Chapter 3 - Gale
"I don't want to fight!"
The reaction from the crowd was beyond anything Harry could have imagined. If he weren't so focused on the task at hand, he might have burst into hysterical laughter at the theatrical display of emotions before him. The stands erupted into chaos, a cacophony of incomprehensible screaming and shouting that echoed throughout the arena.
Barty Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman looked as though they'd been struck by simultaneous Confundus charms, their faces cycling through various shades of red as they struggled to process what they'd just heard. Albus Dumbledore, for once, had lost his carefully maintained composure – he appeared to have swallowed one of his beloved lemon drops the wrong way, his aged face contorting as he fought back a cough. The usually stern Professor McGonagall's expression was a sight to behold: her eyebrows had climbed so high they threatened to disappear into her hairline, while her jaw hung slack in a most un-McGonagall-like manner.
But these were merely the more restrained reactions.
Rita Skeeter, denied her precious exclusive interview, had descended into a frenzy of wild gesticulations. Her acid-green quill was practically smoking as it raced across her notepad, no doubt crafting some sensationalist headline about the Boy-Who-Lived becoming the Boy-Who-Surrendered. Her poor cameraman seemed determined to capture every millisecond of the unprecedented moment, the camera flash going off so frequently that Harry wondered if the device might explode from overuse.
Hermione, brilliant as she was, appeared to have short-circuited. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish out of water, her formidable mind clearly struggling to reconcile this turn of events with any logical explanation. The disguised Barty Crouch Jr., maintaining his Moody persona, fixed Harry with a glare so intense it could have rivaled the Killing Curse – though Harry knew the Death Eater's rage stemmed from seeing his master's carefully laid plans crumbling before his eyes.
Lucius Malfoy's gaze darted suspiciously between Harry and Draco, his aristocratic features twisted in confusion as he tried to determine if this was some elaborate scheme concocted by his future-traveled son, not that he knew about it (After all, he had placed a bet, and lost it). Snape's face was a battlefield of warring expressions, his customary sneer fighting a losing battle against genuine shock. Ron's face had turned an impressive shade of puce, his mind clearly struggling with why anyone would enter their name only to forfeit. Meanwhile, Neville – fellow time-traveler and voice of reason – was repeatedly smacking his palm against his forehead, likely cursing Harry's flair for the dramatic.
"Boy! If you give up, you'll lose your magic! The Goblet has a binding magical contract, for Merlin's sake!" Crouch Sr. shouted from the stands, his voice cracking with panic.
Harry ignored the warning, his attention fixed solely on the Hungarian Horntail. The dragon had become increasingly agitated by the circus-like atmosphere, taking a more protective stance over her clutch of eggs. Her menacing growl reverberated through the arena, silencing several of the more hysterical spectators.
With deliberate slowness, Harry raised his wand hand toward the Horntail. The crowd's chaos subsided momentarily, collectively holding their breath in anticipation of some spectacular spell. Instead, they watched in horror as Harry dropped his wand and raised his empty hands in surrender. The ensuing pandemonium made the previous chaos seem orderly by comparison.
Rita Skeeter's voice carried above the din: "Boy-Who-Lived Surrenders to Dragon: A Coward's Tale or Strategic Genius?" Her Quick-Quotes Quill was practically dancing across the parchment. The Hogwarts faculty had abandoned all pretense of dignity, screaming at Harry to retrieve his wand before he became dragon food.
Harry tuned out everything except the magnificent creature before him. "~I do not wish to fight you, dragoness~," he hissed in Parseltongue, the serpentine language flowing naturally from his lips. The Horntail recoiled, her massive head swinging around as she searched for the source of the ancient tongue. When her burning gaze settled back on Harry, a low growl rumbled from deep within her chest.
"~Are you the one who speaks our tongue?~" The Horntail's voice resonated with ancient power, each syllable carrying centuries of draconic pride.
