Chapter 27: Howler
Chapter Text
The second week of October brought a crisp chill to the air at Hogwarts, but inside the castle, the atmosphere was warmer—especially around Ron and Draco, who had been strutting about like peacocks for days. The two boys had finally managed to achieve the Animagus transformation after weeks of grueling work, with Ron turning into a fox, sleek and quick, with striking bright blue eyes. Draco, on the other hand, morphed into a crow, jet black save for a single stark white feather on his tail that he took great pride in.
While neither of them could reveal their newfound abilities to the other students, they found it difficult to contain their excitement. Hermione, Harry, and Luna knew about the transformations, having witnessed the early, awkward stages of their practice. The excitement of seeing their friends shift into animals, however, had long since worn off for the trio. In fact, Harry had once gotten so annoyed by their antics that he shifted into his own Animagus form—a powerful black wolf—chasing the two around the Room of Requirement until Hermione had to step in and scold all three for creating chaos. That incident had put a brief damper on the boys' enthusiasm, but only for a while.
At lunch in the Great Hall that day, the familiar sound of flapping wings filled the room as the daily mail arrived, owls swooping down to deliver letters and packages to students. Harry absentmindedly watched the owls, his attention wandering as he speared his food with his fork. He barely noticed when an owl swooped low toward the Gryffindor table, but the flash of red in its claws quickly caught his eye. His blood ran cold as he saw the dreaded Howler, its unmistakable scarlet envelope glowing like a warning beacon. It plummeted from the owl's claws and landed with a soft plop right on Harry's plate.
For a moment, Harry just stared at it, frozen in terror. His mind raced, trying to recall what he could have possibly done to deserve a Howler, but before he could even think of casting a silencing spell, the envelope burst open.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" Sirius Black's furious voice boomed through the hall, echoing off the enchanted ceiling. Every conversation in the room died instantly. Even the professors paused mid-bite, wide-eyed and startled.
Harry paled as all eyes turned to him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but the Howler wasn't done.
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" The Howler continued, shifting its rage toward Ron, who had already started to slide off the bench in a desperate attempt to flee. His face was as red as his hair.
But before Ron could fully escape, the Howler's wrath shifted again. "DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!"
Draco, who had been sitting smugly at the Slytherin table a few moments ago, was now caught mid-stride as he tried to sneak out of the Great Hall. His face twisted in resignation as he froze in place, knowing it was useless to run.
The Howler rose higher above the tables, so that the entire room could hear every word Sirius had to say. "YOU THREE ARE IN SERIOUS TROUBLE! Don't you dare stay at Hogwarts this winter break! I KNOW WHAT YOU DID, and if you try to run away, I'll bloody show up at Hogwarts and drag you home myself! You're all mad! And I swear to Merlin, if I hear anything crazy from you three fools again, I'LL SHAVE ALL YOUR HAIR OFF!"
The last threat seemed to hit Draco particularly hard. He visibly flinched as the Howler hovered near him, smacking him on the head with its fiery paper form. It then flew back to Harry and swatted him too before circling over to Ron and delivering the same treatment. The fiery envelope crackled and burst into flames, disintegrating in midair and leaving the hall in utter silence.
For a moment, no one moved. Then, like a dam breaking, the Great Hall erupted in laughter. Every table was roaring with mirth, from the Gryffindors to the Slytherins, even a few professors couldn't hide their amused smirks. The shame was unbearable.
Without a word, Harry, Ron, and Draco leaped from their seats and bolted for the exit, their faces burning with humiliation as the laughter of the entire student body chased them out of the Great Hall.
Back at the Gryffindor table, Hermione, who had been focused on her meal, finally looked up, when she knew she was safe from the Howler. Next to her, Luna seemed amused, her wide eyes twinkling with curiosity.
"What was that all about?" Luna asked, tilting her head, her usual dreamy tone softening the question.
"I'm not sure," Hermione whispered back, though she had a good idea, based on Sirius's tirade. "But I'm just happy not being a part of it this time."
Luna nodded sagely. "It was rather loud."
The girls resumed eating as if nothing had happened, while the rest of the hall slowly began to settle back into their meals. The laughter hadn't entirely died down though; it still echoed softly around the room, and whispers of the Howler's threats circulated among the students, ensuring Harry, Ron, and Draco's humiliation would not be forgotten anytime soon.
As Hermione took a delicate bite of her food, she couldn't help but suppress a grin. Whatever trouble the boys had gotten themselves into this time, she was just glad not to be dragged down with them.
xxxxx
The tension in the Room of Requirement crackled in the air as Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione sat in a loose circle, their faces a mixture of worry and amusement. The space around them shimmered with enchantments, a cozy and secretive haven where they could hide from the chaos of the outside world. It was their sanctuary, filled with the warmth of flickering candles and cushioned armchairs, a fireplace flickering in the background. A place where secrets were kept safe—or so they hoped.
Luna stood to the side, looking rather dreamy, though her sharp gaze showed that she was as attentive as ever. Her frown was out of place on her usually serene face, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders in loose waves as she tried to make sense of the current predicament.
