- PRIMUS DIES -
11:04am - September 1st, 1976 - Platform 9 3/4, King's Cross Station, London - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2
The steam from the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express curled upward into the late morning air, blending with the soft murmur of students and their families saying their goodbyes. Platform 9 3/4 was alive with excitement, the chaotic energy of a new school year buzzing in the air. Witches and wizards bustled about, trunks were loaded onto the train, and owls hooted indignantly from their cages.
Harry Potter stood near the edge of the platform, clad in emerald-green robes trimmed in black. His piercing gaze swept across the crowd as he waited for the moment he would leave the station and officially begin his tenure as Hogwarts' newest professor. Beside him, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter lingered with proud smiles, while Arcturus Black's imposing figure stood just behind them, his sharp gaze studying the scene with quiet intensity.
"You'll do well, Harry," Euphemia said softly, her warm hand resting briefly on his arm. "You've been preparing for this for years...whether you knew it or not,"
Harry offered her a small smile. "I'll do my best. It's not just about teaching them spells. It's about preparing them for what lies ahead,"
Arcturus' deep voice interjected. "Maintain authority, and they'll respect you. But don't expect them to accept you immediately. Hogwarts students are...spirited," His lips twitched in what could almost be called a smirk.
"I think I'll manage," Harry replied. "Though I'm sure James and Sirius will test me at every opportunity,"
Fleamont chuckled, shaking his head. "Undoubtedly. Just remember. If you're too soft, they'll walk all over you. And if you're too strict...well, they're excellent at creative retaliation,"
"Noted," Harry said with a wry smile, glancing toward the train as students began to board. "I'd better get moving. Thank you for everything,"
Euphemia pulled him into a brief hug, her voice low. "Stay safe. And if you need anything, we're just an owl away,"
Arcturus gave Harry a curt nod of approval. "Good luck, Lord Potter. Represent our Houses well,"
With that, Harry turned toward the train, his green robes billowing slightly as he strode toward the engine. Near the center of the platform, Harry paused as the Blacks made their arrival. Orion and Druella Black moved with the cold, deliberate grace that defined their family. Their daughters trailed behind them. Bellatrix, her expression sharp and wary. Andromeda, whose thoughtful gaze landed briefly on Harry before flicking away. And Narcissa, clutching a pristine trunk and radiating quiet elegance.
Orion's dark eyes met Harry's, and for a moment, the two men regarded each other in silence. It was not hostility, but it certainly wasn't trust. Druella inclined her head slightly in recognition, her smile polite but frosty. Bellatrix's dark gaze burned with suspicion, and she said nothing as she swept past him toward the train. Andromeda, however, paused. A small smile broke her otherwise calm demeanor. "Lord Potter," she said softly, her tone warm. "Good luck this year,"
"And to you, Andromeda," Harry replied, inclining his head. "May your studies be fruitful,"
Narcissa, still clutching her trunk, hesitated before giving Harry a small, graceful nod. "Lord Potter," she murmured. "We'll see you at the castle,"
Harry returned the gesture, watching as the sisters ascended the train steps, their mother close behind. Orion lingered briefly, his voice low. "Remember, Potter. The Black family's legacy is not to be trifled with. We'll be watching,"
The faintest murmur from the Codex stirred in Harry's mind. Make him kneel. Remind him of his place. Harry ignored it, his face impassive. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Lord Black," Orion's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he turned and strode away.
Near the rear of the platform, James and Sirius were unmistakable amidst the group of students. Their laughter rang out as they caught sight of two familiar figures. Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. The two boys were lugging their trunks, their faces lighting up as they approached. "Remus! Peter!" James called, clapping Remus on the back as Sirius pulled Peter into a rough one-armed hug. "About time you two showed up. Thought we'd have to start the year without you,"
"Not likely," Remus replied, his tired smile belying his excitement. "Though Peter's trunk nearly made us miss the train,"
"It's not my fault it's so heavy," Peter protested, glancing toward the elegant red-haired girl standing near James. "Who's this?"
