Eons' Stone Chapter 4: Storm, a harry potter fanfic

Chapter 4: Storm

A/N: The last part of the previous chapter was changed. So, I would implore the readers to please check the previous chapter's ending to avoid any confusion.

And I've changed the rating from T to M.

The Transfiguration classroom was a symphony of quills scratching against parchment, the occasional cough, and the even tones of Professor McGonagall lecturing about the complexities of the Switching Spell. Snow dusted the tall, enchanted windows, framing a world transformed into frosted beauty. The Highlands stretched out in all their white-laden glory, the frozen lake reflecting the slate-grey sky above.

Harry Potter sat slouched in his chair, his green eyes fixed on the scenery beyond the glass. The monotonous rhythm of McGonagall's voice had faded into the background, a gentle hum barely registering in his consciousness. His mind swirled with heavier thoughts—the tournament, Voldemort's shadow, and the strange comfort of returning to an era without chaos. Yet, the looming quiet felt... fragile.

"...Potter! Mr. Potter!"

McGonagall's voice cut through his reverie like a whip, but Harry remained oblivious until a sharp smack landed squarely on his back.

"MR. POTTER!"

He jolted upright, his quill slipping from his fingers as Hermione glared at him from the adjacent desk. His cheeks flushed when he realized every pair of eyes in the room had turned his way.

"Glad to have you back among the living, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, her voice dry but edged with annoyance. She fixed him with a piercing gaze that made him sit up straighter. "Would you kindly repeat what I have just explained about the Switching Spell?"

Harry blinked, fighting the instinct to quirk an eyebrow at the challenge. His mind raced, sifting through fragmented bits of what she might have been saying. Something about thimbles and Thestrals? No... focus. He straightened, his voice steady but thoughtful as he began to respond.

"The Switching Spell transfigures two objects by exchanging their properties, Professor. On the surface, it's a simple concept, but it's one of the most versatile—and difficult—spells to master. You're essentially managing two simultaneous transfigurations, which requires sharp concentration. For example," he continued, his tone sharpening with enthusiasm, "in a battle scenario, you could use it creatively with the Levitation Charm. Say you levitate smaller debris over an opponent, then switch them with larger chunks of rubble mid-air. You could stun, capture, or even... incapacitate your enemy depending on how you execute it."

The classroom fell silent.

McGonagall's face remained unreadable, though her lips pressed together in a way that suggested she was suppressing some combination of surprise and exasperation. Harry could feel Hermione's gaze burning into him, her mouth slightly agape, while Ron looked torn between awe and unease.

"That is... a very creative application," McGonagall said finally, each word carefully measured. "Though I must stress that the intent to incapacitate someone with falling debris is not the primary aim of this spell." Her sharp tone softened as she added, "That said, five points to Gryffindor for your... unconventional creativity."

Harry ducked his head, heat rising to his face as a few classmates snickered. Hermione gave him a look—a blend of pride and exasperation—before turning back to her notes.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur, Harry's thoughts drifting back to the snow-covered grounds outside. The cold stillness mirrored a longing within him—a yearning for peace that had been absent his entire life.

He was glad to return to an era of normalcy. No Voldemort, Obscura was just a whisper in the farthest corners of the continent. He realized he had yearned for this for three decades. The moment Voldemort had been defeated he had taken up Auror training, finished it quicker than Mad-Eye Moody, hunted down criminals, rose to the position as Head of DMLE, and then Obscura. His entire life it seemed had been successfully manipulated by the old piece of shit sitting in the Headmaster's Office. His words and actions had ingrained that it was Harry's responsibility no matter what to protect Britain, had built his hero complex, only to prepare him as sacrifice to Voldemort. And he had gone and done exactly that.

Harry shook his head. Right now, he had no option. He needed to deal with Moldyshorts, Obscura and then he would think what he needed to do. Only after doing that, did he have a guarantee that he could live a peaceful life.

When the bell rang, Harry began packing his bag, flashing a sheepish smile at Hermione, who merely shook her head at him. He was about to slip out of the room when McGonagall's voice called him back.

"Mr. Potter, a word."

Harry turned to McGonagall with furrowed brows, wondering what she had to ask of him. He wanted to stay under the radar, not in the limelight. At least till he decided to have a go at everyone.

The warmth of the office contrasted with the icy corridors outside. McGonagall's desk was neat as always, a testament to her precision and discipline. She gestured for him to sit, conjuring a chair with a wave of her wand.

"You seem... distracted," she began, her eyes softening behind her spectacles. "Your performance in class has been exemplary, but your focus is clearly elsewhere. Is there something troubling you?"

Harry rose one of his brows like 'Really? You are going to ask that?'. Minerva's eyes widened in mirth at the wordless accusation.

"Forgive me, Mr. P-"

"Just Harry, please"

"-ot… Harry then. Forgive me for that question. But I'm concerned about you. You always have this faraway look, you don't pay attention in classes, something which you didn't do before too but the current intent is different. I'm concerned about your well-being"

Harry sighed, leaning back in the chair. Her concern was unexpected, though not unwelcome. He hesitated before replying. "I guess you're right. I have been thinking about what to do once my education is over. And I'm free of Voldemort and... the entire Boy-Who-Lived fallacy. My childhood was denied to me the moment I was left with the Dursleys. Voldemort or one his lackeys is always behind me every year. And then this year, I'm dumped into this tournament which is going to be a platter for me to be handed over to Voldemort", McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line at the words. "Don't look at me like that. Even you know it is an annual customary that someone from Voldemort's little pureblooded camp tries to kill me every year. I think I'm looking… hoping for a peaceful life after this. That has got me wondered what I want to do. Ministry is out of the question as well as the Auror force. I have no interest in following at Quidditch professionally"

Minerva nodded at the words. She couldn't fault the teen. What he had sad was the absolute brutal truth. Her expression tightened, her lips thinning into a line.

