The lingering winter cold seeped into the corridors, though the castle carried the faintest hint of spring's arrival as the two walked side by side down the dimly-lit corridor leading toward the Slytherin dormitories.
The castle was quieter now, the hum of students returning to their common rooms after evening lessons fading into the stone walls. Their footsteps echoed faintly, the sound filling the silence that had settled between them since leaving the training hall.
Astoria pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, though her face betrayed little of the fatigue Harry expected from the night's session. She'd handled herself better than he anticipated—calm, precise, and quick on her feet during the dueling drills. There had been no hesitation in her wand movements, and she'd even disarmed Dean Thomas during a sparring round, earning a rare look of surprise from him.
It hadn't registered with him that she'd joined the catch-up groups until that evening.
"You've been practicing," Harry said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "I didn't expect to see you tonight."
Astoria smiled faintly. "I've been working with Neville's group for the past month. Daphne told me to. She said you wouldn't notice until I stopped being terrible."
A soft breath escaped him, something caught between a laugh and a sigh. That sounded like Daphne.
"Well, you weren't terrible tonight," Harry admitted. "Dean wasn't holding back, and you still caught him off guard."
Astoria's grin grew slightly, but there was no arrogance behind it. "I learned quickly that if I let up for a second, Ron would make me regret it. I think he enjoys making us run laps more than he lets on."
A smirk tugged at his lips. "Yeah, that sounds like Ron."
They walked in silence for a moment longer, the flickering torch light casting shadows across the worn stone walls. He studied her in brief glances, unable to stop his mind from wandering.
There was something easy about being around her. She carried none of the weight her sister did—the kind of guarded poise that Daphne never seemed to lower, even around him.
Astoria's voice cut through his thoughts. "You know, Daphne always said you'd be the safest choice."
"Safe choice?"
Humming, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Mhm. When Mother and Father started pressing about arrangements last year, she said you were the only one she'd consider. They wouldn't question it. I suppose she was right."
His steps faltered, eventually coming to a stop. Astoria took a few steps forward before she realized he wasn't beside her anymore. She turned, her head tilting slightly in confusion.
"What do you mean arrangements?" Harry's voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.
"You didn't know?" She asked softly, blinking in surprise.
Harry's jaw tightened, but he shook his head.
"Oh." Astoria shifted awkwardly, suddenly aware of the shift in atmosphere. "Oh, no—it's not like that! I mean, once she got to know you, she really liked you. She wouldn't fake something like that."
His grip on his wand tightened, though he kept it at his side. The words rang in his head, jumbled with the memory of Daphne's calm, knowing smile—had it been different, knowing this? He forced himself to take a steady breath, schooling his face back into something unreadable.
Astoria seemed to sense the tension lingering in the space between them. "I thought you knew already," she added quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you."
He exhaled slowly, giving a brief nod. "It's fine. I just… didn't expect it."
Their footsteps started up again, but the atmosphere had shifted noticeably. Astoria kept her gaze forward, her earlier casual demeanor now replaced by something quieter, almost tentative.
"Daphne doesn't always know how to explain herself," she said softly, breaking the uneasy stillness. "She just… she's not used to having to."
"Maybe she should try," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
She hesitated again, but before she could respond, the entrance to the Slytherin common room came into view. She stopped and turned to face him, her expression a mix of hesitation and earnestness. "She really does care about you, you know. More than I've seen her care about anyone else."
Meeting her gaze, he searched for the sincerity he knew was there. The words sat heavy in his chest, but he gave a small nod, unable to summon anything more to say.
Astoria's lips pressed into a thin smile. "Goodnight, Harry." Without waiting for a response, she turned and slipped through the concealed entrance, leaving him alone in the corridor.
He lingered for a moment, his thoughts churning in the flickering torchlight. Finally, he turned back the way he'd come, his steps slow and deliberate, the weight of the conversation settling over him like the winter chill.
The word "arrangement" echoed like a stubborn curse, tangled with Daphne's face—her guarded smile, her quiet confidence. He couldn't tell how much of it had been real, if he'd been blind to something obvious.
The door to the Room of Requirement appeared before Harry, its edges faintly glowing against the stone wall. His thoughts churned, his footsteps faltering only briefly before he stepped inside.
The room greeted him with soft, ambient light. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, their spines glinting faintly. A low table stood in the center, cluttered with books and parchment. Among them was a detailed model of a snow fox—its fur seemed to shimmer faintly in the light, as if enchanted. Next to it sat an open tome, illustrations of the same creature sprawling across the page.
Daphne was seated cross-legged on the floor beside the table, her head bent over her notes. She looked up as the door clicked shut behind him, a smile tugging at her lips when she saw him. "Harry! I didn't think you'd still be awake. Did you—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her smile faltering as she caught his expression. "What's wrong?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the snow fox model, then to the books scattered around her. The room smelled faintly of parchment and lavender, a calming contrast to the storm building inside him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was quiet, but the tension behind it filled the space.
Daphne frowned, confusion clouding her features. "Tell you what?"
He stepped closer, his hands flexing at his sides as if unsure what to do with them. "About the arrangement. About what your parents expected."
Realization flickered across her face, followed quickly by something guarded. She straightened, closing the book nearest to her. "Astoria told you."