James' grin widened as he gestured toward Rose. "Meet my sister, Rose Potter. Just...don't ask too many questions. It's complicated,"
Remus raised an eyebrow, his curiosity clear. "Sister? Since when?"
"Since always," James replied, dodging further inquiry with a practised ease that only made his friends more suspicious.
As Remus and Peter began peppering him with questions, Rose remained quiet, her eyes scanning the platform. She frowned slightly as she noticed Harry's absence. "Where's Harry?" she asked, interrupting Peter's flurry of questions.
James looked around, puzzled. "He was just here..." Unbeknownst to them, Harry had already disappeared into the train, his presence like a shadow moving among the throngs of students.
Navigating the crowded corridors of the train, Harry kept his head high, projecting an air of quiet authority. Students jostled past him, their chatter filling the narrow space. His keen eyes swept over the sea of faces, taking mental notes of those who lingered too long in mischief-filled corners. As he rounded a corner, Harry collided with a wiry figure wearing worn robes. Severus Snape's black eyes flashed with irritation as he stepped back, scowling.
"Watch where you're going," Snape hissed, his voice sharp.
Harry raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Apologies," Snape glared at him for a moment longer before pushing past, muttering under his breath as he disappeared down the corridor.
Moments later, Harry found himself facing a new encounter. Lily Evans, her auburn hair glowing in the sunlight streaming through the windows, stumbled into him as she boarded the train. Her green eyes widened briefly before narrowing into a glare.
"Oh, it's you," she said coldly, brushing herself off. "Don't you have better things to do than loiter?"
Harry tilted his head, bemused by her hostility. "Excuse me?"
"Save it, James," Lily snapped before striding away, her disdain palpable.
Shaking his head, Harry sighed. "It's going to be a long year," Eventually, Harry made his way to a familiar compartment near the middle of the train. Inside, James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Rose were engaged in a lively discussion. Peter's questions had grown more insistent, and Remus exchanged wary glances with Rose as the chatter grew louder. When Harry slid the door open, the noise ceased immediately. All eyes turned to him.
"Ah, Professor Potter," Sirius said with a dramatic bow from his seat. "Welcome to our humble abode,"
James smirked, gesturing to the empty seat. "Come to check on us, Professor? Or just can't resist our charm?"
Remus and Peter's jaws dropped simultaneously.
"Professor?" Peter echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. "You're joking, right?"
Harry ignored the question, taking the offered seat and leaning back as though he hadn't heard a word.
"Wait a minute," Remus said, his brow furrowed. "You're telling me he's a professor?"
"That's right," Sirius said smugly. "Our dear Harry has decided to grace Hogwarts with his unparalleled wisdom and charm,"
Harry gave Sirius a pointed look. "Don't make me take points from Gryffindor before we even arrive,"
The compartment erupted into laughter, though Peter's confusion remained evident. "How does that even work? He's not that much older than us,"
"It's a long story," Rose said, her tone cutting off further inquiry.
As the train continued its journey, the group settled into a comfortable rhythm. Harry allowed himself a brief moment of ease before the responsibility of the year ahead loomed once more.
The Hogwarts Express hissed to a stop, steam billowing into the cool September air. The noise of students chatting and laughing filled the platform as they began spilling out onto the cobblestones. Trunks were heaved from compartments, pets chirped, meowed, and hooted in protest, and the familiar bellow of Hagrid's voice carried above the din. "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"
Harry stood at the edge of the platform, watching the scene unfold. He scanned the crowd for Rose, James, Sirius, and the other familiar faces. His gaze lingered on the students as they clustered into groups. The excited energy was infectious, but Harry remained steady, a silent observer. A flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadow moving too quickly among the crowd. His senses sharpened, and the Codex stirred in his mind.
They will betray you eventually. It whispered. Their joy is fleeting. How long before they turn on each other...on you? Power does not need allies. Power does not need loyalty. Harry ignored it, his lips pressing into a firm line.
