CHAPTER 53: A WEB OF INTRIGUE
The corridor was bustling with students, and Harry maneuvered through the crowd with practiced ease. Slughorn's room was well-known for its opulence, decorated with a mix of magical artifacts and luxurious furnishings. As he reached the door, he took a deep breath and adjusted his cloak, trying to appear nonchalant.
When he entered, the room was filled with a mixture of laughter and idle chatter. The students, dressed in their finest robes, were clustered in groups, engaging in lively conversations. Slughorn, standing near a lavishly set table of refreshments, spotted Harry and gave him a warm, if somewhat exaggerated, smile.
"Ah, Harry! Right on time, I see," Slughorn boomed, his voice carrying over the room. "Come in, come in. Make yourself at home."
Harry nodded and made his way to the table, grabbing a glass of pumpkin juice and surveying the room. He noted the students present: a mix of pure-bloods and prominent families, each one seeming to vie for Slughorn's attention. Draco and Theo were conspicuously absent, but Harry expected as much.
As he mingled, Harry kept an ear open for any useful tidbits of information. He made casual conversation with a few students, subtly probing for any hints about recent developments or rumors. His thoughts, however, remained focused on the Horcruxes and the information he was still missing.
The evening wore on, and Slughorn's self-congratulatory tone grew more pronounced. Harry noticed how Slughorn's eyes frequently flicked to him and a few other select students, as if gauging their reactions to his stories of past triumphs and connections.
After some time, Slughorn cleared his throat and clapped his hands to gather everyone's attention. "Now, let's get to the main event of the evening. I've been working on something very special, and I'm sure you'll all find it most intriguing."
Slughorn's face reddened slightly as he fumbled with his words. "Oh, I'm sure there's much to know! But let's not get too personal tonight, shall we? Instead, let's enjoy this delightful feast."
The conversation shifted as Slughorn began to regale the group with tales of his past achievements and connections, trying to impress his guests with anecdotes of famous witches and wizards he had encountered. Despite his attempts to steer the conversation away from Harry's parents, Harry remained vigilant, observing the interactions and listening for any useful information.
Hermione Granger, though seated at the table, seemed to be absorbed in her own thoughts, glancing occasionally at Harry with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Daemon Potter, next to her, was less engaged in the conversation and seemed to be barely masking his exhaustion.
Blaise, who had initially been tricked into attending, seemed to be enjoying himself, chatting animatedly with the Ravenclaw student beside him. Harry, however, kept his attention focused on Slughorn, trying to pick up any clues that might hint at useful connections or information related to his quest.
As the evening wore on, the discussions became more animated, and the group's attention was drawn to the latest gossip and updates from the magical world. Slughorn, pleased with the atmosphere he had created, continued to entertain his guests with stories and questions.
At one point, Harry noticed Slughorn casting furtive glances at him, clearly assessing his reactions. Harry maintained a neutral expression, though he could feel the weight of Slughorn's scrutiny. It was clear that Slughorn was attempting to gauge his interest and potential.
As the evening drew to a close, Slughorn announced, "Well, I must say, this has been a most enjoyable gathering. I do hope we can have such pleasant evenings more often!"
With that, the guests began to disperse, and Harry took the opportunity to slip away from the table. He caught Hermione's eye as he moved towards the door, and she gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Daemon, still looking tired, followed behind, casting a last, weary glance at the retreating figure of Harry.
Once outside the dimly lit meeting room, Harry navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, his mind abuzz with reflections on the evening's events. He had come no closer to unearthing the crucial information about Horcruxes that he so desperately needed. However, he had gleaned some valuable insights into Slughorn's behavior and the underlying dynamics within the Slug Club. The key challenge now was to turn this newfound knowledge to his advantage as he continued his quest for answers.
As Harry made his way down the echoing hallways, he replayed his earlier conversation with Slughorn in his mind. "My father and mother are stationed in Romania, working with the magical ministry there," Harry had said smoothly, his tone carefully neutral. "It's unfortunate, but I can't divulge more details due to the strict regulations enforced by the Romanian Ministry." Slughorn's brow had furrowed in confusion, his eyes blinking rapidly as he struggled to process the statement. The Romanian Ministry was renowned for its tight control over information, and Harry's response had effectively put an end to any further questioning.
Despite his best efforts to focus on the task at hand, Harry couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that Hermione had been strangely distant throughout the meeting. She had barely met his gaze, her attention fixated elsewhere. Harry brushed off the feeling, choosing instead to concentrate on the more pressing issues at hand.
