Authors Notes

As promised, my replies to the reviews,

Gunzen— Who said that Harry and Alex are going to be best friends off the bat? Even Victoria told Harry that he could be a bit annoying at times. AS for how Harry deals with the chamber of secrets, you are going to have to find out by reading the following chapters.

Lotus2109— Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Giving Harry Tom's memories was always the intended direction of the story. I had considered the possibility of him and Tom forming a bond and overcoming their differences, but that scenario would never realistically occur due to their personalities and history.

I do not need to strengthen Voldemort to give Harry a fair fight—think about it. The main reason Voldemort was the most dangerous Dark wizard of his time was that he was willing to perform magic too dark for most wizards. Sure, he was an exceptionally powerful wizard in his own right, but that was his true advantage. Harry might possess Voldemort's skills and memories, but at the end of the day, Voldemort will always have the upper hand because Harry will never be willing to embrace the full extent of dark magic the way Voldemort does.

As for the Steward family, they are not a self-insert. They are a prominent family descended from the founders of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in America. If you need more information on them, feel free to look up the Steward family on Google.

CaskettFan5— Everyone has an angle their playing, its up to Harry to figure out if it will do him harm, or benefit him.

Goosefire—thank you, hope you enjoy the following chapters.

Enjoy the story, and feel free to leave a review if you have any comments or questions; this will help the story get better.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Back to School

The end of summer arrived far too quickly for Harry's liking. Though he was eager to return to Hogwarts and begin executing his carefully planned campaign, leaving the Burrow felt like tearing himself away from the happiest month of his life. The Weasleys had welcomed him like family, a stark contrast to the cold indifference—no, outright hatred—he endured at Privet Drive. Whenever he thought about the Dursleys and the inevitable hostility waiting for him there, he felt a sharp pang of envy toward Ron. But that envy only fueled his determination—he would not return to that miserable house. Sirius Black was going to be freed. One way or another.

On their final evening at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley outdid herself, conjuring up a feast so delicious that Harry nearly forgot his impending departure. Every one of his favorite dishes was laid out, the meal culminating in a heavenly treacle pudding that left him completely stuffed. the evening stretched on, Fred and George brought the night to a spectacular close with a dazzling display of Filibuster Fireworks. Bright bursts of red and blue stars shot across the kitchen, ricocheting off walls and ceilings, filling the space with crackling light for a full half-hour. Laughter echoed through the house, warmth settling deep in Harry's chest. The night ended with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, a perfect send-off before bed.

But morning came too soon.

They were up at dawn, yet despite their early start, chaos reigned supreme. Mrs. Weasley was in a flurry of motion, her irritation mounting as she tore through the house searching for misplaced socks and quills. The narrow staircases became an obstacle course of colliding bodies—half-dressed Weasleys, toast clenched between teeth, shoving past one another in a desperate attempt to finish last-minute packing. In the yard, Mr. Weasley, ever the distracted enthusiast, nearly broke his neck tripping over a stray chicken while hauling Ginny's trunk toward the car.

Harry, however, was already fully dressed and composed. This time, he had made a conscious choice—he would always present himself well. Thanks to his holiday shopping spree, his new wardrobe, carefully selected and fitted, reflected his more serious approach to life. As he adjusted his sleeves, Fred and George immediately seized the opportunity, letting out exaggerated whistles and catcalls.

"Who's the lucky lady, Harry?" Fred teased, waggling his eyebrows. "Or is it ladies? Can't be too sure with your reputation at school." George added, elbowing him.

Ron shot Harry an incredulous look. "Blimey Harry, what's the occasion?"

Harry smirked. "No occasion. Just decided it was time I started dressing well, if I want people to respect me." That only fueled the twins' antics, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had their own reactions. "You look quite dashing, dear," Mrs. Weasley remarked approvingly, her expression warm.

Mr. Weasley nodded, impressed. "Yes. Very sharp indeed."

Ginny, predictably, flushed a deep shade of red and busied herself adjusting the strap on her bag.

Harry, already packed and prepared, had shrunk his trunk down to fit neatly inside his pocket. The diary—Tom Riddle's diary—was buried deep within, locked away until he was ready to deal with it. That left him free to help Ron, who was still scrambling to get his things together.

