Chapter 22: You Will Always Know

Harry paced back and forth across the entrance hall, his mind a blur of frantic thoughts. He had to find them—Hermione and Daphne. They had to be somewhere in the castle, but where?

"I don't get it," Ron muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration as they both scanned the empty corridors. "Where could they be?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of anxiety that crawled at the back of his neck. "I don't know. I thought they might be in the library, but—" He broke off, trailing off as they both glanced toward the closed library doors, knowing the girls weren't there.

"Well, they're not in the library," Ron said, his voice a little too sharp. "So where next? I've been thinking, maybe they went up to the tower—"

"No, they wouldn't," Harry interrupted, a sudden sense of certainty creeping in, though he wasn't sure why. "They wouldn't be there."

"Well, where else could they be? The bloody place is huge!" Ron exclaimed. "We've checked all the usual spots. Do you have any other ideas?"

Harry shook his head, his mind still swirling in frustration. They didn't have time to waste. The stone. Fluffy. Everything felt like it was building to something big. He needed them. Needed to know where they were.

"I don't know," Harry muttered. "We just need to think. Give me a second."

He felt the growing pressure of everything weighing on him—the uncertainty of what was happening, the fear of the unknown. But there was one thing he did know. He needed to clear his mind. He needed to focus. It wasn't just about finding Daphne and Hermione. It was bigger than that. The connection. The stone. Fluffy. His thoughts tangled like a knot in his mind.

Taking a deep breath, Harry sat down abruptly in the middle of the hall, ignoring Ron's confused look. His hands gripped his knees, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I can't—" Harry muttered, frustration rising.

"Mate, are you all right?" Ron asked, crouching beside him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," Harry replied curtly. "Just need a minute."

Harry sat down heavily on a stone bench, the weight of everything pressing down on him. It was all moving so fast—this race against time, the stone, the dangers that lurked at every corner. His thoughts swirled in a chaotic frenzy, each one feeding off the other. The stone. The professors. The protections. Daphne and Hermione. His mind refused to settle, and the longer he tried to focus, the more frantic it became.

"I can't—" Harry muttered under his breath, frustration building like a storm inside him. His mind was too loud. There was no quiet. No focus. He couldn't clear it all away. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing on him, and he was suffocating beneath it.

"Breathe. Picture a calm, still place."

The voice was soft, as clear as if it were spoken aloud, but Harry knew it wasn't. The voice had a certain warmth to it, one that he recognized instantly.

Daphne.

It was as if she were right there with him, her words curling around his thoughts like a gentle breeze. Harry froze, every part of him still for a moment as he focused on the calm in her voice. Her presence, even if it was only mental, was a lifeline.

He closed his eyes and tried again. The thoughts were still there, buzzing at the edges of his mind, but he clung to her words. Breathe. Slowly, he did, letting the air fill his lungs. His breathing deepened as he pictured the Black Lake in his mind—the stillness of the water, the soft ripples along the shore, the quiet wind brushing across his skin.

The chaos receded, bit by bit. The buzzing in his head quieted. Slowly, Harry found himself standing at the edge of the lake, his feet pressing into the soft, cool grass. The world around him was calm. His thoughts were finally still. The moment stretched on, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Harry's mind was clear.

Then, the silence was broken.

He heard footsteps, the crunch of gravel underfoot, and he turned. Standing before him was Daphne, her presence overwhelming in its clarity. She didn't say a word, but her gaze was steady, calm. She closed the distance between them without hesitation.

Harry's heart beat faster. The world around him seemed to fade, and in the silence of his mind, she stepped into his space. Without a single word, Daphne wrapped her arms around him in a tight, unspoken embrace.

It was then that the floodgates opened. Harry felt her emotions as if they were his own. They surged through him, overwhelming in their intensity. Pain. Anger. Confusion. They clashed together like thunder, and Harry felt them—the rawness of everything she had been holding in. But just as quickly as they came, they shifted, easing into warmth. Into happiness. Into love.

It was an electric feeling, like a thousand volts rushing through him all at once. Her emotions washed over him in a way that left him breathless, dizzy. The connection was so strong, so overwhelming, that Harry felt like he might lose himself in it.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the connection began to fade. The image of Daphne, the feeling of her, slipped away, leaving Harry standing alone by the Black Lake. He blinked, trying to adjust to the emptiness where her presence had been.

"Where are you?" he whispered, his voice softer than he'd meant. His chest tightened with the desire to hold onto that feeling, but she was gone.

Her voice lingered in his mind, soft and cryptic. "Harry you already know. You will always know."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he processed her words, their weight settling in. He looked around, half-expecting to see her there with him, but there was nothing. The moment had passed.

The Black Lake stretched out before him, the quiet ripple of the water against the shore a reminder that she had been there. But now, Harry was alone. The connection was still fresh in his mind, the emotions lingering like a shadow. Daphne's presence, her warmth, still clung to him in a way that was almost tangible.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. The world around him hadn't changed, but he had. He stood there, his breath shaky, the weight of everything settling into him with a clarity he hadn't expected. He had been so focused on the danger, on the stone, on everything happening so fast, that he hadn't noticed how connected he truly was to Daphne.

It wasn't just the artifact. It was something deeper, something he didn't fully understand yet, but he felt it now. It was in the way he had known she was near, in the way she had reached him when he needed it most.

With that thought, Harry stood up, taking a deep breath as he steadied himself. The urgency returned, sharper now. He could feel it, deep in his gut. He knew where they were.

Ron would never understand how he knew, but Harry wasn't about to question it. He turned to find his friend.

"Ron, come on," Harry said, his voice filled with certainty. "I know where they are."