"I see… The usual job counselling usually starts in the Fifth Year, but you can also start before that. Given your issues with the a Ministerial or Auror job and also being a Quidditch player, why don't try to find something which interests you? Like perhaps research into transfiguration or potions? Though I would reckon that is more of Ms. Granger's line of work. There's still time for you to graduate, so my recommendation would be to try different branches like Arithmancy or Runes, and then decide? And you have every right to desire peace, Harry. And I understand why that thought might seem... unattainable. But you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Don't let your fears of the future rob you of the present."

Harry nodded, her words settling somewhere deep in his chest. "Thank you, Professor."

"Now, as one of the Champions, you'll be expected to attend the Yule Ball. You'll also be required to have a partner. It is customary for the Champions to open the Ball with their chosen dates."

Harry nodded with a smile. "I'll try to find someone who would want to go with the good ol' me"

Minerva shook her head with a smile, before ushering Harry out as the next class arrived.

He had spent enough time thinking about who to ask to come with him, before he had decided on a possible candidate. Cho was out, especially after the disastrous Fifth Year they had. He had insulted Parvati the last time by ignoring her, and he felt that he didn't deserve her after everything she had put up with. Hermione needed to go with Krum, and even though he had hated the fight between her and Ron, this had been one of the major pushes than had brought them together.

The corridor outside the Charms classroom was bustling with students, their chatter and laughter echoing off the stone walls. Harry leaned casually against the cold stone, waiting. The Beauxbatons students filed out, their uniforms a stark contrast to the muted Hogwarts robes. Among them, Fleur Delacour stood out effortlessly. Her silvery hair shimmered like moonlight under the flickering torchlight, and her laughter, soft and melodic, carried above the din.

Harry straightened, nerves prickling as he stepped forward. "Miss Delacour, may I have a word?" he asked, his voice polite but firm.

Fleur turned, her crystalline blue eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. She exchanged a glance with her friends, who whispered among themselves before she nodded. "Of course," she replied, her tone neutral but not unkind.

Harry gestured for her to follow him a few steps away. When they reached a quieter corner, he drew his wand and cast a silent Muffliato. Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow, her lips quirking in amusement.

"Is zis going to be a duel, Monsieur Potter?" she teased lightly.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "No duels, I promise. I just wanted some privacy." He hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"I'm guessing you've heard about the Yule Ball," he began, his tone steady but with an undercurrent of nervousness. When she nodded, he continued, "Well, as Champions, we're expected to open the Ball with a partner. I'd like to ask you to be mine."

Fleur's brows furrowed slightly, her expression unreadable. "And why should I agree?" she asked, her voice cool but curious.

"Because I think it would be mutually beneficial," Harry said, leaning forward slightly. "You're... different from most people here. And I don't just mean because of your Veela heritage. You carry yourself with confidence, with poise. But I also know that can make things... complicated."

Fleur's expression softened, though her eyes remained guarded.

"I've seen how people react to you," Harry went on, his tone quiet but earnest. "The way they stumble over their words, lose their composure... it must get exhausting. If you're anything like me, you probably just want someone to treat you like a normal person for once."

Fleur tilted her head, regarding him thoughtfully. "You speak as if you know what it is like," she said, her voice softer now.

Harry's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I do. Maybe not in the same way, but I've spent most of my life being 'The Boy Who Lived.' People look at me and see a title, a legend... not me. They don't see the person who'd just like to be left alone to enjoy a quiet evening."

Fleur's gaze lingered on him, her features unreadable. "And zat is what you are offering? A quiet evening?"

Harry nodded. "No ulterior motives, no awkward fumbles. Just a normal evening with someone who can hold a decent conversation and won't be... overwhelmed." He hesitated, then added, "And I imagine you'd like to avoid spending the evening with someone drooling over you or tripping over their words every five seconds."

Fleur's lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "You are not wrong, Monsieur Potter." She folded her arms, her tone shifting to something lighter. "But what do you gain from this arrangement? Surely you have plenty of admirers eager to accompany you."

Harry laughed, the sound dry but not bitter. "I'm not interested in admirers. And honestly? I'd like to spend the evening with someone who sees me for who I am—not the 'Chosen One' or some Quidditch star. Just Harry."

Fleur considered him for a long moment, her blue eyes searching his face. Finally, she extended her hand. "Very well. I accept your proposal, Harry. Let us see if we can find zis 'normal evening' together."

Relief washed over him, and he took her hand, giving it a firm shake before bowing slightly and pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. Fleur's brows rose in surprise, though her smile didn't waver.

"Pureblood customs," Harry explained with a small grin. "I may have grown up in the Muggle world, but I've learned a few things."

Fleur chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. "You continue to surprise me, Harry. But tell me—how will we handle ze stares? I imagine people will be quite... interested in our pairing."

Harry smirked. "Let them stare. Maybe it'll give them something to talk about other than how we're supposed to survive this tournament."

Fleur laughed again, the sound brighter this time. "I like ze way you think." She inclined her head, her silver hair catching the light as she stepped back. "Until ze Ball, then."

"Until the Ball," Harry echoed, watching as she walked away. For the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of calm. Fleur was right—people would talk. But for once, he didn't care.

The days leading up to the Yule Ball passed quietly, though not uneventfully, for Harry. The Hogwarts grounds were a picturesque winter wonderland. Snow blanketed the lawns, and icicles hung like crystal daggers from the castle's turrets. Inside the castle, warm fires crackled in hearths, and festive decorations were draped across hallways and common rooms—holly, enchanted snowflakes, and shimmering ornaments adding to the seasonal magic.

