeping in a shaded hollow after their night of dancing under the waning moon.
"The variety here is incredible," Astoria marveled. "How do they all coexist?"
"The Potter family has been maintaining these grounds for generations," Harry explained. "There are ancient wards and enchantments that help maintain the proper habitats and keep aggressive species separated. Plus, Mipsy says there's something about the family magic that helps keep everything in balance."
He went on to tell her about the larger sanctuary as they walked. "The Seychelles reserve is even more extensive. Twenty islands under Fidelius. Each island has been magically expanded and maintains its own ecosystem. There's one just for dragons – though obviously much more heavily warded – and another for various magical sea creatures in the surrounding waters. The largest island houses a research station where magizoologists study and help preserve endangered species."
"Have you visited?" Astoria asked eagerly.
"Not yet," Harry admitted. "But I'm planning to this summer, if..." he trailed off, both of them knowing he was thinking about the growing darkness beyond the manor's boundaries.
They paused near a crystal-clear stream where several clabberts – tree-dwelling creatures that looked like a cross between monkeys and frogs – were drinking. The pustules on their foreheads glowed a peaceful green, indicating no danger nearby.
"The forest though," Harry gestured to the darker treeline, "that's still somewhat of a mystery. Mipsy warned me about going too deep. Said something about 'ancient guardians' and 'creatures older than the family itself.'" He shrugged. "I've learned to trust house-elf warnings."
Astoria had noticed throughout their walk how the creatures seemed drawn to Harry, while maintaining a cautious distance from her. A pair of young mooncalves had actually followed them for a while, trotting along in Harry's footsteps before their mother called them back.
"They're not afraid of me, exactly," she observed. "Just... uncertain?"
"It's the family magic," Harry explained. "Mipsy says all the creatures here have a connection to the Potter line. They can sense I belong here, that I'm... well, that I'm their caretaker in a way. But they'll warm up to you. See how the Bowtruckles already have? And the unicorns actually prefer you to me."
Finally, they reached a quiet clearing on the boundary between the grassland and forest. The morning frost had melted, leaving the grass damp and glistening. All seemed still, but there was a peculiar feeling in the air, like the moment before a storm breaks.
"Here," Harry said softly, taking Astoria's hand. "Don't be afraid."
He guided her hand forward until she felt warm breath against her palm. Her eyes widened as she felt invisible velvet-soft skin beneath her fingers.
"Thestrals," Harry explained gently. "Most people can't see them unless they've witnessed death. They have a bit of a dark reputation, but they're actually quite gentle. Incredibly intelligent too. This one's called Tenebrus – he's the herd leader."
"How many are there?" Astoria whispered, fascinated by the invisible creatures.
"About a dozen in this herd. They help maintain the balance in the forest, hunting any creatures that grow too numerous." Harry smiled slightly. "My new wand actually has a Thestral tail-hair core. Combined with Elder and Holly woods – bit unusual, but it works perfectly for me."
They stood in comfortable silence for a while, Astoria marveling at the occasional snort or wing beat from the invisible herd. The distant chiming of the manor's clock tower eventually broke the spell – half past ten.
"We should head back," Harry said reluctantly. "Need to get ready for the train."
Astoria nodded, her hand dropping to her side. "It's going to be so different without Daphne there," she murmured. The morning's adventures had been a wonderful distraction, but reality was creeping back in.
As they walked back toward the manor, Harry glanced at his companion. "You know, you don't have to go through this alone. You've got friends at Hogwarts – including me. And we can come visit the creatures again during Easter break, if you'd like. Maybe by then they'll all be following you around instead of me."
Astoria smiled, small but genuine. "I'd like that," she said softly, as behind them, an invisible Thestral spread its wings against the winter sky.
At the same time…
Greengrass Manor
Cyrus Greengrass stood silently in the doorway of his eldest daughter's bedroom, one hand gripping the ornate frame as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, casting a soft glow over Daphne's sleeping form. The Healers' potions ensured her rest was peaceful now, though he knew the nightmares would come later. They always did, after trauma.
Her face was serene in sleep, so much like her mother's that it made his heart ache. The bruises had been healed, but he could still see them in his mind's eye. Still see her lying there in that infirmary bed, her nearly robes torn, her wand broken beside her...
His fingers tightened on the doorframe until his knuckles went white. It would be so easy to blame Potter. The boy had forced his hand, made him reveal that terrible secret, that darkest moment of his past. Made him speak of things he'd buried so deep he'd almost convinced himself they'd never happened. The atrocities. The blood. The screams. All to prove himself worthy of the Dark Mark.
But the anger wouldn't come. Not anymore. Because it wasn't Potter who had painted that target on his daughters' backs. It wasn't Potter who had chosen to follow a madman's ideology. It wasn't Potter who had committed those atrocities that now haunted his youngest daughter's eyes when she looked at him.
