Chapter 21: Witch Weekly
Chapter Text
Hermione Granger sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her gaze drifted across the room as her mother paced back and forth. The atmosphere in the room was taut, like a string pulled to its breaking point. Emma's room, unlike Hermione's, was impeccably clean—a stark contrast to the scattered books and clutter Hermione was used to. Yet, right now, she was in no position to appreciate that. She knew she was in trouble.
A chill hung in the air, thick with the weight of the recent events. The memory of Harry's cheerful declaration at breakfast replayed in Hermione's mind, making her stomach twist. He had destroyed a betrothal contract, an official and politically significant document, just to appease her. And for what?
Her offhand suggestion that she and her mother would stay only if he did.
She swallowed hard. Her mother was still pacing, her shoes barely making a sound on the soft carpet, but Hermione could feel the tension radiating from her.
'Harry, why did you have to go and actually burn it? And why announce it in front of everyone?!' she thought.
The realization of how serious this was began to creep into her mind. Harry had just thrown a massive wrench into one of the oldest pureblood families' plans—all because of her.
Emma finally stopped pacing and turned to her daughter with a heavy sigh, her expression caught somewhere between frustration and concern. "Hermione, dear," she began, her voice soft yet firm, "please tell me you know what was wrong with what just happened."
Hermione hesitated. "I didn't know Harry was actually going to do it..." Her voice trailed off, guilt flooding her.
"Of course Harry was going to do it!" Emma groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "He practically worships you!"
The word "worship" made Hermione cringe. Harry? Worship her? That seemed impossible, ridiculous even. "Worships? Harry doesn't—"
Emma cut her off with a frustrated wave. "Oh, don't be daft. He listens to you like no one else. That boy likes you!"
Hermione rolled her eyes, more out of nervousness than disbelief. "Harry doesn't like me like that, Mum." Her words came out a little too quickly, and her heartbeat quickened at the thought. She wasn't sure she believed it herself.
Emma let out another sigh, sitting down next to her. "Hermione, enough about that. What was all that about? You told me you'd think about whether we'd stay, and next thing I know, you've got him destroying contracts that could have serious consequences. Do you want us to stay, or was this just an emotional outburst?"
Hermione bit her lip, her mind flashing back to her conversation with Harry. She had been so excited, so swept up in the idea of possibly living with him, or having a house next to Potter Manor. Her mind had spun with the thought of their future, of being close to him, always just a short walk away. But now, faced with her mother's sharp gaze, that excitement began to feel reckless.
"You're brilliant, Hermione. You're brilliant in ways that leave me speechless at times," Emma said, her voice softening for a moment. "But when it comes to boys, you're completely out of your depth."
Hermione's cheeks flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "I wasn't thinking about boys! I was thinking about—"
Emma cut her off with a sharp look. "So, you basically told Harry that we'll stay here or have a house built next to the manor if he ends a betrothal contract that has immense political significance?" Emma asked, clearly baffled. "I'm impressed by your guts, but I really want to flick you in the head right now, Hermione. Do you realize that if word gets out that you're the reason that contract was broken, you'll be a target? And from what I've heard, that Daphne girl already doesn't like you."
Hermione frowned. "I didn't know he was actually going to do it," she said again, more defensively this time.
"Yes, you did," Emma said, her tone sharp. "You knew. You know Harry. He told you he'd do anything for you, and you used that. You lined that demand up, ready to dangle it in front of him because you knew he'd bite. You played the card, and he went right along with it."
The weight of her mother's words sank in, and Hermione clenched her fists. She knew deep down her mother was right. She had counted on Harry to listen to her, to do what she suggested. And yet, it wasn't just because of the house or the future plans—it was something else entirely.
"I just didn't want Harry tied to a contract with another girl just because it would be politically right," Hermione murmured, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I want him to marry who he likes."
Emma sighed again, this time more sympathetically, and knelt in front of Hermione. "Oh, sweetheart, I know you care about him, but this isn't just about what's fair or right. You've been lucky enough to be accepted into this world, and as Muggle-born, you are in a delicate position. You can't just push things like this, especially with Harry. You basically forced his hand because you knew he'd listen to you. I know you did it because you're worried about him, but be honest with me, Hermione," Emma's voice lowered slightly, more serious. "Did you do it because you want us to stay, or did you do it because you're jealous of that Daphne girl?"
Hermione clenched her fists, the admission crawling to the surface despite her best efforts to keep it down. Her mother was perceptive—too perceptive.
"I am jealous," she whispered, finally admitting it out loud. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest, though it was quickly replaced by guilt. "But I also want Harry to have a choice in his future. Marriage shouldn't be something decided when we're this young."
Emma nodded, brushing a loose curl away from Hermione's face. "I understand that," she said gently. "But this is the world Harry lives in. He's not just some boy with a lot of money. He's the heir to two of the most ancient and noble houses in wizarding Britain. His family lines are on the verge of extinction. Did you know he's expected to have at least four children, two for the Potter line and two for the Black line? That's a lot of pressure for someone his age, but it's the reality he faces. Old families like the Blacks sometimes had to marry cousins just to keep their bloodlines intact."
Hermione stared at her mother, horrified at the thought of inbreeding in Sirius Black's family.
"I didn't know it was like that," Hermione whispered, guilt gnawing at her.
Emma's expression softened, and she reached out, taking Hermione's hand in hers. "You care about him, I know that," she said. "But you need to start thinking with your head, not just your heart. This proves that Harry trusts you completely. He's willing to do anything you ask without thinking it through. He didn't even take a full day to burn that contract after you suggested it."
Hermione felt her stomach twist with shame. "I'm sorry, Mum…"
Emma stood up, smoothing her hands down her jeans. "Don't apologize to me," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "You need to apologize to Harry. And Sirius, too. You've put Harry in an awkward position, and Sirius is going to have to pick up the pieces."
Hermione could feel the sting of her mother's words, but she knew they were right. As much as she wanted to believe she was doing the right thing for Harry, she had acted out of jealousy.
xxxxx
Hermione and Emma re-entered the living room, where the soft sounds of a crackling fire and the quiet clink of chess pieces filled the air. The atmosphere was calm, almost too calm for the whirlwind of emotions still swirling in Hermione's mind. She glanced around the room, taking in the familiar elegance of Potter Manor—tall windows letting in the warm golden light of the afternoon, the shadows stretching lazily across the richly patterned rugs. The polished wood furniture gleamed under the soft glow of enchanted candles flickering in the corners, casting a cozy, intimate feeling throughout the space.
In the center of it all, Sirius and Harry sat at a grand chessboard, deeply immersed in their game. Sirius, lounging back with a smug grin, looked like a man who knew victory was at hand, while Harry sat forward in his chair, frowning in concentration, one hand propped under his chin. The tension between them was playful, but the competitive edge was unmistakable.
"Ah, there you are, girls!" Sirius called out, not even looking up from the chessboard as he made his final move. With a triumphant smirk, his queen slid across the board, knocking Harry's last piece down with a resounding thud.
Harry groaned, leaning back in defeat, throwing his hands up. "Again? You've got to be cheating," he muttered, though there was a grin tugging at his lips, despite his frustration.
Sirius chuckled softly, clearly enjoying his win. "Had a good talk?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp as he finally glanced up at them, reading the room with ease.
The question lingered for a moment. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she caught Harry's eye, but his attention quickly shifted to his godfather, who was now stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied grin. Harry's relaxed posture, combined with his slightly rumpled hair and the flush from their game, made him look carefree and at ease.
Emma, standing beside her daughter, felt a strange tension in the room, though she couldn't exactly pinpoint why. She half-expected Sirius to be upset after the conversation she and Hermione had just had, but instead, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. His laid-back demeanor only added to the disjointed feeling in the air.
"I guess?" Emma said with a raised brow, as if she herself wasn't sure how to answer. She nudged Hermione gently with her elbow. "Hermione? Do you have anything to say, dear?"
Hermione opened her mouth, feeling the weight of their earlier conversation still hanging in the air. The mix of emotions—frustration, confusion, maybe even a hint of embarrassment—made it difficult for her to find the right words. But before she could utter a syllable, Sirius waved a hand, his laughter breaking through the tension like a breath of fresh air.