"Who would I even tell? All the people I consider friends are in here in this room," she said, her frown deepening. "And Ginny and Colin too..."
Harry couldn't help but soften his expression at Luna's tone. There was something oddly endearing about the way she processed things, always honest and unapologetically herself. He stood up from his seat, crossing the short distance between them, and gently patted her head as if she were an innocent little sister caught in the middle of a storm. "You poor thing, I'll help you make new friends. Do you know Astoria? She's the same age, in Slytherin, and loves wolves and dragons and stuff."
The sincerity in his voice made Luna's eyes twinkle with appreciation, though she remained thoughtful. Harry turned his gaze to Draco, his expression hardening just a little, catching Draco's bewildered look before speaking in a scolding tone. "Of course Luna didn't tell Sirius, Draco!"
Draco raised his hands in mock surrender, his sharp Slytherin features contorting into a look of exaggerated innocence. "I was just asking if she knew who told Sirius! I wasn't pointing at her!" His tone was defensive, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. He looked at Hermione this time.
Hermione, who had been watching silently, shook her head in mild exasperation, crossing her arms over her chest. "Please, if I tried to tell, Mum would just scold me for not stopping you two."
The dynamic between the group felt familiar, comforting, even as Ron began pacing frantically, his face growing more flushed with every step. His hands flew up in frustration, his mind clearly on overdrive. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," he muttered under his breath, wincing as the reality of the situation sank in. "I can't let Mum find out about this! The twins, Percy, and Ginny are going to hound me for information!"
Harry stifled a chuckle at Ron's distress, while Hermione rolled her eyes, the usual logical solution forming in her head before Ron's panic could escalate further. "Oh just lie, Ronald," she said coolly, watching as he stopped in his tracks. "You're panicking too much. If Sirius told Mrs. Weasley, that's the first Howler we'll see, not Sirius's."
Ron's eyes widened as he came to a standstill, suddenly stricken with a new level of fear. "He's not going to make us register, is he? I mean, he's not registered himself."
The weight of his words caused a noticeable shift in the room. Everyone's eyes shot toward Luna once again, as if seeking silent reassurance. Luna, ever calm and collected, merely shrugged, her whimsical nature shining through. "I'm not going to tell anyone."
Still pale, Ron let out a nervous laugh, clearly not fully reassured. "Oh crap! I'm sorry, I almost forgot." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, shooting a sheepish look at Luna. "I-It doesn't matter, does it? She's practically an honorary Marauder at this point."
The mere mention of the Marauders caused Hermione to stiffen, her brows knitting together as she bristled at the suggestion. "What?! No!" Her shriek echoed slightly in the enchanted room, and she faltered, seeing the confused stares of the others directed her way. Hermione took a deep breath, composing herself before she spoke again. "N-No, what I meant is..." Her voice softened as she looked at Luna, her frustration melting into reluctant fondness. "Luna, love, you're a good friend and all, but these bastards made it hard for me to join them before, and it's a matter of pride on my end if they just let you come in halfheartedly and all, and..." She sighed in defeat, her words trailing off.
Luna, in her usual enigmatic way, let out a lighthearted giggle and shook her head, her smile as bright as ever. "That's alright," she said sweetly, her voice holding no trace of hurt or offense. "I don't want to be a Marauder anyway. I'd rather prefer to be a supporter and observer," she beamed at Hermione. "Like a joker in a deck of cards."
"A joker?" Ron asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.
Harry, trying to stifle a grin, glanced at Hermione for clarification. "Muggle stuff... I think?" He wasn't entirely sure but trusted Hermione to provide an answer.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively, her mind already wandering past the explanation. "Can be both, mostly Muggle," she muttered, clearly uninterested in delving into the details. She refocused on Luna, her voice growing softer. "Look, Luna, I'm sorry. I'm not casting you away or anything. You've taught us a lot, and you're really a brilliant witch. You're basically my only girl friend besides Ginny, who's essentially a female Ron without the chess talk."
"Hey!" Ron objected, but his protest was drowned out by Hermione's unrelenting focus on Luna.
"It's fine, Hermione," Luna said, her voice still as calm as ever, though a hint of warmth touched her tone. "All I really wanted was friends. Being a part of the 'Marchers' doesn't really fit me anyway. I'd rather see you guys have fun and observe."
"Marauders," Draco corrected her automatically, the irritation in his voice so faint it was almost imperceptible, though it was clear her misnaming was starting to get under his skin.
"Munchers," Luna said, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.
"Marauders," Ron insisted, growing exasperated by her deliberate teasing.
"Marooners?" Luna asked, her voice dripping with playful innocence.
Harry, unable to hold back any longer, gave Luna a tug on her ear, grinning as she burst into a fit of laughter. "You're doing it on purpose, you cheeky prat," he said, his grin growing wider.
