Harry must have dozed off, because he startled awake, his head slipping off his outstretched legs. It took him a moment to register where he was. As he took in the dark surroundings, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach—it felt eerily similar to his old cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive. The space was just as cramped, the air just as thick and musty. With a groan, the memories of last night returned.
Carefully, Harry swung his legs off the bed and leaned against the door handle. It creaked softly as he pushed it open. The room beyond was empty—at least as far as he could tell. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls. A quill hovered over a large piece of parchment, scribbling furiously in a language he didn't recognize. In the corner, a book flipped its own pages, as if an invisible reader was engrossed in its contents.
Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to spot any sign of an unseen presence, but the air remained undisturbed. He turned slowly, glancing around once more. No one was creeping up on him, no voice called his name from the shadows. The two armchairs stood empty. The notes Voldemort had been reading the night before were gone.
Curious, Harry leaned over the parchment, trying to decipher the unfamiliar script. No luck—it was a language he'd never encountered before. His gaze shifted to the book, but the text there was just as unreadable. Was the quill reading the script as it wrote? He had never seen anything like this before. It would have made homework much easier, he thought wryly.
A small snort almost escaped him. Homework—something so mundane—felt like a lifetime ago. He wondered if lessons had already started and how different they were now, with Snape as Headmaster and Voldemort pulling the strings. Was he, Harry, expected to attend classes? Or was even that too much freedom in Voldemort's eyes?
With a quiet rustle, the parchment rolled in on itself. A blob of wax melted from a nearby candle, and the Hogwarts crest pressed into it with a soft hiss. Another sheet unfurled, and the quill resumed its work. Harry eyed the sealed scroll. Should he take it? Try to decipher it? If it was important, knowing its contents might help. But if he got caught… His stomach clenched at the thought of what Voldemort might do—not just to him, but to Ron and Hermione. It wasn't worth the risk.
Realizing he had lingered too long, Harry turned toward the door. To his surprise, it wasn't locked.
He stepped into the corridor. It was dimly lit and eerily quiet, with no windows to indicate whether it was day or night. He set off toward the hospital wing. As he neared the entrance hall, the soft murmur of voices drifted from the Great Hall. Dawn was breaking—sunlight streaked through the high windows, spilling onto the marble floor.
Harry hurried up the grand staircase to the first floor and pushed open the door to the hospital wing.
Ron and Hermione were right there, mid-conversation with Madam Pomfrey.
"Harry!" Hermione shrieked. "Oh my—Harry, are you alright?"
Before he could react, she flung herself at him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.
"I'm fine! I'm fine, Hermione," Harry mumbled into her shoulder. He felt Ron clap a firm hand on his back.
"You gave us a right scare, mate. Madam Pomfrey said Snape came to fetch you last night."
Harry glanced at Madam Pomfrey. She looked genuinely relieved to see him back.
"I'm apparently not allowed to sleep here with you," Harry said, careful not to reveal too much.
"Where did you have to sleep then?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"Oh, I've got my own private bedroom. It's really cozy," Harry deadpanned.
Ron snorted. "I bet."
"Now that you're back, I want you to return to bed, please," Madam Pomfrey interjected, already ushering him toward the hospital beds.
"Actually, I feel a lot better," Harry lied, subtly trying to evade her grip. "But I will take another dose of that Relief Potion, if that's alright."
"Oh, you'll take it, alright," she huffed. "But I strongly believe—"
The doors banged open.
The stocky Death Eater Harry recognized from his first night back at Hogwarts strode in, dragging an unconscious boy behind her. She dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor. Two more Death Eaters followed, each carrying another limp student.
"I believe they still need to adjust to the new rules," Carrow sneered.
"Neville!" Ron gasped, his face twisting in horror as he took in Neville's bloodied appearance. "What have you done to him?"
"He's starting to think he's a real hero," Carrow cackled, giving Neville a sharp kick to the ribs.
"Leave him alone!" Ron spat.
Carrow turned on him with a sinister grin. "I'd be careful, blood traitor. I see there's plenty of space here. Would you like to join him?"
Hermione clutched Ron's sleeve. Harry shot Carrow the dirtiest look he could muster.
She merely chuckled. "Listen to your Mudblood girlfriend," she taunted, jabbing a finger toward the door. "Out. Now. Unless you fancy a little detention of your own?"