Harry inclined his head respectfully. "~Yes, I do. My friends call me Harry. Would you honor me with your name? I would prefer not to address you simply as 'dragoness' during our conversation.~"
The dragon's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and she advanced with predatory grace. "~What do I have to gain from conversing with you, human child? Your kind dragged me and my eggs here against my will, turning us into entertainment for your juvenile tournament. Give me one reason why I shouldn't reduce you to ashes where you stand!~"
Harry didn't flinch at the venom in her tone, though he felt the scorching heat of her breath. "~I cannot begin to comprehend your suffering, dragoness. You have been grievously wronged. I also cannot understand why our elders chose to resurrect this tournament, which has claimed so many young lives throughout history.~"
The dragon's hostile glare softened marginally, but her posture remained coiled with tension. "~You claim peace while making a show of dropping your wand. Do not take me for a fool, child! I can sense your magic – it runs deep and powerful. That wand was not discarded in a gesture of peace; it was hindering your true potential. We both know you could strike me down wandlessly if you so chose!~" Her maw filled with flames as she spoke, illuminating her razor-sharp teeth.
Harry's eyes widened at her perception before his lips curved into a melancholic smile. "~You're right about my capabilities, but wrong about my intentions. I've witnessed enough bloodshed to last several lifetimes. While I stand ready to spill the blood of those who threaten the innocent, you are not my enemy. My dream is to forge a world where all magical beings – werewolves, house-elves, high elves, dragons, vampires, centaurs, giants, even muggles – can coexist in harmony. I've seen how the poisonous words of a few twisted individuals can devastate both magical and mundane worlds. I aim to prevent such darkness from rising again.~"
The Horntail studied him in profound silence before taking several measured steps backward. "~You... intrigue me, young one – Harry, was it? Over centuries, many humans have approached my kind, offering freedom in exchange for helping them overthrow their rivals. You are the first to extend friendship without demanding anything in return.~" She tilted her head, examining him with ancient wisdom. "~Your eyes... they hold too much knowledge for one so young. You carry secrets that you believe don't concern me.~" Her rumbling laugh echoed through the arena as Harry's shock showed on his face. "~Dragons possess gifts that humans have barely begun to comprehend. But that's a discussion for another time. Tell me, Harry – how do you intend to achieve this ambitious vision of yours?~"
Harry swallowed hard, caught off guard by being interrogated by a dragon – definitely not something he'd anticipated when traveling back in time! "~I cannot say exactly how long it will take to realize such changes. Certain individuals must be... removed from the equation before real progress can begin. One of my father's dearest friends is a werewolf – I wouldn't have known if I hadn't witnessed his transformation firsthand. It made me realize that magical creatures are often simply misunderstood. Like Professor Lupin, or even you. Minutes ago, you were ready to incinerate me, and now we're discussing my hopes for the future!~"
Harry's slight chuckle earned a dragon's equivalent of a laugh. "~My ability to speak with you – Parseltongue – is viewed as a mark of dark magic rather than the gift it truly is. The first thing we must eliminate is prejudice – prejudice against all magical beings. Of course, there are genuinely evil creatures, like Fenrir Greyback, who takes perverse pleasure in turning children into werewolves.~" The dragon's expression twisted with disgust. "~The path ahead is long, but I vow to see it through.~"
The Horntail regarded him for what felt like an eternity, searching for any trace of deception. Finally, she nodded. "~My name is Tűzvirág. You are the first human in centuries worthy of knowing a dragon's true name.~"
"~I'm deeply honored, Lady Tűzvirág. I should mention – one of the eggs in your nest isn't actually yours. The golden egg was placed there as part of the trial. Would you permit me to take it?~" Harry asked with another respectful bow.
The dragon turned to examine her clutch, eyes narrowing at the conspicuous golden egg she had overlooked in her initial fury. She delicately plucked it from the nest and deposited it in Harry's arms. As the young wizard bowed in gratitude and turned to leave, something flickered in Tűzvirág's ancient eyes.
"~Harry!~" she called out. The teen turned back as the massive dragon lowered her head to his eye level – something she hadn't done since their conversation began. "~I want to see this world you dream of creating. While I resent the handlers at the reserve for involving me in this spectacle, they have proven themselves trustworthy with my previous clutches. I know they will protect my eggs.~"
Before Harry could process her words, the air crackled with ancient magic as Tűzvirág touched her snout to his chest. The resulting magical explosion sent Harry flying into the arena wall as the dragon vanished into thin air.