"No apologies needed, Hermione," Sirius chuckled, leaning back in his chair with that familiar roguish grin that always seemed to lighten the mood. "I've already talked with Harry, and believe it or not, he was planning on ending the betrothal contract anyway, well before you suggested it… or told him," he added with a knowing smirk.
Hermione blinked, surprised. She could feel the heat rise to her face as she glanced over at Harry, who was now standing, stretching his arms in that casual, effortless way he always did.
"You were planning on ending it?" Hermione asked, her voice sharper than intended as the question slipped out.
Harry, looking utterly unbothered, turned to her with an easy smile. "Yeah," he said with a shrug, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I had a long talk with Draco about it. He's been getting proposals too and we figured we might as well deal with them now. You know, two birds with one stone."
He paused for a moment, crossing his arms, his gaze wandering as if this were all just another casual conversation. "I didn't want to be tied down too soon. But I also didn't want to mess up the relationship with the Greengrasses. Draco's pretty fond of Astoria, and to be honest, she's probably the only one who can handle him. Even Cissy's impressed, which says a lot." He glanced at Sirius, who gave a nod of approval, his smirk widening. "I figured I'd end it before we reach our fourth year, but since Draco's already made his decision with Astoria, it didn't matter much if I ended mine with Daphne this early."
Hermione listened, trying to digest what he was saying, though her mind kept getting stuck on the name 'Daphne.'
Harry continued, almost as if he hadn't noticed the slight tension in her. "Daphne might be angry, but I can handle her. She's smart, brilliant, and pretty. She can land another wizard and there's still hope to fix the relationship if I do plan on marrying her one day," he said, with a mischievous gleam in his eye that was half-serious, half-teasing. "But I'd rather start out as friends, you know? Take things slow."
There was a brief silence after his words, the weight of them sinking in. Hermione's stomach twisted a little at the casual mention of a possible future of him marrying Daphne. Friends. Take things slow. The words hung in the air, and she felt a sudden, inexplicable need to roll her eyes.
Sirius, ever the observer, chuckled to himself as he started gathering the chess pieces. The boy had played this well. Hermione thought she had cornered Harry into a decision, but Sirius knew better. His godson had taken what she'd given him and turned it into a situation that worked in his favor, without ever letting on that he had wanted to end the contract long before her suggestion.
"You sly little snake," Sirius muttered under his breath, shaking his head in admiration as he set the chessboard aside.
Harry, meanwhile, glanced toward the door with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Anyway," he said, straightening up, "I think I'll head over to the Burrow. I can practically feel Daphne popping in here any moment now."
Before Hermione could protest—or say anything, really—he flashed her a teasing grin and made his way toward the Floo room, his steps quick and light, as though he couldn't wait to escape.
"Why do I feel like I'm missing something here?" Hermione muttered, glancing at her mother, who simply sighed, rubbing her temples. Sirius was still grinning like a cat that had just caught a particularly clever mouse.
Emma, ever patient, just shook her head, a weary smile tugging at her lips. "Boys," she said softly, though the word carried a weight of understanding.
Sirius, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying every moment of the confusion left in Harry's wake. As he tidied up the remaining chess pieces, he winked at Hermione, his expression full of amusement.
xxxxx
The Burrow was buzzing with its usual energy, the early summer sun casting a warm glow through the small windows. The air was filled with the rich scent of freshly baked bread wafting from Mrs. Weasley's kitchen, mingling with the faint whiff of soil and flowers from the garden. The house, a charmingly mismatched structure of crooked floors and leaning walls, stood tall, looking as if it might tip over at any moment but somehow stayed proudly upright. It was alive, not just in its looks, but in the magic that buzzed through every creaking floorboard, and in the voices and laughter that echoed through the house.
Inside one of the upper rooms, Harry and Ron sat on the floor, surrounded by a mess of Quidditch magazines, scattered chess pieces, and a few open windows allowing in a gentle breeze. The room had a lived-in warmth, with worn blankets tossed haphazardly over the beds, and posters of Quidditch teams lining the slanted walls. The sunlight streaming in created playful shadows across the floor, casting the boys in a glow that matched their carefree summer energy. But that peace was shattered by Ron's booming voice.
"YOU ENDED THE BETROTHAL CONTRACT WITH DAPHNE?!"
Ron's disbelief filled the room, his words practically bouncing off the walls. Harry had barely a moment to react before diving at Ron, tackling him onto the floor with a thud, their limbs entangled as they wrestled for dominance. Harry quickly clamped a hand over Ron's mouth, his eyes wide with mock panic, though there was a mischievous glint in them as well.
"Announce it to the whole world, why don't you?" Harry hissed, his voice a hurried whisper, though his grin was undeniable. His weight pressed down on Ron, pinning him to the floor as they struggled. "Do you want your mother to hear about this and start planning my wedding to your sister? Is that what you want, Ron? Me, kissing your sister? Just picture it!"
The disgust that crossed Ron's face was instantaneous. His freckled nose scrunched up in pure horror as he shoved Harry off him with all the strength he could muster. They rolled apart, Harry laughing as Ron sat up, wiping his mouth dramatically as if Harry had just cursed him.
"Why would you even say that?!" Ron groaned, still shuddering at the thought. "That's—ugh!—don't even joke about it."
Harry grinned, pushing his messy black hair out of his eyes as he sat back on his heels, still catching his breath. The tension between them dissolved as quickly as it had built, replaced with the familiar ease of their friendship. They had spent so much time together in this house over the past few years that they almost knew each other's next moves before they made them.
"Why did you end it though?" Ron asked, his voice quieter now, though the curiosity was still there. He glanced sideways at Harry, trying to gauge how serious his friend was.
Harry leaned back against the side of the bed, his expression thoughtful for a moment, though the carefree attitude never left him entirely. "I just don't like Daphne that way," he admitted, shrugging as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Besides, I feel like she's plotting something... you know, something to boost the Greengrasses' power once we're tied down. And that's just..."
"Terrifying," Ron finished for him with a wince.
"Exactly." Harry grinned, clearly pleased that Ron understood. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Daphne's smart and all, but there's something... off about how eager she is. She doesn't need me to raise her status. She's already got money, power, all that. So why me? Why force it when she could easily marry someone from a lower House, have that wizard carry on her family name and still be fine? I don't know, it's weird."
Ron seemed to mull that over, his brow furrowed in thought. The faint sounds of the twins laughing outside filtered into the room, but the two boys remained locked in conversation, the weight of Harry's decision still hanging in the air. Finally, Ron nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I get it. That is a bit weird..."
But then a new thought struck him, and his eyes widened in realization. "Wait, how's Hermione handling all of this?"
Harry burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the small room. He leaned back against the bed again, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye as he struggled to catch his breath. "Oh, that's the best part," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Since I ended the contract with Daphne, Hermione had no choice. She's stuck with me at Potter Manor. Or, I don't know, maybe she'll end up building a house next to mine!"
Ron's jaw dropped in disbelief, his blue eyes wide as he stared at Harry. "You... you actually managed to outwit her? How?"
Harry simply shrugged, still grinning. "We had a deal. I'd end the contract with Daphne if she agreed to stay at Potter Manor. Now, she has no choice. A deal's a deal."
Ron sat back, shaking his head in awe. "I can't believe you actually did it. You're dead when she finds out. Hermione doesn't like being outsmarted."
Harry chuckled, but there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes. He knew Hermione well enough to know she wouldn't let this slide easily. "Yeah, well, I'll deal with that when it comes. Right now, I'm just glad to be free of the contract."
With that, he pushed himself up off the floor, dusting off his trousers. "Anyway, enough of that. Grab your broom, Ron! I want to fly. You need to train if you want to make it as a reserve Keeper for the team."
