CHAPTER 35: ENIGMA OF HARRY OBSIDIAN
Harry despised social gatherings, particularly parties. He found them to be tedious affairs, filled with trivialities and juvenile antics, especially when it came to the haughty attitudes of purebloods. Daphne, understanding Harry's aversion, had thoughtfully organized the party into two segments: one for the children and another for the adults.
Currently, Harry found himself ensnared in the children's portion of the festivities. Although there were some older attendees, mostly Daphne's cousins and younger relatives who had yet to reach legal age, the majority consisted of around forty children. Among them were Daphne's friends and her little sister Astoria, who carried herself with an air of smug superiority, eager to flaunt her slightly superior looks whenever possible.
Astoria even attempted to flirt with Harry, though he rebuffed her advances without hesitation. Daphne observed the interaction with amusement, suppressing the urge to laugh aloud. She knew all too well that Harry was an enigma when it came to romantic pursuits; none could sway him to entertain the notion of dating, let alone becoming someone's boyfriend.
As the children frolicked and played, Daphne couldn't help but wonder how Harry would fare during the upcoming adult portion of the evening. Perhaps amidst the formalities of the ball, he might find some respite from the relentless social pressures.
"What's wrong, Mr. Grumps?" Daphne's voice cut through Harry's thoughts, pulling him back to the present. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, and glanced at Daphne with a dry expression, clearly unimpressed with the nickname she had bestowed upon him.
"It's a party! You're supposed to enjoy yourself!" she scolded lightly, but Harry's gaze remained narrowed.
"I am more content within the confines of a library than amidst this... playground," he retorted, his tone tinged with disdain.
"Ah, a rough childhood, perhaps?" Daphne ventured, her tone softened with sympathy as she detected the bitterness laced within his words. Harry tensed at the question, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features as he averted his gaze, unwilling to confirm or deny her suspicions.
Sighing softly, Daphne shifted closer, resting her chin on her knees as she drew them close to her chest. "You know, the others are about to start a game of Quidditch outside. Come on, it'll be fun to watch—just this time, no hexes or jinxes," she teased, her eyes watching him warily for any signs of resistance.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Harry's lips as he reluctantly pushed himself to his feet. Daphne practically dragged him out to the pitch, where the other children were already laughing and boasting to one another as they prepared to mount their brooms, either their own or the spares provided by Daphne.
As the game of Quidditch commenced, Harry once again spotted the golden snitch before anyone else—a testament to his keen eye and quick reflexes. It never ceased to amaze him how oblivious the untrained eye could be to such a crucial element of the game.
Daphne, ever observant, had been watching him closely. She noticed the subtle adjustment in his pupils, a telltale sign that he had spotted something the others had missed. Following his line of sight, however, she saw nothing but the vast expanse of the pitch.
"You see the snitch?" she guessed, a smirk playing on her lips as she waved a few of the other players over. One of them, a boy named Randy, promptly dismounted his broom and, much to Harry's dismay and growing irritation, forced him onto it.
"If I ever have a choice, brooms are the first thing to burn," Harry muttered under his breath as he reluctantly took to the air, hovering beside Draco, the opposing team's seeker.
"Why do you hate Quidditch? You're amazing on a broom!" Draco exclaimed, watching in awe as Harry skillfully maneuvered to avoid a bludger.
Harry clenched his jaw, suppressing a scowl. "I see no merit in trivial sports like Quidditch when there are countless other pursuits worthy of our time."
Draco wrinkled his nose in confusion, but Harry offered no further explanation. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, swiftly snatching the snitch and elegantly diving down to land beside Daphne. With a deft toss, he presented her with the snitch, which she caught in surprise, her eyes alight with admiration and amusement.
"Mark my words, Greengrass," Harry's voice was firm as he addressed Daphne, his tone leaving no room for negotiation, "I detest Quidditch, and if you ever force me onto a broom again, you'll find yourself waking up tied to the center of the Gryffindor table when school starts."
