The castle's usual post-holiday buzz had been overtaken by a singular, oppressive topic: Azkaban. Everywhere Harry turned, students huddled in tense groups, their whispers ricocheting off the stone walls. Names like Bellatrix Lestrange and Rodolphus hung in the air, spoken with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination.
Rumours flowed freely, each more ridiculous than the last. He overheard one third-year claiming to have seen a Death Eater prowling the Forbidden Forest, and another insisting the Shrieking Shack had become their new base of operations. The older students weren't much better—more subdued, perhaps, but no less consumed by speculation.
He didn't stop, didn't engage. What was there to say? Most of them were terrified, yes, but they had no idea what real fear was. Not the kind that lingered in your mind, twisting every shadow into a threat.
Their hysteria was almost laughable. For years, they had ignored the warning signs, clinging to the Ministry's lies about peace and security. Now, they were scrambling to understand a world that had always been dangerous, their sheltered ignorance stripped away by one publicised breakout.
A group of Hufflepuffs darted out of his path, their voices hushed as he passed. He caught a snippet of their conversation:
"…my mum says they used to burn their mark into people's forearms…"
"…do you think Dumbledore's got Aurors patrolling?"
"…heard Corner say the Death Eaters are targeting Ravenclaws first…"
Harry scoffed under his breath. Corner. Of course. His pace quickened. He'd called for the Lantern Keepers to meet tonight, and if he had to listen to any more nonsense before then, he might actually lose his temper.
The castle had been suffocating with it all day, their panic so loud Harry could practically feel it pressing against his skin. He had spent most of the afternoon avoiding everyone, retreating to classes and quiet corners, knowing there was no point in trying to reason with people too wrapped up in their own hysteria.
Even now, as he climbed the stairs toward the seventh floor, he heard the clatter of footsteps behind him—students bolting for their common rooms as though the shadows themselves might rise up and attack.
He felt no sympathy for them.
What had they been doing last year, Harry thought darkly, while I was preparing for Voldemort's return? Complaining about OWLs? Giggling over Butterbeer? Planning summer holidays?
And now they wanted to be afraid? Now they wanted to care?
A dull throb pulsed through his left arm, the cursed wound beneath the Gauntlet burning faintly in irritation. His hand flexed at his side, but the sensation didn't fade. The magic lingered, raw and unsettled—just like him.
"Too little, too late," he muttered under his breath as he massaged his upper arm, the corridor before him transformed into a simple wooden door.
Pushing the door open, Harry stopped short. The room was packed. The Lantern Keepers had grown—more than doubled, by the look of it—leaving barely enough space between the duelling platforms and practice dummies.
His gaze swept over the crowd. Familiar faces—Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Neville—stood among others he hadn't expected. Students who had chosen Cedric's sessions last term. A few who had dropped out entirely.
No one was chatting or smiling. The same tension that lingered in the corridors seemed to have followed them here. Some looked determined. Others avoided his eyes altogether.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the room quieted. Harry let the silence sit, crossing to the centre with slow, measured steps.
"So," he said at last, his voice carrying in the stillness. "Looks like a few of you found your nerve over the holidays. Shame you didn't bring it with you when we actually needed it."
No one answered. A few shifted uncomfortably, but no one met his eyes.
Harry folded his arms, gaze narrowing slightly. "Let's get one thing straight. If you're here because you're scared, you're wasting your time. This isn't a place to feel safe. If you're here, it's because you're ready to fight—and not just when it's easy."
Movement near the back caught his attention. Michael Corner raised a hand halfway before lowering it awkwardly. "It's not like we weren't doing anything, Potter," he said, his tone defensive but unsure. "Cedric kept us going. We just didn't use the… aggressive methods you like."
Harry's eyes lingered on him for a long moment. The silence stretched, heavy enough to make Michael shift where he stood.
"You kept going?" Harry echoed quietly, his tone calm but edged. He took a slow step forward. "Kept going with what, exactly? Practising incantations? Memorising theory?"
Michael's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't answer.
"If Cedric's training was enough, why are you here now?" Harry asked, voice low. "You had options. You could've stayed on that side. What changed?"
No one answered. A few glanced away, their expressions guilty.
"I'll tell you," Harry said, his voice hardening. "Because for the first time, you realised how unprepared you are. Azkaban wasn't just a headline—it was a reminder. You felt the fear, and now you're here because you know you won't survive what's coming unless you do something about it."
Michael opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"This isn't Cedric's side," Harry repeated pointedly. "There's no grade for effort. You're either ready, or you're not. And if you're not—if you think this is just about trying your best— then leave now. I'm not wasting my time."
His gaze swept over the room, pausing briefly on those who wouldn't meet his eyes. When they landed on Susan Bones, he gave a short nod.
"Susan. Front and centre."
She stepped forward without hesitation, her wand already drawn.
"And you," Harry said, looking at Michael. "Let's see if 'keeping up' actually means anything."
Michael hesitated, then stepped forward reluctantly, drawing his wand with a sharp motion.
"Defensive spells only," Harry said. "Susan, don't hold back. Show him what real practice looks like."