As Harry collapsed against the stone wall and darkness claimed him, the crowd erupted into fresh chaos. The disappearance of a nesting mother dragon was unprecedented – handlers rushed forward, wands drawn, while Ministry officials apparated directly onto the field in panic. Students and spectators alike buzzed with wild theories:
"Did you see that? Potter spoke to it in Parseltongue!"
"But where did the dragon go? Dragons can't just vanish!"
"The Prophet's going to have a field day with this..."
In the stands, three individuals maintained their composure amidst the pandemonium. Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy exchanged knowing looks – trust Harry to completely derail the tournament in the most spectacular way possible. Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore's trademark twinkle had vanished from his eyes, replaced by something harder and colder as he watched his carefully laid plans begin to unravel. The game had changed, and for once, he wasn't the one moving the pieces.
The handlers were working to reach Harry's unconscious form and somewhere, bound to Harry Potter by ancient dragon magic, Tűzvirág smiled.
The Great Hall of Hogwarts buzzed like an agitated hornets' nest in the aftermath of that morning's unprecedented events. Whispers and theories ricocheted off the ancient stones, each more outlandish than the last.
"Potter must have been practicing dark magic in secret—"
"Did you see how the dragon just vanished? Not even ash remained!"
"First he speaks to snakes, now dragons? What's next, commanding an army of magical creatures?"
"My cousin's friend swears they saw Potter practicing ritual magic in the Forbidden Forest..."
Neville sighed deeply as he sipped his pineapple juice, grimacing at both the taste and the absurd rumors swirling around him. The Hogwarts rumor mill was operating at full capacity, churning out wild theories at a rate that would have impressed even the Weasley twins. His gaze drifted across the Hall to where Draco sat at the Slytherin table, currently besieged by an enthusiastic contingent of his housemates.
Pansy Parkinson had practically draped herself across the table, her voice carrying even above the general din as she peppered Draco with questions about his "close association" with Potter. Theodore Nott, usually more reserved, leaned in with barely concealed interest, while Crabbe and Goyle hovered nearby like particularly dim-witted bodyguards. Even the typically aloof Daphne Greengrass had abandoned her ice queen persona, her sharp eyes fixed on Draco as she absorbed every word.
'Whatever happened to Daphne?' Neville mused, watching the elegant Slytherin girl. 'Draco only ever mentioned her as Astoria's sister, but she completely vanished after Hogwarts. Thirty years, and not a single sighting... Right now, the mill has it that she's seeing Theodore Nott' His thoughts were interrupted by catching Draco's desperate expression across the Hall. The former-future Death Eater's face screamed 'HELP ME!' with an intensity that almost made Neville laugh out loud.
Instead, he smirked and blinked in careful patterns – Morse code, a skill they'd developed while evading Obscura's magical detection methods. Their pursuers had been too arrogant to consider such a "primitive" Muggle communication technique.
'Nope. Not going to help! Suffer what we suffered for five years, Draco!'
'Was I really this much of a bratty nightmare?!'
'Unfortunately, you were worse than them combined.' Neville shuddered at the memories, noting Draco's visible wince. 'Anyway, we need to meet soon. Whatever Harry did this morning, I don't think it was part of his plan. He mentioned theatrics, but this...'
'Agreed. Once Harry's conscious and Dumbledore's not hovering like an oversized bat, we'll talk. And... I'm planning to tell Sev and Mother some things. Sev doesn't deserve Dumbledore's manipulation, and Mother... she shouldn't have to suffer when He returns.'
Neville nodded understanding. The bond between Severus and his godson mirrored what Harry and Sirius might have had in another timeline. And as a son who'd lost his own mother to darkness, he couldn't fault Draco's desire to protect Narcissa.
'Fine, but remember – Unbreakable Vow or Obliviation if things go south.'
Before Draco could respond, Dumbledore's magically amplified voice cut through the cacophony of speculation. "Good evening, students!" His grandfatherly smile and twinkling eyes caused Draco's face to twitch with barely suppressed rage. Both he and Harry knew the true face behind that benevolent mask.
"Today's events were quite fascinating, as one might put it!"