"Don't touch me!" Astoria's voice echoed in his memory, trembling with fear. " Don't—don't come near me!"
The weight of two decades of choices pressed down on him, threatening to drive him to his knees. He had told himself he was protecting his family by keeping those secrets. But in the end, his secrets had nearly destroyed them.
A warm hand slipped into his, familiar fingers intertwining with his own. Isabella. She didn't speak – she didn't need to. After seventeen years of marriage, she knew when silence was more powerful than words.
"I should have listened to you," he whispered, his voice rough. "Back then, when you begged me not to continue being a Death Eater. And now..." His composure finally cracked, tears he'd been holding back since yesterday spilling down his cheeks. "Now our little girl can barely look at me. And Daphne... sweet Merlin, Daphne..."
Isabella pulled him into her arms as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Her own tears fell into his hair as he broke down, decades of carefully maintained pureblood composure shattering like glass.
"My fault," he choked out. "All my fault. You warned me... the path of hatred only leads to more hatred... and now our daughters..."
"Shhh," Isabella soothed, running her fingers through his graying hair. "We'll get through this. Together. Like we always have."
When his tears finally subsided, Isabella reached into her robes and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "This came this morning," she said softly. "By snow owl."
Cyrus took the parchment with slightly trembling hands, recognizing the Potter family seal.
"The list of Muggle mind healers he promised," Isabella explained. "In Surrey and Crawley. He says they're discrete, experienced with trauma cases, and can be trusted with... modified versions of the truth."
Cyrus straightened, wiping his eyes with his sleeve in a distinctly un-lordlike gesture. There would be time for self-recrimination later. For now, Daphne needed her father. Not the broken man, not the former Death Eater wrestling with his guilt, but her father. The man who had taught her to fly a broom, who had kissed scraped knees better, who had promised to always protect her.
He hadn't kept that promise. But perhaps, with this list in his hand and his wife's quiet strength beside him, he could start making amends.
In her bed, Daphne stirred slightly, a small furrow appearing between her brows. Without hesitation, Cyrus moved to her side, taking her hand gently in his. The furrow smoothed away at his touch, and something in his chest both broke and mended at once.
"I'm here, sweetheart," he whispered. "Father's here."
10:45 AM
Platform 9 and , King's Cross Station, London
The grand fireplace at Platform 9 flared emerald green, momentarily drowning out the cacophony of voices, squealing owls, and rattling trolleys that filled the magical platform. Harry and Astoria stepped out with the practiced grace of those long accustomed to magical travel, though Harry absently brushed a bit of soot from his shoulder.
The platform was its usual chaos of last-minute departures. Steam billowed from the scarlet Hogwarts Express, creating a dreamy haze through which parents fussed over their children, younger siblings whined about being left behind, and pets expressed their displeasure at being caged. A group of first-years nearly collided with them, chasing after an escaped toad.
"Notice-Me-Not," Harry murmured, drawing his new wand in a subtle movement. The spell settled over them like a gossamer veil, causing nearby eyes to slide past without quite registering their presence. He noticed Astoria watching the wand movement with interest – the combination of Elder and Holly woods created an unusual rippling pattern along its length.
"Neat trick," she commented quietly as they weaved through the crowd. "Not standard curriculum, I'm guessing?"
"Let's just say it comes in handy when you're trying to avoid being the Boy-Who-Lived in public," Harry replied with a wry smile, gently guiding her around a particularly boisterous reunion between what appeared to be half the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.
They managed to board the Express with minimal fuss, the spell ensuring they didn't have to navigate the usual gauntlet of stares and whispers that accompanied Harry's public appearances. The train's corridor was already crowded with students searching for compartments or catching up with friends they hadn't seen over the break.
"Do you know where your friends usually sit?" Harry asked, watching Astoria scan the passing compartments.
She hesitated, then shook her head. "Daphne usually... she usually arranged where we'd meet," she finished quietly.
They made their way through the carriages, peering through glass panels as they went. Passing through the predominantly Slytherin section, Harry had to suppress a snicker at the scene in one compartment: Draco Malfoy sat with an expression of acute suffering as Pansy Parkinson practically draped herself across him, apparently engrossed in reading what looked suspiciously like Witch Weekly. Theodore Nott's face could have curdled milk, while Crabbe and Goyle appeared to be having an intense competition to see who could fit more Chocolate Frogs in their mouth at once.
"Some things never change," Harry murmured, catching Astoria's equally amused glance.
A few compartments down, Astoria suddenly surged forward, sliding the door open with enough force to make the glass rattle. The brunette inside barely had time to look up from her book before she had an armful of emotional Greengrass.