Harry gave a short nod. "Yeah. She told me. She said I was the 'safe choice.' That your parents wouldn't question it. Is that all this is to you, Daphne? A choice your family wouldn't argue with?"
The words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Daphne's fingers brushed the edge of the fox model, though she didn't look at it. Instead, her gaze fixed on him, her expression unreadable.
"It's not like that," she said softly. "Not entirely."
"Then explain it to me," Harry pressed, stepping closer. "Because right now, it feels like I've been kept in the dark about something I should've known from the start."
Daphne hesitated, her eyes darting to the books around her as if searching for an answer. Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly.
"It's tradition," she began, her voice quiet. "In families like mine, arrangements aren't uncommon. Hogwarts… it's where most of us meet our future partners.
"It's not binding, not anymore, but there's still this expectation. And for me, it's stronger. My parents—my entire family—met their partners here. Astoria and I grew up hearing stories about how it was supposed to happen."
Harry's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, letting her continue.
"When my parents started pressing me last year, I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to be forced into something—or someone—I didn't choose. You… you were different."
"Different how?" He pressed, tersely.
Daphne's fingers lingered on the edge of the fox model for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then, with a deliberate movement, she rose to her feet. The motion wasn't hurried—it was measured, as though she'd decided sitting wasn't how she wanted to face him.
She smoothed her skirt briefly before meeting his gaze, her eyes steady. "Different," she began, her voice steady at first but softening as she continued. "Different because… well, you didn't care about wealth—not mine, not anyone's. And you were clearly protective of those you cared about, and had the power to back it up."
She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the fox model before meeting his gaze again. "And honestly… I wanted to understand you. Your secrets, the way you think. You're not what I expected, Harry. And when you let your guard down… you made me want to stay."
He drew a slow breath, forcing the tightness in his chest to loosen. He wanted to believe her—he wanted to trust that this wasn't all built on her family's expectations. But the thought still stung. "Daphne, I'm not just some logical choice. I can't be. If this is going to work, I need to know you're honest with me. About everything."
She looked away, her fingers tracing the edge of the fox model. "I didn't mean to keep it from you. I thought… At first I thought you'd know about it anyway. And then when it became obvious you wouldn't have known, I thought if I told you, you'd leave."
Harry let out a slow breath, his frustration giving way to something more complicated. He crouched down in front of her, forcing her to look at him. "I'm not leaving. But I can't make decisions about this—about us—if I don't have the whole picture."
Daphne studied him for a long moment, her expression caught between relief and apprehension. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I should've told you."
"Yeah, there's a lot it turns out people should've told me…" He bit out, before breathing out deeply. "Daphne, I need to think about all of this. Not because I don't care—but because I do. I'll come back to you. I promise."
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the fox model for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "I'll wait."
The dormitory lay steeped in silence, broken only by the soft, even breathing of his dormmates. Harry stared at the canopy of his bed, the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the cracks in the curtains. Sleep had eluded him, despite his efforts to count breaths, to clear his mind. The quiet of the room only seemed to amplify the noise in his head.
Rolling onto his side, he let out a frustrated sigh. The knot in his chest refused to ease. Daphne's words circled endlessly in his thoughts, intertwined with Astoria's offhand revelation. No matter how many times he tried to untangle it, new questions kept surfacing. How much of his relationship with Daphne had been shaped by her family's expectations? And why did it feel like the answer mattered more than it should?
Eventually, the creeping light of dawn spilled through the windows, soft and pale. Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed with a quiet huff, giving up entirely. Dressing quickly, he grabbed his coat and slipped out of the dormitory without a sound. The cold stone walls of the castle greeted him as he descended the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness.
As he stepped outside, the sharp morning air struck his face, chasing away the remnants of the night's restless thoughts. The sky, painted in shades of pink and gold, stretched wide above the quiet grounds. Shoving his hands deep into his cloak pockets, Harry set off with no real destination, his breath misting faintly in the chill.
The grounds felt vast in the early light. He wandered past the lake, its surface glinting faintly in the rising sun, and skirted the edge of the Forbidden Forest. For a time, the only sounds were the distant caw of a crow and the crunch of frost under his boots. But as he veered deeper into the forest's outskirts, a steady hammering broke through the stillness.
Following the sound, he rounded a cluster of trees and spotted Hagrid at the edge of a newly built paddock. The half-giant was hunched over, his massive hands driving a wooden post into the ground with practiced ease.
"Morning, Hagrid," Harry called out, his voice cutting through the crisp air and waking up Fang, who'd been sprawled nearby in the grass.
Straightening, Hagrid turned towards him, his wild beard twitching as a grin spread across his face. "Harry! Didn' expect ter see yeh up so early. Somethin' wrong?"
Feigning nonchalance, Harry shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." He stepped closer, offering a small smile as Fang lumbered over to sniff at his leg.
Hagrid's sharp eyes lingered on him for a moment, before he nodded. "Aye, I've had nights like that meself. Well, as yeh're awake, grab that mallet. Could use an extra pair o' hands."
Grateful for the distraction, Harry picked up the mallet and joined Hagrid at the paddock. Together, they worked in companionable silence, driving the wooden posts into the frozen ground as the sun climbed higher. The rhythmic thud of the mallet against the wood became oddly soothing, a welcome reprieve from the thoughts that had kept him awake.