"Professor!" The shrill voice of Rita Skeeter sliced through the air like a poorly cast cutting curse. Neville's eyebrows rose in surprise – he'd expected the reporter to have already fled to her newsroom, eager to craft tomorrow's sensationalist headlines. The entire Hall collectively held its breath, sensing an impending confrontation.
"Has Harry Potter been practicing Dark Arts?" The question hung in the air like a toxic fog. Students exchanged wide-eyed glances, some nodding in agreement while others looked scandalized. "There's no Light spell which can vanish a body without leaving even bones!"
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes flickered dangerously as he fixed Skeeter with a stern gaze. The reporter had just voiced the very suspicions he'd hoped to quash. Whispers erupted throughout the Hall:
"She's right – even Vanishing spells leave something behind..."
"Remember second year? When everyone thought he was the Heir?"
"My father says Parseltongue runs in dark families..."
"But he's Harry Potter! He can't be dark... can he?"
"Ms. Skeeter," Dumbledore's voice carried a sharp edge beneath its usual gentle tone, "I'm not aware of Harry ever requesting instruction in Dark Arts from any professor. What transpired this morning remains a mystery to us all, save Harry himself."
"Were you aware that Harry was a Parselmouth? That he was called the Heir of Slytherin within these very walls?" Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill danced across her notepad as excited murmurs rippled through the student body. "The last person who commanded such power was You-Know-Who – and he only controlled serpents! Potter controlled a dragon! Should we be preparing for a new Dark Lord?"
Three men simultaneously entertained vivid fantasies of silencing Skeeter permanently, though two of them knew her eventual role in their plans made her more valuable alive than dead. Besides, with knowledge of her little beetle secret, she was already in their pocket.
"Yes, I was aware of Harry's ability, and yes, he was unfairly maligned by rightfully concerned students. However, since then—"
"Until now," Skeeter interrupted, her predatory smile widening. "Has Mr. Potter regained consciousness since the... incident?"
"Ms. Skeeter." Neville's voice cut through the tension like a blade, each word dripping with carefully measured politeness. "I politely request that you relieve us of your presence. Your attempts to manufacture scandal for the sake of sensationalism have exceeded both good taste and your welcome at Hogwarts." His fingers drummed meaningfully against his wand. "I would hate to have to explain to my grandmother, who sits on the School Board, why more... forceful measures became necessary."
The reporter blanched as she felt the weight of Neville's magic pressing against her – trying to erode her very existence – far too powerful for any fourth-year student. 'What kind of monsters are they cultivating at Hogwarts?' She cast several nervous glances over her shoulder as she hurried from the Hall, her Quick-Quotes Quill for once silent.
The Gryffindor table erupted in surprised approval. Seamus clapped Neville's shoulder while the Weasley twins offered enthusiastic high-fives.
"Bloody hell, mate! Since when did you grow a backbone like that?" Ron asked, grinning incredulously.
Neville shrugged with a small smile. "Skeeter's a piece of work. She tried to corner Harry during the Champion interviews but got shut down. This was just her attempt at revenge."
Ron's eyebrows shot up at this new information. He hadn't known about the interview incident – but then, he hadn't known much about Harry's life since the Goblet incident. Shame colored his cheeks as he realized he would have normally been there, defending his friend against Skeeter's accusations.
As consciousness slowly returned to Harry, his first sensation was the familiar crisp sheets of the Hospital Wing – a place he'd spent enough time in to consider it his second dormitory. The last clear memory he had was of Tűzvirág, an overwhelming surge of ancient magic, and then... darkness.
"Harry! Can you hear me?"
A smile tugged at his lips before he even opened his eyes. Hermione's voice – worried, bossy, and caring all at once – was like a balm to his soul. In the decades since her loss, he'd never stopped missing his best friend, his sister in all but blood. The chance to hear her voice again was worth all the complications of time travel.
Harry cracked open one eye, drinking in the sight of her familiar bushy hair and concerned expression. "Y-yes," he managed to croak, his throat feeling like he'd swallowed sand. "W-wa-ter."