By the time they finally gathered outside, Harry took one look at the tiny, battered Ford Anglia and had serious doubts about how eight people, six oversized trunks, two owls, and a rat were supposed to fit inside.

Mr. Weasley, noticing Harry's skepticism, leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

"Not a word to Molly about the modifications, okay?" he murmured, flipping open the trunk.

Inside, the space had been magically expanded far beyond what physics—or common sense—should allow. Harry chuckled under his breath. The only reason Mrs. Weasley hadn't figured it out yet was that she simply wasn't familiar enough with Muggle cars to notice the difference.

When they finally crammed into the car, Harry found himself seated comfortably between Ron, Fred, George, and Percy. It shouldn't have been possible, yet somehow, there was plenty of room.

Mrs. Weasley twisted in her seat, glancing back with a thoughtful expression.

"Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" she mused aloud, her tone almost impressed.

She and Ginny sat in the front, which had been stretched so wide it resembled a park bench.

"I mean, you'd never guess how spacious it is just looking at it from the outside."

Mr. Weasley, practically vibrating with excitement at being behind the wheel of a Muggle automobile, started the engine, and the car rumbled out of the yard, carrying them away from the Burrow and toward King's Cross Station.

They pulled into the station parking lot at a quarter to eleven.

Mr. Weasley, still full of energy, dashed across the street to fetch trolleys for the luggage. The group hurried inside, weaving through the bustling crowds of Muggle travelers.

Harry had done this before—caught the Hogwarts Express, disappeared through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The real trick was making sure they weren't seen by the wrong people.

Of course, he could have simply Apparated straight onto the platform. But that would raise far too many questions.

And Harry Potter wasn't about to draw that kind of attention. Not yet, not till he was ready for the world to see his might.

The towering clock above them ticked away, each passing second tightening the urgency in the air. Five minutes left.

"Percy first," Mrs. Weasley instructed, her gaze flicking between the station's bustling crowd and the time. Anxiety lined her face, but Percy didn't hesitate. With the air of someone accustomed to following rules to the letter, he strode forward and vanished through the barrier with practiced ease.

Mr. Weasley followed next, disappearing just as smoothly.

Then came Fred and George, grinning as they exchanged a quick look before slipping through the barrier with effortless synchronization, as if they had rehearsed it a hundred times.

"I'll take Ginny. You two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand. The youngest Weasley gave a small, nervous gulp, but before she could say anything, they, too, were gone—swallowed by the magical gateway leading to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Harry barely paid attention to them anymore. He had done this before. It was second nature.

"Let's go together," Ron said, gripping his trolley with determination. "We've only got a minute."

Harry nodded, adjusting his stance. He had already secured his luggage—Hedwig's cage, his luggage—shrunk neatly and tucked away in his trunk in his pocket. He turned, facing the barrier. Unlike Floo Powder, this method of magical travel wasn't the least bit uncomfortable. No spinning, no dizzying whirl of fireplaces. Just a straightforward, confident stride through the invisible gateway.

Side by side, they pushed forward, picking up speed as they neared the wall.

And then—

CRASH!

The world jolted.

The impact hit like a hammer. Ron's trolley slammed into the solid brick wall, rebounding with violent force. His trunk tumbled off, landing with a deafening thump. The collision ripped the air from Harry's lungs as he toppled backward, hitting the ground hard.

Gasps rippled through the station. People turned, wide-eyed. A uniformed guard stormed toward them, his face red with irritation.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing?" he barked, his voice cutting through the stunned silence.

Harry pushed himself upright, his ribs throbbing from the impact. He forced a strained chuckle, playing it off as an accident.

"He—he lost control of the trolley," Harry said quickly, brushing himself off.

Ron scrambled to gather his fallen luggage, his face burning with embarrassment as curious bystanders continued to gawk at them.

"What the bloody hell—why can't we get through?" Ron hissed under his breath, his voice thick with frustration.

Harry didn't answer immediately, his mind racing. This wasn't normal. The gateway should have opened. What could have sealed it?

"I dunno—"

But then it hit him.

The realization struck like a lightning bolt.

Oh that bloody elf.

Harry's fingers curled into fists as his jaw tightened. Damn you Dobby.