"Tori!" Tracey Davis exclaimed, recovering from her surprise to return the fierce hug. Her book – what appeared to be an advanced text on defensive magic – tumbled forgotten to the floor. "Where in Merlin's name have you been? We've been worried sick! Professor Snape just said you and Daph had some 'family circumstances' and left in the middle of the night, and then you weren't answering any of my messages, and my father was about to send her family owl to stake out your house, and—" She finally had to pause for breath, and that's when she noticed their audience.
Her eyes widened comically as she registered Harry Potter leaning casually against the compartment doorframe. "Um, Tori? Why is Harry Potter escorting you onto the train? And where's Daphne? And why do you look like you've been crying? And—" She cut herself off, seeming to realize she was rambling.
Harry stepped fully into the compartment, closing the door behind him and reapplying privacy charms with a few quick flicks of his wand. The sounds from the corridor became muffled, and a slight shimmer appeared over the glass.
"It's... a long story," Astoria mumbled into Tracey's shoulder, still not letting go.
"I've got time," Tracey said firmly, shooting Harry a look that clearly said she wasn't letting either of them leave without answers. She guided Astoria to sit beside her, one arm still protectively around the younger girl's shoulders. "Start with why you're traveling with Gryffindor Golden Boy of all people, and why you look like you've barely slept."
Harry snickered at the nickname as he transfigured the opposite bench into something more comfortable before sitting down. "That's... complicated," he began, then looked at Astoria. "Do you want me to...?"
Astoria nodded slightly, still pressed against Tracey's side. "You can tell her. Trace won't... she won't judge."
Tracey's expression grew more concerned at this exchange. "Okay, you're actually scaring me now. What happened? And where's Daphne?"
Harry took a deep breath. "Daphne's at Greengrass Manor," he said quietly, watching Tracey's face furrow. "She's going to be okay, we hope," he added quickly. "But there was an attack..."
Tracey's face drained of color, her hand instinctively tightening around Astoria's shoulders. The comfortable warmth of the compartment suddenly felt stifling as Harry's words hung in the air. Outside, a group of laughing second-years ran past, their joy a stark contrast to the heavy silence within.
"An attack?" Tracey's voice cracked, her fingers curling tightly around the spine of her fallen book. The leather binding creaked under her grip as she leaned forward, dark eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. The warm sunlight streaming through the compartment window cast dancing shadows across her face as the train swayed gently. "What do you mean an attack? By whom? When? Why hasn't the Prophet—"
"Because they kept it quiet," Harry interrupted softly, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. The late morning sun caught the unusual rippling pattern of his new wand as he turned it between his fingers – a nervous habit he'd developed since acquiring it. The Elder and Holly woods seemed to shimmer with an inner light. "The last thing the Greengrasses needed was Rita Skeeter camping outside their wards, turning tragedy into tomorrow's headline."
The compartment lights flickered as the Hogwarts Express gave another warning whistle, the sound echoing through the corridors like a mournful cry. Outside their sanctuary, students continued to bustle past, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere within.
Astoria shifted in her seat, finally pulling away from Tracey's protective embrace. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her usually pristine robes were slightly rumpled from the tight hug. "It was after the Yule Ball," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle clatter of the train's wheels. Her hands trembled as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. "We don't know why she was there, or if she had been dragged there..." She trailed off, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.
The implication hung in the air like a toxic fog. Tracey's sharp intake of breath cut through the silence as understanding dawned on her face. She pulled Astoria close again, her own eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears.
"I was lucky to have been there," Harry continued, his green eyes darkening with the memory. The compartment seemed to grow a shade dimmer, as if reflecting his mood. "Fortunately, they didn't..." He paused, choosing his words carefully, "go beyond her robes."
Tracey released a shuddering breath, her relief palpable. "Potter, I don't know how to thank you. You saved my best friend's life. I don't know what would have happened if-", she began, voice thick with emotion, but the compartment door sliding open cut her off with a sharp clatter.
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, his platinum hair catching the sunlight like a halo. His usual sneer was replaced with something more complex – a mixture of annoyance and genuine amusement as his eyes landed on Harry. The familiar animosity that had defined their relationship for years was conspicuously absent.
"She would have played right into Voldemort's grimy hands and turned into a Death Eater," he drawled, though there was an edge to his voice that belied his casual tone. The name 'Voldemort' seemed to drop the temperature in the compartment by several degrees. Astoria and Tracey flinched visibly, while Harry merely raised an eyebrow at his former rival's boldness.
"My thoughts exactly," Harry agreed, his wry smile not quite reaching his eyes. The train lurched slightly as it gathered speed, causing Draco to grab the doorframe for balance.
"Should I be threatened by you, Potter?" Draco asked, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his grey eyes. The question hung in the air like an inside joke, though Harry's confused expression showed he wasn't in on it.
"What?" Harry's eloquent response drew an exasperated head shake from Draco.