After a while, Hagrid leaned on his mallet, wiping sweat from his brow despite the chill in the air. His voice broke the silence, low but knowing. "Yeh know, Harry, sharin' what's weighin' on yeh can make it a bit lighter. Sometimes that's all it takes."
Harry hesitated, gripping the handle of the mallet tighter. "It's nothing," he said, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.
Hagrid snorted, shaking his head. "Don' try tha' with me. Known yeh too long fer that. Come on, out with it. What's troublin' yeh?"
For a moment, Harry considered brushing it off again, but the quiet patience in Hagrid's expression made it difficult. He lowered the mallet and leaned against the fence, his gaze fixed on the frost-covered ground.
"It's about Daphne," he finally admitted.
"Ah." Hagrid nodded knowingly, but didn't interrupt.
Harry's words came slowly, carefully, as though speaking them aloud might make the feelings more real. "I found out something last night—something she didn't tell me. It's not like she lied, but… she kept it from me. It's made me question… everything. How much of what we have is real? How much was shaped by what her family wanted?"
Hagrid's brow furrowed, his expression thoughtful. "Yeh mean about them arrangements, don' yeh?"
Harry's head shot up. "You knew?"
Hagrid raised a hand to calm him. "Knew about the tradition, aye. Them old families've been doin' that fer centuries. But Daphne's business? Tha's hers ter tell."
Harry exhaled sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "So you think it's normal? That I should just accept it?"
"Nah, didn't say tha'." Hagrid shifted his weight, crossing his arms as he regarded Harry carefully. "Ain't about what's normal. It's about what she chose. Yeh reckon she cares fer yeh?"
"I thought she did," Harry said quietly, his voice laced with doubt. "But now… I don't know. What if I'm just… convenient?"
Hagrid's face softened, a flicker of something like nostalgia crossing his features. "Listen, Harry. Yer dad—James—he had a similar sort o' pressure when he was yer age."
Harry blinked, caught off guard. "He did?"
"Aye," Hagrid said, nodding. "Yer grandparents were good folk, mind, but they came from one o' them old wizardin' families too. They'd a mind fer James ter make a proper match, somethin' that'd keep the bloodlines strong, y'know how it is."
"But he didn't, did he?" Harry pointed out sharply, "He chose for himself!"
Hagrid chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "O' course he chose fer himself. Yer dad could be stubborn as a hippogriff, and when he set his sights on Lily, tha' was it. Didn't matter what anyone else thought—he knew who he wanted."
Harry looked down, his hands gripping the edge of the fence. "And how does that help me with Daphne? I think she wants to choose, but she said she chose me for her parents."
Hagrid's face softened. "Listen, Harry. Trust don' mean pretendin' things're perfect. It means reckonin' with what's real and decidin' if yeh can handle it. Sounds ter me like Daphne's got her own struggles, same as you. Yeh gotta ask yerself—do yeh care enough ter work through it with her?"
Harry looked down, his hands gripping the edge of the fence. "I don't even know where to start."
"Start by talkin' ter her, proper-like," Hagrid said firmly. "But give it a moment. Sort through what yeh're feelin' first, or yeh'll end up makin' a bigger mess of it. Bein' honest's important, but bein' thoughtful's just as much."
Harry nodded slowly, letting Hagrid's words sink in. The knot in his chest loosened slightly, though it didn't disappear entirely. "Thanks, Hagrid."
"Anytime, Harry," Hagrid said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "And fer what it's worth, I've seen the way she looks at yeh. Don' think yer just a 'convenient choice.' Yeh're about as far from convenient as it gets."
That caught Harry off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"
A deep chuckle rumbled from Hagrid's chest. "Think about it. Yeh've got half the wizardin' world lookin' ter either help yeh or hurt yeh, and when yeh're not runnin' off ter save the day, yeh've got the charm of a grumpy hippogriff. Not exactly an easy person ter cozy up to, now, are yeh?"
A reluctant smile tugged at Harry's lips despite himself. "Thanks, Hagrid. Really inspiring."
Still grinning, Hagrid leaned against the fence, his tone softening. "All I'm sayin' is, Daphne's a smart one. She didn't pick yeh ter make life easier fer herself. She picked yeh 'cause she saw summat in yeh—same as yeh saw in her. And the fact yer losin' sleep over whether she cares? Tha' tells me yeh already know she does. Yer just tryin' ter make sure yer ready ter believe it."
For a moment, Harry stared down at the frost-covered ground, Hagrid's words settling over him like the slow thaw of a winter morning. "Maybe," he admitted, though the tightness in his chest had eased.
Hagrid nodded, his massive hand giving Harry's shoulder one last reassuring squeeze. "But don' let it twist yeh up too much. Good things, they take work. An' I reckon the pair o' yeh are up fer it."
Harry's chest felt a little lighter, the knot of uncertainty loosening as Hagrid's words settled over him. He offered a small smile. "Thanks, Hagrid. I needed that."
"Anytime, Harry," Hagrid said warmly, straightening as his gaze wandered toward the paddock. "Though… reckon I should follow my own advice a bit more often."
That caught Harry's attention. "What do you mean?"