Ron, still slightly in shock, nodded and scrambled to his feet. The tension from their earlier conversation quickly melted away as the excitement of flying took over. The two of them rushed out of the room, eager to escape into the sky, where worries about betrothal contracts and outsmarting Hermione could be forgotten, at least for a little while.
xxxxx
It was a perfect afternoon at Potter Manor, the kind of day where the sky stretched out in a brilliant, cloudless blue, and the garden bloomed with vivid colors. The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting warm, golden light over the manicured hedges and bright clusters of flowers that swayed gently in the breeze. The sprawling grounds of the manor seemed endless, with lush green lawns that rolled down toward the edge of the forest, giving the entire scene a feeling of serene isolation, as if the outside world didn't exist here. It was the ideal setting for a birthday celebration, though this one was smaller, quieter than usual.
Today was Harry's twelfth birthday, but unlike the extravagant parties Sirius usually threw for him, this one was intimate—just close friends, their families, and, to Sirius' quiet frustration, Rita Skeeter. The garden buzzed with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from Harry and his friends, the joy of the moment mixing with the natural beauty of the place.
Sirius Black stood by one of the elegantly laid tables, busying himself with a glass of wine as he scanned the gathering. Normally, he loved throwing huge parties for his godson—making sure the day was filled with endless fun, noise, and excitement. But this year, Harry's unexpected decision regarding the Greengrass betrothal contract had thrown a wrench into things. There were fewer guests now, though not less important ones, and the atmosphere felt just a bit more charged.
As Sirius swirled the wine in his glass, the sound of a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.
"Lord Black, such an honor to be invited to little Harry's birthday party!"
The voice was unmistakable—sharp, confident, and a touch too eager. He didn't need to turn around to know that Rita Skeeter had arrived.
Sirius raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the reporter, his casual elegance hiding the mild irritation he felt. Rita Skeeter, in her signature garish outfit—a vivid lime green ensemble that clashed horribly with the garden's natural beauty—stood before him, a glittering quill already tucked behind her ear. She had a way of appearing both out of place and entirely too comfortable, like she belonged in every room but added just a touch of chaos to it.
Sirius plastered on his most charming smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Good afternoon, Miss Skeeter," he said smoothly, holding out his hand to her. "Such a pleasure seeing you here."
He raised her hand to his lips, planting a polite kiss on her knuckles with just enough flair to make her blush. Her face flushed slightly, but Skeeter wasn't the type to swoon so easily—she knew her purpose here. Behind her professional smile, her eyes were already scanning the party, searching for the real story, for the gossip that would elevate this simple birthday celebration into something more.
"If you want to thank someone," Sirius continued, releasing her hand and turning back to pour himself another glass of wine, "thank Harry. He insisted on inviting you."
That made Skeeter pause. Her thin eyebrows arched in mild surprise, and for a moment, she looked genuinely puzzled. Why had Harry insisted on inviting her? Skeeter was used to people either fearing or hating her, or at the very least tolerating her presence as a necessary evil. But an invitation like this? That was rare. Skeeter's mind whirred, but she steeled herself, deciding that whatever the reason, she'd find it out soon enough.
"Oh, how thoughtful of him," Skeeter purred, her voice saccharine, though there was a sharpness in her tone, a calculating edge. "I do hope I'll get a moment with him today."
Sirius chuckled lightly, knowing full well what kind of 'moment' Skeeter was hoping for. Despite Harry's surprising bond with the reporter, Sirius still found it odd that his godson kept such close tabs on her. Rita Skeeter was famous for writing all sorts of sensationalist rubbish, twisting truths into headlines that sold papers but often caused more harm than good. And yet, Harry seemed to believe that having her as an ally—tamed, in a sense—was better than simply ignoring her. The way he handled Skeeter intrigued Sirius, but it also made him cautious.
With an effortless wave of his hand, Sirius gestured toward Harry, who was surrounded by his friends a little farther down the garden. Laughter echoed across the lawn as Harry stood in the center of a small circle, flanked by Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. They were engaged in some animated conversation, their voices carrying over to the adults every so often, and though the group was close-knit, there was an undeniable tension that occasionally sparked between them.
"There he is," Sirius said, nodding toward Harry. "The birthday boy, as requested."
Skeeter's sharp eyes immediately zeroed in on the group of children. She saw Heir Draco Malfoy, his pale blonde hair catching the sunlight like a beacon, his posture effortlessly aristocratic despite his age. Beside him, Ron Weasley stood in stark contrast, tall and lanky, with fiery red hair that couldn't have been more different from Draco's. Then there were the others—Heiress Susan Bones, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, and Ginny Weasley, all grouped around Harry, all talking and laughing.
But it was the unknown witch, the one standing a little too close to Harry, her arm brushing against his as they spoke, who caught Skeeter's attention. She didn't recognize her, and that alone was enough to pique her interest.
"Who's that with him?" Skeeter asked, her voice carefully casual but with a distinct edge of curiosity.
Sirius followed her gaze, easily picking out the girl in question. He smiled, though there was something sly in his eyes. "That, Miss Skeeter, is Hermione Granger. Muggle-born, best friend to Harry. Quite the talented and brilliant witch, from what I've heard. Top of her class at Hogwarts too."
Skeeter's quill itched to start writing, her mind already spinning tales and weaving connections. The daughter of Muggles, so closely linked to the famous Harry Potter? There had to be something there, something that would make a headline. But before she could press further, Sirius gestured toward the group again.
"Would you like to speak with him?" he asked, noticing the way Skeeter's eyes lingered on Harry, almost hungrily. There was always something in her gaze, something that looked for a story, no matter how small.
"If you please, Lord Black," Skeeter nodded, a sharp smile spreading across her face.
Sirius, ever the gentleman, offered her his arm as they began to make their way across the garden toward Harry and his friends, though Skeeter barely noticed. Her mind was already spinning with possibilities, her heart racing in excitement at the idea of whatever story lay beneath the surface of this seemingly quiet birthday celebration. She was determined to find it.
xxxxx
Hermione, standing with her arms crossed, was firing off playful but pointed remarks at Daphne. Her words were light, but her tone carried an edge—almost like she couldn't help herself. She had just learned that Harry had officially ended whatever agreement had tied him to Daphne, yet there Daphne was, calm and poised as ever. If anything, Daphne's serene expression seemed to intensify Hermione's need to needle her. Harry, on the other hand, hadn't gotten off scot-free when Daphne had first arrived. He had been on the receiving end of a few well-aimed hits before they'd disappeared for a private chat that had lasted nearly an hour. When they'd returned, Harry sported a cheeky grin, and Daphne looked more relaxed, though a glint in her eyes suggested she hadn't fully let go of her frustrations.
Hermione had just taken a breath, ready to tease Daphne again, when a figure approached, her sharp gaze instantly sweeping over the group.
It was Rita Skeeter.
The infamous reporter's presence instantly shifted the atmosphere. Hermione tensed, recalling Harry's warning earlier in the day. He had mentioned that Skeeter would be attending his birthday party and had specifically told Hermione to hide the Potter Heir ring she wore. Now, as Skeeter's eyes flitted from one person to the next, Hermione casually adjusted her sleeve, ensuring the ring remained hidden from view.
Skeeter stopped in front of Harry, her face splitting into a wide, saccharine smile. "Heir Potter-Black, happy birthday," she said with an almost sickly sweetness.
Harry mirrored her smile, but his had a sharper edge. "Miss Skeeter, finally, in the flesh," he replied smoothly, his tone light but with an undertone of mischief. "I've been looking forward to this meeting for quite some time. It's a shame we haven't spoken before now."
Skeeter's smile remained, but her eyes darkened slightly, her sharp gaze flickering over him as if trying to measure him. "I heard from Lord Black that you were the one who invited me," she said, her voice carefully neutral, though laced with curiosity. "I must admit, I'm intrigued. What might you have in mind, Mr. Potter?"
Harry's grin widened. He appeared entirely unbothered by the piercing scrutiny from the woman in front of him. A few of the other kids —who had been watching curiously—slipped away, leaving only Draco, Ron, and Hermione to remain, forming a protective circle around Harry. Skeeter's eyes briefly darted toward them, but she didn't comment. She had come for Harry, and Harry clearly didn't mind the audience.
"Well, Miss Skeeter," Harry began, his voice a mix of amusement and business, "I wanted to extend a proposition to you. A partnership, of sorts. As the new owner of Witch Weekly, I'm looking to make some changes. And you… well, I believe you could play a rather important role in that."