Hermione immediately reached for the glass on his bedside table, her movements quick but careful. As Harry sipped the cool water, he noticed Ron hovering uncertainly nearby, his face a mixture of concern and guilt. The sight brought a complex wave of emotions – memories of both their decades-long friendship and its tragic end.
"Fancy seeing you here, Ron," Harry remarked with a gentle smile, trying to bridge the awkward gap that had formed between them since the Goblet incident.
Ron's ears turned pink as he shuffled his feet. "You scared us there, mate," he mumbled, voice thick with unspoken apology.
"Even I didn't know that would happen," Harry admitted, his brow furrowing. "I had the egg, thought it was over. What exactly happened after that?"
Hermione leaned forward eagerly, her academic curiosity clearly battling with her concern for Harry. "It was extraordinary! The dragon touched your chest, and then there was this massive explosion – but without any fire! The dragon just... vanished! Completely disappeared! Even Professor Dumbledore seemed baffled by it."
"The Prophet's going to have a field day with this one," Ron added with a sympathetic grimace. "Skeeter was in rare form earlier, going on about you being the next Dark Lord and all that rubbish. Though," his face brightened slightly, "you should've seen Neville put her in her place! Proper scary, he was. He told me it was because she tried to ambush you during the Champion interviews?"
A calculating smirk crossed Harry's face. "Is that so? Good then."
WHACK!
"Ow! Hermione!" Harry rubbed his head where she'd struck him, though the familiar gesture made his heart ache with nostalgia.
"Stop looking so pleased with yourself, you prat!" Hermione scolded, though her eyes betrayed her relief at seeing him awake. "The last thing we need is to give that... that woman more ammunition for her sensationalist garbage!"
The hospital wing doors swung open before Harry could respond, admitting a quartet of professors: McGonagall, looking stern but relieved; Snape, his usual scowl somehow more pronounced; Madam Pomfrey, already drawing her wand for diagnostic spells; and finally, Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with what Harry now recognized as calculated interest rather than genuine warmth.
"I trust you had a restful sleep, Harry?" Dumbledore's grandfatherly tone grated against Harry's nerves, but he maintained his facade of innocent confusion.
"Yes, Professor," he answered carefully, avoiding direct eye contact while making it appear natural – a skill honed over years of practicing Occlumency.
"I know you've only just awakened, but perhaps you could shed some light on this morning's events? The conversation you had with the dragon was in Parseltongue, leaving us all rather in the dark."
Harry arranged his features into a perfect mask of bewilderment. "Well, I just... talked to her, really. Asked if we could work things out without fighting. She was suspicious at first – can't blame her, really – but eventually understood I only wanted the golden egg. After that..." he shrugged helplessly. "Hermione says the dragon vanished, but I don't remember anything past getting the egg."
"Mr. Potter should remain here until at least lunchtime for observation," Madam Pomfrey interjected, her diagnostic spells creating complex patterns in the air. "Precaution is better than cure, as the Muggles say." She smiled warmly at her most frequent patient.
"Severus," Dumbledore turned to the Potions Master, "would you be so kind as to provide some energy replenishing potions for young Harry?"
Snape's face contorted as if he'd bitten into a particularly sour lemon, the memory of Harry's previous verbal takedown still fresh in his mind. "Fine," he snapped before sweeping from the room, his robes billowing dramatically.
As Dumbledore departed, clearly frustrated by Harry's apparent lack of information, McGonagall fixed her student with an exasperated look. "Why is it, Mr. Potter, that you are invariably at the center of every unusual occurrence in this castle?"
Harry's innocent smile didn't waver. "Believe me, Professor, I've been asking myself the same question for the past three years."
The response earned him another smack from Hermione, an exasperated sigh from McGonagall, and a surprised chuckle from Ron. None of them noticed the calculating look that passed between Harry's eyes and the hospital wing door, where a disillusioned Neville stood guard, ensuring their conversation remained truly private.
After Hermione, Ron and McGonagall had left for their classes, did Neville make his presence known. He sauntered in the infirmary as if he owned the place, fixing Harry with a stare that made him cower in the infirmary bed.
"What did you do, Harry?", Neville asked, punctuating each word. Harry shook his head vehemently in denial.