"Leave it, you ruined my joke," Draco muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He stepped fully into the compartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Anyway, thanks for yesterday! It was quite something, watching him lose his composure entirely. I don't think I've ever seen Lucy's face that particular shade of purple before." His laugh, sharp and genuine, seemed to break some of the tension in the room.
Harry chuckled, the sound warming the atmosphere slightly. "Speaking of purple faces," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I assume you haven't heard about Umbridge?"
"Oh?" Draco's eyes lit up with malicious glee. "Do tell me how our resident pink toad fared."
"Let's just say she'll think twice before crossing me again," Harry replied with a casual shrug that didn't quite mask the steel in his voice. "That is, if she ever shows her face in public again."
Tracey looked between the two boys as if watching a particularly confusing tennis match. "Okay, timeout," she interrupted, holding up her hands. "Since when did you two become..." she gestured vaguely between them, "...whatever this is?"
"After the attack at the World Cup," Draco replied smoothly, leaning against the window with practiced elegance. "Let's just say I had an epiphany about my career prospects. I'd rather be caught snogging Granger in a broom cupboard than kissing the hem of that megalomaniac's robes."
Astoria's face flamed crimson at the crude implication, while Tracey's jaw dropped so far it was in danger of hitting the floor. Harry just rolled his eyes, though a small smirk played at the corners of his mouth.
The conversation sobered quickly as Draco turned to Astoria, his usual mask of indifference slipping to reveal genuine concern. "How's your sister doing, Tori?"
The question seemed to draw all the warmth from the compartment. Astoria's shoulders slumped, her earlier embarrassment forgotten. "She's..." she swallowed hard, "she's still not really there. She just stares at nothing for hours. Harry suggested some Muggle mind healers to Father..." Her voice cracked slightly. "At least the Prophet won't find out that way."
The rhythmic clicking of the train tracks filled the heavy silence that followed. Outside, the landscape had begun to change, rolling hills giving way to denser forests as they headed north. The late morning sun cast long shadows through the trees, creating a hypnotic pattern that danced across their faces.
Harry stood, stretching slightly. "I should find Ron and Hermione before they send out a search party," he said, his attempt at lightness not quite masking his concern for Astoria. The younger girl launched herself at him, wrapping him in a fierce hug that seemed to surprise even her.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice muffled against his robes. "For everything."
As Harry left the compartment, Draco followed, casting a subtle silencing charm around them both. The corridor was emptier now, most students having settled into their compartments for the long journey ahead.
"Thank you for being there that night, Harry," Draco said quietly, his usual drawl completely absent. In that moment, his fourteen-year-old face showed every tired and regretful lines that were present on his face in the future. "You don't know what you prevented."
Harry noticed Draco's new wand as he cast a silencing charm. "What do you mean?"
Draco's face darkened, his voice dropping even lower. "Last time... Daphne turned into something terrible. Her list of crimes..." he shuddered slightly. "She rivaled Dolohov in the end. They were going to give her the Veil, if not for Astoria's intervention. Life in Azkaban was considered mercy." He paused, seeming to struggle with his next words. "It destroyed Astoria, never knowing why her sister changed so dramatically."
Harry's eyebrows shot up, his mind racing through fragmentary memories of encounters with Daphne during his final year at Hogwarts and the Battle of Hogwarts – encounters that now, thankfully, might never happen.
"Cyrus wants his Mark removed," Harry said finally, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken implications. "I offered to help, but only if he tells Astoria everything – every dark deed, every choice that led him to taking the Mark in the first place."
Draco's face contorted between confusion and anger. "Why would you—" he began, but Harry held up a hand.
"Because Astoria nearly cast an Unforgivable that night," Harry's words fell like stones in a deep well. "She was this close to crossing a line she could never uncross. If Cyrus doesn't show her where that path leads..." He didn't need to finish the thought. The image of another bright young witch being consumed by darkness hung unspoken between them.
Draco lingered for a moment longer, his grey eyes clouded with unspoken thoughts, before turning away to rejoin Pansy and the others. The weight of their conversation seemed to settle on his shoulders, making his usually perfect posture slightly less rigid as he disappeared around the corner.
Harry continued his journey through the carriages, the rhythmic sway of the train accompanying his thoughts. Outside, the landscape had transformed into a patchwork of emerald fields and dense forests with snow caps, occasional farms dotting the countryside like toy models. The corridor windows filtered the midday sun, creating abstract patterns that danced across the carpeted floor as clouds passed overhead.
After navigating past a group of excited third-years practicing simple charms, he finally found the compartment he was looking for. Through the glass, he could see familiar faces: Ron's lanky frame sprawled across one bench, Hermione with her nose predictably buried in a thick tome, Neville tending to what appeared to be a miniature Venomous Tentacula, Luna reading The Quibbler upside down, and Ginny chatting animatedly about something that had Ron rolling his eyes.
