THREE
The torches along the castle corridors cast long shadows against the stone walls as Harry walked back from Professor Vector's extra Arithmancy class. While technically Hermione was the only one taking Arithmancy—Ron and him had been roped into joining her study session because of the importance of "expanding their magical knowledge."
He was never going to fall for that again. He actually felt like his head was about to explode. Magic was one thing, but advanced math was quite another.
The evening air was crisp, seeping through the castle's ancient windows and making their robes flutter slightly as they walked. It was a welcome change to the stuffy classroom he'd been forced to sit in for the past hour and a half, and Harry savored the fresh air that cleared his mind.
Through the towering windows, he could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance, its golden hoops gleaming in the last rays of sunset. The sight made his fingers itch for his broomstick, and he could almost feel the phantom sensation of wind rushing through his hair. He'd missed today's practice thanks to the extra class. Ginny probably wouldn't let him hear the end of this for days, but Hermione had somehow gotten him and Ron to agree to at least check out the class. She said there was a great difference between their previous Arithmancy classes and these higher ones.
Harry felt that the difference was that he was forced to attend one while he could avoid the other for the rest of his life.
As he thoughts turned back to their practices, a small part of him was worried about the safety. Several weeks had passed by since the incident with nothing else dangerous around Hogwarts. Hopefully, the attack on Emma was nothing more than someone's stupid idea of a prank.
However, the missed practice weighed on him like a physical thing, especially with their upcoming match against Ravenclaw looming on the horizon.
"Blimey, I can't believe we missed practice for numbers," Ron grumbled, his footsteps echoing off the walls. "Wood would've had our heads for this back in the day."
Harry adjusted his glasses, suppressing a yawn. "At least Wood isn't here to give us one of his legendary speeches about dedication and sacrifice. Swear they were lamer than Sprouts classes at times. And they were about Quidditch!"
"The worst part," Ron agreed.
The torchlight caught the newly polished stone of the reconstructed walls. Harry felt the familiar tightness in his chest whenever he passed these sections of the castle, but he pushed the feeling aside. The sound of students laughing and chattering around them helped ground him in the present—this was Hogwarts as it should be, full of life and learning, not death and destruction.
Hermione huffed, clutching her heavily annotated copy of Advanced Arithmetic Theory to her chest.
"Well, I think it's wonderful that you're both taking an interest in additional magical theory. NEWTs are only—"
"Eight months away," Harry and Ron finished in unison, earning them a stern glare from their friend. Her bushy hair seemed particularly frazzled today, a sure sign she was working herself up into one of her pre-exam frenzies, despite the tests being more than half a year away. Considering Hermione, this was fairly normal.
As they rounded the corner toward the library, they passed a group of fifth-year Hufflepuff girls who immediately burst into giggles. Harry pretended not to notice how they stared at him, though he caught fragments of their whispered conversation.
"Defeated You-Know-Who-"
"So modest-"
"Oh those eyes!"
"Still can't go anywhere without your fan club, mate," Ron teased, elbowing Harry in the ribs. "You're like a regular Veela, innit?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't you have charms work to finish Ron?"
"So do you, Harry. Which is why we're going into the library," Hermione interrupted with an air of finality Harry knew he couldn't argue with.
"I was thinking of sleeping," he grumbled, but joined his friends as they entered the large maze of books before them.
Near the entrance section, Fleur Delacour, an actual Veela, stood atop a floating stepladder, reaching for a thick tome on one of the higher shelves. Several male students at nearby tables had completely abandoned their studies, staring at her with glazed expressions.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Hermione muttered. She pulled out her wand and quietly cast a subtle Shield Charm that seemed to dampen Fleur's allure, at least enough for the boys to shake themselves out of their stupor and return to their books.
Harry felt a familiar warmth creep up his neck, but he was proud to note that he remained clear-headed.
"Ahem," Hermione cleared her throat meaningfully, shooting Harry a look. He had no idea what that particular look meant.
Just then, a smooth voice called out from behind them.
"Ah, Professor Delacour! Allow me to help you with that."
Harry noticed Professor Graves glide past them, his midnight blue robes sweeping dramatically as he approached Fleur's ladder. With a casual flick of his wand, he summoned the book she'd been reaching for and presented it to her with a flourish.
"Merci," Fleur said coolly, though Harry noticed her lips curve into a small smile as she accepted the tome. "Ancient Protective Enchantments of Britain? I was just looking for this myself."
"Great minds think alike," Ethan replied with a winning smile. "Perhaps we could compare notes over tea sometime? I've been researching some fascinating variations of Shield Charms that I'd love to get your perspective on."
Harry felt an inexplicable surge of irritation. Why would Ethan Graves be so interested in charms? DADA dealt with charms but not to that extent.
He must have made some sort of noise because Hermione shot him a questioning look.
"We should probably find a table," Harry muttered, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary. "That Arithmancy essay won't write itself."
"Since when are you writing an Arithmancy essay?" Ron asked, confused.
"Since now," Harry replied, steering his friends toward a table as far from Fleur and Ethan as possible while still maintaining a clear view of the Restricted Section, where the Professors had now moved to.
He spotted Neville Longbottom sat at one of these illuminated spots, surrounded by a fortress of Herbology texts. He looked up as they entered, offering a tired smile. Dark circles under his eyes suggested he'd been there a while.
"Join the NEWT preparation club?" Ron asked sympathetically, dropping into the chair across from Neville. "Professor Sprout's given us an extra credit assignment on rare Mediterranean magical plants," Neville explained, gesturing to his parchment.
"Thought it might help with Auror training applications."