For a moment, Hagrid didn't answer. He reached down, brushing some stray dirt off his hands, his expression thoughtful. "Been thinkin' a lot lately. 'Bout things I can't quite control." His tone was lighter than his words, but the shadow in his eyes was unmistakable.
Harry tilted his head, frowning. "Hagrid, is something going on?"
A heavy sigh escaped Hagrid, and he rested one large hand on the fence. "Yeh know how it is with Umbridge, always sniffin' about fer trouble. Been hearin' things—mutterin's from her and her lot. Reckon she's been lookin' fer a reason ter send me packin'. Might not be much longer 'til she finds one."
Harry straightened, alarm flashing in his eyes. "What? She can't do that—can she?"
"She can do plenty," Hagrid said grimly, his gaze fixed on the paddock. "Don't matter how good yer lessons are, if someone like her's got it out fer yeh. And let's be honest, Harry—I don't exactly fit her idea of a proper teacher."
"That's ridiculous," Harry snapped, anger rising. "You've done more for this school than she ever will. Everyone knows that."
Hagrid's smile was small, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Appreciate that, Harry. But it don' change what's comin'. If it happens… well, I've been thinkin' it might be time ter head back ter the giants."
"The giants?" Harry stared, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You'd leave Hogwarts?"
"Don't want ter," Hagrid admitted, his tone softening. "But, I've been thinkin' I should check up on 'em anyway. Make sure tha' Karkus still appreciates yer gifts, yeh know?"
Harry's jaw tightened, the weight of Hagrid's words sinking in. "It's not fair. You shouldn't have to leave just because of her."
"Nothin' fair 'bout it," Hagrid said simply, his massive hand resting briefly on Harry's shoulder again. "But life don' always give yeh fair. Sometimes it gives yeh what yeh can handle. And I reckon I can handle this."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the frost crunching faintly underfoot as the morning breeze stirred the trees.
"An', would yeh look after Grawp fer me? I know yeh two didn' get along well on the way over, but he does know yeh."
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the request. "Grawp? Hagrid, if you're leaving… You're coming back, right?"
A frown tugged at Hagrid's face as his gaze shifted toward the paddock, searching for the right words. "I certainly hope ter," he said after a moment, his tone a mixture of determination and reluctance. "Wouldn't sit right with me, bein' driven outta me home by tha' woman. Hogwarts… it's where I belong."
For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of unspoken possibilities hanging between them.
"But," Hagrid continued, quieter now, "I know better than ter think things'll change just 'cause I wish 'em ter. Umbridge—she's got the Ministry behind her, an' she's diggin' her claws in deep. Until things shift, comin' back might not be up ter me."
The thought settled heavily in Harry's chest, his hands gripping the edge of the fence. "So you'd just… leave? Let her win?"
Shaking his head, Hagrid straightened slightly. "Ain't about lettin' her win, Harry. It's about what's best fer everyone. If I stay, she'll just find ways ter make it worse—fer me, fer the students, fer the school. Sometimes… sometimes leavin' is the best way ter fight."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but the steadiness in Hagrid's expression stopped him cold. "And you think going to the giants is the way to fight?"
"I think it's what I can do," Hagrid said simply, his large hands resting on the fence. "We'll need the giants, Harry. When the time comes, havin' 'em on our side could make all the difference. If I've gotta step away fer a while ter make that happen… well, I reckon it's worth it."
The morning sunlight was brighter now, glinting off the frost-covered ground as Hagrid gave a final sigh. "Come on, Harry. Let's get these tools put away, eh?"
Nodding, Harry followed Hagrid across the paddock and down the sloping path to his cabin. The familiar structure stood nestled against the edge of the forest, Fang trotting lazily ahead. Hagrid gestured toward a small shed tucked to the side of the cabin, its weathered wood blending into the surrounding trees.
As they stepped inside, the earthy scent of oil and wood filled the air. Tools hung neatly on the walls, and sacks of feed were stacked in one corner. Harry moved to the side as Hagrid set the mallets down with a low grunt, but his attention was drawn to something else, something tucked beneath a heavy tarp in the corner.
His heart gave a small jolt of recognition. "Is that…?"
Hagrid turned, following Harry's gaze. A knowing smile spread across his face. "Aye, that's Sirius' old bike. Still runs, too—gave it a bit of a tune-up meself after he left it here."
Stepping closer, Harry's hand brushing the edge of the tarp as he pulled it back. The gleaming metal of the enchanted motorbike caught the light, its lines as sleek and bold as his childhood dreams had once remembered.
"Sirius said he doesn't want it back yet," Hagrid added, leaning on the edge of the shed door. "Said it's got too many memories tied up in it fer him right now. But he reckoned it'd be in good hands here."
Harry ran his fingers along the handlebars, his voice quiet. "It's incredible."
"Aye, it is," Hagrid said with a grin. Then, after a pause, he added, "Tell yeh what, Harry. If yeh fancy takin' it fer a spin while I'm gone, I won't tell a soul. Reckon Sirius wouldn't mind, neither."
"You're serious?" Harry asked, turning to face him.
Hagrid's chuckle rumbled through the small shed. "Well, I'm not Sirius, but aye. Long as yeh don't go breakin' yer neck on it."
A small laugh escaped Harry, but the weight of Hagrid's earlier words still lingered. "Thanks, Hagrid. I'll… I'll think about it."