The door slid open with a soft clatter, and Ginny's face lit up immediately. "Harry!" She launched herself at him, her copper hair catching the sunlight like liquid fire. Harry stiffened momentarily before returning an awkward pat to her back, acutely aware of Ron's narrowing eyes. "We were about to send out a search party! Ron was convinced you'd fallen off the train or something," she added with a laugh that everyone except Ron joined.
"You were with that snake again, weren't you?" Ron's voice cut through the laughter like a frozen knife, his face already beginning to flush with familiar anger. The temperature in the compartment seemed to drop several degrees.
Harry's jaw tightened as he gently disentangled himself from Ginny. "Yes, Ron," he replied, his voice carefully controlled but with an edge that made Hermione look up sharply from her book. "I was escorting Astoria to her friends. Is there a problem with that?"
"Yes!" Ron exploded, shooting to his feet. His face was rapidly approaching the color of his hair. "She's a bloody snake! They're all You-Know-Who's followers in training! You can't trust any of them!"
Harry's expression shifted to one of exaggerated surprise, though his eyes had hardened to chips of green ice. "Oh? Like Peter Pettigrew, you mean? Remind me again, which house was he in?"
Ron reeled back as if struck. "That- that was different! He was an exception!"
"But there can't be exceptions in Slytherin, is that it?" Harry's voice had grown dangerously quiet. The Venomous Tentacula in Neville's lap had stopped moving, as if sensing the tension.
"No! They're all Dark! Everyone knows that!"
What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion. Harry moved with the fluid grace of a striking serpent, his hand shooting out to grasp Ron's collar. He pulled the taller boy close until their faces were inches apart. Ron's eyes widened as he found himself staring into eyes that seemed to glow with an inner fire – eyes that had seen things Ron couldn't begin to comprehend.
Ginny and Hermione had gone deathly pale, their hands frozen halfway to their wands. Luna's usually dreamy expression had sharpened to intense focus, while Neville's face had hardened into something that would have shocked anyone who knew him only as the timid boy from their early years.
"Listen carefully, Ron," Harry's voice was barely above a whisper, but it filled the compartment like thunder. "Stop this childish nonsense about every Slytherin being Voldemort's minion-in-waiting." Ron flinched at the name, but couldn't look away from Harry's burning gaze. "Your own grandmother wore green and silver. My grandmother did too. I know Astoria would die before joining Voldemort, and she's not the only one. The Houses are meant to bring together like-minded people, not create carbon copies of each other."
He released Ron's collar with a slight push, causing the redhead to stumble back onto his seat. "And as for being 'Dark,'" Harry continued, a bitter laugh escaping him, "I know spells that would make Lucius Malfoy's hair curl. So does Neville." He gestured to their friend, who nodded grimly. "The Ministry and Dumbledore label anything outside their narrow view as 'Dark.' Family magic, passed down through generations? Dark. Ancient protection rituals? Dark." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Hell, I cast the Killing Curse just yesterday to destroy one of Voldemort's artifacts. Does that make me the next Dark Lord?"
The admission hung in the air like a thunderclap. Hermione's book slipped from nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Ginny's face had gone so white her freckles stood out like spots of ink, while Luna's wide eyes had lost their usual dreaminess entirely. Only Neville remained unperturbed, his face set in grim understanding.
"Make your own decisions, Ron," Neville's voice cut through the shocked silence, carrying an authority that few had ever heard from him. "Think for yourself instead of swallowing whatever Dumbledore, the Ministry, or even your mother feeds you about Dark and Light." His face had transformed into something harder, more angular – a face that suddenly showed hints of his grandmother's steel. "Harry and I have no love for Albus too-many-names Dumbledore. He's a wizard who's outlived his time and developed a God complex that's cost countless lives. My parents..." his voice caught slightly, but he pressed on, "my parents are just two examples of his 'greater good' philosophy. Following him blindly makes you no better than the Death Eaters following their master."
Ron's face flushed purple at the comparison, but before he could explode, Hermione cut in with an exasperated groan. "For Merlin's sake, Ron! Do you ever engage your brain before your mouth?" She slammed her fallen book shut with unnecessary force. "I've only scratched the surface of Dumbledore's machinations, and it makes me sick to think I once worshipped him. Yes, he fought Grindelwald, but where was he during Voldemort's first rise? He knew Tom Riddle was dangerous at school, knew what he was becoming, and did nothing for decades!" Her voice rose with each point, her hair seeming to crackle with suppressed energy. "He knew it was a basilisk in the Chamber – how could he not? The supposed greatest wizard of our time, who claims to know everything happening in his school, couldn't figure out what was petrifying students for fifty years?"