The stone floor shifted beneath them, forming a circular pit with jagged edges. Torches flickered to life around the perimeter. The rest of the group felt themselves moved back as the ground lifted into seating along the edge.
Michael glanced around, clearly unsettled by the shift. But having grown used to the arena, Susan didn't react except to grin.
Harry stepped back, folding his arms. He met Susan's eyes and nodded once.
"Expelliarmus!"
Susan's wand snapped forward. The spell shot across the pit, red light streaking toward Michael. He ducked at the last second, his attempt at a formal bow forgotten as he scrambled to avoid the blast.
Michael's eyes widened. Panic flickered across his face as he raised his wand in a clumsy block, barely managing to hold it steady as Susan advanced.
"Stupefy."
He did raise a shield, but the spell hit hard, driving him back a step. His wand trembled in his grip.
Her spells flowed one after the other, relentlessly. Michael staggered with each block, his footing slipping on the uneven stone.
"Expulso."
The stone beside Michael erupted, knocking him off his feet. His shield shattered, and his wand skidded out of reach.
Michael lunged for it, but Susan was faster. "Accio."
His wand spun into the air, and she caught it effortlessly, lowering her own with practiced ease.
Harry nodded at her, acknowledging her victory as his students erupted into cheers.
"Match over," he said. "Lesson learned."
Michael pushed himself up, brushing dirt off his robes. His face flushed as he looked at the students around him.
"She cheated!" Corner protested, his voice sharp with frustration as he pushed himself to his feet, drawing laughter from the experienced students.
"Did she, though?" Fred Weasley called out, as he elbowed Zacharias Smith. "Sounds familiar, Zach?"
Zacharias rolled his eyes but grinned despite himself. "Yeah, yeah, we've all been there."
"That's right," Fred quipped, leaning back with a theatrical sigh. "Nothing like a good beating to sort out the excuses."
Michael's face flushed, but he said nothing, retrieving his wand quietly as Harry fixed him with a pointed look.
"Cheating," Harry said, his tone flat, "is what people call it when they lose. You weren't beaten because Susan broke the rules. You lost because she didn't wait for you to catch up. If you think your enemies will wait for you to bow, you've already lost."
"Now," Harry continued, his voice regaining its commanding edge, "anyone else want to see how 'keeping up' measures up?"
A low murmur spread through the crowd, a mix of nervous energy and reluctant excitement. Harry let it sit, his gaze sweeping over the faces in front of him.
His expression hardened.
"Before we go any further," he said, sharp and deliberate, "I'm going to make this clear. If you're not ready to commit—if you're not here to see this through—there's the door. Go now."
He gestured toward the Room's entrance, his voice cold. "Because if you stay tonight, waste more of my time, and walk away later—you won't be coming back."
The murmurs died instantly, leaving behind tense silence. His words lingered, and Harry let the weight of them sink in.
"If you're staying," he continued, stepping into the centre of the room, "understand this—no one's slowing down for you. Not me. Not the people who've been here since the start. You chose to leave. The moment you did, you fell behind."
His gaze locked onto the returning students, daring them to challenge him.
"You either catch up, or you don't. And here, falling behind is the same as failing."
Some of the returners shifted uncomfortably, a few glancing toward the door. No one moved.
Harry's eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod.
"Alright," he said, his tone clipped. A faint, humourless smile tugged at his mouth. "Welcome back. I hope the break from reality was relaxing—because you're out of practice, and that's going to be a problem."
The room emptied slowly, students filing out with flushed faces and slumped shoulders, the weight of the session pressing down on them. Quiet footsteps echoed beneath the fading light of the Room of Requirement.
Leaning against the wall, Harry crossed his arms, watching the last stragglers shuffle toward the exit. His expression gave nothing away, but tension lingered in the set of his shoulders—impatience simmering just below the surface.
As the door eased shut, Cedric Diggory stepped forward, Ron and Susan trailing close behind.
"That was… intense," Cedric said, eyes lingering on the retreating students. His tone stayed even, but the disapproval wasn't hard to miss.
A short snort escaped Ron. "You mean they were whiny. If I hear one more complaint about how 'Harry's too mean,' I might actually hex someone."
Beside him, Susan smirked faintly, clearly amused but offering no argument.
"They're trying," Cedric countered loyally. "Most of them are still rattled from Azkaban. You can't expect everyone to catch up overnight."
Harry's gaze stayed fixed on the door, his jaw tensing slightly. "If they're that scared, they should've stayed months ago. Turning up now doesn't mean much if it's just because they feel like it."
A frown crept onto Cedric's face. "That's pushing them too hard. Not everyone adapts as fast as you or the core group. They're not soldiers."
His eyes finally met Cedric's, voice lowering to something cold but measured. "A mistake isn't the same as failure—until it gets someone killed. If they can't handle being pushed here, how do you think they'll manage when it's not me standing in front of them, but a Death Eater?"
Cedric's mouth opened, but Ron cut in before the conversation could escalate. "Alright, enough moral debates. Half the school can barely manage a Shield Charm. What's the plan now?"
Shrugging, Harry shifted his weight against the wall. "Teaching them was the plan."