"All set, Professor Potter?" A gruff voice pulled him from his thoughts. Hagrid stood nearby, his massive form towering over the students.
Harry nodded. "Everything looks in order. Thank you, Hagrid,"
Hagrid grinned. "Ah, the little 'uns are always a bit nervy, but they'll settle soon enough. You'll be all right teachin' 'em, won't ya?"
"I'll manage," Harry said with a faint smile.
As the last students climbed into the carriages, Harry watched the Thestrals shift restlessly under their harnesses. Their skeletal wings flexed as they prepared to carry the students up the winding path to Hogwarts. He glanced over his shoulder once more to ensure no one was left behind. Satisfied, he stepped back, took a breath, and allowed the wards to guide him. With a faint crack of Apparition, he disappeared from the platform, reappearing at the grand iron gates of Hogwarts. The wards pulsed faintly in acknowledgment of his presence, the ancient magic feeling both foreign and familiar.
The Great Hall gleamed with its usual grandeur, the enchanted ceiling alive with shifting clouds and the faint twinkle of stars beginning to emerge in the twilight sky. The long house tables stretched before him, already bustling with the older students who had arrived ahead of the train. Harry entered through the main doors, his green robes catching the golden light of floating candles. His arrival did not go unnoticed. Conversations hushed as curious whispers rippled through the hall.
"Who's that?"
"Is he a new professor?"
"He looks like James Potter...but older,"
"Is he...a relative?"
Harry kept his expression neutral, walking with purpose toward the staff table. Professors turned to greet him with polite nods. As he approached his assigned seat between Flitwick and Sprout, Dumbledore's familiar twinkle of amusement shone in his eyes. "Quite the entrance," Flitwick said cheerfully, his small frame barely visible above the table. "I imagine the students will have plenty of questions about you, Professor Potter,"
Harry chuckled lightly as he took his seat. "They certainly seem curious. Let's hope they don't let it distract them for too long,"
Sprout leaned in with a warm smile. "Oh, they'll settle soon enough. But the Gryffindors..." She trailed off, glancing toward the house table where James and Sirius were already the center of attention. "Well, they have a reputation," Harry followed her gaze. At the Gryffindor table, James was gesticulating wildly as he recounted a story to Sirius, who laughed uproariously. Their antics were earning a mixture of amusement and exasperation from the surrounding students.
Moments later, Lily Evans entered the hall, her auburn hair catching the candlelight. She paused in the doorway, her green eyes scanning the staff table. When her gaze landed on Harry, she froze, her expression flickering between shock and confusion. Her eyes darted to James at the Gryffindor table, then back to Harry. Slowly, she made her way to her seat, whispering to her friends.
"She's noticed," Flitwick said with a chuckle, his voice just low enough for Harry to hear.
"Noticed what?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.
"That you're the spitting image of your brother," Harry allowed himself a small smile but said nothing.
The Sorting Hat sat perched on its stool as McGonagall led the line of nervous first-years into the hall. Their wide eyes scanned the vast space with wonder and trepidation, and Harry felt a pang of empathy for them. The Hat's song, as always, spoke of unity and resilience. It wove a tale of the Founders' legacy, cautioning against division and urging cooperation. Harry couldn't help but feel the words carried an unspoken warning for the future.
As each name was called, the students approached the Sorting Hat, their expressions ranging from determined to downright terrified. Harry observed them closely, noting the moments of hesitation, the sparks of confidence, and the occasional glimpse of fear. The final student was sorted, and the tables erupted into applause. As the clapping subsided, Dumbledore rose, his presence commanding yet inviting.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," he began, his voice carrying easily across the hall. "Whether you are returning to these hallowed halls or stepping into them for the first time, know that you are part of a tradition that binds us all. Let this year be one of learning, growth, and unity. And now, let the feast begin!"
With a wave of his hands, the tables filled with an abundance of food. Roasted meats, steaming vegetables, puddings, and pies of every variety. Goblets brimmed with pumpkin juice, and the room filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation. Harry selected a modest portion, his thoughts drifting to the lessons he would begin planning that evening.