Harry's interest peaked. "Didn't know you were considering the Auror program too."
"Gran's idea," Neville admitted, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely opposed to it. "Says if I can swing a sword and kill a giant snake, I might as well make a career of it."
"Technically, you didn't kill the snake," came Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice from behind a nearby bookshelf. She emerged carrying what appeared to be a book written entirely in runes.
"Harry did that in second year. You killed a different part of Voldemort."
"Thanks for the clarification, Luna," Neville chuckled.
Hermione had already begun arranging her study materials with military precision around the already cramped table, her pens and markers dividing Neville's own like the busy highways Harry saw back in England.
"Speaking of career preparations, we really should start reviewing the practical portion of our Charms NEWT. I heard Professor Flitwick mention something about advanced Shield Charms…"
A burst of laughter from the Restricted Section drew his attention back.
Professor Graves stood leaning against a bookshelf, talking to Fleur. Harry couldn't help it- there was something off about him, and it pulled at the back of his mind like a snitch trying to escape a net.
His perfectly styled dark hair caught the lamplight as he gestured enthusiastically, explaining something that had Fleur nodding with professional interest.
…remarkable how that runic variations affected shield stability, drifted fragments of his voice.
I'd love to show you some of my research on the subject…
Harry frowned slightly, something about Graves's too-perfect charm setting off the same internal warnings that had served him well during the war. The way the other professor constantly positioned himself to be at the center of attention, always ready with a clever comment or impressive magical theory…
"Reminds me a bit of Lockhart," Harry muttered to Ron, who had also been watching the exchange.
"Except this one actually seems to know his stuff," Ron replied through a mouthful of Chocolate Frog he'd managed to sneak into the library. "Did you see that demonstration he gave in DADA last week? Those counter-curses were bloody brilliant."
"Still," Harry persisted, keeping his voice low. "Something feels off. And he's always hanging around Fl—Professor Delacour."
"Mate," Ron grinned knowingly, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you were—"
"Being cautious," Harry cut him off. "After everything that's happened, don't you think we should be careful about trusting new teachers? Especially ones who seem too perfect?"
"He's got a point," Neville interjected quietly.
"We've had bad luck with Defense professors."
"That's what Ginny said too," Ron replied. "A while back. Didn't know you lot were all that superstitious."
Luna tilted her head thoughtfully. "Professor Graves does have an unusual number of Wrackspurts around him. Almost as many as Harry had in sixth year when he was following Draco Malfoy."
"I wasn't—" Harry began defensively, but was interrupted by Hermione's sharp "Shhh!"
Madam Pince was prowling nearby, her hawklike gaze searching for any hint of improper library behavior. They all quickly bent over their books, though Harry couldn't help noticing how Graves had smoothly maneuvered closer to Fleur, ostensibly to show her something in a heavy tome he'd retrieved.
The evening light had begun to fade, and the library's enchanted lamps flickered to life one by one, casting a warm glow over the ancient space. The smell of parchment and ink and smuggled food grew stronger as more students filtered in for evening study sessions. At a nearby table, Harry saw a group of Ravenclaws were constructing what appeared to be a miniature model of the solar system for Astronomy, their whispered incantations creating tiny glowing planets that orbited a golden sun.
Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones arrived, joining their impromptu study group with armfuls of Transfiguration notes. Obviously, that didn't last long.
The conversation drifted to more mundane topics: upcoming Hogsmeade weekends, the latest Quidditch rankings in the Daily Prophet, and speculation about what exotic plants Professor Sprout might be growing in Greenhouse Three.
But Harry found his attention repeatedly drawn to the Restricted Section, where Graves continued his apparently fascinating discussion with Professor Delacour. Something about his perfectly calculated movements and carefully casual posture reminded Harry uncomfortably of Tom Riddle in the Pensieve memories—too smooth, too practiced.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice snapped him back to their table. "Are you going to start your Charms essay, or should I just assume you'll be copying mine at breakfast again?"
"Sorry," Harry muttered, pulling out his parchment and quill.
Ron snorted into his textbook, earning another glare from Madam Pince, but Harry ignored him. He had learned during the war to trust his instincts, and right now, those instincts were telling him to keep an eye out.
HELP!
The peaceful library atmosphere shattered like glass when a high-pitched scream echoed through the ancient halls. Harry's head snapped up from his Charms essay, his body tensing with the familiar surge of adrenaline. The sound came again, closer this time, accompanied by the rapid slap of running footsteps.
A small Ravenclaw boy burst through the library doors, his face red. He couldn't have been older than thirteen, and tears streaked his cheeks as he stumbled forward, nearly colliding with a startled Madam Pince.
"P-Professor!" he choked out, pointing frantically back toward the corridor. "There's—there's someone—by the Ancient Runes classroom—they're not moving-"
The library erupted as everyone suddenly wanted to be the first responders.
Harry was already on his feet, wand drawn, muscle memory from the war taking over. He noticed Fleur and Graves moving swiftly toward the doors, their own wands at the ready. Without conscious thought, he fell into step behind them, aware of Ron and Hermione following close behind.
The corridor outside was dark despite the enchanted torches, as if the shadows themselves had grown thicker. The small crowd that had gathered near the Ancient Runes classroom parted automatically for the professors—and for Harry, he noticed with a mixture of resignation and gratitude. The sight that greeted them made his stomach clench.
A Ravenclaw student—Eva Chambers, Harry remembered dimly, she'd tried out for her house team that year—lay frozen against the stone wall. Her eyes were wide with terror, one hand raised as if to ward off an attack. But it was what loomed behind her that made Harry's blood run cold.