This had his meddling fingerprints all over it. That irritating little menace had sworn—promised—not to interfere again, He had promised to let Harry deal with the Malfoys. And yet, here they were, stuck on the wrong side of the barrier, with their only way into Hogwarts slipping further out of reach.

Harry exhaled sharply. He'd deal with Dobby later. For now, they needed a way onto that train.

"We're going to miss the train," Ron whispered, panic creeping into his voice.

Harry's green eyes flicked toward the clock, then back to Ron. "No, we won't."

He scanned the station quickly. The initial commotion had died down, and people had returned to their routines, dismissing the incident as nothing more than two clumsy boys causing trouble.

Good. That meant no one was paying attention.

He grabbed Ron's arm, yanking him—and his trolley—closer.

"Hold on. To everything," Harry ordered, voice low and commanding. His free hand reached into his pocket, fingers wrapping around his first wand. He pulled it out with practiced ease. "And whatever you do—don't let go."

Ron gaped at him. "Harry, what are you—"

Before he could finish, the world lurched.

The familiar, crushing sensation of Apparition enveloped them. Air whooshed past, squeezing them through an invisible tunnel. The station vanished in an instant—

And then, they were there.

Ron staggered as his feet hit solid ground, his face twisted in discomfort. His knees wobbled, his stomach twisting violently. For a second, it looked like he might vomit.

"We—we jus—" Ron stammered, his expression a mix of shock and awe. He turned wide eyes toward Harry, still processing what had just happened.

Before he could get the words out, a frantic voice cut through the air.

"There you are!"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rushed toward them; their faces flushed with worry.

"Where were you two?" Mr. Weasley demanded. "The train's about to leave—get on, now!"

Harry barely spared them a glance. He flicked his gaze toward the station clock—ten seconds… nine… eight…

No time.

With a fluid flick of his wand, Ron's luggage lifted effortlessly into the air, floating behind them.

"Ron, let's go," Harry said smoothly. Then, throwing a quick, casual farewell over his shoulder, he called, "Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!"

The two Weasley parents barely had time to process what they had just seen before the boys bolted, dashing onto the train with Ron's luggage in tow, just as it pulled away from the station.

They had made it.

The rhythmic clatter of the train's wheels echoed through the compartment as Platform Nine and Three-Quarters shrank into the distance. The last glimpses of the bustling station disappeared, replaced by rolling countryside and endless fields stretching toward the horizon.

Ron, still reeling from what had just happened, turned to Harry, his face a mixture of awe and excitement.

"Blimey, Harry," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You didn't tell me you could Apparate! That was bloody brilliant! Why didn't you teach me that?"

Harry met Ron's eager gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Deep down, he knew the truth—Ron wasn't anywhere near ready. Apparition required precision, raw magical power, and an unshakable focus, all of which Harry had honed through relentless training. But telling Ron that? That would crush him.

Instead, Harry kept his tone light, offering a simple challenge.

"If you start actually taking our practice sessions seriously, I'll teach you how," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Ron's face split into a wide grin. "That's great, mate!" he said enthusiastically. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "And it's a good thing Mum and Dad didn't see you Apparate onto the platform. With all that commotion, they probably missed it—but if Dad had noticed, he'd have been on your case about the dangers of underage magic, splinching and all that."

Harry gave a small nod, silently agreeing. Arthur Weasley position in the ministry of magic meant that he did not take law breaking lightly, and the last thing Harry needed was a lecture about the dangers of splinching or illegal Apparition.

Pushing the thought aside, Harry straightened. "Come on, let's find Hermione and Daphne," he said.

With that, the two boys set off, moving swiftly through the narrow corridor, dodging bustling students and weaving past compartments filled with familiar faces. It didn't take long before they found the right one—inside, Hermione Granger and Daphne Greengrass sat opposite each other, engaged in conversation.

The moment Hermione spotted them, she sprang to her feet, beaming. "Harry! Ron!" she exclaimed.

Daphne stood as well, her usual composed demeanor softening as she greeted them.

The compartment buzzed with warmth as hugs were exchanged, brief but sincere.

After the initial excitement settled, Hermione's sharp eyes flicked over Harry. "Where's your trunk?" she asked, brow furrowing.

Harry gave her a casual shrug. "I've got a shrinking trunk now," he explained, patting his pocket. "Hedwig's already at Hogwarts. Sent her ahead before we left the Burrow."