The mood in the room lightened considerably, the weight of their earlier worries fading into the background as the familiar banter between friends took over. And as Luna's laughter echoed through the enchanted walls, the others couldn't help but join in, their collective mirth a small but significant victory over the chaos that had become their lives.
xxxxx
The rest of the time seemed to blur for Harry and his friends. Days passed in a whirl of classes, late-night study sessions, and secret planning in the Room of Requirement. But the excitement in the air was palpable as the first Quidditch match of the year finally arrived. The sun hovered high in the crisp autumn sky, casting long shadows across the grounds. The stands were buzzing with eager students wrapped in scarves of scarlet, gold, green, and silver. A flutter of anticipation was in the air—this wasn't just any match. It was Gryffindor against Slytherin.
Hermione, Luna, and Ginny sat high in the Gryffindor stands, the cold wind pulling at their robes and sending shivers through the crowd. Hermione sat between Ginny, whose eyes were trained on the field below with determination, and Luna, whose eccentric hat immediately caught her attention. The hat was adorned with a large, fake lion's head that was perched right on top of Luna's golden hair, its mouth gaping wide open, as if preparing to swallow her whole. The sight of it made Hermione snort, and she shook her head at her friend's bizarre, but strangely fitting, accessory.
Down on the field, Ron stood amongst the reserve players on Gryffindor's side, stretching his legs nervously. Despite his efforts to remain calm, there was no hiding the excitement twitching at the corners of his mouth. His new Nimbus 2001 gleamed beside him, and though he was only the reserve Keeper, Ron seemed more animated than anyone else on the team. He kept glancing over at Oliver Wood, as if silently hoping for a miraculous—and entirely harmless—accident that would allow him to play. His constant rambling about not wanting Wood to suffer a fall, but also not really minding if it happened, earned him smirks from Fred, George, and Harry.
Meanwhile, across the pitch, the Slytherin team gathered in a tight, menacing group. The distinct green of their robes fluttered in the wind as they readied themselves, their eyes full of determination. At the center of the formation stood none other than Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's new Seeker. His silver-blond hair glistened in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the dark uniforms of his teammates. He looked calm, collected, and entirely too pleased with himself.
The crowd quieted for a brief moment as the game began. The whistle sounded sharply, and instantly, the stadium erupted into a frenzy of cheers and chants. Harry shot off into the air on his Nimbus 2000, the rush of wind pulling his glasses tight against his face. His focus narrowed as he scanned the field for the Snitch, the familiar thrum of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could feel the weight of the match on his shoulders, the expectation of his housemates, the pressure to win for Gryffindor.
Draco, soaring across the field on his sleek Nimbus 2001, matched Harry's pace almost effortlessly. The two boys exchanged grins, circling each other like predators, each waiting for the other to slip up.
"No hard feelings, Potter," Draco called, his eyes flashing with amusement as he swept across Harry's path, forcing him to veer slightly.
Harry's lips curled into a grin of his own. "Please, I should be the one saying that, Malfoy," he shot back, his tone light but challenging.
For this match, Harry had one mission and one mission only: to focus on the Snitch. He had already warned Oliver Wood about Draco's uncanny ability to navigate the field with precision. Unlike Harry, who relied on bold moves and gut instincts, Draco played with an almost clinical detachment. His movements were sharp, calculated, and fast. Wood had given Harry the green light to ignore the rest of the game entirely, placing full trust in him to bring home the victory by catching the Snitch.
Harry made another pass around the pitch, his eyes scanning the air for that elusive flash of gold. But something pulled his attention elsewhere. Without fully realizing it, he found himself flying towards the Gryffindor stands, drawn in by an irresistible tug. His gaze locked onto Hermione and Luna, and he hovered near them for a moment, as if trying to understand what exactly had caught his attention. It wasn't until Hermione nudged Luna that Harry realized it was Luna's ridiculous lion hat that had drawn his gaze. The absurdity of it, the way it sat on her head, made him laugh under his breath.
Hermione rolled her eyes and gave Luna a playful nudge. Luna, however, was entirely unbothered, proudly displaying the lion's head as though it were a crown.
"Go Harry!" Luna shouted at the top of her lungs, raising her wand high. With a quick flick, the lion's head roared, a deep, thunderous sound that echoed across the stands. The nearby Gryffindors jumped at the noise, startled at first, but quickly turned their shock into raucous cheers, their voices growing louder with each roar of the enchanted hat.
Harry, still hovering on his broom, shook his head with a grin before shooting back into the sky, leaving the crowd in an uproar of laughter and excitement.
Hermione stared at Luna's hat in a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You like it?" Luna asked innocently, her wide, dreamy eyes glinting with mischief as she glanced at Hermione.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "I like it," she admitted, her voice barely audible above the crowd. "Can you make one for me too?"
Luna's face lit up with joy. "Of course!" she replied happily, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
As the game raged on, Harry soared high above, catching glimpses of the stands where his friends cheered and laughed. The cheers grew louder as Gryffindor managed another goal, pushing them further into the lead. The energy of the match was infectious, and despite the fierce competition between him and Draco, Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of thrill at the whole event. He was soaring—both literally and metaphorically.