Burning with an eerie green light, a modified Dark Mark had been carved into the ancient stone. Serpentine runes twisted around the familiar skull, their meaning unclear but somehow malevolent. The magical resonance made Harry's teeth ache, reminding him unpleasantly of horcruxes and other dark artifacts.
"Everyone back to their common rooms," Graves commanded, his usual smooth charm replaced by sharp authority.
"Immediately!"
ALERT, YOU NITWITS! BACK TO YOUR ROOMS!
Peeves immediately started wandering around the castle, yelling the instructions. The spectre took any opportunity he could to make noise, though Harry couldn't blame him this time.
The gathered students hesitated, torn between fear and fascination. Harry saw several younger ones trembling, their eyes fixed on the glowing mark. Without thinking, he moved closer to them, deliberately placing himself between them and the sinister symbol.
"Come on," he said quietly, gentle but firm. "Let's get you all back safely."
Fleur caught his eye and nodded, already shepherding a group of first-years away from the scene. "This way, petits. Stay together, s'il vous plaît."
They worked in tandem, guiding the frightened students through Hogwarts' twilight corridors. Harry noticed how Fleur's partial Veela allure seemed to have a calming effect on the younger ones, though he suspected it was more her confident, protective demeanor than any magical influence.
"Is it true you fought a basilisk?" a tiny Hufflepuff boy asked Harry as they climbed the main staircase, his voice wavering but curious.
"And dragons!" another added eagerly, fear momentarily forgotten in the presence of their hero.
Harry felt heat creep up his neck.
"Er, yeah, but—"
"Oui, and he is very modest about it all," Fleur cut in smoothly, her eyes twinkling with gentle amusement despite the gravity of the situation. The torchlight caught the silver in her hair, creating a momentary halo effect that made Harry's throat feel unexpectedly tight.
They reached the point where they needed to split up—Fleur to guide the Ravenclaws to their tower, Harry to lead the Gryffindors up to their own common room. The younger students clustered around them like ducklings, which made him feel strangely warm.
"Be careful," Harry found himself saying, surprising even himself with the intensity in his voice. "We don't know what we're dealing with yet."
Something softened in Fleur's expression.
"Toi aussi, 'Arry," she replied quietly. "Do not go looking for trouble, non?"
"Trouble usually finds me," he pointed out with a weak smile.
"Then perhaps it is time to let trouble chase someone else for a change." She hesitated, then added more softly, "We are not at war anymore, 'Arry. You do not have to fight every battle."
The words hit him harder than he expected, stirring something deep in his chest. Before he could respond, a small Ravenclaw tugged at Fleur's robes, and the moment passed.
As Harry guided his group up toward Gryffindor Tower, he could still feel the lingering warmth of Fleur's concern. The war might have been over, but old instincts died hard, and new threats could always emerge from the shadows. At least, perhaps, he had more allies this time.
Behind him, somewhere in the castle's depths, that sickly green light continued to pulse, a silent warning that peace was perhaps more fragile than he'd thought.
The gargoyle guarding McGonagall's office seemed particularly stern in the flickering torchlight as Harry climbed the spiral staircase. His footsteps echoed in the confined space, and he kept his wand drawn anyway.
The office was already crowded when he arrived. Prefects from all houses stood in clusters, their badges gleaming in the candlelight. The portraits of former headmasters watched with unusual alertness, their painted eyes reflecting genuine concern. Even Phineas Black had abandoned his usual pretense of sleep.
McGonagall stood behind her desk, her emerald robes catching the light from dozens of floating candles. Her face was composed, but Harry recognized the tension in her posture—it was the same stance she'd held during the war.
"As you've no doubt heard," she began without preamble, "we have a…situation. Miss Chambers has been taken to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey assures me the petrification is temporary, but until we understand exactly what we're dealing with, we must take precautions."
The room filled with worried murmurs. Harry caught Ron's eye across the room, seeing his own concern reflected there. Hermione was already taking notes, her quill scratching rapidly against parchment.
"Prefects will patrol in pairs," McGonagall continued. "Mr. Finnigan, you'll accompany Mr. Potter. Miss Granger with Mr. Weasley…"
Harry tuned out the Headmistress as she continued assigning pairs. His hand instinctively touched the invisibility cloak folded in his pocket. He'd grabbed it almost without thinking when leaving Gryffindor Tower.
As they filed out of the office, the castle seemed to hold its breath. The usual creaks and groans of the ancient building felt muted, as if Hogwarts itself was listening, waiting. Portraits whispered to each other as they passed, news traveling through the painted corridors faster than any human messenger. Harry saw a Knight riding a horse galloping from frame to frame, throwing brochures to the other portraits.
"Just like old times, eh?" Seamus muttered as they began their patrol route. His wand tip glowed with a soft Lumos, casting strange shadows on the stone walls. "Though I prefer this to Carrows' patrols, I'll tell you that much."
Harry nodded, remembering the dark days when these same corridors had felt like enemy territory. Now the danger was different—unknown, undefined. Sometimes he thought that was worse.
They passed the library, now dark and silent. A streak of silvery light caught Harry's eye—Nearly Headless Nick drifted through a wall, nodded solemnly at them, and continued his own ghostly patrol.
"Did you see the runes?" Seamus asked quietly as they climbed to the third floor. "Around the Mark?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice equally low. "Hermione will probably have them translated by morning."
They turned a corner and nearly collided with Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, the other pair assigned to this floor. The girls jumped, wands raising automatically before recognition set in.
"Merlin's beard," Susan breathed, lowering her wand. "This place has everyone on edge."
Hannah nodded, her prefect badge catching the wandlight.