Satisfied with the answer, Hermione nodded, and the four of them settled into their seats.

The conversation naturally shifted to the topic of their summer holidays.

Daphne spoke first, her voice carrying the elegance of someone accustomed to refined experiences. "We traveled to China this summer," she said, crossing her legs. "It was fascinating—my parents insisted we tour some of the ancient magical sites. We even met a few spell masters who practice an entirely different branch of magic than what we're used to in Britain."

Hermione's eyes lit up with curiosity. "That sounds incredible!" she said. "I went on holiday too—my parents took me on a trip through France. We visited Paris, of course, and explored a few old wizarding villages tucked away near Bordeaux. The magical history there is fascinating."

As they spoke, Harry listened, nodding at the right moments. When their attention turned to him, he kept his tone even, his words measured.

He told them about his summer, recounting events in a way that sounded both believable and mundane. He spoke about his time at the bank, inquiring about his family's assets—though he carefully omitted any mention of Sirius Black or Azkaban. Instead, he bent the truth ever so slightly, weaving a new story about meeting Victoria Steward at Gringotts.

For the most part, they accepted his words without question. But not Daphne.

As Harry spoke, he noticed her watching him closely, her sharp blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly. A single, perfectly shaped eyebrow arched in silent skepticism.

She doesn't buy it.

Harry felt the corner of his lips twitch. Maintaining eye contact, he gave her a slight nod—not now, later.

Daphne's lips pressed together, but after a moment, she returned the nod, understanding the unspoken message.

In truth, Harry wasn't ready to share everything with them—not yet. His instincts screamed that doing so would be a mistake.

A small, dark part of him whispered warnings—reminders of betrayal.

Peter Pettigrew had sold out his father. Had given Voldemort the means to destroy his family.

Harry forcefully shoved the thought away. No. He was not his father. And his friends were not Pettigrew.

But another part of him—the logical part—remained cautious. It wasn't about trust; it was about risk. The things he was involved in now? They were dangerous. Information like that could be extracted from people's minds. Even if Ron, Hermione, or Daphne meant no harm, their thoughts weren't shielded.

Not yet.

Until they mastered Occlumency, he couldn't afford to let them in.

For now, they would remain in the dark.

And when Daphne inevitably pressed him later, he'd be ready. Just like with Alex Greengrass, he'd have another carefully crafted explanation.

One that sounded just true enough.

The train rumbled along the tracks, its steady motion lulling the passengers into a sense of ease as the vast countryside rolled past the windows. Inside their compartment, Hermione straightened her robes and looked at the two boys, her expression expectant.

"You two should change into your school robes," she suggested, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve.

Harry glanced at Ron, who was cradling a slumbering Scabbers in his arms, the rat's tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Ron groaned but relented, shifting to dig through his trunk for his robes. As he pulled them out, he turned to Harry.

"Hold Scabbers for me, will you?" he asked, offering the sleeping rodent with a slight grimace.

Harry took the rat in one hand, holding it away from his body like one might handle a particularly foul sock. Without missing a beat, he retrieved his wand with his free hand and gave it a swift, silent flick. A ripple of magic shimmered over his clothes, and within seconds, his casual attire had morphed seamlessly into his Hogwarts robes.

Ron let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You know, mate, you're really going to have to teach me some of these spells. They're lifesavers."

Daphne chuckled, crossing her arms as she leaned back against her seat. "You say that now, Weasley. But once we get to school, you'll make up some excuse, laze around, and let the rest of us do all the work."

Ron snapped his head toward her, shooting daggers with his eyes. "Oi—"

Hermione cut him off before he could properly protest. "She's right, Ron. You really need to take training seriously with us."

Ron opened his mouth, his ears already turning a shade of red, but no words came out. He clenched his jaw, his shoulders tense as he flopped back into his seat, fuming in silence.

Harry remained quiet, though inwardly, he knew the girls had a point. Ron was the weakest link in their group—not because he lacked magical ability, but because he lacked the discipline to hone it. The potential was there, but potential without effort meant nothing.

Settling into his seat, Harry found himself lost in thought. He sat across from Ron and Hermione, with Daphne beside him, deep in conversation with Hermione. Their voices faded into the background as Harry absently looked down at the rat in his hand.