In the days that followed, Harry couldn't help but notice the growing tension between Daemon and Slughorn. The two seemed to be engaged in a quiet but intense feud, their exchanges marked by sharp whispers and terse glances. It was clear that Daemon's annoyance with Slughorn had escalated, though the exact cause of their discord remained elusive to Harry.
Meanwhile, Daemon's proficiency in Potions continued to improve, much to Harry's surprise. It was unusual for Harry to be left in the dark about such matters, and he found himself intrigued by Daemon's progress. The constant undercurrent of rivalry added an extra layer of complexity to the situation.
Hermione, on the other hand, seemed increasingly absorbed in her studies. She spent long hours in the library, her focus shifting to the history and political sections. Harry observed that she was particularly drawn to Bulgarian texts, a detail that only deepened his curiosity. The library had become a sanctuary for Hermione, a place where she sought answers to questions that Harry himself could not fully comprehend.
As Harry delved deeper into his own research, he stumbled upon a crucial revelation: there was no specific incantation for creating a Horcrux. This discovery posed a significant problem, as it left him with few viable options for acquiring the necessary knowledge. The only potential solution that presented itself was to venture into Knockturn Alley and seek out the vampires, known for their extensive collection of rare and obscure texts.
His thoughts were interrupted by a memory of a recent encounter. A crow—Cra, Carpatha's familiar—had delivered a book to him under the cover of night. The book, with its ironic title "How to Become an Animagus," was written in Nymph and translated with surprising clarity. The text promised one of the easiest methods for achieving Animagus status, a prospect that intrigued Harry immensely. The idea of transforming into a magical creature seemed both exhilarating and daunting, but it offered a glimmer of hope in his quest for knowledge.
As Harry navigated the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his thoughts raced with plans and possibilities. The road ahead was laden with obstacles, but the pieces of information he had gathered might just unlock the answers he desperately sought.
In his spare time, Harry dedicated himself to mastering the complexities of becoming an Animagus. He noted with some amusement how he seemed to embody a serpent-like quality, a realization that pleased Coilis immensely. Harry, however, remained indifferent to the notion of being a snake—after all, it was just a form.
Coilis, on the other hand, was far from patient. One day, the snake abruptly coiled around Harry, hissing insistently, "Grow a tail and slither on your belly!" The demand was both surprising and amusing, but Harry found himself struggling to explain the lengthy process involved in becoming an Animagus. Coilis had given him a mere three days to achieve the transformation, while Harry himself wanted at least a week. The snake's impatience was evident, and it led Harry to his next challenge.
The frustration with Coilis's demands drove Harry to the Slug Club's fourth meeting. Draco Malfoy had tried to skip, as usual, but Theo Nott had forced him to attend. Harry observed Draco with keen interest and noticed that he looked increasingly scrawny and pale. His skin had taken on a waxy hue, and he persistently complained of an upset stomach. Draco's behavior was erratic; he seemed jumpy and performed spells hastily in class, his unease palpable.
Harry's lips curled into a feral grin of satisfaction. He noted that Draco's symptoms were not isolated. Theo, Blaise, Millicent, and even the relatively obscure Scott girl exhibited similar signs. The realization only heightened Harry's sense of intrigue and determination.
The meeting proceeded with Slughorn serving little chocolate cakes. Harry once again declined the treat, his gaze lingering on Daemon Potter, who appeared less tense than before. However, Slughorn seemed to be suffering from a mild tremor, his demeanor suggesting a deep-seated regret about something.
Harry mentally catalogued these observations for future reference. The subtle signs and changes in behavior could prove crucial later on.
"So, the year is almost over," Slughorn said, attempting to inject some small talk into the conversation. His voice carried a note of sadness, as though he was struggling to maintain a façade of cheerfulness. Harry exhaled softly through his nose, offering no response.
"Erm—what are your summer plans?" Slughorn asked, casting a hopeful glance around the room. A few students shrugged, their responses noncommittal. The professor's eyes fell on Daemon, who seemed exasperated and unresponsive.
Harry observed the scene with a blend of amusement and curiosity. The Slug Club's dynamics, the quirks of his fellow students, and Slughorn's cryptic behavior all wove together into a rich tapestry of intrigue. As the school year neared its end, Harry sensed that the real challenges were only beginning.
"You know, the usual," Daemon said with a shrug, his tone more morbid than usual. "Trying not to be killed by You-Know-Who and his bloody son." Harry couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at Daemon's dark humor.