"I didn't do anything Nev, trust me. The dragon, Tűzvirág, and I talked about a few things, mostly that I wanted equality for all magical creatures, then she gave me the golden egg and then that happened", Harry answered rapidly. In the trio, Neville had been the more grounded and logical one, while Harry and Draco tried to solve most things by brute force.
"Fine, I trust you. I know you enough that you didn't have anything like that planned. I'll ask my Grana and scour the library to see if I find anything. I'm sure Hermione would do the same", Neville added the last part with a smile. He produced a copy of the Daily Prophet from his robes and put it across Harry's lap.
Harry smiled mischievously at the headline. His planned had worked. Almost.
DARK ARTS AT THE TRIWIZARD? POTTER'S DRAGON DISAPPEARING ACT RAISES ALARMING QUESTIONS
By Rita Skeeter Special Correspondent to the Daily Prophet
In a shocking turn of events at yesterday's Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, demonstrated abilities that leave many questioning whether he might be following in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's footsteps.
Sources inside Hogwarts confirm that Potter, upon facing a fearsome Hungarian Horntail, chose to converse with the beast in Parseltongue—a rare magical ability last seen in You-Know-Who himself. But what happened next has left even the most experienced dragon handlers baffled.
"Dragons don't just vanish," says Augustus Rookwood, former Unspeakable. "Not without extremely powerful dark magic involved. The kind that leaves traces... or should have."
Indeed, after a brief conversation in the serpentine language, witnesses report that the dragon touched Potter before disappearing in a massive explosion of magical energy—leaving no trace behind. Not even ash remained, a feat that several experts confirm is "impossible" through any known light magic.
"We must question what kind of magic young Potter has been practicing," says an anonymous Ministry source. "The ability to completely vanish a twenty-foot dragon without leaving any residue suggests knowledge of arts that no fourteen-year-old should possess."
More disturbing still are the whispers emerging from within Hogwarts itself. Multiple students report witnessing Potter practicing mysterious rituals in the Forbidden Forest late at night, though these claims remain unverified. "My cousin's friend swears they saw him there," reports one concerned student who wishes to remain anonymous.
What's particularly alarming is Potter's apparent strategy during the task. In an unprecedented move, he deliberately dropped his wand—a gesture that several dark arts experts suggest might indicate reliance on wandless magic, a skill typically associated with the most powerful dark wizards in history.
Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, maintains that Potter has received no instruction in dark magic from any professor. However, this reporter must ask: What other secrets is the supposedly innocent Boy-Who-Lived hiding behind those famous green eyes?
Even more concerning is the sudden change in certain students' behavior. Neville Longbottom, previously known as a timid, underperforming student, displayed an unusually threatening demeanor when questioning this reporter's presence at Hogwarts. One must wonder about the influence Potter might be having on his fellow students.
"The last person who commanded such power was You-Know-Who—and he only controlled serpents! Potter controlled a dragon!" notes concerned parent Lucretia Flint. "What's next? An army of magical creatures at his command?"
This isn't the first time Potter has raised eyebrows. In his second year, rumors circulated about his possible connection to Salazar Slytherin after he was heard speaking Parseltongue. Now, with this latest display of mysterious power, one must wonder: Are we witnessing the rise of Britain's next Dark Lord?
For more on Potter's controversial history at Hogwarts, see page 6
For expert analysis on dark magic signatures, see page
8 For an exclusive interview with magical creature experts on dragon control, see page 12
Harry's eyes flitted to Neville. "You threatened Skeeter?", he asked with a small smile.
"She deserved it. If she had been allowed to run free for some more time, this news article would look amateurish", Neville offered with a shrug.
"I can imagine. Though you are here for something else", Harry remarked with a smile.
Neville nodded. "Draco wants to meet us tonight. The Room of Requirements"
Harry nodded. "As much as I would like to destroy that abomination up there, I can risk Fiendfyre with Draco's, yours or my wand, and Godric's sword is with Dumbles".
"Reasonable. We will need to get more suitable wands during the Yule holidays", Neville suggested earning a groan from Harry.
"Nev, the Balll! Who the hell do I ask to be my date?!"