Across the castle the 6th floor classroom was silent except for the rustling of pages and the occasional scratch of a quill against parchment. Hermione sat hunched over an open book, flipping through pages with practiced speed, her lips moving slightly as she read. A candle flickered beside her, casting long shadows across the old wooden desks.

"I'm almost certain Professor Sprout contributed something," Hermione muttered, half to herself. "Devil's Snare is the most logical choice—it reacts to movement and constriction, which makes it a perfect first line of defense."

Daphne barely heard her. A dull pressure had begun building behind her temples, creeping in slowly until it settled into a persistent throb. She rubbed at her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. Probably too much reading. It wasn't like she enjoyed sifting through endless books the way Hermione did.

She exhaled slowly and tried to push the discomfort away, focusing on clearing her thoughts. Breathe in. Breathe out. It was a familiar exercise, one she had drilled into Harry during his Animagus training.

Then, suddenly, something shifted.

A pull.

It was faint at first, like a whisper in the back of her mind, but then it swelled, an unmistakable force tugging at her very core. Her breath caught in her throat as her world tilted.

Panic.

It wasn't hers. It was sharp and urgent, spiraling out of control. A sinking feeling of helplessness, of desperation, clawed at her chest, tightening like a vice.

Daphne gasped. Her fingers curled against the desk as the sensation hit her in full force. This isn't hers. It was Harry's. She knew it was. His fear, his worry—it bled into her like a storm crashing against a fragile shore.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the panic subsided.

The pull shifted again.

Warmth.

It wrapped around her like a familiar embrace, steady and comforting. A flicker of happiness—relief—spread through her, melting the fear away.

Daphne inhaled sharply. It was overwhelming, like stepping into sunlight after being lost in darkness. The warmth was powerful, consuming. She didn't understand how, but she felt it. He was calming. Finding peace.

A thought, soft yet certain, surfaced in her mind: He's looking for me.

Her eyes snapped open.

"Something's wrong."

Hermione looked up, startled by the sharpness in Daphne's voice. "What? What do you mean?"

Daphne was already on her feet, reaching for her wand. "Harry needs us."

Hermione blinked. "What—?"

"I know he does. Hermione we need to go now!" Daphne's voice was urgent, leaving no room for argument. She didn't wait for Hermione to process what was happening before bolting toward the door.

"Daphne, wait!" Hermione scrambled to gather her things before rushing after her.

They ran through the corridors, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Daphne didn't know where she was going—she just knew she had to keep moving. The pull was still there, guiding her like an invisible force leading her through the castle.

Hermione panted beside her. "Where—are we—going?"

Daphne didn't answer.

They ran down stair cases and through corridors as fast as they could manage. Daphne turned at the next corner at full speed, Hermione barely keeping pace behind her—only to slam directly into a solid form barreling in the opposite direction.

A startled yelp escaped her as she stumbled back, catching herself just in time. Wide-eyed, she looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.

Harry.

The impact nearly sent them both sprawling, but Harry instinctively caught her arms, steadying her. The moment his hands touched her, a jolt ran through them both—something more than just the force of the collision.

A rush of emotions surged through Daphne. Urgency. Determination. Fear. But not just her own—Harry's.

Her breath hitched as she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"You felt it too," she murmured.

Harry didn't answer, but the look in his eyes told her everything.

Ron, standing just behind Harry, threw his hands in the air. "Alright, what in Merlin's name was that?"

Hermione, catching up, looked between them in confusion. "Daphne, you said Harry needed us, but—how did you know?"

Daphne opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Harry shook his head. "There's no time to explain everything. We just found out how to get past Fluffy. Hagrid let it slip—the dog falls asleep to music. And Dumbledore's gone."

Hermione paled. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"McGonagall and Flitwick were talking about it," Ron cut in. "Left last night. So if Snape is making his move, it's happening now."

The weight of the words settled over them all.

Ron turned to Daphne. "We need to go."

Daphne hesitated, her mind already racing ahead to the possible outcomes. "Hold on," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. "We can't just run in without a plan. We need to at least tell someone—"

"There's no time!" Ron interrupted. "McGonagall won't believe us, and even if she does, we'll waste time finding her."

Daphne exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So your grand plan is to rush in and hope for the best? Against an adult wizard?"

Ron scoffed. "Worked well enough with the troll."

Daphne shot him a glare. "This isn't a bloody troll, Weasley—this is a Dark wizard!"

Hermione looked torn. "Daphne's not wrong, but…" She bit her lip. "What if Ron's right? What if we're already too late?"

Daphne's frustration mounted as the three of them started talking over one another, pushing her, pressuring her to agree. It was too fast—she couldn't think. She needed space, she needed time—

And then—

Breathe.

The voice wasn't spoken aloud, but she felt it echo through her mind, through her chest.

Harry.

Her eyes snapped to his.

The noise around them faded, everything else falling away except for the bond pulling between them. And then—she felt it. Not just his urgency, not just his determination.

His certainty.

He knew this was the right thing to do. Not just thought it, not just hoped it. He knew.

Daphne clenched her jaw, trying to fight against the pull, but the bond was unrelenting. She could feel how much this meant to him, could feel the way he needed her to trust him.

For once, her logic was failing her.

But her heart wasn't.

Her shoulders dropped, and she let out a slow breath. "This is reckless," she muttered.

Ron grinned. "Now you're starting to sound like a Gryffindor."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Weasley."

She turned back to Harry. "Alright, fine. But if we die, I swear, I'm haunting all three of you."

Harry smirked. "Deal."

With that, the decision was made. There was no turning back now.