The Great Hall buzzed with excitement and speculation as the students filed out after Dumbledore's announcement. Gilda Harrow stood near the entrance, her usual companions gathered around her, along with many new faces. She'd become the focal point of the Slytherin table, the impending masquerade seeming to shift the balance in her favor in the time it took to eat lunch.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron lingered near the back of the Gryffindor group, watching as Gilda held court. The way the first-year Slytherins clustered around her, their wide eyes drinking in her every word, only added to the tension. Her hold over the children was unnerving, but now that hold was spreading to the older students—some quietly deferring to her while others watched with thinly veiled resentment. Even then, they seemed compelled to listen to her every word. Draco, in particular, looked like he was grappling with the shift in dynamic, his jaw tight as Blaise whispered something to him.
"She's already got them all under her thumb," Ron muttered, nodding toward the group. "Even Malfoy looks like he's choking on it."
"Of course he is," Hermione said, her tone sharp. "He's spent years trying to be the center of attention in Slytherin, and now she's taken it from him without even trying. She's been working them over every chance she's got."
Harry's gaze lingered on Gilda. The way she moved, the calculated ease with which she commanded attention—it was unnerving. There was something about her that didn't quite fit into the usual mold of Slytherin ambition. She wasn't like Draco, loud and eager for approval. She was quieter, sharper, like a blade hidden in shadow.
"We should go," Hermione said abruptly, tugging at Harry's sleeve. "We can talk more in the common room. I don't want her to notice us staring."
Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze away and followed Hermione and Ron out of the hall, making their uneasy way to class. After what seemed the longest day of the year, the three of them climbed the winding staircases back to Gryffindor Tower. Gratefully, the Fat Lady let them in without fuss. The common room was bustling with students dissecting Dumbledore's announcement. Harry and his friends made their way to a quieter corner, keeping their voices low as they talked.
"I don't like this," Hermione muttered, her arms crossed as she glanced at the flickering flames. "Dumbledore says the masquerade is about unity, but how can that happen when everyone's already so divided?"
Ron looked up from where he was picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "It's Hogwarts. Division's baked into the walls. Gryffindor against Slytherin, purebloods against Muggle-borns... you really think some fancy ball is going to fix all that?"
"It's not just a ball," Hermione said. "This is political. You heard him—it's about alliances, disputes, shaping the future. And with people like the Harrows involved..." She trailed off, her brow furrowed in thought.
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Seems Gilda's been at the center of everything lately."
Ron frowned. "But why would Dumbledore allow something like this? A party? After everything? Just doesn't feel like the best time, is all."
"It's not just a party!" Hermione exasperated. "Dumbledore wouldn't host an event like this at Hogwarts if it wasn't safe, not unless he felt like he had to."
Ron let out a frustrated sigh. "Why would he have to? And what are we supposed to do until then? Just sit around while those loonies cook up more Slytherin schemes? We're probably opening our doors to death eaters."
The three of them fell into an uneasy silence, their thoughts swirling with possibilities. Around them, the common room began to thin out as students headed to bed, the hum of conversation gradually fading until only the crackling of the fire remained.
Ron broke the silence first, his voice low. "It just feels like everything's shifting. Last year, it was all about Umbridge and her stupid rules. Now it's... bigger. Like something's building."
Hermione nodded. "It is bigger. The Masquerade isn't just about Hogwarts. It's a reflection of the entire wizarding world. And if Dumbledore's worried, we should be too."
Harry was about to reply when the fire shifted suddenly, the flames twisting and darkening until a familiar face emerged from the embers. Sirius Black.
"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, his heart racing. He leaned forward, the heat of the fire brushing against his skin.
"Keep your voice down," Sirius warned, his sharp eyes flicking between them. "I don't have much time."
Ron and Hermione sat up straighter, their attention fully locked on Sirius's face.
"I heard about the Masquerade," he said, his tone grim. "And I need to warn you—this isn't just a social event. It's a powder keg. The kind of thing that starts with good intentions and ends with chaos."
Harry frowned. "Dumbledore made it sound like it was about unity. About trying to bring people together."
Sirius let out a bitter laugh. "Unity? Maybe in theory. But these events have a way of exposing old grudges and making new ones. You think everyone's going to come here and play nice? The Harrows, the Malfoys, they're just the tip of the iceberg. The truth is, most in attendance are looking for an advantage, not peace."
"What kind of advantage?" Hermione asked, her voice thick with curiosity.
"Power," Sirius said simply. "Alliances, influence, deals made in the shadows. The Masquerade might look like a celebration, but underneath it all, it's a battlefield. One that's turned ugly before, many times. And with Voldemort out there, his supporters are sure to use this as an opportunity to stir the pot."
Ron swallowed hard. "So what do we do?"
"You watch," Sirius said. "You pay attention to everything. Who's talking to whom, who seems too comfortable, who looks like they're hiding something. Every bit of knowledge could come into play. And whatever you do, don't underestimate Gilda Harrow."
Hermione frowned. "Do you know something about her?"
Sirius hesitated, his face darkening. "Her family... they're dangerous, cruel, always have been. Going back centuries, they've practically got hate baked into their bones. Old money, deeply entrenched in pureblood ideology, and ideology they helped fashion. They will say and do anything to perpetuate the illusion that they're better, untouchable, even. And now, well… there's more people than ever willing to buy into their lies."
Harry clenched his fists. "So she's just another Malfoy, then."
"No," Sirius said firmly. "She's worse. The Malfoys flaunt their status, but the Harrows? They're more subtle. Calculating. If Gilda's anything like her parents, she won't be waving dark marks around. She'll be playing the long game, and she'll be good at it. You must have already noticed something seems… off. I can feel it, even as far as I am from Hogwarts."
The room fell silent, Sirius's words sinking in. Hermione looked pale, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair.
"How do we stop her?" Harry asked finally.
"You don't," Sirius said. "Not directly. Gilda's dangerous, but she's not the only threat. I've been keeping tabs on her parents, but there's only so much I can do. The Masquerade is going to bring out every hidden agenda, every buried grudge. Keep your heads down, stay vigilant, and be ready for anything."
His gaze softened slightly as he looked at Harry. "And stay safe. All of you. I mean it."
Harry nodded, his throat tight. "You too."
Sirius's face began to waver, the flames shifting. "I have to go. The Ministry's always watching. Remember, be vigilant, and be careful."
"Wait!" Hermione said, leaning forward. "Sirius—what if?"
But he was already gone, the fire returning to its normal glow. The three of them sat in silence, the weight of his warning pressing down on them.
Ron was the first to speak, his voice subdued. "This year's going to be... bad, isn't it?"
Hermione nodded, her expression grim. "If we're not careful, it won't just be bad. It'll be catastrophic."
Harry didn't respond. He stared into the fire, his mind racing. Whatever the Masquerade of Moons held, he knew one thing for certain: right now, they weren't ready.