Skeeter blinked, her poise faltering for just a moment. "Y-You bought Witch Weekly?" she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Harry let out a laugh, the sound rich and warm, as though the absurdity of the situation amused him to no end. "Not quite. Sirius bought it and gave it to me as a birthday present." He gestured toward Sirius, who sat nearby with a lazy grin on his face, raising his goblet in a silent toast to the bewildered reporter.
Rita's gaze darted between Sirius and Harry, her expression a mix of disbelief and intrigue. She was a woman used to power games, but this was something else. A 12-year-old with control over a popular publication? Surrounded by friends who acted as though this were entirely normal?
Before she could speak again, Harry's grin turned mischievous. "I realized the magazine has been a bit... shallow. Always fixated on eligible bachelors, gossip, and fluff. But it's wildly popular with witches. So why not give them what they really want?" His voice dropped slightly, taking on a conspiratorial tone. "I figured that since I'm always getting into trouble at Hogwarts, and next year will likely be no different, why not control the narrative? The rumor mill isn't doing me any favors. Might as well set the record straight, and who better to help me with that than you?"
Skeeter's breath caught as Harry's emerald-green eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, a chill crept up her spine—not from his words, but from the maturity and control behind them. It was unsettling. How could a boy barely into his second year at Hogwarts exude such confidence, such raw ambition?
"I'm offering you exclusive access, Miss Skeeter. Inside stories, direct quotes, and, most enticingly… tidbits about other people. The kind that Hogwarts itself might not be too thrilled to see in print." His voice lowered to a near-whisper, though his friends remained close enough to hear every word. "Even the Headmaster."
Skeeter swallowed hard. She had played dangerous games before, but this... this felt different. "M-Mr. Potter," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly. "If you have the means to buy a publication, why not the Daily Prophet?"
Harry shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "Smart people read the Daily Prophet. They know how to separate truth from fiction. But dumb people, Miss Skeeter? They read Witch Weekly and The Quibbler. They'll believe whatever you tell them. They'll talk, they'll spread it, and before long, it's the only story that matters."
For a long moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the soft laughter of other partygoers in the garden. Skeeter's eyes fluttered closed for a brief second, processing the weight of his words. When she opened them again, Harry's hand was outstretched.
She hesitated, knowing that accepting this deal would be akin to signing her soul over to a devil in the guise of a young boy. If she messed up, if she crossed him... well, there would be no one to protect her. Not even the Head Auror, who would likely back his godson to the bitter end.
But Skeeter had never been one to shy away from a challenge—or an opportunity.
With a bright smile, she clasped his hand firmly. "I would love to work with you, Harry."
Harry laughed, the sound carrying a hint of something darker beneath the surface. He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "Oh, and one more thing. Your secret's safe with me. Just let me know if you're ever around. I'd hate to accidentally, you know… kill an insect. My best friend, Draco here, hates beetles."
Skeeter froze, her breath catching in her throat as Harry pulled away with a charming smile, turning on his heel and walking off with his friends. She watched them go, her heart pounding in her chest, torn between fear, excitement, and the undeniable thrill of working with someone who might just become the most powerful wizard of his generation.
She wasn't sure if she had made the best decision of her life… or the worst.
As the group disappeared into the gardens, leaving Rita Skeeter behind, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate, but the thrill of what had just transpired lingered. The summer breeze carried the echoes of Harry's laughter, and the garden, once peaceful, now felt charged with possibility.
For Harry, the game had only just begun.
xxxxx
The night air at Potter Manor still hummed with the energy of Harry's birthday party. The grand celebration had been full of laughter, colorful lights, and conversations stretching into the evening. Now, as the last of the guests had gone, leaving the house in a quiet, pleasant hum, Harry found himself back in the solitude of his room, surrounded by the pile of birthday gifts. It had been a good day, he thought, as he glanced around at the presents still wrapped in festive paper, waiting to be opened.
The moonlight slipped through the window, casting a silvery glow on the room as he settled down on the floor, cross-legged, to unwrap the treasures his friends had left behind. There was a pleasant air of anticipation as he sifted through them, starting with the smaller ones.
Draco's gift was the first he reached for, a sleek box wrapped in fine emerald-green ribbon. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay a gleaming gold bracelet shaped like a snake, its detailed scales catching the light. Harry turned it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Draco had impeccable taste, he had to admit, even if it was a bit flashy. He slipped it onto his wrist, the cool metal warming quickly against his skin.
Next was Ron's gift, wrapped with far less care but no less thought. The paper was crinkled and hastily taped together, typical of Ron, but when Harry tore it open, he found a Chudley Cannons jersey. His name was stitched neatly on the back with the number seven—his favorite position on the Quidditch team. Harry grinned, imagining Ron's proud face as he'd picked it out. It was personal and exactly what Harry had wanted.
The next gift, however, made him pause. A small, neatly wrapped album from Hermione's mother, Emma. Harry wasn't sure what to expect as he unwrapped it, but what he found made his eyebrows shoot up. Baby photos of Hermione. A whole collection of them, in fact. Hermione as a toddler with unruly curls, Hermione at various stages of her childhood, and each photo more embarrassing than the last. Harry chuckled, flipping through the pages. This was definitely something Hermione would not have approved of. He couldn't wait to tease her about it.
Then came Narcissa's gift—predictably elegant and somewhat… practical. A box of potions, but not just any potions. These were specifically designed to tame unruly hair, something Narcissa had no doubt noticed about Harry. He laughed softly to himself, wondering if she'd ever get tired of trying to polish his wild, dark hair. There was even a bottle of blonde hair dye included in the set. Harry shook his head with a grin; he could already hear Draco in the background urging him to give it a try.
Next, he found a picture frame from Daphne. It was a snapshot of them as children, holding hands in what looked like a warm moment from their past. Along with it was a handwritten note that left no room for interpretation: "If you throw this out, Potter, you'll regret it." He chuckled, not daring to even consider what Daphne might do if he ever got rid of it. The picture was oddly sentimental, though. He traced the edge of the frame before setting it gently aside.
Astoria's gift brought a smile to his face—a stuffed wolf toy that walked and howled on its own. It was charmed to be endearing and just quirky enough to amuse him. He placed it near his bed, where it let out a soft, playful howl before settling into a sitting position.
Then there was Susan's gift: a book on dueling techniques, the cover worn but filled with promise. It was right up Harry's alley, and he knew he would be devouring its pages soon enough.
At last, there was one bulky gift left, still wrapped and sitting beside him. The label read: From Hermione. Harry's curiosity piqued. Hermione was thoughtful, always, and her gifts tended to carry more meaning than the average trinket. He tore the paper carefully, revealing a hand-crocheted sweater. The craftsmanship was impeccable—far more refined than the scarf she'd given him the previous year, which had been her first attempt at crocheting.
Harry's heart swelled with warmth as he ran his hands over the soft fabric. It was thick, cozy, and every stitch seemed perfectly in place. Without thinking, he slipped it on immediately, feeling the warmth not just from the sweater but from the thoughtfulness behind it. It fit perfectly, the softness of the yarn comforting against his skin. He had to thank her. Now.
In his excitement, he bolted from his room, not even stopping to think, and ran down the hallway toward Hermione's room. His footsteps echoed in the quiet manor as he reached her door. Without knocking, he pushed it open, too caught up in his own enthusiasm to notice anything else.
"Hermione!" he burst out, his voice filled with happiness. "Thank you for the sweater! I love it, I really do! It's so soft, and it fits perfectly, and—"
But his words trailed off as his eyes finally caught up with what he was seeing.
Hermione stood in the middle of her room, her back half-turned toward him. She was holding a change of clothes in her hands, frozen mid-motion. The realization hit him like a Bludger to the gut—she was in the middle of changing. His eyes went wide, his face flushing a deep scarlet as he looked down at her clothes clutched tightly against her chest, her glare like daggers aimed at him.
Hermione's expression shifted from shock to fury in a heartbeat. Her grip tightened on the fabric she was holding, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"S-Sorry?" Harry stammered, feeling the color burn hotter on his cheeks. His mind was racing, desperately trying to find a way out of this.
"You idiot!" Hermione shrieked, her voice ringing through the room with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Without hesitation, she threw a punch straight into his stomach.