Something about Scabbers caught his attention. His gaze flicked over the rat's body, taking in the thinning fur, the twitching whiskers—until his eyes landed on one of its front paws.

One of the toes was missing.

At first, it barely registered. Probably lost in a fight with another rat, Harry reasoned. But something about the injury nagged at him. It felt... off.

His mind worked through the puzzle slowly, each piece shifting into place. Then, all at once, it hit him—like lightning streaking through his skull.

"He blew himself up and took a street full of Muggles with him. All they found was a piece of his finger."

Harry inhaled sharply, his entire body stiffening as realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.

No. No bloody way.

His grip on the rat tightened ever so slightly as his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

"Could Lady Luck really be on my side?"

This was impossible. Beyond miraculous. It was the kind of luck that only happened when the stars aligned. But if he was right—if this rat was truly who he thought it was—then this changed everything.

He had to be certain.

His mind raced, piecing together every detail he knew. Ron had inherited Scabbers from Percy—but that in itself was strange. Rats didn't live that long. Harry knew that.

No ordinary rat could have survived this long.

Unless…

Unless it wasn't a rat at all.

An Animagus.

Pettigrew.

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral, his fingers instinctively flexing against the rat's frail body. His chest burned with barely restrained anticipation. This was it.

This was perfect.

If he could prove that Scabbers was really Peter Pettigrew, he could expose the truth. He could bring him before Dumbledore, force him to transform in front of the entire school, and—

Sirius.

The Ministry would have no choice but to free him. His godfather's name would be cleared.

Harry felt something bubbling up inside him—a dark, thrilling amusement. He almost laughed. One of his greatest objectives was within grasping distance, and Pettigrew had no idea.

No, he wouldn't act yet. Let the rat enjoy its last moments of freedom.

Harry smirked, his mind already weaving the next steps of his plan. He wouldn't tip Pettigrew off. Wouldn't let him suspect a thing.

He'd play the oblivious fool.

Until the moment was right.

The compartment door suddenly slid open.

Harry's smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by a flicker of irritation. His eyes snapped up, and he barely suppressed a groan.

Standing in the doorway, looking far too pleased with himself, was Alex.

Alex strolled into the compartment with an easy confidence, his gaze shifting first to Harry and Ron before flicking to Hermione and Daphne. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he greeted them.

"Sup, guys?" he said casually before turning his attention to the girls. "Hey, ladies, how are you doing?"

Hermione's face lit up, beaming as she responded enthusiastically. "Alex! Please, come in and join us."

She scooted closer to the window, creating space between herself and Ron, silently inviting Alex to take a seat. Harry immediately noticed the way Ron's expression darkened, his irritation deepening as Alex settled in beside him. But whether Alex was oblivious to Ron's sour mood or simply choosing to ignore it, Harry wasn't sure. Given what he had observed so far, he was leaning toward the latter.

Harry forced a smile, but beneath the surface, frustration simmered. Now is really not the time for this, he thought. The issue of the diary was still unresolved, and Alex's persistence in pushing for answers was beginning to set off alarm bells in Harry's mind. He wanted to believe Alex was a good guy, potentially even a valuable ally, but trust was another matter entirely. Alex had been too relentless in seeking information, and Harry didn't like that one bit.

Lying outright about the diary wasn't an option—Harry had plans for it. But at the same time, he needed to convince Alex to drop the subject. A Memory Charm was out of the question—too risky. Threats were even further from Harry's style. That left only one path: persuasion. He'd have to make Alex believe the diary was no longer in play, and since Alex didn't know it was a Horcrux—only that it was cursed—that might just be possible.

For now, Alex and the girls were engaged in casual conversation, discussing what Alex should expect upon arriving at Hogwarts and speculating about his House placement. Hermione joked that with his intelligence, he was practically guaranteed to be sorted into Ravenclaw, which drew a chuckle from Daphne.

Meanwhile, Alex explained that his younger sister, Isolde, was off with Ginny and the other first-year girls, likely chatting away excitedly about their first experiences at Hogwarts.

The conversation between Hermione and Alex continued smoothly, their bond strengthening with every exchange. But in contrast, Ron sat in the corner, scowling, arms folded tightly across his chest.