"Terrible plan," Susan quipped, arms folded.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, but he let the remark slide. "Alright, then. Ron, what would you do?"
Caught off guard, Ron hesitated, throwing a glance at Cedric and Susan as if hoping for backup. "Well… isn't it obvious? There's too many of them. They need to catch up, but you don't have time to babysit. Put someone else in charge—team leaders or something."
Susan tilted her head, considering the suggestion. "Divide and conquer. Makes sense."
Silence stretched as Harry weighed the idea, his gaze sweeping the empty room before he gave a slow nod. "Alright. You're one of them."
Ron's arms dropped to his sides. "What?" He stared at Harry. "You want me to teach them?"
The response came without hesitation. "You've been through it." Harry's attention shifted to Susan. "You too. And Neville, when he shows up."
Ron's mouth opened in protest, but Susan cut him off with a brisk nod. "He's right. We know the drills, and we know where they're falling behind."
After a long sigh, Ron shrugged. "Fine. But if they complain half as much as today, I'm hexing them."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth. "Just get them caught up. The sooner they stop dragging everyone else down, the better."
Susan nodded, already taking the lead. "We'll handle it."
"You'd better." Harry's gaze flicked toward Cedric, his expression cooling. "And Cedric—do what you like with your sessions. But here, I don't slow down for anyone. If that's too much, they're free to stick to your side."
Ron rolled his eyes, the tension breaking as he pushed off the wall. "Great. Can we agree I'm in charge of the least whiny group? If I get stuck with Corner's lot—"
"You'll survive," Susan interrupted, her smirk matching his.
A glance at his watch had Cedric sighing. "Speaking of surviving, I've got detention with Umbridge."
Ron let out a low whistle. "What was it this time? Breathed too loud at dinner?"
"Something like that," Cedric said with a tired smirk. "Have a good evening you guys." He gave a small nod before heading for the door, his footsteps steady but dragging just slightly.
Harry watched him leave, the last of his smile fading. "I don't get it. How hard is it to just stay quiet?"
Leaning back against the wall, Ron crossed his arms loosely. "Not everyone's wired to bite their tongue, mate. Some people have principles."
Susan's gaze sharpened. "And not all of us can stay out of sight. Cedric doesn't exactly scream 'obedient Ministry pawn.'"
Harry's head tilted, eyes narrowing. "And I do?"
Their gazes met, but Susan didn't waver. "No. But you're better at picking your battles. Cedric's fighting one every time he steps into her line of sight."
Ron shifted, his nod small but certain. "Yeah, and you don't see her giving you detentions. That's because you're…" His words trailed off, the right term just out of reach.
"Careful," Susan supplied, her tone matter-of-fact.
Harry's arms lowered, his expression cooling. "Efficient," he corrected. "I don't have time to waste on Umbridge when there's real work to do."
Susan exchanged a glance with Ron, neither offering a reply. The silence hung between them until Ron let out a long sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Let's just hope Cedric doesn't end up in the Hospital Wing before the week's out."
With a push from the wall, Ron stretched overhead. "I'm off. If I think about Shield Charms for one more minute, I might explode."
At the clock's faint ticking, Susan brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I should go too." Her eyes flicked toward Harry, lingering longer than Ron's had. "You'll be alright?"
Harry nodded, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. "Go on. I'll see you both tomorrow."
Giving them a final wave as the door closed softly behind them, Harry took a moment to sigh deeply alone in the quiet hum of the Room.
For a moment, he stood still, his gaze lingering on the now-empty training room. The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches along the walls.
A slow breath escaped as he ran a hand through his hair. The weight of everything—Umbridge, Cedric, and the endless training—pressed down on him. Efficiency, he'd told them. It was the only way forward. But staying ahead felt like a grind that he could never let up.
His hand dipped into his pocket, brushing against something smooth and cold. Pulling it free, he watched as the faint blue glow of the Tesla coil flickered across his fingers. Nicholas had been cryptic when he passed it over, calling it a tool for focus and innovation.
Harry turned the coil, watching the swirling patterns of energy beneath the surface. "Time to see what you can do," he murmured, the words cutting through the quiet.
The coil hummed faintly against his fingertips, alive with the static of untapped potential.
Glancing at the shelves, he spoke to the empty room. "Electricity. Lightning. Anything useful."
A shimmer crossed the shelves, and a single book slid forward onto the nearby table. But as he flipped through the pages, Harry was unimpressed by its selection. Spell diagrams. Storm incantations. Magical lightning.
He frowned, snapping it shut. "Close, but not what I need."
Setting the book aside, his grip tightened on the coil. "Guess I'll need to check the library after all."
Guiding the Room's magic with practiced ease, Harry willed it to shift. The air rippled, and a wooden door materialized. Without hesitation, he stepped through, leaving the warmth of the Room behind as cool library air settled around him.
The dim light of the library greeted him. Desks and chairs barricaded the main entrance, stacked high against the doors. Dust sheets lay over tables like ghostly shapes, unmoving in the still air.
Harry's gaze swept the room. "Refurbishment, my arse," he muttered. "She doesn't care about improving anything."