"We checked the Ancient Runes classroom again. Professor Babbling's put up additional wards, but…"
She trailed off, glancing nervously at the shadows.
Harry looked around as Seamus exchanged reports—nothing unusual spotted, no strange sounds or movements—and continued their separate rounds. He felt the weight of the invisibility cloak in his pocket grow heavier with each empty corridor. Part of him itched to slip it on, but he ignored it. He had a responsibility right now, he couldn't just run off.
Still, as they passed a window overlooking the grounds, Harry couldn't help but notice how the moonlight seemed to catch on nothing, creating patterns that almost looked like footprints in the evening dew. The Forbidden Forest loomed dark and mysterious beyond Hagrid's hut, and Harry could swear he saw something move within.
A sudden movement made him freeze, wand raised—but it was only Mrs. Norris, her lamp-like eyes reflecting their wandlight as she prowled past on her own patrol route. Seamus let out a shaky laugh.
"Remember when that cat was our biggest worry?" he whispered.
Harry managed a weak smile, but his mind was racing. The petrification, the modified Dark Mark, the strange runes… It all felt simultaneously familiar and foreign, like a song played in the wrong key. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something obvious, something right in front of them.
As they completed their circuit and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower, the castle settling into an uneasy silence around them, Harry made a mental note to check the Marauder's Map thoroughly once he was alone. War might be over, but vigilance, as Professor Moody would say, was a habit worth keeping.
The Fat Lady was unusually alert when Harry and Seamus returned from their patrol, her painted eyes scanning the darkness behind them before swinging open at the password. The Gryffindor common room was still mildly inhabited despite the late hour, clusters of students huddled together in whispered conversations. Harry didn't blame them- first year him would have found it hard to sleep too.
The firelight cast long shadows on the walls, reminiscent of the eerie green glow they'd discovered earlier. Ron and Hermione had claimed their usual spots by the fire, books spread across the table between them. Golly- was Hermione actually studying again?
"Anything?" Ron asked as Harry dropped into an armchair, his muscles aching from tension more than exertion.
Harry shook his head, waving Seamus a goodnight before pulling out the Marauder's Map and spreading it across his knees.
"Just Mrs. Norris and a few ghosts. The castle's locked down tight."
His eyes scanned the parchment, watching the dots of prefect pairs moving through the corridors like synchronized dancers. And then he looked around at two others- Professor Graves's dot was stationary in his office, while Professor Delacour paced the length of her classroom.
"I've been researching those runes," Hermione said, pushing a heavy tome toward him. "They're not just decorative. They're a variation on ancient Norse protection sigils, but inverted—twisted into something darker." She bit her lip, a familiar crease forming between her eyebrows.
"It's incredibly complex magic. Whoever did this knows their stuff."
"Graves knows Norse runes," Harry pointed out, perhaps too quickly. "He was showing off about it to Fl—er, Professor Delacour in the library earlier."
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that Harry pretended not to notice.
"Harry," Hermione began carefully, "Professor Graves was with us in the library the entire time. We all saw him there when that Ravenclaw boy came running in."
"He could have done it earlier," Harry insisted, though he knew he was grasping at straws. "Or used a Time-Turner, or—"
"Mate," Ron interrupted, "are you sure this isn't about…" He glanced meaningfully toward the Map, where Fleur's dot continued its restless pacing.
"This isn't about anything except keeping people safe," Harry said firmly, perhaps too firmly. "After Quirrell, and Barty Crouch Jr., and everyone else—can we really afford to trust every new professor who shows up?"
The fire crackled, sending sparks up the chimney. In a far corner, a group of first-years had fallen asleep on their textbooks, too afraid to make the trek up to their dormitory.
"What I don't understand," Hermione said slowly, "is why use a modified Dark Mark? Voldemort's dead. We all saw it happen. The original Death Eaters are either in Azkaban or…"
"Or lying low and plotting revenge," Harry finished grimly.
"We know some of them escaped after the battle. And there were sympathizers we never identified."
"But why now?" Ron asked, absently shuffling through Hermione's notes. "Why wait more than a year? And why start with a student? No offense, mate, but if someone was after revenge, you'd think they'd target…" He trailed off awkwardly.
"Me," Harry supplied. "Yeah, I've thought of that. Maybe that's the point—to show they can get to anyone, anytime. To make us feel unsafe again."
A loud crack made them all jump, but it was just the fire settling. Harry noticed his hand had moved automatically to his wand, but he wasn't the only one. All around the common room, students were sitting closer together than usual, wands within easy reach. The war might be over, but its echoes lingered in their reflexes, in the way they positioned themselves to watch the entrances, in how the younger students unconsciously gravitated toward the older ones for protection.
"There's something else," Hermione said hesitantly, pulling another book from her stack. "The petrification—it's not like what the basilisk did. Madam Pomfrey says it's more like a modified Full Body-Bind, but mixed with something else. Something that left magical residue she's never seen before."
Harry leaned forward, his exhaustion forgotten. "New magic? Or old magic we don't know about?"
"That's just it," Hermione said, frustration evident in her voice. "The magical signature doesn't match anything in the hospital wing's diagnostic records. It's like whoever did this invented their own spell, combining different branches of magic. Rather innovate," she grudgingly admitted.
A sudden movement on the Map caught Harry's eye. Professor Graves's dot had finally left his office, but instead of heading toward the teachers' quarters, he was moving toward the library's Restricted Section.
"Look," Harry started, but Ron cut him off.
"Professors are allowed in the Restricted Section, mate. Especially Defense professors."
"At midnight?" Harry countered, watching the dot pause near where they'd found the Dark Mark earlier. "After what just happened?"