Ron opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Opened it again, then shut it with a click. Finally, he slumped in his seat, his brow furrowed in thought. The anger seemed to drain from him, replaced by confusion and the first stirrings of doubt. Beside him, Ginny and Luna had similarly thoughtful expressions, turning over the revelations in their minds.
The compartment lapsed into silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of the train and the occasional rustle of leaves visible through the window. The Scottish countryside rolled past, the shadows lengthening as afternoon crept toward evening. No one seemed inclined to break the contemplative quiet that had settled over them, each lost in their own thoughts about light, darkness, and the shades of grey that lay between.
7:00 PM
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
The rest of the journey passed in contemplative silence, broken only by occasional murmurs and the steady rhythm of the train. As dusk began to settle over the Scottish Highlands, the first glimpse of Hogwarts appeared on the horizon – its towers piercing the darkening sky like ancient sentinels.
"Carriages are this way", Harry said quietly to his group walking a step ahead than others alongside Neville. Walking beside the carriage, he gave an affectionate rub to the thestral which was pulling the carriage. He watched as Luna's eyes sparked with realization, while Ron, Ginny and Hermione furrowed their brows in confusion.
"Who are you patting?", Ginny asked with confusion.
"The thestrals", Luna answered with a dreamy voice.
"The what?", Ron asked in confusion.
"Thestrals, Ron. They are gentle, intelligent. They have a horse-like body with bat like wings. They are considered dark, but in my opinion that is just exaggerated because of their uniqueness", Neville explained. "You should have witnessed Death, to see the thestrals", he added causing a cold shiver to pass down Ron's and Ginny's spines.
"That's creepy", Ron murmured earning a shrug from Harry.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tracey and Astoria getting into the same carriage as Draco and the students he was regrettably stuck with. Astoria gave a small imperceptible smile as she glanced in his direction and the supposedly invisible creature he was petting.
"Potter", a silky voice called out suddenly from nowhere. Harry's wand was immediately in his hand and pointing at the unexpected newcomer. The said newcomer was looking at him somewhere between impressed and disdain. Professor Snape materialized from the shadows like a particularly dramatic bat, his black robes billowing despite the lack of wind. "A word, if you please."
Harry, putting his wand back, gestured for the others to go ahead. Hermione shot him a concerned look but ushered everyone into the carriage. Ron looked like he wanted to protest, were shut up when Snape glowering in his direction.
"Walk with me," Snape commanded, though his tone lacked its usual bite. They fell into step together, maintaining a careful distance from the crowd of students. The castle loomed ever larger before them, its windows blazing with welcoming light.
"Miss Greengrass arrived safely, I trust?" Snape's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Yes, sir. Tracey Davis is with her. And..." Harry hesitated, "Draco's keeping an eye out as well."
Snape's expression didn't change, but something in his posture relaxed slightly. "Good. Her sister's condition?"
"Unchanged," Harry replied grimly. "The Muggle therapists should help, though. They have experience with this kind of trauma."
"Indeed." Snape was quiet for several steps. "The Headmaster has been... asking questions about your whereabouts during the break."
Harry's lips twitched upward. "Has he?"
"He seems particularly interested in your new wand." Snape's dark eyes flickered to where his new was concealed in Harry's sleeve. "And in the sudden change of... allegiance from certain families."
"Longbottom and Weasley? Neville's was planned, but I didn't think Mr. Weasley would jump on the train", Harry responded furrowing his brows at the last part.
"That among others." They had reached the castle steps now, the warm light from the entrance hall spilling out onto the stone. Snape paused, turning to face Harry fully. "Be careful, Potter. The old man's chess pieces are moving in unexpected ways. He doesn't like that."
Harry nodded, understanding the warning for what it was. "And you, Professor?"
A ghost of a smile flickered across Snape's face with a moment full of gratitude. "I find I prefer being my own player these days." With that cryptic response, he swept away toward the Great Hall, his robes once again achieving that impossible billow.
Harry climbed the remaining steps slowly, pausing in the entrance hall. The familiar sounds of hundreds of students filing into the Great Hall washed over him – laughing, chattering, the scrape of benches, the clinking of plates. So normal. So peaceful. His hand drifted to his wand, feeling its comforting warmth.
"All right, Harry?" Neville had apparently waited for him. His friend's face was set in understanding lines.
"Yeah", Harry replied, straightening his shoulders. "Snape was saying that Dumbles isn't very happy about a lot of things"
Neville's expression hardened slightly. "We'll be ready this time."
7:00 AM, 4th January, 1995
Quidditch Grounds, Hogwarts
The Scottish Highlands were awakening to another winter morning, as tendrils of golden light crept over the craggy peaks surrounding Hogwarts. The ancient castle's spires pierced through the shifting morning mist like ancient sentinels, their weathered stones gradually warming under the nascent sunlight. Below, on the frost-kissed Quidditch pitch, the magical fog swirled and danced, creating ethereal patterns that seemed to follow two lone figures as they made their final lap.