Shaking his head, he grabbed a chair and jammed it under the Room's portal handle, preventing it from vanishing, and trapping him in the library with no way out.
Satisfied, he moved deeper between the shelves, fingers trailing along the spines.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's get to it."
The smell of parchment lingered, thick in the air. Book titles blurred past his eyes as he skimmed the familiar rows, passing over volumes he already knew.
Stopping at Advanced Spellcraft, he leaned in, studying the section more closely. Lightning. Magical energy. The same practical applications, but nothing deeper.
Harry's fingers tapped against the spine of the well-worn book. "All power, no theory. Typical."
The next aisle brought him to a faded section labelled Charms for Mastery: NEWT Level, the faint glow of the lettering catching his eye beneath the dim torchlight. His hand brushed along the spines until it paused on a thick, leather-bound volume with gold-embossed lettering: Energetics and Elemental Applications.
Tugging it free, he flipped it open, eyes skimming the table of contents until a single chapter caught his attention—The Generation of Electricity.
"Bingo."
Harry lowered himself onto a dust-coated bench, ignoring the creak of the wood beneath him as he turned to the chapter. Diagrams and dense paragraphs filled the pages, but as he scanned, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
This wasn't the usual storm-summoning spells or generic lightning incantations. It dug deeper, exploring the mechanisms of lightning—how energy accumulated, how it reacted to magical influence, and the inherent risks of channeling it without preparation.
A flash of gold lettering on a lower shelf caught his eye. Rising, he strode over to find another tome: Convergence of Magical Energies: A Study in Electrical Phenomena. It slid into his growing stack without hesitation.
Minutes later, the desk in front of him held a neat collection of volumes, each one narrowing in on magical energy and its interaction with natural forces. Harry sank into the chair, fingers absently tracing the edge of the Tesla coil glowing faintly in his pocket.
Much of the content felt familiar, especially when it outlined the distinction between spells simulating electricity and true Electrokinesis.
Spells could mimic the look and feel of lightning well enough to fool an opponent, but it was just that—a simulation. He needed a deeper power.
Harry flipped through Energetics and Elemental Applications, scanning the diagrams and notes on magical redirection. The spells were familiar—too familiar. Redirecting lightning, conjuring storm paths…
Despite the useful insights, he'd already mastered that much—and the repetition gnawed at him as he flipped to another page on guiding bolts into grounded points.
"I know how to call it down," he muttered, tapping the diagram. "I need to know how it works, how to make it on demand."
As he skimmed further, a small footnote near the edge of the page stood out: 'See Natural Energies and Magical Harmony: An Exploration of Weather Magic for further explanations'.
Harry's eyes narrowed. His gaze flicked to the surrounding shelves, scanning for the referenced title. It took several minutes of searching—his hands sliding past book after book—before his fingers brushed against the worn leather of something tucked behind two larger tomes.
The faded title barely showed through years of neglect, but the words Natural Energies and Magical Harmony faintly glimmered under the wandlight.
"Finally," Harry muttered, pulling it free and returning to his desk.
Dust rose as he flipped through the preface, the old paper crackling faintly. His eyes scanned quickly, jumping ahead to the section labelled Atmospheric Energy. Dense paragraphs lined the pages, but the further he read, the clearer the connection became.
Lightning, the text explained, wasn't just magical manipulation—it was the result of atmospheric energy discharging after electrical charges built up in the clouds. Wizards could interact with those charges, directing or amplifying them, but rarely delved into why it happened.
Harry's eyes lit up as realization struck. He'd been too caught up in magical theory to see it, blinded by the same narrow thinking he'd criticized in those books
He exhaled softly, shaking his head. 'I should've looked in Muggle bookstores first. That was the whole point.' It was a reminder he hadn't needed since his second year—magic didn't always hold the answers.
The coil didn't just represent artificial energy—it mirrored the same type of atmospheric charge that produced lightning naturally.
If Harry could harness that—replicate it without needing the coil…
For a long moment, Harry sat back, the faint hum of the coil pulsing against his palm. Until he snapped the book shut with a decisive thud, the echoes settling into the unnatural quiet air of the library.
Rising, Harry grabbed the useful tomes from the table, tucking them under his arm. His eyes swept across the remaining shelves, but the thought of dragging irrelevant spellbooks back with him felt pointless.
Back in the Room of Requirement, the space responded instantly, molding itself to his focus. Harry placed the Tesla coil in the center of the desk, its faint glow casting soft shadows along the wooden surface.
He lingered for a moment, eyes fixed on the coil's delicate hum.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see what you can do."
His fingers brushed lightly over the coil's surface, tracing the cool metal as a subtle vibration thrummed beneath his touch. The hum deepened, resonating faintly in the stillness. A soft crackling filled the air, like static crawling over his skin.
The first arc of light flickered to life—thin, erratic. Harry's eyes narrowed as he reached out, instinctively trying to contain it.
The arc snapped down, striking his palm. A sharp jolt shot through his fingers, leaving a lingering tingle in its wake. He winced, shaking out his hand as faint sparks crackled along his skin. It wasn't pain, not exactly—more like the brief shock of touching a live wire. Raw, untamed energy curling beneath his fingertips.