Before anyone could respond, another dot appeared in the corridor—Fleur had apparently ended her pacing and was heading in the same direction."I have to know what they're up to," Harry said quietly, already reaching for his cloak.
"Harry, no," Hermione hissed, reaching for his arm. "If there really is someone dangerous in the castle—"
"Then we need to find out who it is," he finished. The familiar weight of the cloak settled around his shoulders, muscle memory from years of sneaking through these very halls. "I'll be careful. Promise."
Ron's face was troubled in the dying firelight.
"At least let us come with you, mate. Like old times."
Harry shook his head, already half-invisible.
"Too risky with all the extra patrols. One person under the cloak is safer." He checked the Map one last time—Graves and Fleur were still in the library, their dots nearly overlapping. Something twisted in his stomach. Was she in danger?
"I'll be back soon."
Before his friends could protest further, he slipped through the portrait hole, carefully timing his exit with a group of returning seventh-years to avoid the Fat Lady's suspicion. The corridor beyond was darker than he remembered, the torches dimmed for night hours. His own footsteps seemed unnaturally loud despite years of practice moving silently.
He couldn't let another one of his friends fall a victim to…whatever was going on. Honestly, Harry had no idea why he felt this way. He technically wasn't a child of the prophecy anymore, and didn't really have to go out like this. But a part of him felt like it was the right thing to do- and he was listening to it.
He waited in an alcove as Hannah and Susan passed nearby, their wandlight sweeping the corridor. Even under the cloak, his heart hammered. Every shadow seemed to hold potential threats, every distant creak of the ancient castle made him tense.
He took a longer route to avoid the other patrols. The stone walls felt colder than usual against his hand, or maybe it was just his heightened awareness of every sensation. Twice he had to freeze as ghosts drifted past, though he noticed they seemed more alert than usual, their pearly forms casting weak light through the darkness.
The library doors were locked, but a whispered "Alohomora" handled that. Harry slipped inside, immediately casting a silencing charm on his feet.
The library at night was a different world—tall windows let in strips of moonlight that carved the darkness into geometric patterns. Dust motes danced between pale beams, and the towering shelves created canyon-like shadows that seemed to stretch forever.
He could hear low voices from the Restricted Section, too quiet to make out words. Moving carefully between the shelves, Harry approached the sound. Even with the cloak and silencing charm, he found himself instinctively ducking behind heavy wooden shelves as he made his way.
Finally, he reached the rope barrier of the Restricted Section. Graves and Fleur stood in a pool of wandlight, surrounded by floating tomes whose pages turned themselves. Despite the late hour, Fleur looked alert.
Moving with excruciating slowness to avoid disturbing the air or brushing against any books, he crept closer to the pair, positioning himself behind a shelf of particularly ancient-looking volumes of Dark Spells for Upset Stomachs.Through gaps in the ancient books, Harry watched the scene unfold before him, every muscle tense beneath the invisibility cloak. Moonlight streamed through the high library windows, casting long fingers of silver across the floor that seemed to reach toward the pair of professors like grasping hands. The floating books around them cast strange, shifting shadows, their pages turning with soft whispers that reminded Harry uncomfortably of dried leaves skittering across graves.
"…fascinating how they've corrupted the protective elements," Graves was saying, his voice carrying that same smooth confidence that set Harry's teeth on edge. The Defense professor gestured at one of the floating tomes.
"See how the elder futhark has been inverted? The craftsmanship is remarkable, though obviously concerning. The perpetrator clearly has an intimate understanding of runic theory."
How does he know that? He wondered. He's not a charms expert.
Graves seemed to lean slightly closer to Fleur with each word, as if drawn by some invisible force. The wandlight caught the silver buttons of his robes, matching the sheen in his hair. Everything about him seemed calculated for maximum effect, from the dramatic sweep of his gestures to the carefully modulated concern in his voice.
"Oui, clever is one word for it," Fleur replied, her tone tight with worry. She stood straight-backed and alert despite the late hour, and Harry had to admit she looked every bit like a Professor just then. "But who would 'ave such knowledge? And w'y target a student? It seems… calculated, to create such fear."
The anxiety in her voice made Harry's fingers tighten around his wand. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb the dust motes dancing in the moonbeams, trying to get a better view through the gap between Arcane Artifacts of the Ancient Norse and Runic Rituals: A Complete Compendium.
"My dear Professor Delacour," Graves said, stepping even closer to her with that perfect smile that never quite reached his eyes, "I assure you, we'll get to the bottom of this. In the meantime…" He lowered his voice to what Harry supposed was meant to be a reassuring murmur. He'd tried it on Cho some years ago.
"You have nothing to fear with me around. My experience with dark artifacts is… extensive."
Fleur gave a polite laugh that reminded Harry of tinkling ice.
"You are too kind, Ethan. Though I think we are fortunate to 'ave many capable defenders at 'Ogwarts, non?"
She moved subtly away from him, pretending to examine one of the floating books. "Minerva is formidable, and 'Arry Potter and 'Ermione Granger—they 'ave faced dark magic before. Their experience should not be discounted."
Harry watched as something flickered across Graves's perfectly composed features—a shadow so brief he might have imagined it, but it sent a familiar chill down his spine. The same chill he'd felt around Quirrell, around the false Moody.
"Ah yes, our… celebrated students." Graves's tone was light, but there was an undercurrent that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up. The Defense professor began slowly circling one of the floating books, his movements almost predatory. "Though we can hardly expect children, however famous, to handle a situation of this complexity. After all, their previous adventures were rather… straightforward affairs. Hardly comparable to the subtle intricacies we're dealing with here."
