Chapter 10 - Omens and Unrest
Time at Hogwarts flowed in a peculiar way. Days blended into weeks, and when Harry realized it, enough time had passed for everything to change without him truly noticing. A week since classes had resumed, and it was still strange to walk through the corridors without Ron and Hermione by his side. Stranger still was the fact that, more and more, he was spending time with the Slytherins.
The routine was exhausting. He woke up before dawn, attended classes, tried to maintain sporadic conversations with his friends during breaks, and when he managed a free moment, he would lose himself in books about Healing Magic. Or at least, he tried to. The professors were already piling assignments on the students, and keeping up was a challenge. Unlike other years, however, Harry made an effort not to let the workload become a problem.
That morning, he sank into a chair at the Great Hall, feeling the weight of tiredness on his shoulders. The sky beyond the enchanted windows was heavy with dark clouds, and a fine drizzle blurred the landscape, making the atmosphere even more melancholic. The damp cold seeped through the stone walls, making his whole body beg for a few more hours of sleep. But he forced himself to eat, moving his cutlery without haste.
Slow. That was the pace he wanted for the day.
It would be his first Potions class since returning, and the mere idea of facing Snape already twisted his stomach. No matter how much he tried to prepare, nothing guaranteed that his effort would work when he was under the professor's sharp gaze. Until then, Harry had managed to avoid direct encounters with him, but that would end that morning.
Thinking of Snape made his skin prickle.
He hated that man. Hated every look of contempt, every venomous comment, every attempt to undermine him. But there was an uncomfortable detail in that equation: Potions was an essential subject for Healing Magic. Harry had learned that after spending hours studying formulas and elixirs capable of healing impossible wounds, restoring bodies, and saving lives. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he knew he would never be brilliant at it. And part of the problem was Snape himself. His instructions were vague, harsh, meant to lead to mistakes. The class had never been a learning environment, but rather a minefield.
A soft thud interrupted his thoughts.
"Good morning," Neville mumbled as he dropped into the seat beside him, in the place Ron used to occupy. His voice carried the laziness of someone still not used to the rhythm of classes.
"Morning," Harry replied, forcing a smile.
Ron's absence by his side was something that still bothered him. Since the argument on the first day, his friend barely spoke to him beyond what was necessary. At first, Harry had been irritated by the childishness, but as days went by, anger turned into frustration. He felt that, for Ron, their friendship had never truly mattered.
On the other hand, Neville was starting to occupy an unexpected space. He still carried his usual insecurity, but surprised Harry with his attentive listening and unexpected reflections. He didn't talk much, but when he did, his words had weight.
But what affected Harry the most was his relationship with the Slytherins.
Tracey was unpredictable, with a sharp humor and an absurd ability to turn any casual sentence into a biting joke. Blaise, always silent, made up for his lack of words with enigmatic observations and analogies that sometimes made Harry roll his eyes, sometimes made him reflect for hours.
And then there was Daphne.
Since the conversation by the lake, the two had developed an unusual closeness. They sat near each other in classes, exchanged quick words in the corridors, and whenever they could, found a way to talk. Meals still separated them physically, but that didn't seem to be a problem.
Harry couldn't categorize her. Intelligent, sharp, beautiful. She had a keen humor and a calm confidence, as if nothing in the world could truly shake her. He had never imagined he would become close to someone like her.
The strangest thing, however, was realizing that no one seemed to really care about this change. Except Ron. The twins, for instance, loved to tease, but it was teasing, not attacks. The rest of Gryffindor didn't show hostility either. House rivalry seemed to matter more for Quidditch than for anything else.
Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, had reacted badly.
Since the first day, he had been trying to provoke the Slytherins who talked to Harry, but without much success. What intrigued Harry the most was how Slytherin worked internally. Unlike what he had imagined, the students were not blindly loyal to each other. There was a subtle game of alliances and strategy. Loyalty existed, but it came with a tacit understanding: everyone had to prove their own worth.
The sound of footsteps pulled Harry from his thoughts.
Daphne and the other Slytherins entered the Hall. She walked past him, giving him a discreet smile — something that had become habitual. He returned it with a nod, a small gesture, but filled with meaning.