Classes had continued as usual, and after several long conversations with Professor McGonagall, Harry made the decision to drop Divination for the upcoming term. He had signed up for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes instead, a choice McGonagall fully supported. She had warned him of the packed schedule and the challenges of catching up mid-year. Harry, however, had merely smirked. "I'll manage," he had said confidently. She hadn't argued; she had seen that determined glint in his eyes before.

The morning of the Yule Ball dawned cold and bright, the sunlight making the snow outside sparkle like a million tiny diamonds. Despite his expectations, Harry found himself unusually calm. The usual nervousness that accompanied big events was absent as he went through his morning routine.

By the time he entered the Great Hall for breakfast, the space had been transformed. Glittering garlands of frost adorned the enchanted ceiling, which now mimicked a perfect winter sky, complete with falling snow that vanished just before touching the students. The house tables shimmered with frost-touched edges, and tiny enchanted snowmen marched down their lengths, carrying trays of pastries and sweets.

As Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table, snippets of conversation drifted his way. Younger students chattered excitedly about returning home for the holidays, while fourth years and above debated dresses, robes, and dates. Harry couldn't help but smile faintly at the enthusiasm.

He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and reached for a pair of toast slices, pausing mid-nibble as he caught a glance at the faculty table. Snape's dark eyes were fixed on him, his expression one of mild concentration. The moment Harry met his gaze, Snape's lip curled into a sneer, his disdain palpable even across the Hall.

The exchange didn't go unnoticed. Dumbledore, mid-conversation with Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, turned his attention to Harry, his half-moon spectacles glinting as his bright blue eyes scrutinized the boy. Harry barely suppressed an eye roll as the headmaster rose from his seat and began making his way toward him.

"Harry, my boy!" Dumbledore said warmly, his tone a little too saccharine for Harry's liking. The older man's presence loomed as he took a seat beside him.

"Good morning, Headmaster," Harry said, his tone polite but clipped.

"I hear from Professor McGonagall that you'll be returning to Hogwarts after the New Year's holiday?" Dumbledore began, the question carefully neutral.

Harry's eyes flicked toward McGonagall, who gave him a small, reassuring nod. He also cast a subtle glance down the Hall, noting Draco Malfoy watching the interaction with mild interest.

"Yes, Headmaster," Harry replied. "I thought that was allowed?"

"Oh, it certainly is," Dumbledore said lightly, though there was an unmistakable probing quality to his voice. "I must admit, though, I didn't think you were particularly close to your family. You haven't spent much time with them during holidays in the past."

Harry clenched his jaw, the remark striking a nerve. "They're not my family," he said evenly, though his voice carried a steely edge. "Never were. Dudley's alright, but the rest?" He shook his head, letting his disdain bleed into his tone.

As Dumbledore's eyes bore into his, Harry felt the faint, familiar itch of passive Legilimency. He immediately pushed back, his mental defences slamming down with enough force to send the old man wincing.

Suppressing a smirk, Harry continued, "Neville invited me to spend New Year's at Longbottom Manor. Seemed like a good idea."

Albus made a mental note to look into Harry's Occlumency, before turning to the mentioned person. Neville nodded at the unspoken question in Dumbledore's eyes, daring to look at them directly. He had been taught Occlumency since childhood by his grandmother, which had been stated as a necessity as he was an Heir to an Ancient and Noble House "I did invite him," Neville confirmed, his voice steady and respectful but firm. "It seemed better than him spending the holiday alone in the castle."

Albus knew the reason for defiance, and he wouldn't take risks with the warhorse Augusta Longbottom. "Alright, Mr. Longbottom", Albus conceded. He had noted the change around the Longbottom Heir since the end of October. He had been more confident, carried himself with an impeccable aura, and on more than one occasion had shut people up with his sharp answers which was unlike him for the past three years. He knew if he raised a question about Harry's protection and wards around the Longbottom Manor, he would shut out brutally on questioning the integrity of wards around the Manor of an Ancient and Noble House. It would have been tantamount of accusing a Light Family of practicing Dark Magics. He had assumed that he would be able to put some more of his ideologies into the teen, and manipulate him under the stress of the Triwizard Tournament.

Very well," Dumbledore said finally, his tone losing some of its warmth. "Enjoy your holiday, Mr. Longbottom. And you as well, Harry."

The headmaster returned to his seat, though his movements were less composed than usual.

Ron dropped into the seat next to Harry a moment later, his blue eyes darting between his best friend and the retreating Dumbledore. "What was that about?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

Harry sighed, setting his toast down. "Nothing to worry about. He's just... curious."

Ron frowned. "You could've told us if you've been feeling lonely. Mum and Dad would've been glad to have you over for New Year's." His voice carried a trace of hurt, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Harry placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Ron, I know. Your family's been better to me than anyone else has, but this isn't about that. Going to Neville's is... strategic.

Hermione furrowed her brows at the insinuation. "Strategic? Why would you need to hide something from Professor Dumbledore?", she asked pointedly.

"Because, he would never allow what we're trying to do. He'll be a huge and highly unnecessary pain. We want to avoid that", Neville responded with an even tone.

"If he isn't allowing something, then that means there's a reason behind it!", Hermione hissed in annoyance at the blatant disregard Harry and Neville were showing for Dumbledore's genuine care.

Harry shook his head while Neville closed his mouth, narrowing her eyes at Hermione. "'Mione, listen. I really appreciate your resilience to follow rules and looking up to authority figures. But what Harry and I need to do is much more important than what the half-crazed bastard sitting up there thinks.", Neville whispered harshly while Ron and Hermione sucked in a breath at the profanity which Neville levelled at a person whom the pair thought everyone revered. Neville revered. Or so they thought. "I would rather solve the issue Harry and I are facing with simplicity and in silence till it is necessary. And till a point, we need to hide it from the mangy goat who gloats his throat out day in and day out".