The moonlight seemed to dim as a cloud passed over the moon outside, and Harry could have sworn the temperature in the Restricted Section dropped several degrees.
"Children?" Fleur's eyebrows rose sharply, and Harry recognized the dangerous edge in her voice—the same tone she'd used when facing dragons. Her wand hand twitched slightly at her side. "'Arry Potter and his friends defeated Voldemort himself. They faced things most grown wizards could not. They did not survive by luck alone, Ethan."
"Of course, of course," Graves backtracked smoothly, though Harry caught a flash of something cold and calculating in his eyes. "Their bravery is beyond question. I simply meant that this particular situation might require a more… experienced hand. The interplay of ancient runes and modern curse work, the innovative spell modifications…"
He gestured expansively at the books floating around them, his shadow stretching grotesquely in the wandlight.
"This is rather more sophisticated than facing a Dark Lord in direct combat. Pure power and luck won't suffice here."
"You think it was simple?" Fleur's voice had taken on a dangerous musical quality—like wind chimes in a storm.
"To track down 'orcruxes? To unite the wizarding world? To sacrifice everything for others?"
She shook her head, silver hair rippling like water in moonlight. "Non, I think you underestimate them, Ethan. They are young, oui, but they are not children anymore. The war saw to that. They 'ave earned their place among any defenders of this school."
Under the cloak, Harry felt an unexpected warmth bloom in his chest. At least someone was on his side.
Graves held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling in a way that set Harry's teeth on edge. Judging by Fleur's reaction, he could tell she had the same thought.
"You're absolutely right, of course. And you speak of Potter with such conviction—one might think you know him quite well? Such passionate defense…"
"I know enough," Fleur replied simply, her chin lifting slightly. "I fought beside 'im. That tells you everything about someone's character, non? In war, there is no room for pretense."
Her eyes flashed in the wandlight. "You learn quickly who will stand beside you when everything is at stake."
Graves's perfect smile never wavered, but Harry saw his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around his wand.
"Point noted, Professor," he replied, quickly moving his hands away from his now-holstered wand. "I was just…being cautious."
Fleur's snort showed exactly what she thought of that.
"The integration of protective charms with runic arrays is truly fascinating," Graves continued, changing the topic and conjuring two plush armchairs with an elegant flourish. "Though perhaps we should take a break from such heavy topics. You must be tired after such an eventful evening."
Harry shifted uncomfortably behind the bookshelf. Damn it, his legs were already beginning to cramp! A thin trail of dust drifted down from the ancient tomes above him, making his nose tingle ominously.
If he sneezed now he'd be caught for sure.
"Non, I prefer to focus on ze problem," Fleur replied, though she did sink gracefully into one of the chairs. "Zese runes trouble me, Ethan. Ze way t'ey've been corrupted…"
"Brilliant work, though, isn't it?" Graves leaned forward, his voice dropping to an murmur. "The precision required to invert the protective sequences while maintaining the core magical resonance—it's almost beautiful, in a dark way."
"Beautiful?" Fleur's eyebrows arched. "A student was attacked."
"Of course, of course—terrible business," Graves backtracked smoothly. "I simply meant from an academic perspective. Rather like yourself—combining profound magical knowledge with such natural grace."
Harry's fingers dug into his palms. The tickle in his nose was becoming increasingly insistent.
Fleur gave a small laugh. "You are trying to distract me from my concerns with flattery, non?"
"Is it working?" Graves smiled, conjuring a floating candelabra that cast a warm glow over them both. "You know, you're quite captivating when you're focused on magical theory. The way your eyes light up when solving complex runic sequences…"
"Monsieur Graves," Fleur said, though Harry noticed she was smiling slightly, "we are supposed to be investigating a serious incident!"
"Ethan, please," he corrected softly. "And can we not do both? Protect our students while enjoying each other's company?"
Harry fought back a sneeze with herculean effort. His legs were now definitely numb, and the professors were still directly between him and the exit.
"You are very sure of yourself, Ethan," Fleur observed, though her tone remained warm. "But tell me—w'at do you make of the magical signature? It seems… familiar somehow."
"Ah yes, fascinating question," Graves shifted his chair closer. "The core spell structure suggests Nordic influence, like I said, but there's something else… Something almost like—may I?"
He reached for her notes, his hand brushing hers.
The dust was becoming unbearable. Harry pressed his fingers against his nose, eyes watering. His mind kept chanting pleaseleavepleaseleavepleaseleave again and again.
"'Ave you seen something similar before?" Fleur asked, leaning in to look at where Graves was pointing.
"In my research, yes. Though never executed with such… artistic flair. Rather like watching you cast, actually. You have a unique grace with a wand."
"You are changing the subject again," Fleur chided, though she didn't move away.
"Can you blame me? The company is far more enchanting than dusty old tomes."
Don't fall for it, Harry thought desperately, fighting both jealousy and the building sneeze. He's obviously trying too hard.
"Per'aps we should return to the runes," Fleur suggested, though Harry noticed color in her cheeks. "This sequence 'ere…"
"Of course, though I maintain that brilliant witches are more interesting than brilliant spellwork." Graves smiled that perfect smile again, before covering a yawn with his hand.
"Speaking of which, would you care to continue this discussion over dinner tomorrow? Purely professional, of course."
The clock tower began to toll midnight, each chime increasing Harry's desperation. Just a few more minutes…
"I zink," Fleur said carefully, "zat we should focus on the safety of our students before making social plans, non?"
"Ever dedicated to duty," Graves sighed dramatically. "Then at least allow me to escort you back to your quarters. These halls aren't as safe as they once were."