Harry rubbed his palm thoughtfully, brows furrowed in concentration.
"Fine," he muttered, a flicker of determination surfacing. "Let's try that again."
It was a week later when Terry Boot lingered after a Lantern Keepers session, waiting until most of the others had filtered out. Harry sat at the edge of the training mat, flicking through his notes, half-listening to the low hum of conversation as the last few students left the Room of Requirement.
The soft scrape of approaching footsteps barely caught his attention until Terry cleared his throat.
"Uh—Harry?" Terry's voice hovered between hesitant and hopeful.
Glancing up from his notes, Harry arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
Terry shifted awkwardly, his eyes flicking toward the desk nearby where Energetics and Elemental Applications sat half-open. "Is that… from the library?"
Harry's gaze followed Terry's, frowning slightly. The book hadn't left the desk in days, and yet somehow Terry's focus locked right onto it.
"It might be," Harry replied slowly, measuring Terry's reaction.
The hesitation in Terry's stance deepened. His voice lowered as he leaned in. "Do you—do you have a way of getting books? From the restricted section?"
Harry's fingers tapped lightly against the table, his expression tightening. "Why?"
The nervous flicker in Terry's eyes didn't fade. "I need the Compendium of Counterspells for some extra credit on Flitwick's essay. Everything Umbridge left out is useless, and that's the only book that actually explains undoing complex hexes."
Harry studied him for a long moment, weighing the risk. Terry's hands fidgeted at his sides, clearly bracing for rejection.
"I might," Harry said at last, keeping his voice even. "But if I help you, this stays quiet. No one hears about it—understand?"
Relief washed over Terry's face so quickly Harry almost laughed. "Not a word. Thank you—seriously."
Harry shook his head, muttering under his breath. "You'll have it tomorrow. Just act like it's nothing when I give it to you."
A few days passed without incident, until Terry slipped the book back into Harry's hands after a session, mumbling thanks before turning to leave.
Before Harry could tuck it away, the sound of someone approaching made him glance up. Ernie Macmillan stood near the entrance, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he glanced between Terry's retreating figure and the book Harry now held.
"Was that from the library?" Ernie asked, his tone light but carrying the weight of curiosity.
Harry let out a long breath through his nose, sparing a brief look at Terry's back. "Just a loan," he said casually, lowering the book onto the table with a soft thud.
Taking a few steps closer, Ernie glanced at Terry disappearing through the door, his gaze lingered on the book for a beat too long. "Didn't Umbridge shut that down?"
"Maybe she forgot to check the corners," Harry replied flatly, turning back to his notes as if the conversation bored him.
Ernie's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Right. And if someone —hypothetically—needed Gargantuan Growth Cycles for the Herbology club, do you think those corners might have it?"
Harry met Ernie's gaze, sighing heavily as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm not running a library service, Ernie."
A grin tugged at the edges of Ernie's mouth. "Not asking for much. Just a little help, between friends."
Silence stretched for a moment before Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Fine. I'll look, but don't tell anyone. And keep it out of sight."
Ernie's smile widened as he gave Harry an exaggerated salute. "Not a word."
By the end of the week, Harry realized Terry's slip-up hadn't gone unnoticed. A handful of Lantern Keepers dropped vague hints, carefully skirting around the subject while clearly fishing for similar favours.
Harry ignored most of them.
Fred and George, however, didn't bother with subtlety.
Waiting until the Room of Requirement was nearly empty, the twins approached with matching grins that lacked their usual mischief. Fred leaned casually against the table while George watched the door swing shut behind the last straggler.
"Alright, Potter," Fred began, his voice light but deliberate. "Time to let us in on your little operation."
Glancing up from his notes, Harry arched an eyebrow dismissively. "I'm not running an operation."
"Right," George said, stepping closer. "And Terry just accidentally smuggled Compendium of Counterspells out of thin air, did he?"
Setting his quill down with a soft tap, Harry's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not handing out restricted books for fun."
Fred's grin widened, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his expression. "Relax, we're not here for homework."
A folded slip of parchment slid across the table as George leaned in, voice low. "We're after something a little different."
Harry unfolded the parchment and scanned the title: Peruvian Tenebrous Alchemica. His frown deepened. "Seriously?"
With a shrug, Fred crossed his arms. "It's not for pranks. We're working on something big… Important. And this book has what we need."
"What exactly are you two planning?" Harry asked, his gaze flicked between the two of them.
Lowering his voice further, George rested his elbows on the table. "Concealment aides. Stuff that could help people—not just make things disappear in Zonko's."
Harry studied them for a long moment. Fred and George might play the fool, but when they were serious, there was usually a reason.
"Fine," he said eventually, folding the parchment and tucking it into his pocket. "But this doesn't happen again. And if anyone asks…"
"Harry who?" Fred quipped immediately.
"Never heard of him," George added with a smirk.
Shaking his head, Harry stood and gestured for them to follow. "Come on. If we're doing this, you might as well see how it works."