He glanced over his shoulder at Draco, who seemed just as focused and determined as ever. But Harry knew, deep down, that the game was about more than just winning. It was about moments like these—being surrounded by friends, laughter, and the thrill of competition. It was about watching Luna's absurd lion hat roar proudly in the stands and hearing Hermione's laughter ring out amidst the chaos.
As Harry circled the pitch one more time, his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks, the excitement of the game pulsing through him. The hunt for the Snitch had just begun, and Harry knew, win or lose, this was a match to remember.
xxxxx
The tension on the Quidditch pitch was palpable. Gryffindor was barely leading, the score sitting at 180 to 170, and the match was dragging on far longer than usual. Harry could feel the pressure building with each passing second as Oliver Wood, their Keeper, clung to the goalposts, battered by Bludgers. Wood was teetering on the edge of subbing out, and Ron stood on the sidelines, stretching and glancing nervously at his broom. This was his moment, but Harry knew that bringing Ron in now would be risky. It was Ron's first game, and with such a narrow lead, any mistake could be catastrophic.
The stands were alive with energy, divided between shouts of encouragement and jeers from the Slytherins. Hermione's face stood out in the sea of scarlet and gold, her eyes locked onto Harry with worry etched on her brow. She had been watching intently all match, and for some reason, Harry found himself more desperate than ever to impress her. His confidence, however, was beginning to slip.
"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. This match wasn't going the way he had hoped. And it certainly didn't help that Draco had a superior broom. The Nimbus 2001, a sleek and fast monster of a broom, was giving Draco an edge in their race for the Snitch. Harry made a mental note to get one himself over the winter break. He wasn't about to let Malfoy have that kind of advantage for long.
Suddenly, the golden glint of the Snitch caught Harry's eye. It darted right past his head, spinning as if mocking him, and then dropped in a steep dive. Without a second thought, Harry followed, his body flattening against his broom, the wind roaring in his ears. Draco was hot on his trail, his green robes billowing as he urged his Nimbus forward. The two Seekers hurtled towards the ground, neck and neck, each pushing to outmaneuver the other. The ground was coming up fast, but the Snitch showed no signs of stopping, plummeting straight down.
"Fuck!" Draco shouted, his voice nearly lost in the rush of wind. The two boys jostled and shoved each other as they careened toward the earth, hands flailing to knock the other off course. They were close enough now that Harry could feel the cold air whipped by Draco's broom and hear his labored breathing.
"Pull up, Harry!" Draco shouted, panic creeping into his voice as the ground neared. "We're going to crash!"
But Harry didn't flinch. His eyes were fixed solely on the Snitch, the golden blur that held Gryffindor's victory. Draco, sensing the impending disaster, tried to pull Harry back, his hand gripping Harry's robes for a brief moment. But Harry was too focused, too determined. Draco's hand slipped, and with a final shout of frustration, he yanked his broom upward, pulling out of the dive just in time.
All eyes were on Harry as he sped downward, the crowd's roars fading to horrified gasps. Hermione stood frozen in the stands, her hands clenched at the railing, her face white as she watched the scene unfold.
The ground came up too fast, and before anyone could react, Harry hit the pitch with a sickening thud. The sound of bone and wood splintering echoed across the stadium, silencing the crowd. A thick cloud of dust rose from where Harry had crashed, and for a terrifying moment, everything was still.
As the dust settled, Harry emerged, grinning like a maniac, clutching the Snitch triumphantly in his hand. His face was streaked with dirt and blood trickled down from a gash on his brow. His broom lay in shattered pieces beside him, and his arm hung at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.
"P-Potter caught the s-snitch... G-Gryffindor wins the match…" Lee Jordan's voice cracked over the quiet, his usual enthusiasm replaced by a strained, queasy tone as he tried not to be sick at the sight of Harry's injuries.
Harry, still laughing to himself in disbelief, barely registered the pain at first. But when Fred and George reached him to help him up, a sharp wave of agony shot through him.
"Ow, fuck!" he groaned, his body finally reacting to the trauma. His face contorted in pain, and as Ron reached out to steady him, Harry let out another yelp, his body too sensitive to touch. Ron's face was pale, his hands hovering uselessly over his friend as he struggled to figure out how to help without causing more pain.
"Move aside! Let me help!" a voice boomed over the commotion. The crowd parted quickly, revealing none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, strutting forward with his usual overconfident grin.
Harry's heart sank. "N-No! Not you!" he groaned, his vision starting to blur as Lockhart drew closer. He knew what was coming, and the thought of Lockhart messing with his already broken body was enough to make him want to faint on the spot.
Lockhart chuckled, clearly oblivious to Harry's distress. "Poor boy, hit his head too hard! Doesn't know what he's saying," he said with a dazzling smile, drawing his wand with a flourish.
But before Lockhart could cast a single spell, two figures rushed forward and tackled him to the ground. Hermione and Draco, both fierce and determined, knocked Lockhart off his feet.