The Hall, once silent, began to fill as more students came down for breakfast. Among them, Ron and Hermione.
And, upon seeing them, Harry felt his stomach sink.
Hermione looked as if she was about to cry. Ron, on the other hand, wore an expression of pure irritation.
Harry sighed.
He had already tried to talk to Ron. If the redhead didn't want to listen, so be it.
The sound of hundreds of wings filled the Great Hall at the usual mail time. Owls landed among the students, packages and letters being delivered all over. Harry didn't even lift his eyes. He never expected anything from home. But then, a weight landed in front of him, and a soft peck caught his attention.
"Hedwig?"
He frowned as he saw the white owl resting on the table, a letter delicately held in her claws. He took the envelope and, in return, offered a piece of bacon, stroking her head. She hooted softly before flying off again.
As he turned the letter, Harry recognized the handwriting of the sender, and a small smile appeared on his lips. Edgar.
Slowly, he opened the letter.
"Kid,
I'm really not used to writing this kind of thing. Letters, I mean. Not my style. I prefer talking face to face. But I guess you get that.
How was the first week? I have to admit I was expecting a letter from you, but I know things at school must be busy. I heard there are dementors at Hogwarts because of Sirius Black.
I'm not your father, much less your guardian, but knowing you for the little time I have, it's very likely that you'll try some foolish idea and decide to play the hero. Don't mess around with those creatures, they're terrible.
I just wanted to know if you're alright. I hope you'll invite me to the next Quidditch match. It's been a while since I've seen a good game.
Edgar."
Harry's smile faded. An uncomfortable weight grew in his chest. He should have written sooner. With everything that had happened — the fight with Ron, the unexpected friendship with the Slytherins, the whirlwind of assignments — he had simply forgotten.
It was then that an exclamation cut through the chatter of the Hall.
"He was seen!"
Harry looked up just as Seamus waved a copy of the Daily Prophet, excitement clear on his face.
"Sirius Black was seen in Dumfries!" he announced.
Harry felt a chill run down his spine.
Dumfries. Scotland.
Hogwarts was in Scotland.
His stomach twisted. If Black was there, it meant he was closer than ever.
"Who?" Hermione frowned.
"Sirius Black was seen in Dumfries. It says here that Muggle authorities caught him rummaging through a house."
"I thought he was in France... or Germany," Dean commented, taking the newspaper from Seamus's hand to check the news for himself. "Why come north?"
"He can't try to break into Hogwarts, can he?" Hermione asked, casting a hesitant glance at Harry.
His stomach tightened even more. He remembered the conversation with Mr. Weasley on the King's Cross platform. "Black is after you."
"There are dementors around the castle," Ron said, crossing his arms. "Why would he try something like that?"
"He's already escaped once. What's stopping him from doing it again?" Seamus retorted, restless.
Harry remained silent. His classmates' words echoed inside him.
In the middle of all the changes of the past few days — the tension with Ron, the unexpected friendship with the Slytherins, the heavy load of studies — he had almost completely forgotten about the murderer on the loose.
And now he was close.
The whole world knew where Harry Potter was. His name appeared in newspapers, was repeated in conversations, in stories. If Black was running from something, it was obvious that his final destination was Hogwarts.
The uneasiness inside him grew. He tried to push the thoughts away. Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, wasn't it?
But then, he remembered the dementors.
If there was something he still didn't understand, it was how Black had managed to spend so much time in Azkaban without going completely mad. Just a few seconds in the presence of those creatures were enough to make his skin crawl, to fill his mind with shadows and despair. Fifteen years? That seemed impossible.
Harry clenched his fists, forcing himself to push away the feeling of discomfort. There was no point in brooding over it now.
The Hogwarts bell sounded in the distance, marking the start of classes.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to refocus.
Sirius Black could be a problem in the future, but at that moment, he had a more immediate problem to face.
Potions class.
Snape already hated his mere existence. The last thing he needed was to give him a reason to make that day even worse.
And somehow, Harry already knew that was inevitable.
A/N:
On my P4tr30n page, updates will follow a more consistent schedule.
Support me on P4tr30n: /writerofether
Follows, favorites, and reviews are deeply appreciated!
"And in case I don't see you — good afternoon, good evening, and good night."