Harry doubled over, gasping as the wind was knocked out of him. He stumbled back, clutching his stomach, eyes wide with surprise as Hermione stood there, her face flushed with indignation.
"Get out!" she snapped, her voice still carrying the sharp edge of her embarrassment.
Harry, now thoroughly chastened and still trying to catch his breath, managed to mutter another quick, "Sorry!" before backing out of her room, closing the door behind him.
As he leaned against the door, still feeling the impact of her punch, Harry couldn't help but smile through the pain. There was something oddly familiar in this interaction—Hermione's fierce temper, her embarrassment, the way she always managed to catch him off guard. He rubbed his stomach and glanced down at the sweater, still warm and soft against his skin.
It was worth it.
Chapter 22: Fenrir
Chapter Text
Remus Lupin arrived at Potter Manor, his robes clinging to him from the sudden downpour that had come out of nowhere. The storm was relentless, thick sheets of rain pelting the stone walls of the manor with an unyielding fury.
His hurried steps left wet footprints on the grand marble floor as he entered the main hall, droplets of water dripping from his soaked cloak and boots. The warmth of the manor hit him, contrasting with the cold bite of the storm outside, but it did little to ease the growing worry knotting in his chest. Sirius had called him home without any prior warning, simply saying that there was an emergency. The vagueness of his friend's message had left Remus uneasy during the entire journey, and now, standing here, his nerves only heightened.
Inside, he found three children seated on the couches, their faces pale and tense. Ron Weasley, the redhead he recognized immediately, and beside him sat Draco Malfoy, his blond hair contrasting with the anxious expression on his usually haughty face. Between them was a girl, her bushy hair unmistakable — Hermione Granger, no doubt, from the letters Harry had sent him. She sat with her hands fidgeting on her lap, her brow furrowed in thought as if mentally bracing herself for something.
Sirius Black stood by the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the crackling flames, but there was no warmth in his gaze. The familiar mischievous light had dulled, replaced with a grim, unsettling focus. The fire reflected off his gaunt features, casting flickering shadows across his face.
After a few strained introductions, Remus' mind raced. Normally, Harry would have been the first to greet him, bounding down the stairs with excitement, but his absence was glaring. The manor felt too quiet, the usual laughter and youthful energy nowhere to be found.
"What's going on, Padfoot?" Remus finally asked, the unease bubbling over. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs, his gaze locked on Sirius. "Where's Harry? Did something happen?"
At the mention of Harry's name, the three children visibly winced, exchanging uneasy glances. It was subtle, but the shift in the room was undeniable. The knot in Remus' stomach tightened, his instincts screaming that something was very wrong.
Sirius, however, remained silent for a moment longer, his face twisted in frustration as he ran a hand through his dark hair. He exhaled heavily before turning to Remus, his voice laced with anger and regret.
"That bastard did it," Sirius finally muttered, his jaw clenched.
Remus straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Did what?" he demanded, his voice sharper than intended.
"The Animagus ritual," Sirius sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to dispel an impending headache.
Remus froze, his heart skipping a beat. "What?!" The word left him in a panicked shout, startling the three children. His gaze darted between them and Sirius, his mind racing. He and Sirius had known for years that Harry wanted to become an Animagus like his father, James, and the rest of the Marauders. It was a shared dream between them all, but Harry was only twelve. The Marauders themselves hadn't attempted the transformation until they were fifteen. It was too soon, too dangerous.
"He's twelve, Sirius!" Remus stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he faced his friend. "Where is he?!"
Sirius looked away, his expression conflicted. "He's in the dungeons," he said quietly. "He's in the middle of the incantation part of the ritual. It started hours ago. We're waiting for the storm."
Remus' chest tightened. The storm. Of course, lightning. The final step. His mind swirled with a mix of dread and urgency. "And you've left him alone?!" His voice was raw with disbelief. "Sirius, this is madness! Where is he exactly? How far away is the storm?"
Sirius held up his hands in a placating gesture, though his own nerves were starting to fray. "He's safe enough, Moony. We checked everything beforehand. The storm will be here in just over an hour. Once the lightning hits, we go down."
Remus stared at him, wide-eyed. "You're waiting for lightning? Do you know how dangerous that is? Have you any idea what could go wrong between now and then?" He wanted to grab Sirius by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. "Is the dungeon even large enough for whatever he's going to transform into?"
"It should be," Sirius answered, though the uncertainty in his tone was unmistakable. "The dungeons were built as an underground bunker during the Muggle wars, then used for prisoners or... creatures. Unless he becomes something enormous like a dragon, it'll be fine."
Remus raked a hand through his own damp hair, the tension crackling in the air between them. He turned to the children, eyes narrowing slightly. "Since when did you lot know about this?"
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Remus cut him off with a sharp look. "Not you, Malfoy. Ronald, you answer."
Ron flinched, the color draining from his face. His voice wavered as he answered. "He took the Mandrake leaf... second week after we got back from Hogwarts."
Sirius snorted in disbelief. "And he didn't accidentally swallow it? I didn't smell a thing the entire time!"
"Harry used a Sticking Charm and cleansed it regularly to avoid any odor," Ron explained, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draco groaned under his breath, shooting Ron a withering look. Clearly, the redhead wasn't good at keeping secrets or lying convincingly.
"But we read the entire process!" Hermione blurted out, her face flushed with determination. "Professor McGonagall sent him notes on how to do it. Harry followed them perfectly!"
Remus' shoulders sagged, a heavy sigh escaping him. "That's all well and good, Hermione, but following instructions isn't the hard part. The real danger is the first transformation. Anything could go wrong."
Sirius grimaced at the memory. "James took twenty-four hours to transform back into a human the first time. We thought we'd have to call for help. When he finally did it, he was too terrified to try again for days."
"And there's always the risk of turning into something... unexpected," Remus added darkly. "There's a tale of a wizard who transformed into a phoenix and was shot down mid-flight. He burst into a flame, turning into a chick and fell down. He tried to reverse the transformation while falling and ended up turning into an infant — didn't survive the fall."
The kids went pale, their wide eyes betraying the fear they were feeling.
Remus turned a piercing gaze back to Sirius. "I warned you, Padfoot! I told you to keep a close eye on him. This isn't something to be taken lightly!"
Sirius threw up his hands in frustration. "I tried! But you know how Harry is! Besides, Minerva sent him those notes, so maybe she thought it was fine!"
"In her supervision, not on his own!" Remus snapped. "If Harry comes out of this with animal parts stuck to him, I swear, I'll find a way to bring Lily back so she can finish you off herself."
The two old friends continued their heated argument, their voices rising, while the three children huddled closer together, their nerves fraying with every passing second. All they could do now was wait. And hope.
xxxxx
Harry didn't know where he was.
The darkness around him was absolute, thick and oppressive, as if it had substance—something tangible that pressed against him from all sides. His mind palace, which usually resembled the sturdy walls of a grand castle when he meditated or practiced Occlumency, was nowhere to be found. The towering battlements and vast corridors that provided comfort and structure in the chaos of his thoughts had dissolved into an endless void.
He was alone.
The ground beneath him felt uneven, jagged, as if the very earth was protesting his presence. Each step he took felt foreign, the sensation of his feet hitting the surface unnatural. His limbs were heavy, uncooperative, and his sense of balance wavered. The more he tried to move, the more his body refused to obey, causing him to stumble over himself, his movements erratic and clumsy.
It was as though he wasn't in control of his own body.
Fear crawled up his spine, icy tendrils gripping at his nerves. He tried to reach out for his wand, a reflex burned into his consciousness after countless times of needing it to defend himself, to feel its familiar warmth and strength in his hand. But as his mind willed his fingers to grasp the wand... he realized he had no fingers.
His heart pounded violently in his chest, an anxious rhythm that quickened with each breath. Panic clawed at him as he strained to look at his arms—except, there were no arms. There were paws.
Thick, fur-covered paws.
His breath caught in his throat. His legs, once human, were now coated in dense fur, the soft bristles brushing against the invisible ground beneath him. The dark void felt colder against the new texture of his skin. Harry's heart raced as the full weight of what had happened slammed into him, each realization a fresh wave of shock.