"I am perfectly capable of defending myself," Fleur pointed out, though she stood all the same.
"Oh, I have no doubt. But I was raised to be a gentleman." Graves began gathering the books with elegant wand movements.
"And I enjoy your company far too much to cut it short."
"You are persistent, I will give you that," Fleur laughed softly.
"Only when something—or someone—is worth pursuing."
They moved toward the exit, Graves placing a gentle hand on Fleur's elbow. "After you, ma chérie."
"Your French accent is terrible," Fleur informed him as they passed through the door.
Harry though they'd left, but a second later he heard Fleur's voice again.
"You may go ahead," she continued. "I 'ave left a book of mine near the entrance, w'ich I will take on the way out."
"I think it's safer if-"
"Bonne nuit, Mr Graves," Fleur snipped, and Harry figured the Professor wasn't so dense he didn't pick up Fleur's dismissal.
"Good night, Fleur," he heard a distant call.
The heavy lock clicked shut behind them, and Harry's body betrayed him instantly.
"ACHOO!"
A split second later, Harry felt the spell hit him from behind. His body went rigid, and he toppled sideways. Through frozen eyes, he saw a silvery cushioning charm materialize just before his head would have hit the bookshelf.
The invisibility cloak slithered off him like water, pooling at his feet in a puddle of silvery fabric. He saw Fleur's face swim into view, her expression shifting from surprise to something more complex – disappointment? Concern?
The wandlight caught the subtle furrow between her brows, the way her lips pressed together in thought.
"'Arry?" Her voice was soft but carried clearly in the library's midnight silence. "What are you doing 'ere?"
He couldn't respond, of course. Unable to move or speak, Harry could only watch as she studied him for a moment before raising her wand.
"Finite Incantatem."
Harry stumbled as the spell released him, catching himself on the nearest shelf.
"That was… impressive spellwork." he tried.
"You are trying to change the subject." A slight smile played at her lips. "Though merci - I 'ave had much practice."
"Really fast cast."
"When one fights in a war, quick spells become necessary." Her expression grew more serious. "But you are still avoiding my question. Why are you out of your dormitory?"
Harry adjusted his glasses, buying time.
"I was researching. The runes, I mean. In the library."
"At midnight?" Fleur's eyebrow arched. "Alone? Under your invisibility cloak?"
"I thought if I could understand the runes better…"
"'Arry." Her voice softened. "Do not lie to me."
Fleur bent down, picking up the cloak with careful fingers. The moonlight seemed to dance across its surface, creating ripples like liquid starlight.
"This is it, non? The famous cloak?" Her voice held a touch of wonder. "The one from the stories?"
"Yeah," Harry admitted softly. "It was my father's."
She handed it back to him with both hands, treating it with a reverence that made his throat tight.
"It 'as served you well, through everything."
"Through everything," he echoed, running his fingers over the familiar material. The silence stretched between them, heavy with shared memories of darker days.
"So," Fleur said finally, her voice gentle but firm, "will you tell me the real reason you are 'ere?"
Harry's fingers twisted in the cloak.
"I… I heard you and Graves were coming here. Alone. Late at night." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "I was concerned. About safety."
A musical laugh escaped her lips, echoing softly in the midnight quiet.
"'Arry Potter," she said, shaking her head, "you are many things, but a good liar is not one of them."
"I'm serious! With everything that's happened—"
"You are jealous."
"I wanted to protect you," he protested, feeling heat creep up his neck.
The spell hit him so fast he didn't even see her move. His limbs snapped together once again, but this time he remained upright, frozen against the bookshelf. Fleur stepped closer, her wandlight casting dancing shadows across his immobile face.
She stopped inches from him, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of lavender and something wild, like lightning before a storm. Her wandtip traced a feather-light path along his jaw.
"I think," she murmured, her accent thickening slightly, "that I 'ave shown you exactly how well I can protect myself, non?"
The counter-spell was as swift as the binding. Harry sagged against the shelf, a shudder running through his entire body as their eyes met in the wandlight.
"Point taken," he managed, his voice slightly 's shudder had barely subsided when Fleur stepped back, though not far enough to dispel the lingering scent of lavender that seemed to dance in the space between them. The moonlight streaming through the high windows caught in her silver hair, creating an ethereal glow that reminded Harry painfully of patronus light – pure and protective and somehow both fierce and gentle at once.
"You still think of everyone else first," she said softly, her wand lowered but not put away. "Even now, when the war is over."
"Old habits," Harry managed, his voice still slightly rough from the body-bind. He stretched out a hand towards the bookshelf to steady himself.
"And it's not really over, is it? Not with that mark on the wall, and students being attacked, and—"
"And mysterious professors who spend too much time in the library?" There was a knowing glint in her eyes that made Harry's face burn.
"I don't trust him," he admitted, the words falling between them like stones in still water. "Something about him feels… wrong."
"Because he is charming? Because he knows his magic?" A pause, heavy with meaning. "Because he talks to me?"
"Because he's too perfect," Harry burst out, then immediately wished he could take back the words – they revealed far too much. But now that he'd started, the rest came tumbling after: "Everything he does is calculated. The way he moves, the way he talks, how he's always positioning himself to be noticed. It's like… like he's performing instead of living."
"Ah." Fleur leaned against the opposite bookshelf, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp. "And you think this makes him dangerous?"
"I think it makes him worth watching."
"Like you were watching tonight?"
Harry winced. "That's different."
"Is it?" She tilted her head, silver hair cascading over one shoulder. "Tell me, 'Arry – what exactly did you think would happen? That he would reveal some terrible plot in the middle of the library?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I just… when I saw you both heading here on the Map, after everything that happened today…"
He trailed off, frustrated by his inability to articulate the churning mix of worry and something else that had driven him here. It just seemed so stupid when he thought about it now.