"Get off him!" Hermione shouted, her voice breaking with frustration and fear. "You'll only make it worse!" Draco was pulling Lockhart back with a surprising amount of strength, his face serious for once as he helped Ron drag the incompetent professor away.
Harry blinked up at Hermione, barely processing her words. He opened his mouth to respond, to explain, but the world was already fading around him. His vision tunneled, and before he could get a word out, the darkness took over.
Hermione knelt beside him, her hand trembling as she placed it lightly on his shoulder. "You stupid idiot!" she muttered angrily, her voice thick with emotion. "What were you thinking?!"
But Harry didn't answer. He had already slipped into unconsciousness, a lopsided grin still on his face, the Snitch clutched tightly in his hand.
xxxxx
Hermione's eyes stung with unshed tears as she stared down at Harry's battered form. He lay motionless on one of the narrow hospital beds, pale and bruised, his arm twisted at an awkward angle. All around them, the hospital wing was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the muffled gasps of those gathered around his bed: Ron, Draco, Luna, and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team. Madam Pomfrey rushed back and forth, her wand a blur as she cast spell after spell, desperate to stabilize him. Several bottles of potion were already floating in the air around her, each spelled directly toward Harry, their contents vanishing as quickly as they were poured.
Time seemed to drag as everyone watched with bated breath. They could scarcely believe the state Harry was in—bloodied, broken, and unconscious, barely hanging on. Madam Pomfrey's panic was a testament to how serious it was, her usual composure cracking as she muttered under her breath, hands trembling ever so slightly as she applied another salve to the gashes on his side.
For a long, agonizing moment, no one moved. They simply stood there, even when Madam Pomfrey left for a moment to gather more potions, dread pooling in their chests, waiting for some sign that Harry was going to be alright.
And then, to their utter shock, Harry sat up.
He blinked lazily, as though he had simply woken from a nap, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes. He let out a wide yawn, stretching both arms over his head—both arms, including the one that had been clearly broken just moments before.
"Wha—what happened?" he asked, his voice groggy but otherwise perfectly normal as he glanced around at the stunned faces surrounding him.
No one responded. They just stared, dumbfounded, as if they had collectively imagined the entire thing. Harry scratched his chin, confusion flickering across his face.
Suddenly, a sharp slap landed on his forehead, causing him to flinch.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" Hermione shrieked, her voice high-pitched and raw with emotion, her face red as she tried to hold back the tears brimming in her eyes.
It took both Draco and Ron to pull her back, each of them grabbing an arm as she lunged at Harry, her hands ready to strike again. Even as they held her, she continued her furious tirade, scolding him with a mixture of anger and overwhelming relief.
Harry's mouth hung open, utterly bewildered by her reaction. The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team looked on in shock, frozen in place, unsure whether to intervene or let the scene play out.
Alicia Spinnet, standing at the foot of the bed, was the first to speak. "Harry? Are you alright? You broke your arm! Doesn't it hurt?" Her voice was soft, hesitant, as if she were trying to make sense of the impossible situation.
"My arm?" Harry glanced down at it, lifting his left arm, then his right, rotating them both experimentally. "It looks fine to me," he said, though the disbelief in his own voice was hard to miss.
His expression shifted as he froze, realization dawning on him. He could feel nothing—no pain, no discomfort, nothing at all. His hand reached up to his forehead, where he remembered the sensation of blood trickling down during the match. His fingers brushed the bandage now covering the wound. He considered checking beneath it, but with so many eyes on him, he thought better of it.
"Madam Pomfrey's potions must've worked wonders," he said with a grin, trying to ease the tension, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes.
A few nervous chuckles broke the stillness, though Oliver Wood was far from amused. He stepped forward, arms crossed, his jaw clenched tight.
"Pull that kind of stunt again, and I'm banning you from the team," he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Harry's face fell, his once confident grin fading into a frown. "Sorry, catching the Snitch was the only thing in my head at that time…"
Wood sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're a great Seeker, Harry. The best, honestly. But don't be an idiot. We've got plenty more matches to win, and we can't do that if you get yourself killed on the pitch—or," he added, casting a wary glance at Hermione, still fuming and restrained by Ron and Draco, "if you get killed by Hermione."
Harry managed a weak laugh but quickly stopped when Hermione's fierce glare turned on him again. He swallowed hard.
Fred and George exchanged glances, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. "Right," Fred began, clapping his hands together, "we should probably go. Let you have some private scolding time."
"Good luck, mate," George added with a grin as they all filed out of the hospital wing, leaving Harry alone with Hermione, Ron, Draco, and Luna.
As soon as the door shut, Luna approached Harry's bedside. With her usual serene expression, she poked his forehead, then moved on to his neck, his arm, and finally his ribs.
"Nothing hurts?" she asked curiously, tilting her head to the side.
"N-No," Harry replied, slightly unnerved by her calm examination.
"That's strange. Madam Pomfrey said everything I touched should've been broken," Luna mused, as if this was simply a fascinating puzzle to solve.