'What the fuck?!' he tried to shout, but the words never left his mouth. Instead, all that came out was a sharp whine—a sound that was not his own, yet it came from him, deep and primal.
Harry stumbled back, tripping over his own paws as panic flared hot in his chest. He tried to steady himself, but his body wasn't responding the way it should. His limbs moved too quickly, too awkwardly, his vision sharper than ever yet distorted by his sudden transformation.
He tried to breathe, but his breath came out in short, panicked gasps.
But then, amidst the rising tide of his fear, a new thought surfaced—a realization, slow but undeniable.
He had done it.
Despite the chaos that surrounded him and the sudden disorientation that made every moment feel surreal, Harry knew. He had succeeded. The Animagus transformation—something he had been obsessing over for months, a goal so far out of reach for most wizards his age—was now complete. He was no longer just Harry Potter, the boy trying to master magic beyond his years. He was an Animagus.
A canine, judging by the fur and the distinct shape of his paws. A dog, perhaps? Or something more. He couldn't be sure. The details of his new form were still blurry, too overwhelming to take in all at once.
But just as Harry was starting to wrap his mind around this victory, a low, guttural growl echoed through the darkness.
The sound rumbled through the air, deep and feral, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. His ears—now pointed and sensitive to the slightest vibrations—twitched as the growl grew closer. Something was with him.
Something powerful.
His breath hitched, his body stiffening as the presence moved closer. He tried to brace himself, but he couldn't move. His instincts screamed for him to act, to run, to defend himself, but his legs wouldn't budge. His body remained frozen in place as the creature neared.
And then he saw it.
Emerging from the darkness, the massive shape of a wolf stepped forward. Its fur was as black as the night itself, absorbing the surrounding shadows, making it difficult to distinguish where the creature ended and the void began. Its eyes, however, were impossible to miss—two glowing orbs of molten flame, burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce through Harry's very soul.
The wolf's lips curled back in a menacing snarl, revealing sharp, glistening fangs. Its growl deepened, reverberating through the void, and Harry felt it vibrating through his bones.
But despite the terror clawing at his chest, something within Harry refused to back down.
Even though he was in a completely unfamiliar form, even though he was faced with a predator that could likely tear him apart in an instant, he stood his ground. He didn't cower. He didn't run.
The wolf's glowing eyes locked onto his, and for a long, agonizing moment, there was only silence. The growling stopped, and the air became thick with tension, as though the very world held its breath, waiting.
The wolf stepped forward, and Harry's heart thundered in his chest, each beat ringing in his ears. The creature loomed over him, its fur rippling with unseen power, but it didn't attack. Instead, it simply stared at him, those fiery eyes boring into his own.
Then, without warning, the wolf sat down.
Its massive frame settled onto the ground with a fluid grace, and its snarl melted away, replaced by something almost... proud. The fiery orbs that served as its eyes softened, the tension in its body easing as it regarded Harry with what could only be described as approval.
'Good job, young one.'
The voice wasn't spoken aloud. It reverberated within Harry's mind, a deep, ancient voice that carried with it the weight of ages. The words were clear, but their source was a mystery, echoing through the void like a whisper carried on the wind.
Harry's eyes widened as he tried to process what had just happened, but before he could react, before he could even respond...
Everything went black.
xxxxx
Harry woke up with a jolt, his entire body tense, heart pounding in his chest as if he'd just surfaced from a nightmare. For a moment, everything was a blur—the shadows around him, the cold, stone walls of the dungeons, the faint smell of damp air mixed with the distant scent of candles burning in sconces.
Disoriented, Harry blinked, his vision slowly coming into focus. The room was dimly lit, casting eerie, flickering shadows that danced across the cold, rough-hewn walls. His breaths were shallow, each exhale a small puff of mist in the chill of the dungeons. As his awareness returned, he realized he was cradled in someone's arms. The weight of that realization hit him like a wave, grounding him, pulling him out of the fog that clouded his mind.
Remus was holding him tightly, his arms locked around Harry's trembling frame. The panic on Remus' face was raw, his usually calm and controlled demeanor shattered. There was no mistaking the fear in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled as they gripped Harry's shoulders.
Beyond them, Sirius was standing, his jaw clenched, dark eyes flicking between Harry and the others, barely holding back his own panic. Ron and Draco stood nearby, both of them unnaturally quiet, their faces pale with concern. And Hermione—Hermione was in tears, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, her cheeks wet and eyes red as she stared at him, trembling with unspoken fear.
"I did it," Harry croaked, his voice hoarse, strained, as if the words scraped their way out of his throat. But despite the fatigue that weighed down his body, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.
For a split second, there was only silence—thick and heavy, like the air had been sucked out of the room. Then, before Remus or Sirius could scold him for pushing himself too far, Hermione was upon him. She hurled herself forward, her arms wrapping around him in a fierce hug, her sobs muffled against his chest. The force of her embrace knocked the wind out of him, but Harry didn't care. He could feel her worry in the way she clung to him, her small frame shaking with relief.
Ron was next, his face flushed and voice thick with emotion. "We thought you were dead, Harry!" He exclaimed, his eyes wide, staring at Harry like he was seeing a ghost. The sheer panic in his tone mirrored the dread that must've gripped them all when they found him.
Draco, uncharacteristically quiet, lingered at the edge of the group. Though his expression remained stoic, the relief in his eyes betrayed him. He didn't say anything, but the tension in his shoulders slowly melted away.
After what felt like an eternity, Harry managed to push himself upright, his body aching with fatigue. Every muscle screamed in protest as he stood, but the gnawing hunger in his stomach was stronger. He was famished, the kind of hunger that left a deep emptiness inside, like he hadn't eaten in days.
Sirius, ever watchful, scanned Harry's body with quick, worried glances, searching for any signs of injury. "So?" he asked, trying to sound light-hearted but failing to hide the lingering concern in his voice. "What form did you take?"
Harry grinned, the excitement bubbling up despite the exhaustion that clung to him. "I turned into a wolf!" His eyes gleamed with pride, and for a moment, the fatigue was forgotten, replaced by a surge of accomplishment.
Sirius' face lit up with pure joy, his earlier worry melting into a wide grin. Remus, however, hesitated, his brow furrowing as though some unspoken concern weighed on him. But then, slowly, a laugh escaped his lips—soft at first, then louder, filled with both relief and amusement.
Ron, unable to contain his curiosity, leaned forward eagerly. "Well, what are you waiting for, mate? Turn into one!"
Hermione shot Ron a quick glare, though there was a flicker of interest in her eyes too. She was just as curious, even if she tried to hide it.
Harry took a few steps back, separating himself from the group. His heart thudded in his chest, nerves creeping up his spine. This was it. He didn't actually know how to transform again. The ritual had ended with him in human form, and while he had succeeded once, he wasn't sure he could do it on command. What if it didn't work? What if something went wrong?
Sirius, noticing the hesitation, called out encouragement. "Just imagine yourself turning into your animal form, Harry. You don't have to do anything complicated. It's like blinking—"
Before Sirius could finish his sentence, a loud yelp escaped him, his words swallowed by shock.
Harry had transformed.
In an instant, he was no longer standing before them as Harry Potter. He had become a wolf—but not just any wolf. His form swelled, growing larger and larger until he towered over them. His fur was as black as midnight, gleaming under the dim light of the dungeon. But it wasn't just his size that drew gasps of astonishment. His eyes—once a vibrant emerald green—had become two blazing orbs of green fire, flickering with an otherworldly glow.
The room seemed to shrink around him as he let out a deep, guttural howl, the sound reverberating through the stone walls. It was deafening, a terrifying, primal noise that sent a shiver of fear through the air. All of them—Sirius, Remus, Ron, Draco, and Hermione—instinctively clamped their hands over their ears, recoiling from the sheer power of the sound.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT THING?!" Ron shouted, his voice tinged with both awe and terror.
Draco, eyes wide, yelled back, "He said it's a wolf!"
Ron shot him a look, his expression incredulous. "Have you ever seen a wolf? Because that's certainly not a wolf! It's even bigger than Fluffy!"