Daphne swallowed hard, fully aware that Harry wasn't one to issue empty threats. With a lump in her throat, she nodded silently. Despite her efforts to comply, neither she nor anyone on the field could forget just how skilled Harry was on a broom.
Finally, as the adults began to filter into the party, each child donned their proverbial pureblood mask, a necessity for navigating the intricacies of their world. Amidst the polite chatter and genteel facade, a few unfamiliar faces cast disdainful glances at Harry, their whispers laden with thinly veiled contempt.
A woman's startled shriek pierced the air as her cocktail splashed upwards, drenching her face. All eyes turned towards the commotion, but only Theo and Draco noticed the slight twitch of Harry's lips just before the incident occurred. They exchanged stunned glances, once again awed by his remarkable control and power, even in such seemingly innocuous moments. A pang of jealousy momentarily gripped them before they composed themselves.
Meanwhile, Daphne maintained a calm demeanor as she engaged in conversation with her uncle, a man who had once resided in Bulgaria before relocating to northern Romania. She was taken aback when he inquired about Harry Obsidian.
"Pardon?" she replied, surprised by the question and assuming her uncle was familiar with the name.
"No, I'm afraid not," her uncle responded, genuine surprise coloring his features. Daphne quickly apologized for her assumption, bowing her head slightly, and was rewarded with a warm smile in return.
"Think nothing of it, little flower," Daphne's uncle reassured her, his brow furrowing in thought. "I was not aware of an Obsidian family, which is highly unlikely for me not to have heard of a Pureblood lineage. Perhaps he is new to the country?" he suggested.
Daphne frowned, shaking her head in response. "No, he doesn't speak of his parents that often, but I know for a fact that he lived there for most of his life," she explained.
Her uncle shrugged, seemingly satisfied with the answer. However, their conversation hadn't gone unnoticed by a woman named Bridget Broh'er, who had overheard and promptly jumped to conclusions.
Assuming Harry Obsidian to be a Mudblood, Bridget wasted no time in voicing her misguided beliefs. Within minutes, Theo rushed over and seized her by the arm, ushering her upstairs to the balcony where their other friends awaited, all with wide-eyed expressions as they looked down at the unfolding scene.
Meanwhile, Harry stood stoically below, his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze icy as he locked eyes with Bridget. She sneered down at him, oblivious to the depth of the hole she was digging herself into.
"I bet your mother was a filthy Muggle. It's common for such filth to be born from that... breed," Bridget spat, her words dripping with disdain. Harry's eyes narrowed in response, but he made no move to retaliate.
"Your father probably was a drunk! Leaving that creature the night a-"
"Enough," Harry's voice cut through the tension like a blade, his tone remarkably calm despite the rising anger in the air. Bridget's face flushed crimson with rage as she took a menacing step forward, her wand slipping into her hand as she clutched a glass of wine in the other.
"How dare you insult me, you little child? You're no better than the Mudbloods, you worthless brat!" Bridget spat, her words a venomous echo of past prejudices. Harry, normally adept at controlling his emotions, felt a surge of fury rising within him.
Without a word, he raised his wand, silently casting a spell that transformed the wine in Bridget's glass into a corrosive acid. Britney cried out in shock as she took a sip, gagging and spitting as the liquid burned her throat and lungs. Blood trickled from her wounded throat and stomach as the acid ate away at her from the inside out, a punishment far more severe than Harry had initially intended.
Draco and Blaise recoiled in horror, their eyes wide with shock as they watched the gruesome scene unfold. Bridget's husband rushed to her side, panic etched on his face as he frantically summoned help from St. Mungo's. Meanwhile, Harry slipped through the crowd, shaking his head in disgust as some onlookers jumped to the conclusion that Bridget had been poisoned.
"Idiots," he muttered under his breath as he made his escape, his frustration palpable in the air.
"Is that so?" Daphne's voice cut through his thoughts, her expression stern as she addressed him by his last name.
"Greengrass," Harry retorted, his tone clipped as he braced himself for the confrontation.
"The importance of this conversation is?" Daphne pressed, her gaze unwavering.