"I'm going to France," Hermione announced, her voice tinged with a nervous edge. Harry noticed her fidgeting slightly, her gaze darting around as if expecting something.
A Hufflepuff girl, whose name Harry couldn't immediately recall, added, "I'm going to Spain." Soon, others joined in, sharing their summer plans with a mix of excitement and indifference.
"What about you, Obsidian?" Theo Nott asked, his curiosity piqued. After mentioning that he would be traveling to Italy to assist with a vampire problem, Theo's gaze shifted expectantly to Harry.
"I'll be returning to my father's estates in Romania," Harry replied, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. He was about to continue when he heard a large, disbelieving snort from Draco Malfoy.
"Have something to say, Granger?" Draco growled, his voice dripping with irritation. He blinked rapidly, then shook his head vigorously, muttering something about a headache. He took deep breaths, attempting to regain his composure as he leaned back in his seat.
Hermione's eyes narrowed at Draco's outburst, but she didn't let it distract her. She shot Harry a strange look, her expression unreadable. Harry's gut twisted with unease. Something felt off, and Coilis seemed to sense it too, tightening around him instinctively.
Harry subtly slipped his wand into his hand, ready for any unexpected developments. Hermione took a deep breath and began to speak, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a hint of apprehension.
"Well," Hermione said, trying to sound casual, "I've been doing some extra research in the library, and I came across something that might be of interest. It's about ancient magical protections and curses, and—"
Her voice was cut off by Draco's sudden, loud groan. "Honestly, can we not have one conversation without someone bringing up dark magic or some other morbid topic?"
Hermione's eyes flashed with irritation, but she kept her focus on Harry. "It's actually quite relevant," she said sharply. "There's something I need to discuss with you, Harry. It's about the Horcruxes and a certain... discovery I made."
Harry's grip tightened on his wand, his mind racing. The implications of Hermione's statement were significant, and he knew that whatever she had to say could potentially alter their course of action. The room seemed to close in around them as he braced himself for what was to come.
Coilis, coiled tightly around Harry's wrist, hissed softly, amplifying the palpable tension in the room. Harry's eyes remained fixed on Hermione, his heart racing as he braced himself for her next words. The atmosphere was thick with foreboding, and the weight of the moment felt almost suffocating.
"Your family's not in Romania," Hermione began, her voice carrying a note of triumph. "I've combed through every single book in the Hogwarts library, and there's not a single mention of an Obsidian family." Her statement was delivered with a sense of satisfaction, and Harry noticed a faint, almost smug smile tugging at Daemon's lips as he averted his gaze.
"Now, now, Miss Granger, let us not—" Slughorn attempted to interject, his voice laced with a tone of mild reprimand. But he was cut off by Hermione's unyielding glare.
"I have a friend, Susan Bones," Hermione continued, her tone resolute. "Her mother works in the Ministry. She looked up the name Obsidian—nothing. No documentation of birth, purchases, or even immigrating to this country." Her voice grew firmer as she spoke, eliciting murmurs of surprise and curiosity from the surrounding students, their eyes widening with suspicion.
"We even checked old records of pure-blood lines dating back to the founders—still nothing. No mention of a family named Obsidian." Hermione's eyes locked onto Harry's, her expression a mix of challenge and determination. "We did a potion with some of your hair from a brush in your room—Suzie gave it to us. The potion couldn't identify you. This leaves us with two options."
Coilis, now visibly agitated, reared up and hissed loudly, his eyes flashing with anger. "Master, if another memory charm is cast on this room, the majority of humans present would be left brain-dead, leaving you as the prime suspect."
Harry's heart skipped a beat at Coilis's words. He carefully slid his wand back into its sleeve, recognizing that Hermione had timed this revelation almost too perfectly. The situation was precarious, and he needed to navigate it with care.
"The first option is unlikely," Hermione said, her voice tinged with frustration. "It's odd that Suzie died right before we could confirm the results—"
"Are you accusing me of Suzie Forstar's death, Miss Granger?" Harry's voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing as he challenged her. Hermione shook her head quickly, her expression one of resolute defiance.
"Of course not," she replied, her tone clipped. "I just find it highly probable that you knew Suzie before coming to Hogwarts." She shrugged, her gaze pointedly fixed on him.
The realization hit Harry like a cold wave. "Sweet Salazar, she's discovered something," he thought, his mind racing with the implications of Hermione's discoveries. The tension in the room was palpable, and Harry could feel the eyes of his fellow students boring into him, their curiosity mingling with suspicion.