"Good lad," Hagrid said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "Bit o' wind in yer hair might do yeh some good."
As he pushed open the door to his workshop, the familiar scent of parchment and ink mingled with the faint tang of mithril from the tools stacked neatly along the walls. But the room was blessedly quiet, save for the soft scratch of a quill on parchment.
Luna sat at his workbench, her head tilted slightly as she sketched delicate lines onto a piece of vellum. A small collection of rune stones lay scattered across the table, their surfaces gleaming faintly in the low light. She didn't look up as he entered, but her soft, melodic voice filled the room.
"I wondered when you'd come."
Harry froze in the doorway. "You knew I'd come here?"
She smiled faintly, her quill pausing mid-stroke. "It's where you always go when you need to think. And sometimes, when you don't want to think at all."
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah… I guess it is."
Luna gestured to the stool across from her without looking up from her work. "I've been drawing protection runes. They're meant to keep away things you can't see but still feel. Would you like to help?"
Harry hesitated, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The steady rhythm of Luna's quill against the parchment filled the silence as he pulled up the stool and sat. For a moment, he just watched her, the precision of her movements and the serene focus on her face.
"I didn't come here for runes," he said finally, his voice quiet.
"I know," Luna replied, setting her quill aside and meeting his gaze with calm, unblinking eyes. "But sometimes it's easier to start with something small. You're confused about Daphne."
The words caught him off guard, and he blinked at her. "How—how do you know that?"
Her serene smile widened just slightly as she reached for a nearby rune stone, turning it over in her fingers. "Because it's written all over you. The way you hesitate before you speak, the way your shoulders tense when you think too hard. And… Daphne came to me not too long ago."
Harry straightened, surprise flickering across his face. "She did? Why would she come to you?"
Luna tilted her head, her gaze distant as if recalling the memory. "I think she needed someone to talk to. Someone who wasn't part of everything else." She placed the rune stone down carefully. "She didn't tell me what happened, if that's what you're worried about. But she wanted to understand something about herself."
"What?" Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the workbench. "What was she trying to understand?"
Luna regarded him for a long moment, her expression soft but unreadable. "I think she was trying to figure out if it was okay to be who she really is."
That hit him harder than he expected, and he struggled to find a response. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Luna said gently, "that Daphne's clever. Very clever. But clever people sometimes spend so much time being what others expect that they forget to ask themselves what they actually want." Her voice softened, her eyes searching his face. "She wanted to know if she was allowed to want you."
Harry froze, the knot in his chest twisting tighter. "She said that?"
"Not exactly," Luna replied, tilting her head thoughtfully. "But I think that's what she meant. And sometimes, Harry, it's easier to talk to someone who isn't tangled up in all the things you're trying to figure out."
Shifting in his seat, his gaze dropping to the scattered runes. "Do you… do you know about arrangements?" he asked cautiously.
Luna's quill paused mid-air, her head tilting slightly as she considered the question. "Of course," she said simply, her tone as light as if he'd asked about the weather. "They've been a tradition in pureblood families for centuries." She gave a small shrug. "Very practical, really."
Her words made his stomach twist. "Practical?" he echoed, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. "That's what this is supposed to be?"
Instead of responding right away, she cocked her head to the side, her gaze drifting toward the vellum in front of her as though the answer were written there. "No," she said finally, her voice softer now. "Not for Daphne. That's not why she chose you."
Harry frowned. "You sound awfully sure of that."
"I am," Luna said matter-of-factly, meeting his gaze again. "Because if she hadn't wanted you for herself, she wouldn't have asked for my advice."
That stopped him short. "What do you mean?"
"She was trying to figure out if it was okay to let herself have what she wanted," Luna explained, as though the answer were perfectly obvious. "Arrangements aren't supposed to be about love, you know. They're about duty. But Daphne… I think she's trying to have both."
Her words hung in the air, and Harry struggled to make sense of them. "And you think she… loves me?"
"I think," Luna said thoughtfully, turning a rune stone over in her hand, "that she's learning how to."
For a moment, Harry just stared at her, Luna's words settling over him like the steady rhythm of rain. The idea of Daphne trying to balance duty and love—trying to have both—twisted something deep in his chest. It wasn't just relief; it was heavier, layered with emotions he wasn't sure how to name.
Across the table, Luna watched him quietly, her gaze steady but unpressuring. "Does that help you?" she asked after a moment, her voice soft and curious.
His fingers brushed the edge of a nearby rune stone as he hesitated. "I… I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I mean, it helps to know why she—why she chose me. But it doesn't… fix everything."
Luna's response came simply, as though the answer was obvious. "It's not supposed to." She rested her chin on her hand, her gaze thoughtful. "Sometimes knowing is just the first step."
Harry let out a small, humourless laugh. "That's not very comforting."
Her head tilted slightly, as though considering his point. "Maybe not. But you don't really need comforting, do you? You need to decide what you want to do next."
The quiet truth of her words struck him harder than he'd expected. His gaze dropped to the scattered runes, their faint glow catching the soft light of the workshop. They felt like fragments of something bigger, something just out of reach. "Yeah," he said finally, his voice quieter. "I guess I do."