Why do you lower yourself to this? the Codex hissed, its whispers sliding into his mind like tendrils of smoke. These children do not deserve your knowledge. They will not understand your strength. Show them what you are capable of. Make them respect you.
"Not now," Harry muttered under his breath, earning a curious glance from Sprout.
"Everything all right?" she asked kindly.
"Just thinking ahead," Harry said, forcing a smile. "First lessons can set the tone for the year, after all,"
After the feast had concluded, Harry found himself in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The classroom was quiet, the soft glow of enchanted torches illuminating the shelves of books and artifacts. Harry stood in the center, his hands resting on the edge of his desk as he surveyed the room. The Codex stirred in his satchel, its presence oppressive but familiar. You will not be their equal. You will not be their peer. You are more, and they should know it. Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Let me show you how to command them.
Harry inhaled deeply, pushing the whispers to the back of his mind. He walked to the chalkboard, tracing his fingers along its surface. "You may be right," he murmured. "But respect earned through fear is fleeting. I've seen what that leads to, and it's not a path I'll take,"
Fool. The Codex's voice faded into the recesses of his thoughts, leaving him with a faint headache. Harry began sketching a rough outline of his first lesson on the board. Advanced Defensive Warding and Counter-Curses. His first Seventh Year lesson. A faint knock at the door interrupted him. Turning, he saw Rose leaning against the frame, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Are you all right?" she asked, stepping inside.
Harry smiled faintly. "Just preparing. It's going to be a long year,"
Rose crossed her arms, studying him. "You've faced worse,"
"True," Harry admitted. "But this...teaching them, guiding them. It's a different kind of challenge,"
Rose hesitated before speaking again. "You're not alone in this, Harry. Remember that," Her words echoed McGonagall's earlier sentiment, and Harry felt a flicker of reassurance.
"I know," he said. "Thanks, Rose," As she left, Harry turned back to his lesson plan, his resolve firm. The Codex would not define him. The whispers would not control him.
6:55am - September 2nd, 1976 - Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2
The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, illuminating rows of desks neatly arranged for the first lesson of the year. Harry stood at the front, his emerald-green robes immaculate, his posture calm yet commanding. On the chalkboard behind him was the lesson plan he had written the night before. Harry took a steadying breath, reminding himself of his purpose. This was not a battlefield. These were students. And though some might test his patience, this was a chance to guide them, to prepare them for the storm he knew was coming.
The Codex stirred faintly in his satchel, whispering. They are unworthy of your knowledge. Why waste time teaching them what they will never master? Show them real power. Make them fear you. Harry ignored it, his jaw tightening. He cast a quick glance at the clock on the wall. The Seventh Years would arrive any moment.
Like clockwork, the Seventh Year students entered the classroom, their expressions ranging from curiosity to apprehension. Harry observed them carefully as they took their seats. Among the Gryffindors were Frank Longbottom and Alice Fortescue, who shared a quiet determination. From Ravenclaw, Augusta Clearwater and Edwin Grayson looked studious as always, their quills ready to take notes. When everyone had settled, Harry stepped forward, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Professor Potter, and I will be guiding you through what I hope will be the most practical and challenging lessons of your education,"
He let his words sink in before continuing. "In this class, we will not focus solely on theory. You've had six years of that already. This year is about application. About preparing you for the real world, where the threats you face won't wait for you to consult your textbooks,"
Harry turned away from the students, motioning to the board behind him. "For today's lesson," he continued, "you will learn how to layer multiple wards for both durability and efficiency. You will also learn how to identify and break advanced curses, an essential skill for anyone aspiring to become an Auror. Or survive in the dangerous times ahead,"
A few students exchanged uneasy glances at his words, but Harry pressed on. "Let's begin with the basics. What is the primary function of a ward?"
Frank Longbottom raised his hand. "To protect a space or person from magical intrusion,"
"Correct," Harry said, nodding. "And why do most wards fail during prolonged attacks?"