Hermione's revelation had set the stage for a confrontation, and Harry knew he needed to tread carefully. He met her gaze with a mixture of resolve and unease, fully aware that the answers he sought were becoming increasingly entangled with the web of secrets and mysteries surrounding him.
Slughorn, sensing the rising tension, cleared his throat and attempted to steer the conversation back to safer territory. "Well, now that we've all shared our summer plans, why don't we move on to a more pleasant topic? How about we discuss our favorite holiday traditions?"
But Slughorn's attempt to shift the conversation to lighter topics fell flat. Hermione's gaze remained fixed on Harry, her eyes sharp and unyielding, showing no sign of being swayed by the Professor's efforts. Harry could sense that the matter at hand was far from resolved, and he braced himself for the fallout of Hermione's revelations.
He remained silent, unwilling to confirm or deny Hermione's claims. The lump in his throat felt like a vice, making it difficult to swallow. He blinked slowly, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as a few students began to whisper among themselves, their curiosity growing with his silence.
"Bloody hell, Obsidian! You're a mudblood!" Draco's voice cut through the murmurs, his shock evident. The outburst triggered a chaotic reaction as his caramel sundae, courtesy of the house-elves, erupted into green flames. The other sundaes soon followed, the fire quickly spreading across the table. Harry exhaled slowly, focusing his magic to tame the raging inferno. The flames dwindled to a flickering candlelight, enough to make even Slughorn's face go pale as he watched in stunned silence. Hermione, however, maintained her composed demeanor, her gaze unwavering.
"I am a half-blood. I was disowned, Granger," Harry growled, his anger evident. The fire's light intensified momentarily, reflecting his agitation, but Hermione's expression remained cool and collected.
"You were sent to Suzie's orphanage then? We had our suspicions from your Boggart; there was a reason why she ignored you after that. She claimed that you tried to kill her multiple times," Hermione challenged, her voice carrying a tone of accusation. Harry's hand stroked Coilis, who was now hissing softly in response.
"You claim that I attempted to kill Suzie as a child?" Harry's voice was low and dangerous. Hermione shook her head.
"No, accidental magic happens all the time. Although, you do seem to have a knack for 'accidents'…" Hermione mused, her tone laced with skepticism. Coilis took this as a cue to rear back in anger.
"Foolish girl. She will die soon!" Coilis hissed, his eyes glowing with a fierce intensity. Harry responded with a calming stroke, attempting to soothe the agitated serpent.
"Wait—you're not from Romania?" Daemon suddenly asked, bolting upright as if a new realization had struck him. Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, but he chose not to respond.
"What bloody idiot would disown you?" Theo muttered, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. As soon as he spoke, Theo's face went white, realizing the gravity of his words and the attention they had attracted.
"That—" Harry began, his fists clenching at his sides. "Is what I've wanted to know for years."
The room fell into a tense silence as Harry's words hung in the air. The students exchanged uneasy glances, and even Slughorn seemed at a loss for words. Hermione's gaze remained fixed on Harry, her expression a mixture of determination and curiosity.
The confrontation had reached a critical point, and Harry knew that the next steps would be crucial in navigating the tangled web of secrets and revelations that had been laid bare.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall grew tense and uneasy as the confrontation reached its peak. The once lively chatter and clinking of cutlery fell silent, overshadowed by the weight of Harry's revelations and the explosive reaction from Draco. The meal was abandoned, the platters of food left untouched as students exchanged furtive glances and whispered conversations.
Harry remained seated at the table, his gaze unwavering as he stared at the other students. His anger and frustration were palpable, and his refusal to eat only added to the somber mood. The remnants of the magical fire flickered faintly, casting eerie shadows across the deserted tables.
As the hall gradually emptied, a heavy silence settled over the space. Students left in small groups, casting wary looks over their shoulders as they exited. The once vibrant atmosphere of the meal had been replaced by a sense of dread and unease.
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room, the mood was equally subdued. The usual murmur of conversation was replaced by a hushed quiet, the usual energy of the room subdued by the events of the evening. The room's dim lighting and the flickering of the fire in the hearth did little to lift the oppressive atmosphere.
Draco slumped into a chair, his face pale and drawn. He stared into the fire, clearly troubled by the night's revelations. Theo and Blaise sat nearby, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion. Millicent and the others huddled in small groups, their whispered conversations barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
Hermione had retreated to a corner, her expression thoughtful and slightly troubled. She held her book close, but her eyes were distant, lost in contemplation.