"Maybe the potions worked too well?" Ron suggested, still holding onto Hermione as she fumed silently beside him.
Luna shook her head, her pale blonde hair swaying gently. "The potions were only for pain relief and minor wounds," she explained, lifting Harry's shirt just enough to reveal smooth, unblemished skin. "See? No bruises, no scars, nothing at all. It's as if he was never injured."
Hermione's face froze for a moment as realization dawned on her. She met Harry's eyes, and he gave her a subtle, knowing nod. They both understood what had happened, but now wasn't the time to explain.
"Well, lucky me," Harry said with a sheepish smile, though the tension in his voice was clear. "I really am sorry, you guys. Draco, especially—I didn't mean to drag you into that mess."
Draco smirked, shaking his head. "Snape told me I should've stunned you the moment you dove after the Snitch. He was almost too certain you'd pull some suicidal move." He patted Harry's leg, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Guess crazy does beat brains sometimes."
Hermione, still trembling from the adrenaline, finally snapped. She stormed over to Harry, grabbed his face, and pressed her lips to his, kissing him fiercely.
Ron and Draco yelped, quickly dragging Luna away, though she looked entirely unperturbed, almost disappointed that the scene had been cut short.
Hermione pulled back, her eyes burning into Harry's. "Do that again," she said, her voice low and threatening, "and I'm banning kissing for the rest of the year."
Harry gulped. "I—I won't do it again. I promise," he said quickly, then smirked. "Not just because of the kissing, but because I don't want to make you worry."
"Good," Hermione said, her gaze softening, but just as Harry relaxed, she punched him in the gut—hard.
Harry let out a groan, doubling over in pain. "Ouch!" he winced.
"Don't worry," Hermione whispered, leaning in close to his ear, "I'm sure you'll recover just fine, thanks to the... juice."
Harry nodded, gritting his teeth through the discomfort. "Let's hope no one finds that too suspicious..."
Hermione gave a sly shrug. "We'll just say it's your 'furry little problem' if our friends asks. As for the professors, we can tell them you've got a naturally strong body and heal fast."
"Right, that'll do," Harry said with a chuckle. "Speaking of which, we should probably check on the juice soon. We completely forgot all about it. Remind me to find a way to sneak out or get Kreacher's help."
"Don't worry, I won't let you forget," Hermione said, sitting beside him on the bed. She took his hand in hers, her earlier frustration giving way to quiet relief.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Harry gently squeezed her hand, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. The soft hum of the hospital wing was the only sound between them.
Then, Harry's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Wait—did I saw you and Draco tackle Lockhart earlier?"
Hermione looked up at him with a mischievous smirk. "Yes. He tried to point his wand at you and attempt to 'heal' you." She leaned in closer. "Not on my watch. Only I get to hurt you."
Harry let out a nervous laugh, his heart racing. "Lucky me."
xxxxx
The morning light filtered through the towering windows of the Hogwarts castle, casting a warm glow on the stone corridors. Whispers echoed through every corner, weaving their way between clusters of students gathered around tables, doorways, and stairwells. The topic of conversation was the same no matter where you went: Harry Potter's near-death incident during yesterday's Quidditch match.
It was the kind of event that sent shockwaves across the school—a terrifying crash from hundreds of feet in the air, with Harry plummeting like a stone. To most, it was a miracle he'd survived. To others, it was nothing short of madness that he was even alive, let alone standing. The whispers grew louder as Harry strolled casually down the corridors that morning, his robes billowing slightly behind him as if he hadn't been through one of the most harrowing accidents of the year.
"How the bloody hell is he walking?!"
The outburst came from a fourth-year Hufflepuff, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at Harry's perfectly uninjured form from across the hall. Students turned to gawk, their mouths hanging open, as Harry continued down the hall with Ron, Hermione, and Luna by his side. He didn't so much as limp, not a scratch or bruise visible on his skin, despite the fact that only a day ago, he had been in the Hospital Wing, knocked out cold, with injuries that would have left anyone else bedridden for weeks.
"He crashed in high speed from hundreds of feet up!" someone else gasped in awe, unable to wrap their mind around the sight before them.
Ron, walking beside Harry, couldn't help but smirk, nudging Harry's shoulder as they pushed through the crowd. "You're causing quite the stir, mate," he muttered, clearly amused by the spectacle they were making.
"Yeah, because no normal person would walk away from that unscathed," Hermione added in a huff, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glared at Harry, still not over the scare he had given them the day before. But despite her stern look, there was a faint relief behind her frustration—relief that Harry was, in fact, okay.
Harry barely spared a glance at the whispering students as he moved past them, keeping his head held high, though inside, he was more than aware of the attention. Every step he took, he felt the weight of their gazes, the questioning eyes, the rumors swirling in the air like wildfire. He knew Hogwarts well enough by now to understand that news—especially when it involved him—travelled fast.
But despite the chaos around him, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of calm, as if all the madness hadn't happened to him at all. His body, though miraculously healed, still carried the faint memories of yesterday's fall—the rush of wind, the sudden weightlessness, and then... nothing. He didn't want to dwell on the details. There was enough commotion already without him fanning the flames.