Alice Fortescue chimed in. "Because they're cast as single-layer spells, which are easier to break with sustained pressure,"
"Precisely. Five points to Gryffindor for the both of you," Harry's tone conveyed approval. With a flick of his wand, a glowing diagram appeared in the air, illustrating the concept of layered wards. "Now, let's discuss how to create wards that resist dismantling. The key is layering spells with complementary magical signatures. For example, pairing Protego Totalum with Cave Inimicum provides both physical and magical defense,"
Harry guided the class through practical exercises, walking between desks as students attempted to cast layered wards. When a few struggled, he paused to offer pointers, his demeanor patient but firm. By the end of the lesson, most students had managed to produce rudimentary layered wards. Harry gestured toward a reinforced training dummy at the front of the class. "Now, let's test your work. Attack my ward using your best breaking curses,"
The room filled with bursts of light as students hurled spells at the glowing barrier Harry had conjured. The ward shimmered but held firm, deflecting every attack. When the last spell fizzled out, Harry smiled faintly. "And that is why layering wards matters. A single spell can break one barrier, but not an interwoven web,"
As the class packed up their things, Frank Longbottom approached him, a thoughtful look on his face. "Professor Potter, do you think we'll need these skills outside of class? Soon, I mean,"
Harry met the boy's gaze evenly. "Yes, Mr. Longbottom. You will,"
Frank nodded solemnly and left with Alice, who gave Harry a polite smile on her way out. Harry exhaled deeply once the room was empty. The Codex stirred again. You play the mentor, but you are a warrior. These lessons are wasted on them.
"They are not wasted," Harry muttered, setting up for the next class. "Not everyone fights with raw power. Some fight with preparation,"
The fifth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin students sat in neat rows, their chatter muted as they cast glances toward the tall, green-robed figure standing at the front of the room. Harry's presence was magnetic, his sharp green eyes scanning the room with quiet authority. "Good morning," He began, his voice calm but firm. The quiet deepened as the students straightened in their chairs, sensing this was not a teacher to trifle with. "I am Professor Potter, and I will be guiding you through Defense Against the Dark Arts this year,"
He paused, letting his words settle. "You are all fifth-years, which means two things. You've built a foundation of knowledge over the past four years, and you are now entering one of the most critical stages of your education. Your O.W.L. year," Some students exchanged nervous glances, while others, like Mary Macdonald, fidgeted with her quill. Amycus Carrow leaned back lazily in his chair, smirking as though unimpressed. Wilkes whispered something to him, drawing a low chuckle. Harry ignored them, his gaze sweeping across the room.
"Let me be clear," Harry continued, his tone sharpening slightly. "Your performance in this class - and on your O.W.L.s - will shape your future in ways you may not fully realize yet. For those of you who aspire to become Aurors, Healers, or even Curse Breakers, your scores in Defense Against the Dark Arts will determine whether those doors remain open. And for everyone else, mastering defensive magic is not just an academic exercise. It's survival,"
Amycus raised an eyebrow. "Survival? Bit dramatic, isn't it?"
Harry's eyes fixed on him, his expression unreadable. "Is it?" he replied smoothly. "When you face a creature or a wizard intent on doing you harm, will they care how much you studied? Or whether you thought the lesson was 'dramatic'?" The classroom fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on them.
Harry began pacing slowly. "Dark magic doesn't wait for you to be ready. It doesn't wait until you've decided it's worth paying attention. And it doesn't care how skilled your opponent is. It only seeks to consume,"
Mary Macdonald swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on her parchment. Harry's voice softened slightly. "I'm not saying this to frighten you. I'm saying it to prepare you. Because I will not have any of you leave this class unready to defend yourselves or those you care about,"
He gestured to the large cupboard in the corner of the room. "Today, we'll start by facing something universal. Fear. Dark magic often preys on it. Fear clouds your judgment, paralyzes you, and makes you vulnerable. The boggart you see here feeds on that fear, taking the shape of what you dread most,"
A faint thud echoed from the cupboard, and several students flinched. Harry stepped closer to it, his voice calm. "But fear, like dark magic, can be defeated. Laughter is one of the simplest ways to disarm it. The Riddikulus charm turns your fear into something humorous, robbing it of power. Your objective today is to face your fear and learn to neutralize it,"
Wilkes raised his hand, his tone skeptical. "And what if someone's fear isn't something funny? What if it's...I don't know, death or something you can't just laugh off?"