Hermione nodded slowly, still unbelieving at the profanities which Neville was levelling at the headmaster. "Alright. Just this once. I know you Neville, so I know that there is a reason for this", she said gesturing her hands in Harry and Neville's general direction. She paused for a moment thinking over her words. "I want to come to whatever you're planning to do"

"What?!", Ron hissed looking between his friends.

Harry and Neville snapped their heads towards each other, panic, worry, confusion and many other emotions swimming in their eyes. After a few seconds of silence, Harry looked at Hermione dead in the eyes.

"Fine. You can come. But you can't tell anyone—not a word. If we're doing this, we need your help, not your doubts", Harry warned. "Frankly, need your genius in what we are trying to do"

Ron looked at the trio, his face scrunching in confusion. "I'd come too, but Bill and Charlie are home for the holidays. I don't want to miss that."

Harry clapped his shoulder. "Enjoy the time with your brothers. We'll catch you up later."

Ron nodded back with a smile, before breaking into a grin. "Have you guys found someone as your dates?", he asked with excitement. Harry chuckled at the enthusiasm while Hermione smiled shyly.

"Hannah agreed", Neville conceded with a small yet happy smile. Harry clapped his friend on the back, mentally snickering the nervous mess he had become before going to ask his future(/past?) wife.

"Neville! You have faced bloody Voldemort and told him to go fuck himself in his face! What can be scarier than that?"

"Asking her! Obviously! What if I messed something up? What if I pushed her away? What if she thinks I'm a stalker?!"

"Calm down, Nev! Calm down. You know she likes peonies and white lilies, right? Take them from the Greenhouses and give it to her. You know she'll like it"

"The Hufflepuff?", Hermione asked with a furrowed brow at which Neville nodded. "You've been awfully quiet about the Ball, Harry," she said, her brown eyes narrowing slightly.

Ron perked up at the comment. "Yeah, mate! You haven't told us who you're going with. You've got a date, right?"

Harry smirked but said nothing, taking another bite of toast.

"Come on!" Ron pressed, leaning closer. "You didn't leave it to the last minute, did you? Tell me you didn't!"

Hermione interjected, her tone pragmatic. "It's Harry, Ron. Of course, he didn't wait until the last minute. He's probably been quietly planning this for weeks."

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. "I'll admit I didn't wait until the last minute. But I'm not telling you who it is."

Ron groaned, slumping back in his seat. "Why not? We're your best friends! Who else are you supposed to tell?"

"Exactly!" Hermione added, her arms crossing as she gave Harry a pointed look.

Harry grinned, enjoying their frustration. "Because I don't want to make a big deal out of it. Let's just say it's someone I want to normal around and have a good time with… and leave it at that."

Ron's brows furrowed as he tried to puzzle it out. "Not Cho, then? I thought you liked her."

Harry shrugged. "She's going with Cedric."

Hermione tilted her head. "And you're okay with that?"

"Completely," Harry replied with a faint smile. "Honestly, I realized she's not my type. I don't want to spend the night walking on eggshells or trying to impress someone who doesn't really get me."

Ron nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough, I guess. But if it's not Cho, then who? Ginny?"

Harry's face froze at that. He knew that the last time around, all of Harry's interest towards the youngest Weasley had been manipulation of all Weasleys and him by Dumbledore.

'Harry's childhood has left me uncertain in which direction he thinks. I can't have him become a second coming of Tom. That would raise questions towards me and my administration. I've convinced Molly to push her daughter in Harry's direction. I'll also be giving mild potions to Harry which will attract him to Ginerva. -2 July 1994'

Harry gave him a flat look. "No, Ron. Definitely not Ginny."

"Parvati?" Ron suggested, his voice hopeful.

Harry shook his head, his expression unreadable. "Not her either."

Ron threw his hands in the air. "Then who?! Come on, Harry, you're killing me here!"

Hermione, who had been watching Harry closely, smiled knowingly. "I think he's enjoying this too much, Ron. Let him have his little secret."

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry said with a mock bow, which earned him a playful roll of her eyes.

Ron huffed but dropped the subject, instead turning his attention to his own plans. "Well, I've got a date," he announced, a grin spreading across his face.

"Really?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "Who's the lucky girl?"

Ron's cheeks flushed slightly, but his grin didn't falter. "Padma Patil. Asked her yesterday, and she said yes!"

"Good for you, Ron," Hermione said with a smile, though her voice was a bit tight.

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "Nice one, mate. You'll have a great time with her."

Ron scowled at the explanation, not knowing what to make of it. "Good for you I guess", he responded with a shrug. "You still haven't told me who you agreed to go with 'Mione?"

The same fight had happened this time around too, with Hermione accusing Ron of growing a spine and asking before anybody else rather than coming to her as a last resort. Hermione looked at him with a flash of anger, the argument still rearing it head in her brain. Harry decided it was better if he jumped in before it got out of hand.

"So, how did he ask you out?", Harry asked causing the bushy haired girl to look at him with shock at the sudden question.

"What?"

"I know who asked you out, 'Mione. I want to know if he did something romantic, unlike me who found a deserted corner and gave my mutual benefit plan", Harry said with a grimace. Ideally, he would have done something, but he wasn't about to take a try at Bill's wife.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Harry", Hermione deflected the question with an uneasy smile. Harry grinned as he popped the last piece of toast in his mouth before jumping from the table.

"I guess I will have to ask him myself and give him the she-is-my-sister-so-you-better-behave talk", Harry teased causing Hermione to blush with an indignant squawk.

"You won't!"

"I will!" 'Danger averted!'

Hermione chased the running Harry away from the Great Hall, Neville outright laughing while Draco gave silent guffaws.