They entered the Great Hall for lunch, where the aroma of food filled the air. Long tables stretched out before them, crowded with students chattering about lessons, Quidditch, and—inevitably—the latest gossip. Harry took his seat at the Gryffindor table, sliding into his usual spot beside Hermione and across from Luna and Ron, who immediately began shoveling mashed potatoes onto his plate.
Harry reached for a bowl of roast chicken and began piling food onto his plate, grateful for the distraction. Hermione, ever the responsible one, added some vegetables on it.
As lunch wore on, Harry began to relax, letting the familiar clamor of the Great Hall drown out the uneasy whispers. Ron was halfway through describing the finer points of Chudley Cannons' last game when the conversation came to an abrupt halt. A collective hush fell over the Gryffindor table as everyone turned to stare at the sky above, where a dark-red envelope was hovering ominously.
Another Howler.
Before anyone could react, it dropped squarely onto the table in front of Harry, landing with an audible thud. For a split second, there was dead silence. Harry's stomach sank. He didn't need to open it to know who it was from—Sirius.
Without wasting a moment, Harry's instincts kicked in. His eyes darted to the Howler, then to the doors of the Great Hall. His muscles tensed. Before the envelope even had the chance to burst open and scream out his name, Harry was already on his feet, his fork still clutched in his hand.
With a speed that defied any expectation, he bolted.
"Potter's making a run for it!" someone from the Ravenclaw table shouted, but Harry barely registered the voice as he dashed for the exit. His footsteps echoed against the stone floors, the fork still clutched tightly in his fist as if it were a wand, ready to defend him from the impending explosion of Sirius's temper.
Behind him, the Howler finally tore itself open with a violent rip, and Sirius's voice thundered through the hall, booming across the enchanted ceiling with such force that students nearly fell off their benches.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"
The volume made Harry flinch, even from a distance, but he didn't stop running. He pushed ahead the students coming in the Great Hall, not daring to slow down, even as Sirius's voice continued to echo down the corridors behind him.
"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU—"
The lecture was already in full swing, but Harry had no intention of sticking around to hear it. His face burned with embarrassment, and though he couldn't see it, he knew the entire Great Hall was probably watching his retreat with wide eyes and slack jaws.
He turned sharply at the corner, his breath coming in short, quick bursts. He could still hear Sirius's rant echoing through the castle—every word bouncing off the walls, making it impossible for him to escape the scolding entirely.
Behind him, back in the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione exchanged knowing glances. Hermione had paused mid-bite, a forkful of potatoes hovering halfway to her mouth, while Ron snorted, shaking his head. "Better him than me," he muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Hermione rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a small, amused smile as she watched Harry's retreating figure disappear through the doors. She may have been furious with him, but even she had to admit, there was something undeniably endearing about the way Harry always seemed to find himself in trouble—whether by his own doing or not.
"Well, at least he's not dead," Hermione said, finally shoving the forkful of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as Sirius's voice continued to reverberate through the hall.
"Yet," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "He might not survive when Sirius sees him."
The Howler's angry words trailed off into the distance, leaving a momentary hush in its wake. But the chaos Harry had left behind was far from over. Whispers filled the hall again, louder this time, as students turned to one another, wide-eyed and eager to discuss the latest spectacle that was Harry Potter.
Chapter 28: Thestrals
Chapter Text
The chilly night air of Hogwarts, still clinging to the cold from winter break, seemed distant in the comforting warmth of the girls' dormitory. The firelight from the common room flickered through the curtains of Hermione's bed, casting soft, glowing shadows across her face as she sat there, cross-legged, lost in thought. Her relationship with Harry had changed. The teasing kisses and stolen glances from before had bloomed into something deeper, something more open. They no longer cared if Ron, Draco, or Luna noticed their subtle affections. Their friends, to their credit, seemed content to let them enjoy this unspoken understanding, their stolen moments left untouched, almost sacred.
But there was something about their kisses that lingered in Hermione's mind, something that gnawed at her whenever they exchanged their little affections. Harry, for all his sneaky tricks and playful jabs, rarely kissed her on the lips. Hermione's mind raced, trying to find an explanation. The thought gnawed at her during their moments in the Great Hall, when his hand would linger just a moment too long on hers or when they shared their homework in the library, his shoulder gently bumping against hers. It always felt perfect—almost.
Now, as she sat in the comfort of her four-poster bed, waiting for Harry to sneak in, she knew tonight had to be the night she asked him. The room was thick with silence when Harry finally slipped through the hangings, casting a quick glance over his shoulder before muttering a few privacy spells, the whispers of his incantations lingering in the still air. Hermione felt her heart thud faster in her chest, an eagerness bubbling up in her as she watched him settle down beside her.
She wasted no time, sliding onto his lap, eyes narrowing as she cornered him, her brow furrowed in playful accusation. "Why don't you ever kiss me on the lips, Harry?"