The tension was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual banter and camaraderie that characterized the common room. The night had brought with it a heavy sense of uncertainty, and the events of the evening left everyone with more questions than answers.
In the quiet that followed, the only sounds were the occasional rustle of pages and the low murmur of subdued conversations. The usual warmth and comfort of the Slytherin common room had been replaced by a cold, uneasy silence, leaving everyone to grapple with the aftermath of the night's revelations.
The next few days passed in a quiet, almost oppressive silence. Harry kept to himself, avoiding social interactions and remaining isolated. The students around him, still stung by the revelation that they had been deceived by a Half-Blood—regardless of his identity—were equally distant. The atmosphere was thick with unease and residual distrust.
The sense of foreboding that had plagued Harry all year was intensifying. It was as if an invisible force was tightening its grip on him, feeding an unsettling, addictive sensation whenever he was near others. Coilis, his loyal serpent, kept him informed about the secretive activities of the Death Eater children. The snake reported that the students were receiving clandestine letters—some from their parents, others from Draco Malfoy. It was clear that something dark was brewing, most likely a rally for the Dark Arts.
Yet, Harry pondered the grim reality: the hearts of these children were still unscathed. They had yet to experience the kind of profound emotional upheaval that could truly shatter them. The thought of this was jarring. The concept of "broken" haunted him, sending a shiver down his spine. The word—broken—evoked an image of something irrevocably damaged, fragmented, and unable to function.
"Broken," he muttered to himself, the word like a jagged edge lodged in his throat, refusing to dislodge despite his efforts to swallow it away.
It was in this state of emotional turmoil that he stood on the covered bridge—the same place where Daphne had fallen, what felt like an eternity ago. His gaze was fixed on the distance, though he was not truly seeing.
"Hello, Granger," he said without turning to face her. His voice was flat, almost mechanical.
"Obsidian," Hermione responded, her voice devoid of its usual sharp edge. There was a weariness in her tone that Harry noted, even though he didn't look at her. She approached him, stopping by the edge of the bridge and peering over the railing. She saw nothing but the endless expanse below, but it was clear to her that Harry was lost in thought.
Fragmented. Fractured.
Harry's hand slowly clenched into a fist, his knuckles scraping against the cold stone, mirroring the way Daphne had once done. Hermione observed this in silence, understanding that Harry was in the midst of a profound inner struggle. She waited patiently, sensing that he was on the verge of speaking.
"We went to see the northern forests of Cardiff a long time ago," Harry began abruptly, his voice breaking the silence like a crack in a dam. "You know, where the elves used to live."
Hermione glanced at him, her eyes filled with concern. Harry's gaze remained distant, his expression blank. It was as if he was speaking to himself more than to her.
"Yes," Hermione replied softly, trying to follow his train of thought. "I remember. What about them?"
Harry shrugged slightly, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. "Nothing really. Just memories. Sometimes it feels like those forests are all that's left of a world that's slipping away."
Hermione was quiet for a moment, considering his words. The forest and its ancient magic had once been a symbol of hope and continuity, but now, they seemed to echo Harry's own sense of loss and fragmentation.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently, her voice a stark contrast to the harsh winds swirling around them.
Harry shook his head slowly. "Not yet. Not now."
Hermione nodded, understanding. She remained by his side, offering silent support as Harry grappled with the heavy weight of his thoughts, the burden of fragmented memories and haunting feelings. He and Hermione stood together in the biting cold of the covered bridge, the silence between them growing more profound. It was as if they were waiting for the words to break free from the ice of his silence—or for the silence itself to become a form of communication.
Shattered into tiny, irretrievable pieces.
"We spent the whole day there," Harry began, his voice distant and introspective. "Of course, we didn't do much; I was too young to remember clearly."
He snorted, a small, bitter laugh escaping him. Hermione, still leaning against the stone wall, tried to make sense of his words. She wasn't sure how to respond, as Harry's reminiscing seemed both distant and deeply personal.
Interrupted.
"We watched the sunset from one of the highest trees," Harry continued, his gaze softening as he spoke. "My birth father had brought his Quidditch broom. We just sat there, my brother, my parents, and me. It was the closest thing to magic I had ever known."
A slight, wistful smile played on his lips before it faded, leaving his face expressionless once more. Hermione's eyes widened. She knew Harry was an orphan, but hearing him talk about his birth parents, especially in such a vivid, nostalgic manner, was unsettling.