The Room had been her occasional refuge when she wanted to escape the common room's suffocating energy. Today, with the Daily Prophet's latest hit piece on Harry Potter—the Boy-Who-Turned-Dark—being the only topic of discussion, she desperately needed that escape. As much as she adored her boyfriend and his enthusiastic theorizing, sometimes a girl just needed some peace and quiet.
Upon entering, she'd imagined a relaxing atmosphere, and the Room had obliged magnificently: a cozy living room materialized, complete with plush sofas and a gently crackling fireplace that kept the December chill at bay. She'd been luxuriating in the tranquil atmosphere for about fifteen minutes when the Room began to shift abruptly around her.
'Someone's trying to enter,' she realized, straightening up. 'And whoever it is must have a powerful will—or there's more than one of them—to override my existing setup.'
Her curiosity turned to shock as the comfortable living room transformed into something resembling a war council chamber, complete with strategic maps and a large round table. 'Who in Merlin's name needs a war room at this hour? And what exactly are they planning?'
She barely suppressed a gasp as she recognized the new occupants. Quickly ducking behind a newly-materialized filing cabinet, she held her breath and watched the scene unfold.
"Harry, what the hell did you do yesterday?" The voice was unmistakably Draco Malfoy's, though lacking its usual aristocratic drawl.
"I didn't do anything, for Merlin's sake!" Potter's voice carried a note of genuine desperation that she'd never heard before.
"Alright, alright. That's not what we're here for. I mean yes, but nobody knows what exactly happened," the third voice—Neville Longbottom's—cut through with unexpected authority. "So let's focus on immediate matters, shall we?"
"Okay, Nev," Draco responded, sounding remarkably deferential to someone he usually mocked. "First on the agenda: What about Voldy's Horcruxes? If I'm not wrong, other than the diary my dear father"—she flinched at the pure venom in his voice— "planted in Ginevra's books, all other Horcruxes still exist. Am I right?"
"Why are you making such a puce face, Draco?" Neville asked, amusement evident in his tone.
"My mother explained what a Horcrux is after the War," Draco replied, his voice tight with disgust. "I agree with what she said. Any person who thinks of making a Horcrux should be killed on the spot, much less followed like some fucking fanatic."
'What in Morgana's name is a Horcrux?' she wondered, mentally noting to research anything that could make even Narcissa Malfoy recoil. 'And why are they talking as if they've lived through a war?'
"Actually, only five Horcruxes currently exist," Harry remarked, his tone unnervingly businesslike. "Helga Hufflepuff's cup in Gringotts, Salazar Slytherin's locket in Grimmauld Place, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem in the Room of Lost Things, the Gaunt Family Ring at Little Hangleton, and of course, my dear old scar."
From her hiding spot, she could see the pain etched across Neville's and Draco's faces.
"Is it really necessary to, you know, get hit with the Killing Curse at Voldy's hand again? There has to be another way," Neville pleaded, his voice thick with concern.
"We could try Gringotts," Draco offered quickly. "Their curse-breakers are the best in the world. They might know how to extract it from your scar without the whole dying bit."
She'd found a better position now, one that afforded her a clear view while keeping her hidden. The dynamic between the three boys was fascinating—and terrifying.
"We can try that," Harry conceded with a small smile. "No harm in trying, I guess." The relief on Draco's face was palpable.
"So, we can take the diadem before the Yule holidays and destroy it then. Sirius and I can handle the locket—"
'Sirius Black?!' Her mind reeled. 'The mass murderer? The Dark Lord's right-hand man who betrayed the Potters?!'
"—and I can inform Gringotts about the abomination in their vaults. Ragnok would prefer if I didn't destroy half the bank while I'm at it this time," Harry chuckled at his own joke, earning exasperated looks from his companions.
"I would rather leave the Gaunt ring as it is," Harry continued casually. "Dumbledore and the ring can take each other out. No stone and two wizards dead."
She had to stifle a gasp. 'They're talking about killing Dumbledore! Potter's really gone dark... but why is Longbottom involved? He's practically the poster child for Light families!'
"That sounds... acceptable. Dumbles gets the ring at the end of next year, right?" Neville asked as Harry nodded in confirmation.