"Why are you laughing Draco? Know why the know-it-all is chasing the Golden Boy?", Astoria asked at Draco's reaction.

"I have an idea", he snicked as he turned back to the girl. "Can you give me a hint what you're going to wear tonight?"

"It's a surprise, Draco!"

"Please!", the blonde whined causing the girl to laugh at the desperation in his voice.

'I guess Draco is turning out to be good person', she thought to herself.

The Gryffindor dormitory was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill outside. Golden candlelight flickered against the red-and-gold banners, illuminating the room where Harry stood before a full-length mirror. He adjusted his dress robes, their deep emerald fabric fitting him perfectly, accentuating his dark hair and striking green eyes. A faint smile curled on his lips as he surveyed his reflection.

Nearby, Neville was a bundle of nerves. His hands trembled slightly as he fussed with the sleeves of his dark blue robes, muttering under his breath about not messing up tonight. Harry chuckled softly, turning toward his friend. Neville, for all his bravery in battle, was still endearingly awkward when it came to social events.

"You look fine, Neville," Harry assured him, clapping him on the shoulder. "Hannah's going to love it."

Neville shot him a nervous grin but said nothing, his cheeks flushing a faint pink.

The clock on the wall chimed softly, catching Harry's attention. Five minutes left. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and slipped it into the hidden pocket of his robes.

"I'll meet you in the Hall, Nev, Ron!" he called over his shoulder as he opened the door.

"Best of luck, mate!" Ron called back, his voice cheerful.

The corridors were bustling with excited students, their chatter echoing off the stone walls. Younger students darted about, dressed in their regular robes, eager to catch a glimpse of the Ball preparations before heading home for the holidays. Harry weaved through the throng with practiced ease, nodding politely when someone greeted him. The decorations adorning the hallways were stunning—garlands of enchanted holly and ivy wound around torch sconces, and enchanted ice sculptures lined the way, glittering like diamonds under the soft light.

Reaching the classroom near the Great Hall, Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was lit with floating candles, casting a warm glow over the other Champions who had already gathered. Cedric stood near a window, looking sharp in dark charcoal robes, while Cho stood beside him in an elegant pale pink gown. Viktor Krum leaned against a desk, his robes a deep burgundy, his posture as rigid as ever but his expression softer as he glanced toward the door.

"I was wondering if you'd gotten lost, Potter," Krum remarked dryly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Harry chuckled, shutting the door behind him. "My school wouldn't be much of a host if its own students got lost on the way," he replied lightly.

Krum let out a low chuckle. "Fair enough." He paused, studying Harry. He opened his mouth, but was cut off.

Harry's grin widened. "Hermione is on her way. Just nerves keeping her back for a moment."

Cedric's and Krum's heads snapped toward Harry, their eyes wide with surprise.

"He asked Granger?!" Cedric exclaimed.

Krum frowned slightly, his voice deliberate as he spoke. "How do you know I asked... Her-mi-o-ne?" he asked, carefully pronouncing her name.

Harry smiled, appreciating the effort. He was genuinely fond of Krum—his quiet integrity made him a strong candidate for Hermione's affections if Ron hadn't been in the picture. Still, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "I just happen to know, Viktor," he said smoothly. Then his expression hardened, his emerald eyes narrowing dangerously. "But let me be clear—Hermione is my sister in every way that matters. If I find out you've hurt her or treated her poorly, you won't have to worry about reporters or Aurors. You'll just disappear."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Harry's magic filled the space, pressing down on everyone like an impending storm. Krum swallowed visibly, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. Cedric instinctively stepped in front of Cho, his protective instincts flaring in response to the magic.

"I won't," Krum said, his voice steady despite the tension. "You have my word."

Harry's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he nodded, the magic receding like a wave.

"That was quite the show, Harry," came a lilting voice from the doorway.

Turning quickly, Harry froze momentarily. Fleur Delacour stood framed by the candlelight, her silvery-blonde hair cascading in soft waves around her shoulders. Her gown, a shimmering silver-blue, hugged her figure perfectly, giving her the appearance of a goddess descended from the heavens.

"You're stunning," Harry managed after a beat, stepping forward to take her hand. He pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, his gesture as natural as it was polite.

"If you hadn't approached me that day," Fleur said with a teasing smile, "and if your eyes weren't clear, I'd think you were the most affected by my Veela allure."

Harry grinned. "Flattery suits you, Fleur, but I'm afraid I'm immune. Your allure is more like... background noise on my shields."

Cedric, who had been silently recovering from Harry's earlier display, raised an eyebrow. "What the hell, Harry? When did you ask Fleur? And how are you not affected by her allure?"

Viktor gave a curt nod, his own Occlumency barriers clearly at work against Fleur's subtle influence.

Harry chuckled. "The day after the Champions were notified. As for the allure... let's just say I've dealt with worse. Imperius Curse, Legilimency—your average Veela charm doesn't compare."

Cedric gaped. "What?!"

"When you spend enough time with Hermione, you get good at answering rapid-fire questions," Harry quipped, earning a chuckle from Fleur.

"Background noise, Harry?" Fleur repeated, her brow arched in mock indignation. "Is that what I am to you?"

Harry's face paled. "No! Not you! I meant your allure—just your allure!" He stumbled over his words, looking genuinely horrified. "Compared to everything else I've dealt with, it's—uh—manageable."

Fleur's lips twitched, but she let him off the hook with a wave of her hand. "I believe you," she said, though her teasing smile lingered. "For now."

Before the conversation could continue, the door creaked open again, revealing Hermione in a flowing periwinkle blue dress. Her hair, usually wild and untamed, was sleek and styled into an elegant twist. She paused at the threshold, her cheeks pink as she glanced around the room.