Their footfalls echoed across the empty stadium, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of labored breathing and the occasional crunch of frozen grass beneath their trainers. Steam rose from their bodies in the crisp morning air as they finally reached the wooden archway of the stands' entrance. Both boys collapsed onto the frost-covered field, their exhaustion finally claiming victory over their determination.
Harry Potter lay spread-eagled on the ground, his chest heaving as he watched the dawn sky slowly transform from deep purple to brilliant orange. His glasses had fogged up from the exertion, and his black hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. The familiar weight of responsibility pressed against his chest, heavier than any physical exhaustion.
He looked up at the slowly brightening sky with a melancholy feeling. His life had changed drastically from what it was the last time around at the same time. He had a semblance of control on his life, and was slowly taking more and more control away from Dumbledore.
Yet it felt to him like his life was in a disarray. He was trying to convert a Death Eater into doing the right thing, he had somehow become the Lord of House Pendragon and he had a sister somewhere on the continent.
"Merlin's saggy pants," Neville wheezed beside him, his face flushed from the exercise. "I think... I think my legs have turned to jelly."
Harry managed a weak chuckle. "Better jelly than whatever they were at the start of term."
"True enough," Neville admitted, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his workout clothes. After catching his breath, he turned his head to look at Harry, his expression growing more serious. "Did you read into the Pendragon book?"
Harry grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on the cold ground. The question brought back memories of countless hours spent hunched over the ancient tome in the library, trying to decipher its mysteries. "Some," he replied, lifting his head slightly to meet Neville's gaze. "Enough to confirm what I suspected about Tűzvirág – the Hungarian Horntail. We're definitely bonded." He let his head fall back with a soft thud. "But after that? It might as well be written in Ancient Martian."
Neville propped himself up on his elbows, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Incomprehensible? But that doesn't make any sense. A book that important..."
"Tell me about it," Harry sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I reckon it's some dead language from the time. Maybe even something specific to the Pendragons."
A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by their gradually steadying breaths and the distant calls of early morning birds. The fog continued its lazy dance around them, occasionally catching the strengthening sunlight in ways that made it shimmer like liquid gold.
"How was Daphne?" Neville's question came suddenly, cutting through Harry's thoughts like a knife.
"What?" Harry pushed himself up to sitting position, wincing at the protest from his tired muscles.
"You visited two days ago, didn't you?" Neville pressed, his voice gentle but insistent. "Did you see her?"
Harry's expression darkened slightly. "No," he said, picking at a blade of frost-covered grass. "Astoria said she's still... processing everything. I left them some contact information for Muggle mind healers – they wanted the privacy, given how the wizarding world loves its gossip."
He paused, weighing his next words carefully. The morning air seemed to grow heavier with the weight of what he needed to say. "Neville... has your Gran ever mentioned anything about Lady Greengrass to you?"
Neville's face scrunched in thought. "Not really," he replied slowly. "Just the usual stuff about her being married to one of those Death Eaters who claimed to be under the Imperius Curse." His eyes narrowed at Harry's expression. "Why?"
"Her maiden name," Harry said quietly, "was Isabella Longbottom. Your father's elder sister."
The silence that followed was deafening. Neville's face went through a rapid succession of emotions – confusion, disbelief, shock, and finally, understanding tinged with anger.
"WHAT?!" His shout shattered the morning stillness, sending a few nearby birds fluttering away in alarm. The echo of his voice bounced off the stadium walls, creating a chorus of his disbelief.
"Bloody hell," Neville muttered, his hands clenching into fists. "She was my father's... my father's..."
"Elder sister," Harry confirmed softly, watching his friend process this revelation. "Yeah."
Neville's jaw clenched, and Harry could see the muscles working as he ground his teeth. When he spoke again, his voice was eerily calm, but there was steel beneath it. "I think," he said deliberately, "that Gran and I need to have a very long, very detailed conversation today."
Harry winced, knowing full well what that tone meant. Augusta Longbottom was in for quite a morning. "Just... try not to demolish McGonagall's office in the process?" he suggested weakly.
That earned him a bark of laughter from Neville, though it held little humor. "No promises," he replied, pushing himself to his feet with newfound energy. "Though I might need to blow off some steam first." He rolled his shoulders, looking down at Harry with a determined glint in his eye. "Calisthenics?"
Harry groaned but got to his feet, his muscles protesting every movement. "Calisthenics," he agreed, recognizing the need for physical distraction in his friend's eyes. "But if Pomfrey has to regrow any of my muscles later, I'm blaming you."
"Fair enough," Neville replied with a grim smile, already moving into position for their usual routine. The morning sun had finally cleared the mountains, bathing the pitch in golden light and burning away the last remnants of the magical fog.