Sirius, still staring up at the massive form of his godson, shook his head in disbelief. "Moony, what the hell is this animal?"
Remus, his face pale, struggled to find the words. "I—I don't know. This is the biggest wolf I've ever seen. But... my inner wolf is... screaming in terror and wants to run away."
Harry sat down, his massive form settling onto the stone floor with surprising gentleness. From his perspective, everything seemed smaller now—his friends, the room, even the ceiling felt closer. He glanced around, confused as to why they were all on the ground, staring at him with such wide eyes.
Suddenly, Hermione let out an excited shriek, her eyes lighting up with glee. "IT'S CUTE!" Without a second thought, she bolted towards him, arms outstretched to hug his massive arm.
But before she could reach him, Sirius and Remus grabbed her, pulling her back. "What? Let me go! I want to touch his fur!" she protested, struggling against their grip.
"Are you insane?!" Ron shouted, still staring up at Harry's enormous form. "What if he steps on you?!"
Amidst the chaos, Harry felt the tension rise within him. He hadn't meant to frighten them. Seeing them argue only made him more aware of his size, the weight of his new form pressing down on him. He didn't want to scare them—he just wanted to change back.
Closing his eyes, Harry focused inward, willing his body to return to its human form. His mind raced as he tried to summon the strange connection between his wolf form and himself, something that felt both natural and foreign all at once. At first, nothing happened—his form remained large and imposing, the silence stretching on uncomfortably. Panic began to creep into his thoughts as the seconds dragged into what felt like an eternity. What if he couldn't change back? What if he was stuck like this—forever a beast, towering and wild?
Just as the fear started to tighten around him, like invisible chains pulling him into the abyss, he felt a tug—subtle at first, then undeniable. His muscles began to contract, shrinking painfully, every bone grinding as it fought against the transformation. Harry clenched his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as his body slowly gave in. Skin melted into fur, then fur into skin, each shift like fire dancing beneath his flesh. With a final, painful jolt, he collapsed back into his human form.
He opened his eyes, gasping as if he'd run miles. The cold dungeon air bit into his skin, sharp in contrast to the intense heat that had coursed through him moments before. His friends stared at him, expressions ranging from shock to awe.
"What?" he asked, his voice hoarse and full of innocence, as if he had no idea of the chaos he'd just unleashed. "What's wrong? I changed into a wolf perfectly, right?"
Draco, eyes wide and hands trembling slightly, reached out and smacked Harry on the head. The smack was more relief than anger. "You bloody turned into a giant wolf, you ass! We almost burst our eardrums from how loud you howled! And your eyes—they were like green fire!"
Harry blinked, his mind still trying to catch up. "A giant wolf?" he muttered, confusion blending with curiosity. He darted away from them and, with newfound determination, willed himself to shift again. His body morphed once more—this time quicker, smoother. His human form faded, replaced by the hulking presence of the wolf. When Harry turned back toward his friends, his large form towered over them once again, dark fur nearly brushing the stone ceiling of the dungeon.
It wasn't that they had shrunk—it was that he had grown. Massive paws sunk into the stone floor, and his breath came out in low rumbles, shaking the air around them. His green eyes, still glowing with an eerie intensity, flickered like the flames of an inferno. This would cause problems.
Harry let out a frustrated sigh, but in his wolf form, the sound escaped as a deep, mournful whine. Sirius and Remus, despite themselves, burst into laughter, the tension in the room breaking for just a moment. But as Hermione's eyes sparkled, filled with awe and something dangerously close to adoration, Ron and Draco exchanged wary glances. There was a brief pause before Ron muttered under his breath, "This girl is mental," to which Draco only nodded in agreement.
Of course, Harry's wolf hearing caught every word. He turned toward them, his massive jaws parting as he let out a loud woof, the sound reverberating through the dungeon like a thunderclap. The boys yelped in surprise, stumbling back, and Harry, finding the whole thing hilarious, collapsed onto the floor with an earth-shaking thud, his massive form trembling with what could only be described as wolfish laughter. It was a bizarre sight, this enormous wolf shaking with amusement, his tail wagging slowly against the stone floor.
Sirius, trying to regain some control of the situation, shouted, "Can you try to will yourself smaller? Just... keep thinking 'be small, be small,' or something like that!"
Remus crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Like that's going to work," he said, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
But it did work. Harry's hulking form began to shrink, his massive paws retracting, fur smoothing out, until he was no longer the towering beast. Instead, he stood before them as a regular-sized wolf, though his eyes remained a vivid, striking green. The glow dimmed, replaced by the more natural look of his usual eyes. Noticing he was smaller, Harry bounded toward his friends, barking in delight.
Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Harry's fur, squealing with joy. "He's so cute!" she cried, nuzzling her face into his soft fur. "And he's so soft!"
Sirius, not one to be outdone, quickly transformed into his Animagus form—a large black dog. Padding over to Harry, he barked playfully, and Harry, in his wolf form, responded in kind. What followed was a chaotic chase through the dungeons, the two animals darting between pillars and skidding across the stone floor. Harry's wolf, even at his smaller size, was still larger than Sirius' dog form, making it look like a mismatched game of tag.
To the others, it looked like a fun, carefree moment between the two, but Remus, standing quietly by, couldn't shake the feeling of unease. There was something... unsettling about Harry's transformation. Even now, in his regular-sized wolf form, there was a weight to it, a presence that made the hairs on the back of Remus' neck stand up. His inner wolf was still wary, still cautious, as if warning him that Harry's wolf form, however playful, was not something to be underestimated.
Draco, watching the scene unfold, couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He turned to Ron, his voice quiet. "I can't wait to be an Animagus," he whispered, his tone laced with both envy and determination.
Ron nodded, his eyes glued to the chase. "I say we try it as soon as we're back at Hogwarts," he whispered back. "Harry already did it."
Draco shot a glance toward Hermione, who was now running after Harry, trying to hug him again. "What about her?" he asked, curious.
Ron chuckled under his breath. "She'll just get angry if we try to rope her in," he said. "Let's do it first—she'll come around once we're Animagi."
Draco smirked, watching as Hermione laughed, her joy infectious as she chased after the wolf. "Yeah," he agreed with a laugh. "Let's do that."
xxxxx
The dungeon at Potter Manor was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and a faint trace of magic lingering from the ritual that had taken place moments before. It felt almost ancient, the kind of atmosphere where old magic still thrived, as if the very walls had witnessed countless spells and transformations over the years.
In the center of the room stood a hulking wolf—no, not just any wolf. Harry's Animagus form had morphed into something more feral, more dangerous. The massive creature's thick, black fur gleamed under the torchlight, and his eyes, those same emerald orbs that once belonged to the boy everyone knew, now seemed to burn with an inner flame. The sharp contrast between the human soul behind those eyes and the beastly exterior was unsettling, as if Harry had bridged the gap between man and monster.
Emma Granger, pale-faced, peeked out cautiously from behind Sirius. Her fingers gripped his arm tightly, seeking some form of assurance. "It's a Fenrir," she managed to whisper, her voice quivering slightly, betraying her awe and fear. "A mythical creature, famous for being the child of the Norse God of Mischief, Loki."
"The son of the God of Mischief," Sirius echoed, a wry smile playing on his lips. His gaze never left Harry's imposing form. "What a fitting form for our Harry."
There was a shared exhale between them, a mixture of awe and acceptance. Harry—no, the massive Fenrir wolf—trod carefully around the dungeon, its weight making soft thuds against the cold stone floor. Hermione, perched comfortably on his back, clutched at his fur, her eyes sparkling with glee. It had become a routine now—ever since Harry had successfully transformed into his Animagus form, Hermione had taken every opportunity to smother him with affection, using his new canine state as an excuse to express emotions she'd otherwise never reveal to him in his human form.
Harry, for the most part, enjoyed it. There was something comforting about her presence, even as a wolf. But there were moments when he'd try to use his size to intimidate her playfully, to remind her that he wasn't just any ordinary animal. In one of those instances, he had willed himself to grow larger, towering over her with the intention of startling her, perhaps making her scream and laugh in surprise.