Harry nodded, acknowledging the question. "That's a fair point. Humor isn't always about making something inherently funny. It's about taking control. A boggart's greatest weapon is making you feel powerless. The Riddikulus spell helps you assert your power over it. Once you do that, fear loses its grip on you," He turned to face the class. "Now, watch closely. I'll demonstrate,"
He once again turned to face the cupboard and flicked his wand. The door flew open with a creak. Shadows slithered forward, thick and suffocating as the boggart began to take form. The temperature in the room plummeted. Students leaned forward, their expressions ranging from nervous curiosity to outright fear. The shadow solidified into a figure that stood over six feet tall. A hulking, female silhouette cloaked in dark fabric and lined with crimson trim. Furva.
Gasps rippled through the class. Her face was shrouded in a hood, but the absence of features made her all the more menacing. Her body exuded a raw, overwhelming presence, muscles corded under dark armor. And she moved slowly, deliberately...like a predator. Furva did not wield a weapon because she didn't need one. Her hand shot out, fingers clenching around an invisible throat as though plucking someone from the air. The force of the gesture alone seemed to vibrate through the room.
"Harry," Furva hissed, her voice an unnatural blend of distorted echoes and cold steel. "You are weak," The students stared, frozen, unable to look away. Mary Macdonald let out a strangled gasp. Amycus Carrow's smirk vanished, his face pale. Harry stood his ground, though his shoulders tensed, and his fingers curled tightly around his wand.
The Codex stirred in the recesses of his mind, its whispers flowing like poison. She is unstoppable. You remember how she broke you. How you begged to survive. Will you let them see you fail again?
Furva stepped closer, the floor creaking under her weight, her movements a cruel mockery of grace. "You cannot win, boy," she said, her voice louder now, reverberating through the room. "I will break you as I always have," Harry's memories clawed at the edges of his focus. Flashes of blood, screams, the feeling of bones cracking under unrelenting force. Furva. The strongest Gladiator of the Domus Mortis. She had been his tormentor, his trainer, his executioner in everything but name. The embodiment of his helplessness in that dark world. But that was the past.
Harry's jaw tightened. His wand shot up, his voice steady and commanding. "Riddikulus!"
The boggart froze for a fraction of a second, as though reluctant to be changed. Then, the shift began. Furva's towering form rippled and shrank. Her massive shoulders rounded into something cartoonish, the cloak twisting into a giant pink bib decorated with baby ducks. A comically oversized bonnet appeared on her hood, and in place of her hands were two enormous stuffed teddy bears. The oppressive tension snapped like a string pulled too tight. Laughter burst forth from the Gryffindors, and even a few Slytherins snorted in disbelief.
Furva, now waddling in place with stuffed bears for fists, swayed awkwardly as though unsure of what to do with herself. Her guttural growl turned into a squeaky, high-pitched giggle as she collapsed backward into the cupboard with a muffled thud. The door slammed shut behind her. Harry lowered his wand, exhaling slowly. The class erupted into nervous chatter.
"What was that?" Wilkes muttered, his voice still shaking slightly.
"Some kind of giant monster!" Amycus said hoarsely, trying to reclaim his composure. "That's not normal,"
Mary Macdonald blinked at Harry, awe on her face. "Professor, that thing...it was horrible. Was that...real?"
Harry turned to face the class, his expression calm once more. "No. It wasn't real," he lied smoothly. "A boggart is a reflection of what we fear. It is nothing more than a shadow given form,"
The Codex hissed in his mind, furious. Liar. She was real. She is real. They should know your pain. Your truth.