"You did that," she accused, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Where's your proof?" Harry shot back automatically, his defenses rising instinctively from years of guarding his secrets.
Before the tension could escalate further, Theo and Draco came bounding down the steps, their eyes gleaming with excitement. They wanted more, eager to learn from Harry's display of power—a hunger for knowledge that Harry recognized all too well.
"How in Merlin's name did you do that?" Draco exclaimed, his breath coming in rapid pants, his eyes betraying a hint of jealousy that seemed to grow more pronounced with each passing moment. Harry turned to face them, retrieving his cloak and moving towards the fireplace.
"I'll see you when school starts, young Daphne, Theo, Draco," Harry nodded in farewell before disappearing into the emerald green flames.
The three were left in stunned silence, Theo breaking it with a low whistle. "Sure knows how to make an exit, huh?" he remarked, a mix of awe and admiration evident in his voice.
Daphne chuckled softly, shaking her head in amusement. "That he does, Theo. That he does."
Draco's expression remained thoughtful, a mixture of fascination and envy swirling in his gaze. "I still can't believe he pulled that off. I mean, turning wine into acid? That's next-level magic."
Theo nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's like something out of one of those ancient magical texts. Harry definitely knows his stuff."
As they stood there, contemplating the events of the evening and the enigmatic figure that was Harry Obsidian, a sense of anticipation settled over them. They couldn't help but wonder what other secrets and surprises the upcoming school year would bring, especially with someone as intriguing as Harry in their midst.
With a shared glance, they knew one thing for certain: their lives were about to become a whole lot more interesting.
Harry stormed into his common room, his cloak flung haphazardly over a nearby chair, his steps heavy with pent-up frustration. He was grateful for the silencing wards woven into the marble floor, muffling any sound that might betray his turmoil.
His anger simmered beneath the surface, threatening to consume him entirely. Gone was the cool facade he often wore, gone was the mask of indifference. He collapsed onto his bed, a sudden surge of childlike frustration overcoming him as he buried his face in his pillow, a muffled scream escaping into the fabric.
The encounter with the lady had rattled him more than he cared to admit. It served as a stark reminder of his humanity, a reminder that despite his dark demeanor, he was still just a young boy thrust into a world of chaos and conflict.
He couldn't shake the bitter realization that he had been denied a normal childhood, robbed of the simple joys and innocence that others took for granted. If only Dumbledore hadn't uttered those fateful words of prophecy, perhaps he would be celebrating his birthday with his twin Daemon, blissfully unaware of the weight of destiny that hung over him.
Resentment boiled within him, fueled by the unfairness of it all. He despised the favoritism, the constant feeling of being overlooked and rejected. And above all, he loathed love.
Love was a foreign concept to him, an elusive emotion he could never quite grasp. It was forged in the warmth of childhood, in the tender embrace of family and friends. But Harry had been denied that luxury, robbed of the chance to experience love in its purest form.
The very idea of love sickened him, a bitter reminder of what he could never have. And so, he stewed in his anger, his heart aching with a longing he could never fulfill.
Harry's screams echoed through the empty room, a primal release of frustration and anguish. He screamed until his throat burned raw, until tears stung his left eye while his right remained dry, the scarred skin a cruel reminder of past pain.
"For the Greater Good," Dumbledore's mantra echoed in his mind, but to Harry, the concept of "good" felt twisted and distant.
"If only he had kept silent about that cursed prophecy," Harry thought bitterly, his fists clenched as he pounded the pillow beneath him. The silver fabric offered no solace, only amplifying his sense of isolation.
"If only they hadn't ignored me," he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness and resentment.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Remus Lupin sat in his modest home, a frown creasing his brow as he slammed a book shut. Before him stood James Potter, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore, their expressions pleading.
"Come on, Moony, please?" Sirius implored, his eyes wide with a desperate plea. But Remus remained resolute, his amber eyes flashing with a hint of anger.