Fred and George exchanged a curious glance but fell in step without hesitation.
At the center of the Room of Requirement, Harry paused, letting his focus sharpen. The air shifted subtly, and a plain wooden door materialized in front of them, standing unsupported in the middle of the room.
Fred's eyes lit up. "Well, that's different."
"Very swish," George added, trailing his fingers along the doorframe.
Turning toward them, Harry's expression hardened. "This leads into the library. It opens exactly where I need it, but the Room only creates it for me because of how I've used it." His gaze flicked between the twins, tone lowering. "If you're going to help with this, you swear—no one finds out. Not a soul. Understand?"
The usual glint in Fred's eye faded. "You've got our word, Harry."
George held up three fingers, mock solemn. "Scout's honour."
Harry didn't blink.
"Alright, alright," George relented, dropping his hand with a small chuckle. "Not a word. We mean it."
Satisfied, Harry pulled the door open and stepped aside. Rows of familiar bookshelves stretched into the distance, the soft flicker of torchlight casting long shadows across the library.
Fred let out a low whistle. "This is... brilliant."
"And highly illegal," George murmured, peering through the doorway.
Harry crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow. "Why do you think I'm keeping it a secret?"
The warning wasn't lost on them.
Fred grinned but kept his voice low. "Fair enough. We'll keep it quiet."
"Good," Harry replied, his gaze lingering on the door. "And don't let it close behind you. If it does, the portal disappears, and you're stuck inside. Trust me, you won't want that."
Clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh, Fred nodded. "You've got our word, mate. And for the record, you're sneakier than we gave you credit for."
"That's not a compliment," Harry replied, though his lips twitched.
"Sure it is," George said, nudging Fred as they stepped toward the exit, already plotting.
As the twins disappeared through the door, their hushed voices trailing behind them, Harry let out a slow breath.
Handing over the reins wasn't ideal, but at least he wouldn't have to juggle every request himself.
For now, that was enough.
Weeks of waiting had led to this moment. The Animagus potion was finally ready, and Daphne had practised the charm relentlessly. Yet the final step required one thing they couldn't fully control: the right weather.
The Forbidden Forest was alive with the sounds of the tempest. Wind howled through the trees, and rain slicked the undergrowth as the pair stood in a small clearing. Their cloaks were soaked through, but their focus didn't waver.
"Why did we have to come all the way out here?" Daphne shouted over the storm, her wary gaze darting toward the dark expanse of trees surrounding them.
Harry's eyes remained fixed on the sky. "Less chance of anyone spotting us," he replied, gesturing upward. "And better exposure to the storm. The potion's more likely to react properly if we're not under a roof."
A sceptical glance at the churning clouds said she wasn't entirely convinced, but Daphne didn't argue.
Stepping forward, Harry raised his wand toward the sky. The hum of magic pulsed faintly through the clearing, and the wind shifted, swirling more fiercely around them.
"Alright," he muttered, his concentration sharpening. The storm needed to stay natural, but there was no harm in giving it a nudge. A sharp flick of his wand sent a pulse of energy upward.
The response was immediate. The dark clouds churned with renewed intensity, lightning flickering faintly along their edges. A low rumble of thunder followed, growing louder with each passing moment until it echoed like the growl of some ancient beast.
Daphne flinched slightly at the sound, her eyes narrowing as they fixed on him. "You're sure this is still natural?"
"It is," Harry said, his voice calm but firm. "I'm not creating the storm, just giving it a push. Nicholas made sure I'd know the difference."
Her scepticism lingered, her gaze flicking between Harry and the sky. "And what happens if it gets out of hand?"
"It won't," he said, lowering his wand with measured confidence. "The storm's doing exactly what it's supposed to. Trust me, this is what we need."
For a moment, she was silent, the tension in her posture obvious. Then, with a resigned nod, Daphne reached into the pouch at her side and pulled out the vial of Animagus potion. Its faint silvery glow rippled like liquid mercury, even in the dim light.
"This is it, then," she said, her voice steady despite the tension in her eyes.
Harry's wand was still in hand, ready to channel the storm's energy into the magic. His gaze flicked to the sky before settling back on her. "Are you ready?"
"I've been ready for weeks," she replied, stepping into the centre of the clearing. "Let's just get this over with before I drown out here."
A faint chuckle escaped him, but his expression quickly turned serious. Daphne's grip on the potion tightened as she cast another wary glance at the storm. The silvery liquid inside the vial rippled with each gust of wind, its glow faint but steady.
Then, as the first spike of lightning tore across the sky, the potion shifted. The silvery sheen darkened, deep crimson flooding the liquid in an instant. It gleamed like freshly spilled blood, the transformation almost alive.
Harry noticed it too, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. "That's it," he said softly, the storm's rumble underscoring his words. "It's ready."
Daphne stared at the vial, her fingers tightening around it. "I wasn't expecting it to… change like that."
"It's supposed to," Harry assured her, though his gaze lingered on the vial. "The storm's energy reacts with the magic. It's how you know it's time."
Her breathing quickened, the weight of the moment settling over her. With one last glance at Harry, she nodded firmly. "Alright. Let's do this."