"Shadows," Harry repeated, his voice firm, silencing the whispers both inside and out.
The rest of the lesson continued with the students taking turns to face their fears. Mary Macdonald's boggart became a swarm of buzzing wasps, which she turned into floating confetti bees. Wilkes' fear of his father's judgment appeared as a ghostly, looming figure, which he transformed into a shrieking parrot. When Amycus stepped forward, the boggart shifted into a terrifying shadow with glowing red eyes. Eerily similar to Furva, though smaller and undefined. Harry noted how Amycus flinched but managed to turn it into a staggering, oversized spider wearing roller skates.
By the end of class, the students were buzzing with energy, a mixture of relief and accomplishment. As they packed up their belongings, Harry dismissed them with a few final words. "Fear cannot harm you unless you allow it. Face it with resolve, and you will find that you are far stronger than you believe," As the last student filed out, Harry glanced at the closed cupboard. Furva's form lingered in his mind, far too vivid, far too real.
You'll never escape her. The Codex whispered softly, almost soothingly. She will find you again. And next time, you will break.
Harry turned sharply, his hand twitching toward the satchel where the Codex lay. "No," he said aloud, his voice resolute. "She's a shadow. Nothing more," But as the door to his classroom clicked shut, Harry knew that Furva's image would haunt him far longer than any boggart ever could.
The Gryffindor common room was alive with the hum of conversation and laughter, flames crackling in the grand fireplace, their glow warming the stone walls. The familiar chaos of the first day back was comforting. Old friends reunited, new stories told. But one corner of the room buzzed louder than the rest.
James Potter, sprawled in his favorite armchair with a lazy grin, tossed a Snitch into the air and caught it with practiced ease. Sirius Black lounged on the couch beside him, feet propped up on the table, while Remus Lupin perched in the other armchair, his book abandoned in his lap. Peter Pettigrew sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the conversation with wide-eyed curiosity, his quill and parchment forgotten. Rose Potter sat near the edge of the group, her posture composed but eyes sharp as she listened. Across the room, Lily Evans lingered by the window, far enough to feign disinterest but close enough to catch snippets of the conversation.
It didn't take long for Frank Longbottom and Alice Fortescue to approach, clearly brimming with excitement. Frank dropped into an empty chair near the fire, his brown eyes alight, while Alice perched gracefully on the armrest beside him. "Oi, Potter! Black! You lot are in for it tomorrow," Frank began with a grin, rubbing his hands together.
James caught the Snitch mid-air and leaned forward, intrigued. "In for what?"
"Defense," Alice clarified, her tone laced with something close to awe. "Professor Potter. He's...well, you'll see.,"
Sirius sat up, dark eyes narrowing with interest. "We'll see what exactly? Don't be cryptic, Fortescue,"
Frank laughed, shaking his head. "It's hard to explain. He's not like any professor we've had. It's real Defense this year. None of that slow-paced theory. This was practical from the moment we walked in,"
James's grin widened, and he looked at Rose. "Told you Harry - uh, Professor Potter - wouldn't waste time,"
Rose didn't respond, though the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
"What did he teach you?" Remus asked, his voice calm but curious.
Frank's grin stretched wider. "Warding and counter-curses. Properly layering wards, breaking advanced protections. It was brilliant. I didn't think I'd understand half of it, but he made it look easy. Even Grayson - Ravenclaw's top of the class - was floored,"
Alice nodded, her expression serious. "He conjured a layered ward in front of us and then tested it. Told us to break it. We tried everything. Reductos, Expulsos, Finite Incantatems. But it held. Every time we thought we'd cracked it, there was another layer underneath,"
"Blimey," Peter breathed, his eyes wide. "And none of you broke it?"
Frank snorted. "Not a chance. He let us struggle for a good ten minutes before he showed us how it worked. Said wards are like webs. Interwoven and resilient. You've got to know how to read them before you can tear them down,"
Sirius's grin returned, sharper than before. "About time someone actually taught us something useful. And you're saying Harry - sorry, Professor Potter - did all this on the first day?"