Harry beamed at her, stepping forward. "You look amazing, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said, smiling back before shooting him a pointed look. "And we'll talk later about your big mouth."

Krum approached her with a polite nod, his lips curling into a rare smile. "You look... beautiful, Hermione," he said, his voice soft but sincere.

Hermione blushed deeply. "Thank you, Viktor."

"Now that everyone is here," came McGonagall's sharp voice as she entered behind Hermione, "we'll proceed with introductions. I'll call your names, and you'll enter the Hall with your partners."

The anticipation in the room crackled like static as the Champions nodded, their nerves evident. Harry glanced at Fleur, offering her a small, reassuring smile, which she returned.

The night was still and cold, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and lingered no matter how tightly you pulled your cloak around yourself. Harry walked the quiet, snow-dusted paths of Hogwarts, his thoughts as turbulent as the winds that swirled through the castle grounds. The Ball had ended half an hour ago, leaving the corridors eerily quiet in its wake. The faint echo of laughter and music still seemed to linger in the air, but it was a distant memory now.

He had walked Fleur to her temporary dorm, playing the perfect gentleman. She had smiled warmly at him before disappearing into the blue-lit corridors of Beauxbatons' designated wing. Now, as he trudged back toward Gryffindor Tower, he let his mind wander to the night's events.

The sight of Draco twirling Astoria around the dance floor, both laughing openly, came to mind. Then there was Neville, whose face had lit up like a Christmas tree as he danced awkwardly but earnestly with Hannah. Harry couldn't help but smile at the memory. Despite everything—despite being thrown into the chaos of time travel—they had managed to find moments of happiness.

But that was fleeting. Tomorrow morning, he and Neville had plans to retrieve Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem from the Room of Requirement. They'd destroy it later in London, as far from Dumbledore's prying eyes as they could manage. For now, it was about patience and precision.

The cold winter air bit at his skin, making him pull his cloak tighter. He glanced up at the inky night sky, the stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet expanse. The serenity of it all made him ache for a time when his life might be free of Voldemort, Obscura, and the manipulations of Dumbledore.

Will I ever be free of them? The thought was as persistent as the wind, whispering its doubts no matter how hard he tried to shake them.

As Harry rounded a corner near the Ravenclaw Tower, his steps slowed. Muffled sounds drifted through the cold air—hisses of anger, guttural threats, and... a muffled scream.

His heart stuttered.

Wand sliding into his hand with the ease of instinct, he cast a silent Muffliato on his shoes, silencing his footsteps as he followed the noises. The castle, with its ancient stone walls and narrow corridors, seemed to grow darker around him as he neared the source of the commotion.

"Stop struggling, you bitch!" a male voice growled, venom dripping from every word.

Harry froze, his stomach twisting into knots.

"You sure have fire for being called the Ice Princess," the same voice sneered.

Another voice, lower and filled with hatred, joined in. "As much as I like girls being feisty... you need to learn manners. Don't your kind say that? That Mudbloods and half-bloods should know their place? Your bloody Death Eater father tortured and killed my mother for being a Muggleborn, and then he hid behind the Imperius defense like a coward. This is my revenge."

"Please! No! I beg—" The girl's desperate plea was cut off by the sound of fabric tearing.

Harry's blood turned to fire. His body moved before his mind caught up, his wand raised in an instant. He stepped into the mouth of the darkened alcove where the attack was taking place, his green eyes glowing with barely-contained fury.

Stupefy.

The first Stunning Spell hit the assailant nearest to the girl, blasting him off his feet and into his accomplice. The second Stupefy struck the pair again, sending them both tumbling backward into the open corridor with a crash.

Harry surged forward, his mind sharp and focused. The girl, crumpled on the ground, whimpered as he reached her. He knelt, his wand hand raising his cloak to shield her trembling form.

"Stay down," he murmured softly, though his voice trembled with anger.

A sharp movement caught his eye. One of the attackers, dazed but conscious, had scrambled to his feet. His wand flashed.

Stupefy. Expelliarmus. Reducto.

The spells came in rapid succession. Harry flicked his wand, deflecting the barrage upward. The curses struck the ceiling, sending dust and small stones raining down.

Close quarters, Harry thought rapidly. Civilian behind me. Must deflect upward—no sideways counters.

The attacker snarled, his face contorted with rage. "You're going to regret that, Potter!"

Harry didn't waste breath on a response. He retaliated with a silent flurry of Expelliarmus and Stupefy. His opponent grabbed his stunned accomplice, hauling him upright to use as a human shield.

"Coward," Harry spat, firing a Reducto at the stone floor near the attacker's feet.

The ground erupted, sending shards of stone flying. The attacker growled, casting Aqua Eructo to block Harry's next spell.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He countered with Incendio, the jet of flames colliding with the water and filling the narrow space with steam. The heat and moisture clung to his skin, blurring his vision.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA! BOMBARDA MAXIMA! BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

Harry conjured a magical shield in front of him, hoping that it would survive the onslaught of the bombardment charm. His eyes flickered towards the ceiling where he heard the charm going off above him. His eyes widened in realization at what the person was trying to achieve. He wanted to bury him under debris.

'Closed space. large debris? civilian. Protego, Sectumsempra, Bombarda Maxima'

He cast the three spells in successive bursts, at a speed which would leave many wondering if Harry was casting unintelligibly. He strained his ears as he heard the stones getting cut and shatter under the pressure of his relentless casting.

However, in paying attention to blocking the debris falling on him from top, Harry left his front open.

"Crucio!"

Harry's eyes widened as the red light streaked towards him. No not towards him, towards the prone, whimpering, and scared girl behind him.

The small, dimly lit room was a graveyard of forgotten history. Dust coated every surface like a shroud, and cobwebs hung thick in the corners, undisturbed for decades. Broken furniture leaned haphazardly against the walls, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air. Harry moved quietly, the soft creak of the floorboards under his boots the only sound in the oppressive silence.