Beside her, Harry stepped closer, lowering his wand as his focus shifted. Extending his senses toward her, he brushed gently against the edges of her thoughts.
Her consciousness was sharp, layered with tension and resolve. Yet deeper within, he found it: a condensed, intricate presence he had noticed before. The Animagus magic had taken root, folded tightly like a flower waiting to bloom.
"It's there," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I can feel it. The magic's ready, but it's still closed off."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face as she glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
"It's like... a part of your mind has shifted," Harry explained, his tone distant, concentrating on what he sensed. "It's anchored there, but it hasn't opened yet. That's what the potion will do."
Her resolve seemed to waver for a heartbeat, her fingers tightening around the vial. Then, with a deep breath, she straightened. "Then I guess it's time to finish this."
As a low rumble of thunder rolled through the clearing, Daphne tipped the potion back, swallowing it in one swift motion.
Harry felt the change immediately. The condensed part of her mind seemed to unfurl, shifting and reshaping itself with startling clarity. He staggered slightly as a distinct shape emerged within her soul—bright and vivid, tethering itself firmly to her being like a second anchor.
A sharp gasp escaped Daphne as she doubled over, clutching her wand tightly to her chest. Her voice cut through the storm, steady despite the tension rippling through her. "Amato Animo Animato Animagus."
The storm seemed to hold its breath, the wind dying momentarily as the magic reached its crescendo. Harry watched her carefully, his own breathing shallow as she remained hunched over. A flicker of anxiety gnawed at the edges of his mind, but before he could speak, she began to move.
Slowly, she straightened, her chest rising and falling in heavy breaths as the wind pulled at her cloak. When her eyes met his, they were glowing—not with magic, but with exhilaration.
"A snow fox," she said, her voice ringing with triumph. A grin, uncharacteristically wide, broke across her face. "That's my form."
Harry blinked, startled by the certainty in her voice. Extending his senses, he sought the connection again—and there it was. A sleek, white fox glowed brightly within the tether of her soul, its fur shimmering faintly, like frost caught in moonlight.
"Yeah," he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "A snow fox. It suits you."
Daphne tilted her head at him, her smirk turning teasing. "Don't look so surprised. What else would I be? A puffskein?"
He chuckled lightly but raised a hand, his expression turning serious. "You know this is just the beginning, right? The potion worked, but you still have to learn how to transform properly."
Rolling her eyes, she huffed. "I know, Harry. I'm not an idiot." But the sharpness in her tone quickly gave way to a softer expression. She reached out, grabbing his hand with an enthusiasm that caught him off guard. "But that can wait a minute. Right now, I have my form. It's mine, and no one can take that from me."
For a moment, Harry didn't reply, watching as her excitement radiated through the clearing. The storm picked up again, the wind swirling around them, but Daphne didn't seem to notice.
"Congratulations," he said finally, his voice quiet but genuine.
Daphne's grin widened, and she gave his hand a brief squeeze before letting go. "Thanks. For all of it." Her gaze drifted upward, lingering on the storm-churned sky. "A snow fox," she murmured, almost to herself. "Feels... right. Like it's been waiting for me."
Taking a step forward, she shot him a mischievous smirk. "You realise this means I'm officially ahead of you in Animagus progress, right?"
Harry arched an eyebrow, his tone dry. "Pretty sure I'm the reason you're even at this point."
"Details," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, her grin widening further. "I'm still taking the win."
Tilting her face toward the sky, she let the rain stream down her cheeks before sighing. "Alright, I've officially had enough of this weather," she declared, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. "Can we get out of this storm now, or are you planning to conjure hail next?"
Harry glanced upward, a faint smile playing at his lips. "I could probably do that, you know."
"Don't even think about it." She tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders, already heading toward the edge of the clearing. "I'd rather not catch pneumonia after all that effort."
With a teasing tone, Harry quipped, "It's not my fault you didn't cast an Impervious charm. You know, you can bring a witch to magic, but you can't make her cast."
She shot him a withering look, though her smirk didn't falter. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise we were handing out life lessons from the resident walking storm cloud."
Pausing, she tilted her head. "Next time, Potter, maybe you could start by warning me before conjuring a monsoon."
"Might do." Harry mused, considering it. "Might not."
Ron stood at the front of the Room of Requirement, scanning the crowd. The mix of faces staring back at him made it painfully obvious who had been there from the beginning and who hadn't.
A handful of seasoned Lantern Keepers lingered near the edges, wands held loosely at their sides. They didn't need to be there— But Ron had asked them to come help. The rest—the new ones—shifted nervously, some whispering among themselves.
Ron didn't need loyalty or enthusiasm. Fear worked just as well.
He let the murmur of voices rise, holding back until the buzz grew irritating, then whistled sharply. "Alright, quiet down." His voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Let's get something straight before we start."
The chatter died instantly, though a few faces still bore skeptical expressions.
"You're here because you're scared," Ron said plainly, folding his arms. "Fair enough. You should be. But if you think being here means someone's going to hold your hand and teach you to fight the nice, safe way, you're in the wrong place."