"First ten minutes, more like," Alice replied. "Then he made us duel him, briefly, just to show us the principles in practice,"
"Duel?" James perked up, his hazel eyes gleaming. "He dueled you lot?"
Frank laughed again. "Not for long. None of us lasted. He's fast. Faster than anyone I've ever seen. And precise. He told us you don't need power to win a duel. You need control,"
Sirius whistled low, clearly impressed. "That's what I like to hear. Finally, a professor who knows what he's doing,"
'Don't get too cocky, Black," Alice warned, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. "He'll wipe the floor with you if you try showing off,"
"Not likely," Sirius shot back with mock bravado. "I'm going to make sure we Gryffindors leave a mark tomorrow,"
Frank leaned back, grinning. "You'll try. But mark my words. He'll push you. Hard,"
Before the conversation could drift, Mary Macdonald appeared nearby, clutching her bag tightly to her chest, her face flushed with lingering nerves. "You're talking about Professor Potter, aren't you?" she asked hesitantly, her voice softer but clear. Peter motioned for her to join them, and Mary perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch, her gaze darting between Frank, Sirius, and James.
"What was your class like?" Remus asked gently.
Mary swallowed, her voice dropping. "It was...intense. He taught us about boggarts,"
"Boggarts?" Sirius repeated, frowning. "That's a bit basic for fifth years, isn't it?"
Mary shook her head. "Not the way he taught it. He didn't just explain them. He showed us. He said fear only has power if we let it...and then he showed us his boggart," A silence fell over the group. Even Sirius's smirk faded slightly.
"His own boggart?" James asked, his voice quieter now. "What was it?"
Mary's brow furrowed, and she looked down at her hands. "I don't even know what to call it. It was a...woman, I think, but massive...cloaked in black. And she moved. It wasn't like any boggart I've seen before. You could feel it. Like the air went cold just being near her,"
Rose stiffened almost imperceptibly, her gaze locked on the flames in the fireplace.
"She spoke to him," Mary continued, her voice hushed. "Said his name like she knew him. Like she was real,"
Peter shuddered, his face pale. "That sounds horrible,"
"What did he do?" Remus asked softly.
Mary exhaled slowly. "He faced it. He didn't even hesitate. Just turned her into this...this ridiculous baby wearing a pink bonnet and holding stuffed teddy bears. It was funny, sure, but it wasn't just that. It felt like he was proving something. Like it wasn't just for us. It was for himself," The fire crackled, filling the silence that followed.
James broke it with a nervous laugh, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "Well, that settles it. Defense is going to be very interesting this year,"
Sirius grinned, though there was an edge to it. "Sounds like we'll get our chance to prove ourselves tomorrow. Bet we'll handle it just fine,"
"You'll see," Frank said with a knowing smile. "He's not like anyone you've ever learned from before,"
As the conversation shifted back to banter and plans for the next day, Rose remained silent, her face unreadable. She knew exactly what Mary had seen, though she had no intention of confirming it. Furva. A Gladiator of the Domus Mortis. The woman who had broken Harry down to his most vulnerable state and forced him to claw his way back to survival. To anyone else, Furva was a terrifying shadow made of nightmares. To Harry, she was a memory etched into his bones, a specter he had learned to overcome but never forgot.
Rose's hands curled tightly in her lap as she kept her gaze fixed on the fire. She wouldn't say a word. Not to James. Not to Sirius. Not even to Remus. The truth of Harry's fear - of Furva - was his alone to tell.
From her seat by the window, Lily Evans lingered quietly, far enough to avoid notice but close enough to hear the key details. She frowned as Mary's words echoed in her mind.
Fear only has power if you let it.
Her gaze flickered toward the group around the fire—toward James, Sirius, and the others. But her eyes lingered longest on Rose, who sat utterly still, her expression inscrutable.
There's more to this Professor Potter than anyone's saying.
The thought clung to Lily as she turned back to the window, watching the darkness settle over the grounds. Tomorrow, she'd see for herself.