The Malfoy property had been abandoned for over forty years, a relic of a time long gone. But its secrets remained hidden in the shadows, and Harry was desperate to uncover anything that could help. He rummaged through what looked like an apothecary shelf, its contents reduced to faded labels and empty bottles. His movements were brisk but methodical. He wasn't looking for food—he hadn't expected any—but for something far more urgent: healing supplies.

Neville's injuries had been catastrophic. Two days ago, Harry had barely managed to drag him to this safehouse, his body battered, bloodied, and near lifeless. Harry's stomach twisted at the memory, a gnawing ache of guilt and dread filling him. Neville's pained groans still echoed in his ears.

And then there was the greater fear. What had happened to his children?

The thought clawed at his sanity, threatening to break through the fragile wall of composure he had forced himself to maintain. He wanted—no, needed—to go out and search for them, but he knew better. The moment he stepped beyond the Fidelius-protected bounds of the property, he'd be tracked. Meeting his children again, holding them, would become an impossible dream. They were his children. That truth remained, no matter what Dumbledore's cursed diary had revealed.

He sighed heavily, shaking off the spiraling thoughts as his hands swept through a cluttered drawer. The cold, lifeless room seemed to close in around him, the weight of his desperation growing with every fruitless search.

A sudden flutter of wings startled him.

Harry turned toward the cracked window, his wand instinctively drawn. A barn owl perched on the windowsill, its feathers ruffled but pristine against the grime. Relief flooded him as he recognized the owl—Gunther, Lily's. His daughter's owl.

"She's safe," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. His hands trembled as he reached out to the bird.

"Good boy," he murmured, offering a soft smile as he extended his hand to scratch under the owl's beak.

But Gunther recoiled sharply, his dark eyes wide with panic.

"What—"

The owl didn't make it three arm lengths from the window before it exploded.

Blood, feathers, and entrails splattered across the glass, a grotesque spray that painted the dingy walls with violent finality. Harry stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat as horror rooted him to the spot. His back hit the edge of the apothecary shelf, and he slid to the floor, his legs giving out beneath him.

His mind raced, fragments of thought crashing together in chaos. A delayed curse... They killed him... A warning? A trap?

"Harry! What happened?!"

Draco Malfoy's voice cut through the haze, sharp with worry. He burst into the room, his wand drawn, his eyes darting wildly until they landed on Harry.

Harry pointed shakily at the window. "The package," he croaked, his voice barely audible. "Gunther... Lily's owl... He delivered the package, and then—" His voice broke. "A delayed Entrail Expelling Curse. A Bombardment Charm. It killed him."

Draco froze, his silver eyes wide. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the bloodied window and then to the package sitting innocently on the sill.

Taking a steadying breath, Draco cast several detection charms over the parcel. Sparks of blue and green fizzled harmlessly in the air, confirming the absence of immediate danger. Draco exhaled shakily, his grip on his wand tightening.

"It's clear," he said, his voice low but tense. "For now."

He approached the package cautiously, his movements deliberate. His fingers trembled as he pried it open, revealing a single vial of swirling silver liquid—a memory.

Draco's expression hardened as he picked up the vial. "It's a memory," he said grimly. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the adjoining room, where a Pensieve had gathered dust for decades.

"Come on," he said, gesturing for Harry to follow.

Harry forced himself to his feet, his legs feeling like lead. The two of them stood side by side as Draco poured the memory into the shallow basin. The liquid swirled and gleamed, reflecting their pale faces before settling.

Draco nodded once, and they entered.

Less than a minute later, they staggered out of the memory, their faces ashen, their bodies trembling.

Harry collapsed to his knees, his hands clawing at the ground as he broke into gut-wrenching sobs. The sound was raw, primal, and filled with unimaginable anguish. His chest heaved with the force of his cries, each one tearing from him like it was being ripped from his soul.

Draco stood frozen for a moment before his composure shattered. He sank to the floor beside Harry, his own sobs silent but no less heart-wrenching. His hands trembled as he reached out, pulling Harry into a fierce embrace.

"I'm sorry," Draco choked out, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."

The memory had been a taunt, a cruel message from the Obscura order's leaders. For Draco, it confirmed his worst fear—his son was gone. For Harry, it was worse. The memory had shown him something no father should ever see: his child tortured and killed, a pawn in a war that had already claimed too much.

Harry's sobs turned into gasping breaths, his fists clenching tightly as rage burned through his grief. "I'm going to kill them," he hissed, his voice trembling with fury. "I'm going to kill every last one of those bastards."

The room fell silent save for their labored breathing and the faint rustle of dust disturbed by their grief. The memory, still swirling in the Pensieve, seemed to glow faintly, a haunting reminder of the pain they carried.

"I'm going to fucking kill those fucking bastards! I'm going to bloody kill those shit eating fuckers!"

Draco nodded, tears streaming silently down his face. "And I'll help you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Every single one of them. They won't get away with this."

The memory had become the confirmation that both of them were widowed with no living children.

"Rubrum Principis!", Harry called out, his tone laced in pure anger. A red shield formed in front of Harry just before the Cruciatus Curse hit it. The red shield rippled as the Curse hit, before gaining an ethereal red glow, all within a span of less than half a second.

The shield suddenly emitted red rays which made their way at blinding speed towards his opponent, and levied deep and mangled gashes all over the body. His opponent fell down in a scream of excruciating pain, the blood curling scream knocking Harry out of the red haze.

The hallway was deathly silent, save for the ragged breathing of the injured and the hum of magic dissipating into the still air. Harry stood frozen, his wand still raised, his heart pounding as he stared at the writhing figure on the ground.