"I've already said no. Now leave," Remus growled, the frustration evident in his tone. His home, nestled in an area populated by werewolves seeking refuge from the Ministry's persecution, was a sanctuary for those shunned by society. The nearby Great Pack provided solidarity, a united front against the prejudice of wizards who viewed them as nothing more than beasts.
"Please, just one year," James pleaded, his usual charm falling flat in the face of Remus's determination. He recoiled at the sudden intensity in Remus's gaze, realizing the depth of his friend's resolve.
"I've made my decision, and I won't be swayed," Remus declared firmly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.
"You can't just abandon us like this," Sirius whimpered, his desperation palpable as he reached out to Remus. But Remus remained unmoved, his loyalty to his principles unshakeable even in the face of his friends' pleas.
"I told you, I want to be alone!" Remus snapped, his frustration palpable as he turned to face Dumbledore and his companions.
"But Mr. Lupin, think of the privacy you'll have in your own office," Dumbledore attempted to reason, only to be met with a glare that silenced him instantly.
"I said no," Remus reiterated firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
"Oh, come on! What's your issue with us?" James demanded, his own patience wearing thin. But before he could continue, Remus whirled around, his eyes blazing with anger as he fixed James with a piercing gaze.
"It's your son," Remus snarled, his voice taking on an almost feral quality that caused the others to recoil in shock.
"Do you know what little Daemon Potter thinks? He believes he's superior to everyone, that they're beneath him. Tell me, James, what do you think he feels about werewolves?"
James was taken aback by the accusation, his face flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief. Before he could respond, Sirius intervened, his tone somber.
"Don't, James," Sirius warned, his own experiences with Daemon's arrogance fresh in his mind.
"He called me a monster, James. A mutt!" Remus ranted, his anger palpable as he hurled a book to the ground, the sound echoing through the room.
"I'll speak to the boy. His behavior is unacceptable," Dumbledore interjected, rising slowly from his seat in an attempt to diffuse the tension.
"You think?" Sirius retorted dryly, his gaze fixed on Remus with a hint of indifference.
"And I'm certain he'll apologize for his actions. But Hogwarts isn't just for Daemon Potter. There are countless other children who need a teacher," Dumbledore protested, his tone urgent as he sought to sway Remus's decision.
In the end, worn down by the persistence of his friends and the weight of responsibility, Remus reluctantly agreed to sign the Hogwarts contract for the upcoming year. As the three men departed, leaving Remus alone in his home, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion.
Craving solace, Remus reached for a small leather-bound book, its weathered cover a testament to years gone by. With a tender touch, he opened it, revealing the first page adorned with a moving picture.
There, captured in the magical frame, was his godson, Harry James Potter. Remus's heart ached at the sight of the young boy, with his striking ebony hair and piercing emerald eyes that seemed to hold a wisdom far beyond his years.
Oh, how Remus missed him.
As he gazed at the image, a wave of longing washed over him, memories flooding his mind of happier times spent with Harry and his parents. Despite the passage of time and the distance that now separated them, the bond between godfather and godson remained unbreakable, a constant reminder of the love and loss that defined their shared history.
Remus traced the outline of Harry's face in the moving picture, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of his lips. The image flickered with life, capturing fleeting moments of Harry's childhood, moments that Remus cherished deeply.
He remembered the laughter that echoed through the Potter household, the warmth of Lily and James's smiles as they watched their son grow. And Harry, with his endless curiosity and fierce determination, had been the light that illuminated their lives, a beacon of hope in dark times.
But now, as Remus sat alone with the memory of his godson, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow. Harry's absence weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder of the fractured world they lived in, where families were torn apart and innocence was lost.
Closing the book with a heavy heart, Remus resolved to honor Harry's legacy in the only way he knew how – by dedicating himself to the education and protection of the next generation. As he prepared for the challenges that lay ahead, he carried Harry's spirit with him, a guiding presence that would always be a source of strength and inspiration.
And as he drifted off to sleep that night, Remus found solace in the knowledge that no matter how far apart they were, the bond between godfather and godson would endure, transcending time and distance with its unwavering love.
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