Chapter 6: Warnings in the Wind

The morning after the Forbidden Forest battle dawned grey and cold.

Harry sat by the window in the Great Hall, picking half-heartedly at a slice of toast. Around him, the usual Hogwarts chatter buzzed—quills scratching, plates clinking, first-years whispering about an upcoming Transfiguration test.

None of them had any idea.

Across the Hall, Tonks was similarly distracted, barely disguising her exhaustion with a sluggish charm to brighten her hair. Every now and then, she caught Harry's eye, and they exchanged a grim nod.

Something had changed.
And not for the better.


Later that Day – McGonagall's Office

The summons came swiftly.

Harry and Tonks stood before Professor McGonagall, whose thin lips were pressed into a tighter line than usual.

"I have been informed by the Centaur Herd," McGonagall began sharply, "that students were seen near the Deep Circle last night."

Harry's stomach twisted.

Tonks spoke first. "It wasn't students, Professor. It was me. I thought it wise to patrol after... recent disturbances."

McGonagall's gaze sharpened. "Alone?"

Tonks hesitated—just long enough to make Harry step in.

"We weren't alone, Professor," Harry said quietly. "Something was out there."

McGonagall's expression didn't change, but her knuckles whitened on the desk. "Explain."

They told her a careful, edited version—avoiding bloodstones, avoiding Horcruxes—but emphasizing the wraith-like creature and its attack.

When they finished, McGonagall sat in silence for a long moment.

Finally, she said, "There are older magics at play here than even you realize, Potter. Be cautious. Not everything that stirs in these woods can be defeated with a wand."

She dismissed them with a final warning: if they were caught again without explicit permission, there would be severe consequences—even for Tonks.

Outside the office, Tonks exhaled sharply.

"Well. That could've gone worse."

Harry gave her a sidelong look. "Could've gone better, too."

They shared a tired grin.


Meanwhile – Elsewhere in the Castle

In a forgotten corridor, a tapestry stirred without wind.

In its shadow, something thin and hungry uncurled.

A fragment of the Dark Lord's will—not Voldemort himself, not yet—but an echo of ambition, cruelty, and rage. It fed on whispers, on fear, on moments of weakness.

It remembered the boy—the boy who once defied it in the Chamber, who bore the Mark of survival.

It would not make the same mistake twice.


That Evening – Gryffindor Tower

Tonks sprawled on the common room couch, pretending to tutor a fourth-year on Shield Charms. Harry sat nearby with an open Potions book, though his eyes barely skimmed the words.

"We need allies," Tonks muttered under her breath.

Harry nodded subtly. "But who?"

"Not the professors. They're too entangled in the school's protections. It could alert... unwanted attention."

Harry glanced around. Hermione was deep in a textbook, Ron half-dozing beside her.

And then there was Neville, clumsily feeding his toad a stack of flies.

Neville Longbottom.

Harry remembered the boy Neville became in his original timeline—brave, steadfast, a leader. A boy who once pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat itself.

Maybe this Neville wasn't there yet.

But he could be.

Harry nudged Tonks, nodding toward Neville.

She raised an eyebrow, considering.

Then she smiled. "Alright. Let's build a little army."