The red glow of the Rubrum Principis shield lingered in his mind's eye, an afterimage that pulsed with the memory of its devastating retaliation. The mangled gashes on his opponent's body leaked blood onto the cold stone floor, staining the ancient cracks. The boy's screams had subsided into strained, agonized whimpers, each sound laced with the raw edge of pain.

Harry's breath hitched. The red haze that had fueled his every move during the fight was gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of dread. His stomach churned as the reality of what had happened set in.

What did I just do?

He forced himself to tear his gaze from the fallen boy and turned to the trembling girl behind him. Her snow-blonde hair clung to her sweat-slicked forehead and bare shoulders, and her tear-streaked blue eyes were wide with terror. She clutched his robe tightly around herself, her knuckles white as she stared at him like a cornered animal.

Harry's throat felt dry, but he managed to speak. "Expecto Patronum!"

He whipped his wand as a winged horse with a skeletal body, a face with reptilian features, and wide, leathery wings that resembled a bat's came alive from his Holly and Phoenix wand. The Thestral had been his Patronus since the day he had seen that wretched memory. His daughter's final moments.

Its skeletal wings stretched wide, and its hollow, reptilian face turned back to look at him, as if awaiting orders.

"Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey! Please come to the infirmary! Its urgent! Neville, come to the infirmary! Please!", Harry's voice cracked at the end. He looked around unsurely not knowing what to do. "Dobby? Dobby!", he called out in desperation. A house elf popped immediately after, and took the scene in with wide eyes.

"Great Master Harry Potter calls for Dobby?" the house-elf asked, his high-pitched voice filled with concern as his gaze darted between the carnage in the corridor and Harry's strained expression.

"Dobby! Thank Merlin, you're here. Take these two to the infirmary", he pointed to the prone bodies in the hallway. "Be careful with the second one, he can die if he is manhandled"

"Dobby! Thank Merlin you're here," Harry said, relief flooding his voice. He pointed to the prone bodies of the boy he'd fought and the girl's other assailant. "Take them to the infirmary—carefully. The second one... he's—he's hanging on by a thread. He could die if he's moved too roughly."

Dobby's ears twitched as he nodded solemnly, bounding toward the injured. Harry turned his attention back to the girl, who hadn't moved from her spot. Her eyes remained locked on him, her grip on his robe tightening with every passing second.

"We need to get you to the infirmary," Harry said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the chaos around him. He heard Dobby pop away with a loud crack.

The girl didn't respond, but her gaze didn't waver. Harry crouched slightly, lowering his voice even further. "Can I touch you? Just to help you up?" He extended his hand, stopping midway when he saw her body shrink in on itself.

Her reaction made him flinch, guilt surging through him. He let his hand fall to his side. "Alright," he said softly, "I won't. But Dobby needs to touch you to take you to the infirmary. He won't hurt you, I promise."

She hesitated, then gave a shaky nod, her hands trembling as she loosened her grip on his robe.

"Dobby!" Harry called, and the elf reappeared with another loud crack, his small hands empty and his expression expectant.

"Take her too," Harry instructed, his voice laced with urgency. "But don't touch her more than you have to. She's been through... enough tonight."

Dobby nodded, his large eyes filled with understanding. He approached the girl slowly, speaking softly as he took her hand. With another crack, they were gone, leaving Harry alone in the aftermath of the battle.

The silence that followed was deafening. The once-pristine hallway was a scene of destruction—scorch marks marred the walls and ceiling, and crimson streaks painted the stones beneath his feet. Harry's chest heaved as he tried to steady his breathing, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on him like a crushing tide.

Dobby returned moments later, his gaze filled with concern. "Great Master Harry Potter, I can take you now," the elf said softly.

Harry gave a single, weary nod, and with another loud crack, he found himself in the infirmary.

The room was brightly lit, its sterile white walls and rows of beds a sharp contrast to the dark chaos Harry had just left behind. Madam Pomfrey bustled around one of the beds, her expression grim as she worked on the boy Harry had hit with the Rubrum Principis. Blood soaked the bed sheets, and the boy's pallor was ghostly, his breathing shallow.

Professor McGonagall sat beside the girl on another bed, her arms wrapped tightly around the trembling teen. The usually stern professor's face was softened with maternal concern as she whispered soothing words. The girl clung to her as if she were the only solid thing in a world that had collapsed around her.

Harry's attention snapped to the doorway as it burst open. Dumbledore and Snape marched in, their faces a mix of shock, anger, and worry. Neville followed closely behind, his expression grim but calm.

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes fixed on Harry. "What the hell happened, Potter?" Snape barked, his voice sharp and accusatory.

Harry straightened, his jaw tightening. He met Snape's glare with a steady gaze, though the weight of what had transpired lingered heavily in his heart.

"The girl was being attacked," he said, his voice firm but tired. "I did what I had to do to protect her. The boy..." His gaze flickered to the bloodied figure on the bed. "He tried to kill her. He used the Cruciatus Curse on her and tried to cast it again. I stopped him."

Snape's lips curled into a sneer, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him.

"Details can come later," the headmaster said, his voice calm but laced with authority. His gaze softened as he looked at Harry. "Thank you for protecting her, Harry."

Harry nodded, but the weight of the night's events bore down on him. The girl was safe, but at what cost? He felt the burn of Dumbledore's gaze as the headmaster spoke again.

"We'll discuss this further, but for now, rest."

As Dumbledore's words settled in the room, Harry realized the battle wasn't over. Not for him.

'So much for keeping a low profile, but this works too, I guess. The girl being safe is all that matters. Time to face the music!'

A/N: So, my exams are over, but there's still some workload. I'll try to update this weekly or biweekly, if possible, else it will be monthly. And please leave reviews! They are greatly appreciated!