8:30 AM
Great Hall
The Great Hall slowly filled with the usual morning bustle as Harry and Neville made their way to the Gryffindor table, their muscles still protesting from their vigorous workout. The enchanted ceiling above reflected a now-clear winter sky, with occasional wisps of clouds drifting lazily across the magical expanse. The warm glow of floating candles seemed almost superfluous against the brilliant morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the ancient stone floors.
Ron Weasley was already at the table, mechanically pushing his porridge around with a spoon. The usual enthusiasm with which he attacked his breakfast was notably absent, and he barely looked up as Harry and Neville settled onto the bench across from him. The events of their recent confrontation had clearly left their mark – gone was the brash, outspoken boy who confidently declared all things "Dark" as evil. In his place sat a subdued figure, still processing the revelation that his definition of Dark magic had been painfully narrow.
"Pass the toast, would you, Ron?" Harry asked casually, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy.
Ron startled slightly, as if pulled from deep thoughts, and wordlessly pushed the toast rack forward. His eyes darted between Harry and Neville, lingering momentarily on their wands – weapons he now knew could channel magic that would make even seasoned Death Eaters pause.
"Thanks," Harry said, deliberately keeping his tone light. He caught Neville's eye, and they shared a brief look. Perhaps they had been a bit harsh in their demonstration, but sometimes hard lessons were necessary.
Hermione arrived shortly after, her book bag laden with what appeared to be half the library's restricted section. She took one look at Ron's demeanor and raised an eyebrow at Harry, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug in response.
"Honestly," she whispered as she sat down beside Harry, "I think you broke him."
"Better broken than dead because he charged into a fight thinking all Dark wizards were incompetent," Neville muttered under his breath, reaching for the pumpkin juice.
The familiar swoosh of morning owls filled the hall, providing a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable atmosphere. However, the temporary relief was short-lived. Harry's spine stiffened almost imperceptibly as he sensed a presence approaching their table – one that radiated magical power wrapped in a grandfather's benign smile.
"Good morning, my dear children," Albus Dumbledore's voice carried its usual warmth, but Harry detected the subtle undertones of concern and calculation. The Headmaster stood there in robes of deep purple decorated with silver stars that seemed to actually twinkle in the morning light.
Harry carefully arranged his features into a mask of polite indifference, though his muscles coiled with tension beneath his casual pose. Beside him, Hermione's hand twitched toward her wand, stopping only when Neville smoothly reached across the table and squeezed her fingers in warning.
"Morning, Professor," Harry replied, his voice neutral but carrying an edge that suggested he was done playing the role of the naive student.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though the sparkle seemed slightly dimmed. "Harry, my boy, I was hoping we might have a chat in my office later today. There are certain matters we should discuss, particularly in light of our... conversation at Grimmauld Place. I think both of us were getting… emotional that night."
Harry met those blue eyes steadily, carefully maintaining his Occlumency shields. "Of course, Professor," he replied with a curt nod. "After classes?"
"That would be most suitable," Dumbledore agreed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. With a small bow, he turned and made his way back to the staff table, his robes swishing softly against the stone floor.
"Harry..." Hermione started, concern evident in her voice.
"It'll be fine," Harry cut her off gently. "This was coming after what I said at Headquarters. Better to face it head-on."
As breakfast wound down and students began filtering out for their first classes, Neville rose with determined purpose. His earlier anger had cooled into something more focused, more dangerous. He approached the staff table, where Professor McGonagall was finishing her morning tea.
"Professor," he said, his voice carrying a gravity that made McGonagall look up sharply. "Might I have a word?"
McGonagall set down her cup, studying his face with the keen observation that had earned her reputation. "Of course, Mr. Longbottom. What can I do for you?"
"I need to borrow your office later today," Neville stated, his tone making it clear this wasn't a casual request. "I'm having a... discussion with my grandmother, and I'd prefer somewhere private."
McGonagall's eyebrows drew together, her Scottish brogue becoming more pronounced with concern. "Your grandmother? Mr. Longbottom, is everything alright?"
Neville's face hardened slightly. "No, Professor, everything is not alright. I've recently learned some information about my family that requires... clarification from Gran. Rather urgent clarification."
The professor studied him for a long moment, noting how the formerly timid boy stood with squared shoulders and unwavering gaze. Finally, she gave a slow nod. "Very well, Mr. Longbottom. My office will be available after four. I trust you'll remember it's still a school room, regardless of any... heated discussions?"
"Of course, Professor," Neville replied, though there was a glint in his eye that suggested the conversation with Augusta Longbottom would be anything but calm. "Thank you."
As Neville turned to leave, McGonagall called after him. "Mr. Longbottom?" He paused, looking back. "Whatever this is about... do try to leave my tartan cushions intact?"
A ghost of a smile crossed Neville's face. "I'll do my best, Professor. Though I make no promises about Gran's hat."