Harry couldn't help but wonder why Ron was so furious. Sure, Alex was a little nosy, but that alone didn't explain the sheer hostility radiating off Ron. Was it just jealousy? Or was there something deeper gnawing at him?

Harry didn't have much time to dwell on it, because Alex suddenly turned to face him directly.

"So, you made a promise, dude. Time to pony up."

Harry's eyes snapped to Alex's, his expression hardening. Really, mate? he thought, annoyance flaring. You couldn't at least wait until we were alone?

Across from them, both Hermione and Daphne raised their eyebrows, their curiosity immediately piqued.

Harry didn't flinch. Instead, he responded smoothly, his voice even. "I destroyed it after checking and removing the curse on it."

Alex narrowed his eyes slightly, his skepticism obvious. "Really? And what curse was on it? What spell did you use to remove it? Because curse-breaking ain't a joke."

A muscle in Harry's jaw twitched as his irritation climbed. Before he could craft a response, Ron snapped.

"Why do you care, huh? How does it concern you, Mr. Know-It-All?"

His voice was sharp, laced with an anger that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Alex arched an eyebrow, his expression calm but unreadable. "Easy now," he said smoothly. "I'm just trying to make sure that a possibly dangerous object was destroyed. Surely you understand, bro."

Ron scoffed, crossing his arms even tighter. "Yeah, I understand. I understand that you can't help but stick your nose in everyone's business. That might've worked out for you in America, but here? We do things differently, mate."

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud.

Hermione gasped. "Ron! That's not a nice thing to say!"

She turned to Daphne, as if seeking backup. Daphne, unimpressed, fixed Ron with a sharp glare.

"What the hell's gotten into you, Weasley?" she demanded.

Ron ignored them both, his entire body radiating barely contained frustration.

Harry remained silent, though inwardly, he recognized an opportunity. Sure, Ron might have gone too far, snapping at Alex like that—but it had worked. The conversation had completely shifted away from the diary and was now centered on the brewing tension between Ron and Alex. A perfect distraction.

Alex, however, remained unfazed. He tilted his head slightly, studying Ron with a curious expression, as if evaluating him. Then, without warning, his lips curled into a slow, easy smile.

But there was something off about it. Something dangerous.

The look in Alex's eyes made Harry instinctively want to reach for his wand, but he fought the urge, keeping his composure.

Alex held Ron's gaze for a beat longer before exhaling through his nose and leaning back slightly. "Aight. Bet."

Just like that, his expression returned to its usual relaxed state. He turned back to Hermione and Daphne, flashing them a casual grin.

"It was nice catching up with y'all. I'll see you guys around."

Then, without another glance at Ron, he looked at Harry, nodding once before standing up and striding out of the compartment.

The door slid shut behind him.

Silence settled over the group like a heavy fog.

After Alex stepped out of the compartment, the tension he left behind boiled over. Hermione rounded on Ron, her brown eyes flashing with anger.

"What was that for?" she demanded, her voice sharp with disbelief. "Why were you so mean to him?"

Ron spun to face her, his expression a mix of frustration and exasperation.

"Really? You two—am I the only one with any sense? Why are you lot being so daft?" His voice rose with barely contained irritation. "Something doesn't add up with him. Why do you all trust him so easily? He just shows up out of nowhere, all nice and suave, and suddenly everyone's acting like he's our best mate. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"

His blue eyes flicked between Hermione and Daphne, searching for some sign that they shared his doubts, but both girls stared back at him with disapproval.

"Something about him doesn't feel right," Ron pressed on, his voice edged with frustration. "He's too charming, too calm—like he's clearly hiding something. He's up to no good."

Daphne folded her arms, her expression cool but irritated.

"Still," she said icily, "what you did was uncalled for. You should really learn to control your emotions, Weasley." She narrowed her sharp blue eyes at him. "You might have just cost us a powerful ally, all because you couldn't keep your jealousy in check."

Ron's face turned as red as his hair, burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

"When did this become about me, huh?" he snapped, his voice cracking slightly. His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at her. "And I wouldn't expect you to understand what's going on here since you're such an ice queen. You probably don't even know what emotio—"

He never got the chance to finish.

In a blur of movement, Daphne whipped out her wand, fury blazing in her expression.

But Harry was faster.

With a flick of his wrist, he cast a silent Expelliarmus, and Daphne's wand flew from her grip.