Instead, Hermione, ever the fearless one, had simply crawled up onto his back, wrapping her arms around his thick neck and laughing in pure delight. "Go faster!" she'd shouted, her excitement contagious. Harry had let out a low whine, though not out of reluctance. His paws thudded heavily against the floor as he took off, Hermione squealing and clutching tighter as he began to run laps around the dungeon, her laughter filling the space.
Sirius and Emma watched with an amused detachment. It was a sight to behold—Harry, their savior, the boy who lived, now reduced to a plaything for an ecstatic Hermione, as if the gravity of his transformation was lost on her. But then again, Hermione had always approached life's most daunting challenges with the same unflinching determination and a heart full of warmth.
"I don't suppose you know of any other abilities this 'Fenrir' has, do you?" Sirius asked, his voice trailing off as he watched the two children—one human, the other something far more than human—continue their playful chase.
Emma's brow furrowed as she thought. "I'll need to do more research," she admitted. "Everything I know comes from Muggle accounts of the creature—mythology, really. But if what I've read is accurate, then Fenrir was known for heightened senses, super strength, durability, reflexes... and possibly the ability to manipulate temperatures." She bit her lip. "But again, that's all based on legends. I don't know how much of that applies to Harry."
Sirius nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "He did have those green flaming eyes when he first turned," he remarked, his voice low, as if the memory itself unsettled him.
Emma's eyes widened at the mention of the flames. Her gaze darted back to Harry, now a normal-sized wolf, his green eyes no longer glowing but still unnaturally vibrant. "I'm not sure if I should be impressed or terrified," she murmured, shaking her head slowly. "Is this... normal? What about the others? Hermione, Ron, and Draco are trying to become Animagi too, aren't they? Will they turn into creatures like that?"
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I have no idea. Look at me." He chuckled, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice. "I'm just a dog. James was a stag. And Peter... well, he was a rat. A common one, at that. Maybe Harry's just... special. He did manage to take down Voldemort while still in nappies, after all."
Emma let out a soft laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. It was true, after all—there had always been something extraordinary about Harry. She glanced at Hermione, who was now chasing after Harry, her laughter echoing off the dungeon walls as she tried, and failed, to catch him. Harry barked joyfully, his large paws skidding slightly on the stone floor as he dodged her attempts to grab him.
xxxxx
It was a sweltering, bustling afternoon in Diagon Alley, the air thick with the familiar mix of roasting chestnuts, fresh parchment, and polished cauldrons. The lively chatter of witches and wizards filled the narrow cobblestone streets, their robes flowing with the occasional rush of wind from a speeding broomstick overhead. Amid the flurry of shoppers preparing for the next school year, Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione weaved through the throngs, arms laden with supplies, their faces flushed with excitement and the bright sun overhead.
Sirius Black and Emma Granger trailed a few paces behind, watching the four with amused smiles. They had been wandering around the alley for hours, moving from shop to shop, ticking off each item on their long Hogwarts lists. Harry had barely contained his excitement as they stopped at Flourish and Blotts for textbooks, then lingered at Ollivander's as Draco looked into a new wand holster, before finally making their way toward the destination that had the boys buzzing since they'd arrived—the broomstick shop.
With Narcissa off in France on business, it was Sirius who took over supervising Draco, much to the boy's delight. And Ron, after much pleading with his mother, had been allowed to join his friends on this early shopping trip. His excitement, however, was beginning to falter as the day wore on, especially as they entered the broomstick shop.
Inside, the walls gleamed with the sheen of brand-new broomsticks. The latest models were suspended in mid-air, enchanted to hover just above their stands. The store's display case boasted the sleek and polished form of the Nimbus 2001, the broomstick that was on every Quidditch player's wish list.
Draco had been smug all day, casting sideways glances at Harry. Now, standing in front of the display, his smugness reached a peak.
"I'm going for Seeker this year," Draco declared, his voice full of pride as he tapped the handle of the Nimbus 2001 that was soon to be his. "Prepare to be beaten, Potter."
Harry snorted, a grin spreading across his face. "In your dreams, Malfoy."
While Harry and Draco exchanged their usual banter, Ron and Hermione wandered through the shop, marveling at the array of broom servicing kits, toy brooms for younger witches and wizards, and Quidditch team paraphernalia lining the walls. Hermione, ever the academic, was half-heartedly browsing, more interested in the spellbooks they'd passed by earlier. Ron, however, stared longingly at the brooms, a wistful sigh escaping his lips as his eyes landed on a rack of affordable but clearly outdated models.
Ron's heart sank a little as he remembered Oliver Wood's words from last year: "You'll need a better broom if you want to be more than a reserve." Being a third-string Keeper was fine for training, but if he ever wanted to be more than a backup, he needed better equipment—something his family could never afford.
Draco suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "Here," he said, thrusting something toward Ron.
Ron blinked, eyes widening when he realized Draco was offering him the Nimbus 2001. It took a moment for it to sink in, and when it did, he frowned deeply, suspicion and irritation flaring. "What? Showing off already?" His voice was sharp, his pride stung.
A small laugh bubbled from Hermione. "A Nimbus 2001? I thought we were getting him a Nimbus 2000!" she chimed in, clearly surprised but amused.
"That's what I thought too!" Harry added, equally taken aback.
Draco rolled his eyes at both of them. "There weren't any Nimbus 2000s left," he hissed, glaring. "This was the only one they had in stock."
Ron's gaze snapped back to the broom, then to Draco, and finally to Harry and Hermione. His face flushed with embarrassment and anger. "What's the meaning of this? I've told you a million times, I don't need your charity!" His voice shook with frustration, and he could feel the tension building in his chest, his fists clenching tightly at his sides.
Hermione rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated with Ron's reaction. "This isn't charity, Ronald," she said, her voice firm but patient.
Draco snickered. "She's right. Consider it three years' worth of birthday and Christmas gifts from the three of us." His smirk was playful, though there was sincerity behind it. "Plus, Sirius and Emma chipped in too, so don't expect gifts from them either for the next three years."
Harry stepped forward, his expression softening as he placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Look, Ron, we're not giving this to you out of pity or to buy your loyalty," he said earnestly, his grip tightening slightly to emphasize his point. "You're my best mate. You're one of us. And as long as you're there to back me up when things get rough, I want to make sure you're ready for anything." He glanced at the broom in Ron's hands. "You've earned this. Besides," he added with a mischievous grin, "you're the only one who doesn't scream when I pull those mad feints on the pitch, so I need you to keep up when I do them in a real match."
Draco gave Ron a sly, approving nod. "If you don't want it, though, I'm sure Ginny could use it. She's been talking about trying out for Seeker once she's at Hogwarts. Wouldn't want a perfectly good Nimbus going to waste, now would we?"
Ron groaned, knowing he was cornered. His face was still a little flushed, but he couldn't help the grin creeping onto his lips as he glanced at the broom again. It was an incredible gift. He knew that. But the weight of it—what it meant—still sat heavy on his chest. These weren't just friends; they were family in every way that mattered. And family looked out for each other.
Hermione huffed, her voice tinged with mock annoyance. "I don't care what broom you ride, as long as you don't follow this idiot's lead and try slamming yourself into the ground by going too fast." She jabbed Harry in the arm, a teasing glint in her eyes.
Harry winced dramatically. "Ow! I thought you liked my daring stunts," he said, rubbing his arm but grinning widely.
Ron finally sighed, shaking his head in defeat. "Alright, fine. I'll accept it," he muttered, his eyes flicking up to meet Harry's and then Draco's. "But I swear, if I get another gift like this, I'm going to smack all three of you with a Beater's bat."
Draco's smirk widened. "I'll hold you to that. But be careful, Granger here might stab you with her dagger first," he quipped with a wink, causing Hermione to chuckle softly.
"I'll do more than stab," she muttered under her breath, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
As they left the broomstick shop, the warm afternoon sun greeted them once more, casting long shadows down Diagon Alley. The streets were still packed with families, students, and shopkeepers bustling about, but in that moment, as the group continued their journey through the alley, there was a sense of camaraderie, a bond that went beyond mere friendship. It was something unbreakable, forged through loyalty, trust, and shared danger. And as they laughed and bantered their way toward their next stop, that bond only grew stronger, unspoken but undeniably present.