For a moment, Harry's attention lingered on the rune stones, watching as Luna selected one, her fingers moving with practiced care. The steady rhythm of her work should have been soothing, but his thoughts churned, tangled with everything they'd just discussed.
As she reached for another stone, something caught his eye. The back of her hand shifted into the light, and for a moment, he thought it was just the way the shadows fell. But when she moved again, the faint, jagged lines came into focus. Words—dark red and raw—etched into her pale skin, as though carved by a cruel hand.
Before he could think, Harry reached out, gently catching her wrist. His fingers turned her hand over, his breath catching as the words stopped him cold: "I must not be weird."
His lungs felt like they'd emptied, the air around him suddenly heavier, pressing against his chest. "She did this to you," he said, his voice trembling with barely-contained fury. "Umbridge."
Luna didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, her expression calm but curious. "She thought it might help," she replied lightly, as though she were describing a lesson gone awry.
"Help?" The word tore from his throat, sharp and incredulous. "Luna, this—this is—" He couldn't find the words, his grip tightening slightly on her hand. "It's disgusting. Barbaric."
A faint, almost wistful smile curved her lips. "It doesn't hurt anymore," she said softly. "And, you know, Harry, it doesn't hurt as much if you don't believe it."
His hand trembled as he released hers, his jaw tightening. "That doesn't make it right," he snapped, his voice low and fierce. "You shouldn't have to deal with this—she shouldn't have—" The words broke off as his throat tightened.
Luna folded her hands in her lap, her gaze steady. "People like Umbridge want to make you small," she said, her voice quiet but unshakable. Her fingers brushed over the scarred words like they were nothing more than a faint stain. "They want you to believe you're the worst thing they can imagine. But if you know they're wrong… then it doesn't matter, does it?"
"It does matter," Harry shot back, his anger shifting into something heavier, sharper. His voice softened, but the fire in it refused to fade. "It matters because they don't have the right to do this. To anyone. Especially not to you."
Her expression softened, and she watched him for a long moment before reaching out, placing her hand lightly over his. "You're kind to care so much," she said warmly, her tone carrying no hint of pity. "But you don't have to be angry for me, Harry. I've never minded being… Different."
"That's not the point," Harry muttered, his gaze falling back to the words etched into her skin. "You shouldn't have to mind. That's the point."
A flicker of something softer touched her smile. "I know," she said simply. Her fingers lingered over his briefly before she pulled her hand back. "But when people don't understand you, it's usually because they don't know how to see. That's not your fault, or mine."
The words hit something raw inside him, and a surge of frustration broke free. "I don't care!" he snapped, standing so suddenly his chair scraped against the floor as his hands slammed down on the table with a deep thud. "I don't care that it's not your fault—I'll make it her problem!"
Luna didn't flinch at the sound of his hands slamming against the table. Instead, she watched him with a serene, unblinking gaze, as if she'd expected this all along. After a beat of silence, she reached for one of the rune stones and turned it over in her fingers, her movements slow and deliberate.
"You're very brave, Harry," she said softly, her voice steady. "But anger is like a wildfire. It can burn bright and fierce, but if you don't tend to it, it might destroy the very thing you want to protect."
Her words lingered in the air, cooling the space between them. Slowly, she set the rune stone down, its faintly glowing surface catching the light. "It means a lot to me that you care. Really, it does. But you don't have to fight every battle just because it feels unfair."
Harry let out a frustrated breath, his hands still pressed against the table. "But it is unfair," he muttered, his voice low but insistent. "She had no right—"
"She didn't," Luna interrupted gently, her tone unwavering. "But I wouldn't let her have the satisfaction of knowing she left a mark on my soul, just because she left one on my skin."
Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. "You see things you care about and want to fix them, Harry. That's one of the reasons people follow you, even when it's hard. But not everything needs fixing. Sometimes it just needs… understanding."
The knot in his chest loosened slightly, though his frustration still simmered beneath the surface. He looked down at the words on her hand again, his voice quieter now. "I just don't understand how you're okay with it."
Luna tilted her head, as though weighing the question carefully. "Because it's not about what they say I am. It's about what I know I am. And I know that being 'weird'—" she smiled faintly at the word "—isn't a bad thing. Not to me."
"I'm still going to make her pay for this," He vowed, struggling to control his breathing. "She'll regret making herself important enough for me. But I won't be rash about it."
She studied him for a long moment, her pale eyes searching his face. Her faint smile didn't waver, though there was a flicker of something deeper—sadness, perhaps, or understanding.
"She's already small, you know," Luna said softly, setting her hand back in her lap. "Someone like Umbridge makes herself feel big by hurting others. If you make her regret it, Harry, just be sure it's because it's right—not because it's satisfying."
Harry's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to take a steadying breath. "What she did to you—it's not right. She doesn't deserve to just… get away with it."
"No, she doesn't," Luna agreed, her tone gentle but firm. "But you're not her. You don't need to become what she fears just to prove her wrong."
That gave him pause. His gaze fell back to the words scarred into her hand, the anger in his chest twisting into something colder, sharper. "I'm not going to let her win. She doesn't get to decide who we are."
Frowning, she shook her head slowly. "No, she doesn't. But she is deciding exactly who you are if you play into her expectations."