Hermione gasped in shock.

Ron cursed under his breath and immediately reached for his own wand.

Harry didn't hesitate. With another quick, wordless spell, he disarmed Ron as well.

Daphne, her face contorted in rage, turned to Harry, her voice like ice cracking under pressure.

"Give me my wand back, Harry," she ordered. "He needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to learn that actions have consequences."

She stepped forward, her fury palpable. "I warned you before, Weasley. I warned you not to cross me."

Ron, now beet red and struggling to maintain a semblance of bravery, squared his shoulders.

"I'm not afraid of you, Greengrass," he shot back defiantly. "Harry, give me my—"

"ENOUGH!"

Harry's voice thundered through the compartment, cutting through the rising storm of emotions like a blade.

The sheer force of his outburst silenced them instantly.

His green eyes burned with authority as he turned to Ron first.

"Ron, you're my mate, but that outburst was out of line," Harry said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I get that you have your suspicions about Alex, but you didn't have to snap at him like that. And what you said to Daphne? That was completely out of order."

Ron's anger deflated, his shoulders sagging slightly. He averted his gaze, jaw clenched, but said nothing.

Daphne smirked, satisfied. "I told you—"

"And you," Harry cut her off, turning his sharp gaze on her. "Was it really necessary to pull your wand on Ron? He's our friend, Daph."

Daphne's lips pressed into a thin line as she met his gaze.

"Well," she said after a moment, "he can be a prat sometimes. And I did warn him not to cross me, or I'd curse him. That's a promise I fully intend to keep."

Harry exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples with his free hand. His patience was wearing thin.

"Apologize to each other," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "Both of you. Now."

Ron and Daphne locked eyes, their expressions still simmering with residual tension. For a moment, it seemed neither would back down, but then, with clear reluctance, they muttered their apologies. The words were stiff, forced, as if dragged from their throats against their will.

Hermione had remained silent throughout the exchange, her lips pressed into a thin line. Though she had watched the entire confrontation unfold, she was still visibly upset, her frustration lingering in the tight set of her shoulders.

A heavy silence followed, thick and uncomfortable. It was Daphne who finally broke it, turning to Hermione and striking up a conversation as if nothing had happened. Her voice was light, casual—deliberately so. Meanwhile, Ron sat in the corner, arms crossed, his expression set in a permanent scowl. He refused to look at either of them, radiating irritation in waves.

Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He had barely managed to keep his friends from hexing each other—more accurately, he had stopped Daphne from hexing Ron—but the confrontation had done little to ease the underlying tension. He racked his brain, trying to understand the source of Ron's hostility toward Alex. There had to be more to it than what Ron had blurted out earlier. Maybe Daphne knew.

Whatever the reason, this brewing conflict was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves. He already had too much on his plate—securing his objectives for the year was his priority, and the last thing he needed was to play peacemaker between two of his closest friends.

The train finally slowed to a stop at Hogsmeade Station. The students disembarked, the crisp night air rolling in as the familiar sight of the carriages greeted them. Harry and his group made their way toward one of the enchanted carriages that would carry them to the castle.

Only this time, Harry saw them.

The skeletal, bat-winged creatures stood in front of the carriages, their eerie, pupil-less eyes watching the students with an unnatural stillness. Thestrals.

A shiver ran down his spine. He had always known about them, understood them in theory, but seeing them for himself was different. Unsettling.

He knew why he could see them now. Voldemort had killed, and in turn, had seen death. And through Voldemort's memories, which Harry had unwillingly inherited, he now had the experience necessary to perceive the creatures. Even though it wasn't a death he had personally witnessed, it had been burned into his mind all the same.

As they climbed into the carriage, silence settled over the group once more. The tension from earlier remained, palpable in the way Ron stared straight ahead, making a point of ignoring Daphne. Hermione and Daphne, meanwhile, exchanged glances, communicating in silent expressions.

No one spoke.

The quiet stretched all the way to the castle.

Inside the Great Hall, the students gradually separated, moving to their respective house tables. Ron and Hermione drifted toward the Gryffindor table, while Harry and Daphne made their way to Slytherin's. The golden glow of the enchanted ceiling bathed the hall in warm light, but even the grandeur of Hogwarts couldn't shake the weight pressing on Harry's mind.