They hesitated only a moment longer before Ron turned on his heel, gripping Hermione's wrist and pulling her with him. Harry followed suit, his fists clenched.
"So this is their new reign?" Ron snarled, quickening his pace. Hermione and Harry had to half-run to keep up.
"What did you expect?" Hermione whispered miserably.
"What do we do now?"
"POTTER!"
All three of them jumped.
They whirled around to face Snape, his dark eyes glinting as he loomed above them.
"What are you doing here?" His tone was sharp, but not as harsh as they had expected. His gaze flickered over them all before settling on Harry.
No one answered.
"Well, well… It seems our famous trio has no regard for the new school uniform," Snape drawled. "Nor for attending lessons. Fifty points from—" He paused, correcting himself. "Ah. I believe another punishment is in order. Weasley, Granger—change into your robes and go to class. I'll see you both tonight for detention."
"And Harry?" Ron demanded.
Snape's lips curled. "Potter has other duties."
"Why can't he come to class with us?" Ron pressed.
"Silence," Snape snapped. "Unless you wish to add another punishment to your evening, Mr. Weasley."
Harry crossed his arms. "I don't have anything to do until five. Voldemort doesn't care what I do 'til then."
He saw Ron flinch at the name. Snape's expression darkened.
"The Dark Lord has forbidden you from mingling with the other students. No classes for you." His tone left no room for argument. "However, I expect you to put on your school robes and report to my study. Immediately."
With a sharp turn, Snape strode off, his robes billowing behind him.
"What do you have to do at five?" Ron asked sharply.
Harry groaned inwardly. "I don't know," he lied quietly, fixing his gaze on a disappearing Snape. "There's something Voldemort wants to examine."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Harry…"
Harry hesitated. He didn't want to discuss this, he didn't want to make them worry. And he most certainly didn't want to think about it. Repressing a shudder, he finally looked back at the two. "Something to do with the scar. The connection between us.
It's fine," he cut her off, seeing she was going to press further. Suddenly, a thought resurfaced—something he thought he had buried deep. "Hermione, do you remember when I asked you about Hor- hor crutches somethings?"
Hermione gave him a look. "You said Horcruxes. But I don't know—"
"No, I know. But maybe if we can find out what they are, we might find a way to use it against Voldemort somehow. It's important to him! I don't know why."
Hermione nodded slowly. "We'll try. Just—just be careful, okay?"
Harry forced a small smile. "You too." He looked up to Ron. "Are you going to be alright?"
"Yeah, mate. We will. Are you?"
"Yes," answered Harry, although he did not entirely believe it himself. He didn't want to upset Ron and Hermione further, he already felt stupid making them fret over him so much. "I'll be fine. I've managed this far, haven't I?"
Hermione looked like she wanted to hug him again, and Harry put his hands into his pockets, trying to block any potential. "Come on, we better go and get those robes" he said instead.
They walked towards the Slytherin basement, where they parted with Hermione, who took the hallway near the kitchens.
"Can you believe we have set foot there again?" said Ron sourly.
Harry shrugged. "I can't believe Death Eaters are teachers now," he mumbled, following Ron through the entrance behind the bare stretch of stone wall. "I would have thought nothing could get worse last year with Umbridge..."
Ron shook his head grimly. "This is a whole new level of awful."
The Slytherin common room was deserted. Ron and Harry exchanged a quizzical glance. Now where were they supposed to go? They tried the first door. It looked like their own dormitory, with the same four-poster beds, only now adorned in green and silver. Bundles of robes lay scattered on the beds. Ron grabbed a pair—they seemed to be made for a very small person.
"First years, you reckon?" Ron asked.
Harry chuckled. "I think they'll fit you perfectly."
Ron shot him a glare before putting the robes back. "Come on."
Fifteen minutes later, both Ron and Harry were dressed and stepping out of the common room.
"You know, I was starving earlier, but I think my appetite is gone now," Ron muttered in disgust.
Harry thought back to the last time he'd eaten anything, though at that moment, hunger was the furthest thing from his mind.
"See you later?" he asked as he trudged toward the stairs, feeling as though his shoes were made of lead.
Ron nodded, raising his hand in a casual wave. Harry watched him leave, took a deep breath, and ascended to Snape's study.