That struck something deep inside him, and his fists clenched at his sides. Slowly, he raised the Gauntlet, his fingers curling as the Soul Gem began to glow. Feeding his anger into it, the gem pulsed brightly, releasing a miasma of foul fog that curled and coiled around his hand. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, laced with the acrid scent of something ancient and bitter.
"She has no idea how wrong her expectations are," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper, but brimming with fury.
Briefly tracing the scars on her hand briefly, Luna covered them with her other hand. "No," she said softly, her tone tinged with melancholy. "I suppose she doesn't."
The stone gargoyle slid aside with a muttered password, revealing the spiral staircase to the headmaster's office. Harry ascended quickly, his footsteps sharp against the stone. His anger simmered just below the surface, the image of Luna's scars and Hagrid's resignation fuelling every step.
When he reached the heavy wooden door, he didn't bother to knock. Instead, he pushed it open, the faint hum of magical devices inside the room filling the air as he stormed in. Dumbledore looked up from a parchment he'd been reading, his calm blue eyes meeting Harry's fiery gaze.
"Harry," Dumbledore greeted, his voice as measured as ever. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I want to know why you're letting this happen," he demanded, slamming the door shut behind him, his voice tight with barely-contained fury. "Why are you letting Umbridge get away with everything she's doing—to Hagrid, to Luna, to everyone?"
Dumbledore set the parchment down carefully, folding his hands atop his desk. "I assume you're referring to her disciplinary methods and her treatment of our staff."
"Disciplinary methods?" Harry echoed, incredulous. "She's carving words into people's hands! She's trying to get Hagrid fired—she's practically running this school like a prison. And you're just sitting here, acting like it's fine."
A flicker of sadness crossed Dumbledore's face, but his tone remained steady. "It is not fine, Harry. It is far from fine. But my inaction is not indifference."
"Then what is it?" Harry snapped. "Because it looks like you're just letting her win."
Dumbledore's expression grew solemn, the weight of his years evident in his gaze. "Sometimes, Harry, doing the right thing does not mean doing the obvious thing. Were I to openly oppose Dolores Umbridge—were I to challenge her authority—the Ministry would descend upon this school faster than a flock of crows."
"Good!" Harry shot back. "Let them see what she's doing!"
"They would not see, Harry," Dumbledore replied quietly, his voice heavy with conviction. "They would only see what she wants them to see: a headmaster undermining their authority. My resistance would solidify their control here, giving Dolores—and the Ministry—unopposed power. And once I am removed, there would be no one left to protect those who need it."
Harry's fists clenched at his sides. "So you're just letting her win anyway?"
A tired smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "No, Harry. I am letting her think she is winning." He leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto Harry's.
"It is why I have been making preparations. When I finally hand her the rope to have me removed from office, she will find herself the one under the noose—trapped, not empowered. The rules of this school, which have safeguarded its students for centuries, will bind her as surely as they do me. But unlike me, she will not know how to navigate them."
Harry frowned, his anger giving way to confusion. "What do you mean?"
"If Dolores becomes headmistress, the magic of Hogwarts itself will confine her actions," Dumbledore explained. "She will not be able to act with impunity, not as she does now. And I will no longer be bound by the limitations of this office. I will be free to act against Voldemort directly, without the Ministry's interference."
The revelation struck Harry like a thunderclap. "You're… you're letting her oust you. On purpose."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "If I can make her believe she has won, then yes. It will allow me to protect this school—and you—all the more effectively."
For a long moment, Harry said nothing, his thoughts racing. Finally, he exhaled slowly. "You're playing a long game," he said bitterly.
"I am playing the only game that will give us a chance to win. But that does not mean it is easy, or without pain." Dumbledore said solemnly, "However, where I as headmaster cannot publicly act down upon Dolores, a student acting up is a different matter."
Harry's gaze snapped up, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "A student acting up?" he repeated, his voice edged with skepticism.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly, though the weariness in his expression didn't fade. "You have a knack for attracting attention, Harry. And for inspiring others to act when they might otherwise remain silent. Dolores has underestimated you, as she has underestimated many of your peers. That is a mistake you can use."
A bitter laugh escaped Harry. "You're saying I should just… cause trouble? Fight back? She'd have me in detention faster than you can say 'I must not be mad.'"
"Perhaps," Dumbledore admitted, his tone unflinching. "But after all you have endured, would you consider Dolores' attention to be a burden too far?"
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Harry stared at the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk, his mind replaying the scenes of Luna's scarred hand, Hagrid's quiet resignation, and the venomous smile Umbridge always wore.
"You think I can do that," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "You think I can… undermine her."
"I think you can make her regret ever coming to this school."
Harry's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he studied Dumbledore. "And you're okay with that?" he asked, his voice low but steady. "With me breaking the rules, making her life miserable? That doesn't sound like the kind of thing a headmaster should encourage."
A faint smile tugged at Dumbledore's lips, though the weariness in his eyes remained. "Who said anything about breaking the rules? You will find, Harry, that the punishments that could be exerted upon you for general disobedience is… lighter than we'd like to pretend."
Harry raised an eyebrow, suspicion flickering across his face. "Lighter?" he echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Dumbledore leaned back slightly, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Hogwarts has endured for over a thousand years, Harry. Its rules are not only older than Dolores Umbridge, but wiser, too. They were written to protect the school and its students—not to cater to the whims of any one person."