"The Map?" Her eyes lit with interest."Ah, your other famous possession. The one that shows everyone in the castle?"
"Yeah. It's how I knew—" He stopped abruptly, realizing he'd given away more than he'd intended.
"'Ow you knew where I was?" The corner of her mouth curved upward. "Do you make a habit of watching my movements, 'Arry Potter?"
"No! I mean, not usually, I just…" He sighed. There was no recovering from this, was there?
"With everything happening, I've been keeping an eye on… suspicious activity."
"And I am suspicious?" There was something in her voice he couldn't quite read – amusement? Challenge?
"You're not the suspicious one," he muttered, then immediately regretted it as her expression sharpened.
"You truly don't trust Professor Graves." It wasn't a question.
"Do you?" Harry countered. "After everything we've been through – all the teachers who weren't what they seemed – can we really afford to just accept everyone at face value?"
Fleur was quiet for a long moment, her wand tracing absent patterns in the air that left fading trails of blue light.
"You know," she said finally, "during the war, Bill taught me something interesting about curse-breaking."
The sudden change of subject caught Harry off guard.
"What?"
"He said that sometimes, the most dangerous curses are the ones that play on our fears. They make us see threats everywhere, until we cannot trust anything – or anyone." She met his eyes steadily. "The war left scars on all of us, 'Arry. But we cannot let them make us see shadows where there is only moonlight."
"This isn't about the war," Harry protested, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn't entirely true. Everything was about the war, in some way – every instinct, every suspicion, every moment of hypervigilance that had kept him alive for so long.
"Non?" Fleur pushed off from the bookshelf, closing the distance between them again. "Then tell me, truly – why are you really here tonight?"
The moonlight seemed to hold its breath. Harry could hear his own heartbeat, too loud in the midnight quiet.
"I told you. I was worried about—"
"The truth, 'Arry." Her voice was soft but immovable as stone. "No more lies between friends who have fought together, non?"
"That is the truth!" he argued.
Fleur smiled. A genuine smile- that lit up her face.
"I believe you, 'Arry. I was just teasing. Why so anxious, mon cher?" she smirked.
She was taking the mickey out of him, wasn't she?
"I…" He swallowed hard, years of Gryffindor courage deserting him in this crucial moment. "Well if you believed me in the first place-" he began to argue.
A sudden noise from the corridor made them both freeze.
Fleur's wand was up in an instant, her other hand already reaching for his…what?
Hand? Map? Cloak?
He had no idea.
"This conversation is not finished," she whispered just as footsteps approached the library door.
They paused for a minute, too anxious to speak. The footsteps went past, then faded into silence – another patrol passing by, nothing more. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. In the wan moonlight, he could see the tension in Fleur's shoulders slowly release, though her wand remained ready at her side.
"We should check," he whispered, already moving toward the door. The familiar surge of adrenaline coursed through him, muscle memory from countless midnight investigations making his movements swift and sure despite his exhaustion.
Fleur nodded, her wandlight dimming to the barest glow as they crept into the corridor. The castle's shadows seemed to breathe around them, turning things that weren't alive uncomfortably close to it.
Empty. Just another false alarm in a night already too full of tension.
"You should return to your dormitory," Fleur said finally, her voice gentle but firm. "Get some rest. These shadows will still be 'ere tomorrow."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but his exhaustion chose that moment to hit him like a physical wave. He couldn't really argue, she had a good point.
"Yeah," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, you're probably right."
Something softened in Fleur's expression. "Bien sûr I am right. I am your professor now, non?" A hint of her old teasing smile touched her lips.
"Even if you do not always act like my student."
"Sorry about tonight," Harry said quietly, meaning it. "I shouldn't have…"
"You were concerned." She cut him off with a small wave of her hand. "It is who you are, 'Arry. Always protecting others." A pause, then more softly:
"But perhaps remember that some of us can protect ourselves, oui?"
The memory of how quickly she'd hexed him made him smile despite himself.
"I don't think I'll forget that lesson anytime soon."
"Bon. Then it was worth missing sleep for."
She gestured toward Gryffindor Tower.
"Now go. Before another patrol finds us and I have to explain why I am having midnight conversations with students in dark corridors."
Harry pulled the invisibility cloak around his shoulders, already feeling its familiar weight settle like an old friend. Just before he disappeared completely, he caught Fleur's final glance – something complicated in her expression that he was too tired to decipher.
"Goodnight, Fleur," he whispered.
"Bonne nuit, 'Arry," she replied softly. "Sleep well."
He barely remembered the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, which passed in a blur of exhaustion and muscle memory. The Fat Lady barely stirred as he whispered the password, used to his late-night returns after seven years of adventures. Fortunately she didn't ask where he'd been or how he'd gotten out without her noticing.
The common room was deserted, the fire burned down to gentle embers that cast soft shadows across worn armchairs and abandoned homework.
He'd half expected to find Ron and Hermione waiting up, ready to interrogate him about his midnight expedition. But they'd clearly given up and gone to bed, probably assuming he'd talk to them in the morning. The thought of explaining everything – his suspicions about Graves, the conversation with Fleur, the complicated tangle of emotions that had driven him to spy on them in the first place – made his head spin.
Tomorrow. He'd sort it all out tomorrow.
His dormitory was quiet save for Neville's soft snoring and the gentle rustle of Trevor the toad moving in his terrarium. Harry barely managed to change out of his robes before collapsing onto his four-poster bed, not even bothering to draw the curtains.