Violated.
"That memory is the best I have of that place—with my birth parents. I shouldn't even remember it; I was only two." Harry shrugged nonchalantly, finally glancing up at the owls circling above and below them.
"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. Harry blinked, the glaze of his earlier thoughts slowly clearing from his eyes as he turned to face her. The depth of his gaze seemed to pierce through her, a stark reminder of the weight of his experiences.
"Because you tried to understand. You made an effort to figure me out, and you almost succeeded," Harry said, his voice laden with a somber tone. He stood up fully, his posture rigid and intense as he turned his entire body to face her. Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her gaze held captive by the gravity of his eyes. It was as if he could see straight into her soul.
"I'm broken—so, so broken," he admitted quietly, the words barely a whisper.
"Learn what?" Hermione asked, attempting to lighten the mood with a joke, though it fell flat in the face of his earnestness. She tried to smile, but her attempt only deepened the sadness in her eyes as she met his gaze.
"I hold the world like a stage where every man must play a part, and mine is a sad one," Harry recited carefully, his voice echoing with a poetic gravity.
Hermione's eyes widened in recognition. The line was unmistakably from Shakespeare, a reflection of the melancholic soliloquy that spoke of life's inherent tragedies and roles. It was a quote she had studied and admired, but hearing it now, spoken with such raw emotion by Harry, gave it an entirely new and profound weight.
"I'm not a seer," Hermione said softly, her tone a mix of curiosity and sympathy. "But I can see that there's more to your story than what you let on."
Harry looked away, his expression a mask of pensive sorrow. "Some stories are too fractured to tell completely," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "And some memories, no matter how precious, are destined to remain broken pieces of a distant past."
Hermione stood silently beside Harry, her thoughts racing with the gravity of his words. The cold wind swirled around them, its chill mingling with the silence that had formed a strange, almost comforting cocoon around them. They stood together, not merely as friends or acquaintances but as two souls bound by a shared weight of unspoken grief and fractured histories.
"Shakespeare?" Hermione guessed, her voice tentative as she sought to anchor herself in the familiar.
Harry's lips twitched slightly, the ghost of a smile passing across his face. He glanced at the owls circling above before focusing back on her. "Listen to my words, Hermione. I may not be a seer, but I know what is to come," he muttered, his tone low and intense. Hermione fell silent, the weight of his statement pressing down on her.
"There is no light or dark—only the intentions behind the spells. Voldemort kills with a quick, painless mercy kill. And yet Dumbledore—he thinks he's so much more than that. He tears you apart, Granger. He shoves you into a blinding white light and convinces you it's the best thing in the world," Harry stated firmly, his voice laden with a harsh truth. Hermione's frown deepened; she didn't like the way Harry was speaking, the bitterness in his tone unsettling her.
"Oh? And what do you think then?" Hermione challenged, her voice tinged with defiance. Harry blinked slowly, his eyes reflecting a depth of contemplation as he chose his words carefully.
"The world is like the sky," Harry replied, his voice softer but no less intense. "When the sun is too bright, it blinds you. When the darkness is too deep, it can drive even the strongest man mad." Hermione's frown deepened, but she could see the wisdom in his metaphor.
"The best part of time," Harry continued, "is the night. It's when you can see the beauty of darkness and still reach for the stars."
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but her words caught in her throat as she noticed something alarming. Harry was standing perilously close to the edge of the bridge, his demeanor unsettlingly calm.
"Harry, get back—NO!" Hermione screamed, her voice breaking with panic. Before she could move, Harry's face twisted into a manic grin. Without warning, he fell backward, plummeting through the air. For a moment, he was just a black dot against the expanse of sky, and then he vanished altogether, disintegrating into smoke that swirled and dissipated.
The sight was horrifying—Harry's form dissolved into nothingness, and the remnants of his presence crashed into the rocks below, causing them to crumble and scatter. The landscape was left in a shambles, a grim reminder of the finality of his action.
Hermione stood frozen at the edge of the bridge, her heart pounding in her chest. The shock and despair were overwhelming. Her mind struggled to grasp what had just happened.
But as she looked around, she couldn't shake the echo of Harry's last words—phrases about light and dark, about the beauty of darkness and the futility of striving for the unreachable. The world was a cruel, confusing place, and in its chaos, she was left grappling with the reality of Harry's tragic disappearance.
In the wake of his departure, a haunting question lingered in the air: Who in this world isn't broken in some way?
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