"I guess that's enough time for us to pry around Obscura and Dumbles' connection to them, assuming that you don't plan on allowing Voldy to have his way," Draco mused thoughtfully.
"That depends if the goblins are able to remove the Horcrux from my scar," Harry replied. "If they can't, he comes back at the end of the Third Task. Though I will make sure to take his AK, and remove the scar then and there. And bury Voldy again."
"You will not!" Draco and Neville snapped in perfect unison. "Not unless one of us is there to make sure things don't go awry!"
"Acceptable," Harry conceded with a slight smile.
"What to do about our dear Moody imposter?" Neville asked, frowning deeply.
"We can't expose him. He's my ticket to Voldy under both circumstances."
Her head spun. 'Professor Moody is an imposter?! What in Morgana's name have I stumbled into?'
"Alright, then what about Obscura?" Neville pressed.
"If I'm not wrong, they were involved in the falling of Yugoslavia at this time," Draco answered with certainty. "They were the ones behind its downfall. We can alert the ICW, but if there are incompetent sacks of shit like Fudge, it's going to fall on deaf ears. That reminds me, Fudge needs to go."
The other two nodded in agreement. "Assassinate or make a clown of him?"
Her blood ran cold. 'This can't be real. Longbottom and Potter discussing Minister of Magic's assassination as casually as breakfast options? I must be dreaming.'
"I say clown him in the Wizengamot. Sirius gives you the perfect chance," Neville suggested pragmatically. "That would be more damaging to him. His death might get blamed on Sirius for Merlin's sake."
"Yeah. We wouldn't want that. Sirius as the Head of House Black in the Wizengamot backing Harry would be very helpful," Draco pointed out.
"Alright then, we make a spectacular display out of Fudge on the first session of 1995 then!"
"Harry," Draco's voice softened considerably, "I previously told Nev that I wanted to help Sev and Mother with our knowledge. They don't deserve what happens to them."
"I won't stop you. I want the same. Why do you think I verbally slapped Snape last month? Though it didn't have the effect I wanted," Harry offered with a small smile and a shrug. Draco nodded gratefully in response.
"Hey Draco," Neville's voice took on a careful tone, "I actually wanted to ask you something." The blonde hummed in acknowledgment. "About your father... I know we don't talk about him much, but with everything that's happening..."
Draco's response was measured, careful. "I guess that question would have come sooner or later. Father made his choices, and I've made mine. But sometimes I wonder if things could have been different, you know? If someone had reached him earlier, shown him another path."
He paused, his expression growing darker. "Mother told me once, before everything went wrong, about how different he used to be. How he actually fought against taking the Mark at first. But then something happened during the First War that changed him completely. She never told me what it was exactly, said it wasn't her story to tell. But whatever it was, it turned him into the man we knew."
"What happened then?" Harry asked quietly, his eyes filled with understanding rather than judgment.
"He gave in. Became exactly what He wanted him to be. Started believing in it all so strongly that he couldn't see anything else. And then, well, you know how I got it in my Sixth year, right?" The pair nodded grimly. "Father was practically beaming with pride that day. That's when I knew I'd lost him completely."
"Merlin," Harry and Neville muttered, their faces reflecting their horror at the implication.
"And now he's serving life in Azkaban," Draco finished quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I think about visiting, but..."
Harry leaned forward, his expression serious. "You don't owe him anything, Draco. But if you want to try to reach him, to see if there's anything left of the person your mother once knew..."
Draco nodded, his eyes distant. "I know what he did. I've read his file. I won't defend him. But maybe, just maybe, there's still something worth saving. If not for him, then for Mother."
"We get you, mate. You can count on us," Neville replied with a warm smile, placing a supportive hand on Draco's shoulder.
The room fell into contemplative silence, each lost in their own thoughts about redemption, choices, and the price of walking away from darkness.
A/N: Who do think the interloper was?
This maybe my last update for a month. I have my university exam coming up in less than two weeks, so I need to prepare for them. I was bored so I typed out this chapter before starting my preparation. The next chapter may come in the first week of December.
And I'm really glad that people are finding this story interesting.
A/N: I have change a few things than the first version posted. I found a new way to bring the character into the story without being forceful!