As he took his seat, he felt a pair of eyes burning into him.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, his expression set in a glare, flanked—as always—by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry almost laughed. Malfoy had deliberately avoided him on the train, as well as the Weasleys. No doubt under strict orders from his father to ensure the diary couldn't be traced back to him.

A shame.

Harry had originally planned to plant the diary back on Malfoy, framing him and his family for its possession. But with Alex now aware of the diary's existence, that plan had been compromised.

Not that it mattered.

He had other things to worry about. Bigger things.

Pettigrew needed to be brought to justice. The Chamber of Secrets had to be dealt with, the basilisk slain. Hagrid's name had to be cleared. The diary had to be destroyed—along with the diadem.

All of this, while training his friends.

His gaze flickered toward the staff table, lingering briefly on Dumbledore.

There was one question still lingering in Harry's mind—should he bring Dumbledore into his plans?

It was tempting. The headmaster's influence and knowledge could prove invaluable. But Harry still didn't fully trust him. Not yet.

Dumbledore's reaction to the Pettigrew reveal would determine everything.

Harry turned to Daphne, lowering his voice as he asked, "You good? Still angry at Ron?"

She shook her head, her expression neutral. "No, I'm over it."

Harry didn't believe her for a second. There was something in the way she said it—too dismissive, too quick. But he let it slide for now. Instead, he leaned in slightly and asked, "What do you think about Alex?"

Daphne exhaled, her gaze flickering toward the Gryffindor table. "I don't know enough about him to have a personal opinion," she admitted, "but he comes from a powerful family." She paused before continuing, her voice taking on that analytical edge she always had when she was piecing together a strategy. "I did some digging after Diagon Alley. His parents have serious influence in America. His mother's a direct descendant of the original stewards—the founders of Ilvermorny."

Harry listened intently, absorbing her words.

"That's why I think Ron's outburst was childish and unnecessary," she went on, her tone sharp. "He nearly ruined our chance to see if Alex could be a potential ally—all because he couldn't handle the idea of someone else joining our group. He felt overshadowed."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, a realization clicking into place. So that's what's been eating him up?

A quiet chuckle rumbled in Harry's throat. Trust Daphne to see through everything, to pick apart motives and look at the bigger picture. Out of all his friends, she was the only one actively

thinking ahead, already laying the groundwork for alliances in preparation for the future—a future that would almost certainly include war. No wonder Tom had wanted her as his right hand. She was a planner, a strategist. A true Slytherin.

His best friend.

Leaning back in his seat, Harry shifted his attention to the Sorting Ceremony as it began. One by one, the first-years were called forward, the Sorting Hat sorting them into their respective houses. Ginny Weasley, predictably, was placed in Gryffindor, joining the rest of her siblings. Isolde went to Ravenclaw.

Harry watched it all unfold, but his mind was elsewhere. He found himself wondering where Alex would be placed. Transfers were rare—so rare that he had never actually seen one sorted before. How would the Hat handle it?

As if on cue, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her authoritative voice ringing through the Great Hall.

"Alexander Steward," she announced, "a second-year transfer from Livermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who will now be sorted into a house."

The hall buzzed with whispers. A transfer? That almost never happened.

Alex, unbothered by the attention, strode forward with casual confidence. He sat down on the bench, placed the hat on his head, and waited.

Harry straightened, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Alex. The hat wasn't making an immediate decision—it was deliberating. Harry leaned forward slightly, almost unconsciously whispering under his breath, "Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin."

Beside him, Daphne was also watching intently, her gaze locked onto Alex as she waited for the Hat's verdict.

The Great Hall was silent, the anticipation thick in the air. Seconds stretched into what felt like eternity.

Then, the Sorting Hat finally bellowed—

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table erupted in cheers, welcoming their newest member with applause and shouts of approval.

Harry's stomach dropped. His fingers curled slightly against the wooden surface of the table as he exchanged a glance with Daphne.

She arched an eyebrow at him and smirked. "Well," she said smoothly, "looks like we get another shot at making him an ally."

Harry exhaled, nodding. "Yeah," he murmured, eyes flickering back to Alex as he took a seat among the Slytherins.

Internally, however, one thought echoed through his mind.

Well, Crap. Things were about to get interesting.