A ripple of unease passed through the group. One of the younger Hufflepuffs raised her hand hesitantly. She was one of Cedric's quieter followers, someone who had always trusted his calm, measured approach.
"But isn't that why Harry started this group?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "To help us defend ourselves?"
Ron's jaw tightened. His tone hardened, though not unkind. "No. Harry started this group to make sure people didn't die. There's a difference. Defense is nice, but survival's what matters. And survival doesn't care if the rules feel fair."
The girl lowered her hand quickly, cheeks reddening as she sank back.
His gaze swept the room, lingering on some of the older students who had dismissed the Lantern Keepers before Azkaban. They avoided his eyes, but the tension clinging to them spoke louder than words.
"Look, I get it. You'd rather Harry be up here. You think if he said this, it'd sound better somehow. But he's not coming." Ron straightened, his stance widening as he planted his feet. "Harry's got more important things to do than spoon-feed you the basics."
From the middle row, Padma Patil frowned. Her voice carried just enough edge to challenge him. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"
Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Susan stepped forward, arms crossed as her gaze locked onto Padma.
"Is it too harsh?" she asked, ice lacing her words. "We've been doing this for two months already. Harry didn't waste time explaining why every spell worked or sugar-coating things when we messed up. If it takes you that long just to catch up, you'll always be behind."
Silence hung in the room, Padma's expression faltering slightly under Susan's glare.
"Exactly," Ron continued, seizing the moment. "So here's how this is going to work."
His gaze flicked briefly to Susan, who nodded in silent agreement from his right.
"Neville's taking the other half of the room," Ron continued, jerking his thumb toward the far side, where Neville gave a sharp nod from across the room, already adjusting the training dummies. "If you end up over there, he's leading your session. I'm handling this side."
A few of the newer students exchanged uncertain glances, but Ron pressed on without pause.
"And Susan," he added, gesturing toward her, "will be bouncing between both groups—helping out wherever she's needed." His eyes narrowed slightly, cutting through the crowd's uncertainty. "Which means if she steps into your session, you'd better listen."
Susan crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she scanned the room. "You'll know if you're not keeping up," she said pointedly. "Trust me."
That wiped the grins off a few faces.
Ron didn't let the moment stretch. "We're not wasting time," he continued, pacing along the front row. "You'll be working through the same drills we learned weeks ago. No shortcuts, no skipping steps. You either catch up or you fall behind—simple as that."
A flicker of hesitation crossed a few faces, but no one moved.
Susan stepped forward again, her gaze hard. "The point of this isn't to make you feel comfortable. It's to make sure when the time comes, you're still standing."
Ron gestured broadly to the group. "End of story. Goodbye, the end. Any questions?"
A few uneasy glances were exchanged, but no one spoke.
Susan arched an eyebrow, smirking faintly as she turned to Ron. "Thought so."
Ron gave a nod, allowing the tension to settle over them. "Good. Now, wands out. Let's see if any of you actually know how to block a curse."
Five weeks later, Ron stood at the front of the Room of Requirement again, watching as the latest session drew to a close. The new recruits—no longer as jittery as when they'd first arrived—filed out in small groups, talking quietly among themselves.
Their steps were steadier.
Ron leaned against one of the training dummies, arms crossed loosely over his chest, as Neville dispersed his group on the far side of the room. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Ron's mouth.
Susan lingered near the exit, casually twirling her wand between her fingers as the last few students filtered out. The flickering torchlight highlighted the small smirk tugging at her lips.
"Not bad," she said, stepping closer. "Even Corner stopped flinching whenever you barked at him."
Ron snorted. "Progress."
She arched an eyebrow, watching Neville demonstrate shield charm variations to a straggling pair of fourth-years. "You know," she said lightly, "for all your complaining, you're actually really good at this."
Flushing at the praise, Ron leaned a little too hard against his dummy, tipping it over and leaving him scrambling before he regained his balance. Clearing his throat, he nudged it back upright, acting as though nothing had happened. "Right, yeah… Thanks."
Susan giggled softly, tapping her wand against her palm. "Speaking of which… are you doing anything for Hogsmeade this weekend?"
Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Probably just grab a few things and relax, you know."
Her eyes flicked toward him, her voice deliberately casual. "How about spending it with me?"
Ron glanced at her, frowning slightly in thought. "If you want, sure. But… why?"
Susan's smirk deepened. "Because it's Valentine's Day?"
It took him half a second too long to process the meaning behind the words. His brain caught up just as the corner of her mouth tugged higher, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Oh," he said, blinking. "Yeah, alright. That sounds… yeah, good."
Susan chuckled softly, her gaze flicking back toward the door. "Glad to hear it. Maybe I'll even let you pick where we go—if you don't manage to trip over something first."
Ron rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll do my best to stay upright."
Susan's smirk lingered as she walked off, clearly pleased with herself.
Ron watched her leave, the smirk lingering on his face as the door closed. It wasn't until Neville caught his eye from across the room that the full weight of the conversation sank in.
Wait. Did I just get asked out?
The thought hung in his mind as he straightened up, trying—and failing—to stop the grin from spreading across his face.