"So you're saying…" Harry began, his brow furrowing as the implication set in.
"I am saying," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "that while Dolores may wield the Ministry's authority, Hogwarts itself may not always be… cooperative. And it would be a shame if someone were to use that… flexibility… to their advantage."
The words hung in the air, their meaning crystal clear. Harry's mind raced, his anger cooling into something sharper, more deliberate. With a faint smile, Dumbledore reached for a thick, ancient tome resting on his desk—the school rulebook for teachers.
"For example," Dumbledore began, opening the book to a marked page, "did you know, Harry, that only the headmaster may expel a student? And even then, they must provide an unbiased reason and obtain confirmation of at least three acts of severe rule-breaking. A safeguard established by the Founders to protect vulnerable students from a potentially malevolent headmaster."
Harry frowned, leaning forward to glance at the intricate lettering on the aged parchment. "You're saying… she can't expel anyone? Not without all that?"
"Precisely," Dumbledore replied, his calm tone betraying a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "And Dolores, I suspect, is unaware of this particular stipulation. She operates as though the Ministry's authority supersedes all else. But Hogwarts, Harry, has its own rules—and it is most particular about them."
A faint grin tugged at Harry's lips. "So, if we… push her, make her react, she can't actually do anything permanent?"
Dumbledore inclined his head, his expression growing serious. "She may attempt to intimidate or punish, but expulsion? That is beyond her reach without incontrovertible proof and impartial witnesses. It is why she resorts to… other methods."
Harry's smile faded at the memory of Luna's scarred hand. His voice lowered. "Like carving words into people."
For a moment, Dumbledore's expression darkened, his usual calm pierced by a flicker of anger. "Yes. Dolores's methods are cruel, but they reveal her greatest weakness: she relies on fear, not respect. Fear can be powerful, but it is also fragile. Break it, Harry, and you will find it shatters easily."
Harry hesitated before speaking again, his jaw tightening. "And what if she decides she doesn't care about the rules? What if she just throws me out of the castle anyway?"
Dumbledore's expression softened as he leaned back in his chair. "Then she will find herself bound by the weight of the school itself, insisting she uphold her requirements. At best, she could frame it as an out-of-school exclusion. That would obligate her to ensure you are picked up by a guardian—such as myself. She would also be required to provide you with regular schoolwork and allow you to take your final exams."
Harry blinked, startled. "You're serious?"
"Quite," Dumbledore said, his tone faintly amused. "A stipulation that I suspect you might find… tolerable, given why Dolores was sent here. She came with three objectives. First, to prevent me from raising an army of students—a goal you and Mr. Diggory have already subverted. Second, to monitor and control me, an aim my displacement will effectively ruin. And third, to watch and control you. A thoughtless exclusion on her part would render that last objective an utter failure."
Harry leaned back in his chair, his mind racing as he pieced together Dumbledore's reasoning. "So you're saying… she's already losing. She just doesn't know it yet."
Dumbledore gave a faint nod. "Precisely. Dolores believes she holds the reins of power here, but she is tethered by the very institution she seeks to control. Every decision she makes, every overreach, ties her more firmly to a position she cannot fully wield."
Harry's brow furrowed. "But people are still getting hurt. Hagrid. Luna. What's the point of playing the long game if she's free to do things like that in the meantime?"
For a moment, Dumbledore said nothing. His gaze grew distant, as though he were looking through Harry and into something far beyond the confines of the room. "The point, Harry," he said quietly, "is that while we cannot always prevent harm, we can shape what comes after. Every piece of her cruelty, every act of injustice, becomes part of the foundation that will bring her downfall."
"That's not good enough," Harry muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.
"No, it isn't," Dumbledore agreed, his voice soft but firm. "It is far from good enough. That is why I am trusting you to remind Dolores that the students of Hogwarts are not pawns to be toyed with. Push her, Harry. Make her stumble. But do so with care. Recklessness will only play into her hands."
Harry's eyes narrowed, his thoughts shifting from frustration to focus. "And if I do? If she stumbles?"
"Then we let the school—and the Ministry—see her for what she truly is," Dumbledore replied. "There is nothing more dangerous to someone like Dolores than the weight of her own actions. She will unravel herself, Harry. You must simply give her the opportunity."
Harry sat in silence for a moment, turning over Dumbledore's words. The fire in his chest hadn't cooled—it never would—but it had reshaped itself into something steadier, sharper. "You're putting a lot of faith in me," he said finally, his voice quiet.
Dumbledore's expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. "You've earned it. Time and again."
The weight of the words settled heavily on Harry's shoulders, but he didn't flinch. His gaze met Dumbledore's, steady and unwavering. "I won't be gentle with her," he said, his voice low but resolute. "I won't follow your ideals on peace."
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, his gaze piercing yet calm. "I will only ask that you restrain yourself to reasonable retaliation," he said softly. "And, Harry… remember, for all her flaws, Dolores is still human."
Now, I obviously don't usually ask for reviews, but for this I'd appreciate a review on how you guys feel about Umbridge and what you'd personally react or want Harry to react in the future.
Discord: kC3mbSpcsx (Take this link code, and then inside discord go to add server, join a server, and paste it there)