Harry blinked, startled by the sudden question. Her intensity was disarming, especially with her perched so confidently on his lap. He swallowed, his hands instinctively coming to rest on her waist, trying to gather his thoughts under the pressure of her gaze. "I-I thought that was for something special," he stammered, his voice coming out weaker than he intended. "I didn't want to—"
"Idiot!" Hermione groaned, her voice hushed but exasperated, eyes wide with incredulity. "Of course you can kiss me whenever you want! You thought you could only do it when something important happens?"
Harry could only nod dumbly, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. "Yes?" he offered weakly, his voice laced with uncertainty. His cheeks flushed under Hermione's scrutiny, her glare pinning him down more effectively than any spell.
She let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head. "Merlin, Harry, I swear sometimes you're brilliant, but when it comes to this..." She tapped her fingers against his chest, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "How are you so good at sneaking kisses, then?"
Harry chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "It was all fun and games at first. Teasing, you know? But when things got serious, I didn't want to push it. I didn't know when to stop."
Hermione groaned, leaning her head onto his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his neck. "You don't need to stop," she murmured softly. "Just... do what you do. I'll stop you if it's too much, but if I don't say anything, that means I'm happy with it."
Harry felt the tension in his chest ease at her words. She wasn't upset—far from it, actually. He could see the gleam in her eyes, that playful spark that always drove him to the edge, testing his limits. He took a deep breath, nodding. "Alright. But you have to calm down first."
"Kiss me," she demanded, her eyes locking with his. "Now."
He obeyed without hesitation, leaning in to press his lips against hers. The kiss was soft, brief—almost innocent, but the warmth that radiated from it was enough to send sparks through both of them. Hermione pulled back, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips.
"Well?" Harry asked, unsure if he had met her expectations.
Hermione paused, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Seven out of ten," she teased.
Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Seven? Really?"
"Keep going, Potter," Hermione giggled, daring him with her gaze. "Let's see if you can get a perfect score."
Harry, stung by the challenge, set his jaw. The competitive spark in his eyes flickered as he cupped her face, his fingers threading through her hair. "Alright," he muttered, determined. "Tap me on the shoulder if it's too much."
"Too much?" Hermione managed to squeak before Harry silenced her with another kiss, this one more intense, more deliberate.
He wasn't holding back this time. The kiss was deeper, more assertive, as he gently bit her lower lip, eliciting a surprised gasp from her. She had half a mind to tap his shoulder, but as the warmth spread through her body, she found herself melting into him, her hands gripping the front of his robes for support. Harry pulled back for just a moment before diving in again, this time tilting her head slightly, giving him better access.
Hermione felt like the world was spinning beneath her. She could barely keep track of time, her thoughts growing hazy with each kiss, her heart racing in her chest. There was something different about this kiss—something that left her dizzy and breathless, something that made her stomach flutter in a way she'd never experienced before.
Her hands clutched his robes tighter, but her body felt like it was floating, weightless, as if she'd been swept off her feet. It was overwhelming, intoxicating—and she never wanted it to stop. A soft moan escaped her lips as Harry pulled away for a moment, his breath heavy against her skin. Her head fell back slightly as she stared up at him, chest heaving with shallow breaths, but before she could say anything, his lips were on hers again, this time with more urgency.
Hermione's thoughts swirled like a whirlwind—her body shivering as Harry's kisses grew bolder. Her mind was a blank slate, her only awareness focused on the way Harry's hands cradled her face, how his lips felt against hers, how his presence filled every corner of her senses. She was lost, completely undone, in a way she hadn't anticipated.
When Harry finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the space between them, Hermione collapsed into him, her body a pliant mess in his arms. Her legs felt like jelly, her entire frame trembling with the aftershocks of their shared intensity. She could barely move, her muscles feeling like they'd been turned to mush.
"Well?" Harry grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Hermione blinked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ten... ten out of ten, you brilliant bastard," she breathed, her words shaky but filled with admiration.
Harry chuckled, pulling her into a hug, holding her close as they both lay back against the bed, their bodies entwined in the warmth of the covers. Hermione giggled, her heart still racing as she nestled into the crook of his arm, feeling utterly content.
But just as she was about to drift off, Harry shifted. He hovered over her, his legs straddling her waist, hands bracing themselves on either side of her head. His eyes darkened with that familiar, predatory glint, and Hermione's breath hitched.
"You said I could do this without any reason, right?" His voice was low, teasing, sending a shiver down her spine.
Hermione swallowed nervously, her heart skipping a beat. "Y-Yes?" she squeaked.
Harry smirked, leaning down, his lips brushing against hers in a feather-light touch. "Brilliant," he murmured, before closing the distance between them once more.
And for Hermione, this—this was the best night of her life.
xxxxx
Hermione had unleashed a beast. That much was clear. She couldn't quite decide if she should feel proud or terrified by the monster she had awakened. A flood of emotions surged within her—a dizzying mix of exhilaration and fear that made her head spin. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had been more reserved when it came to showing affection, at least until she cornered him about it. Now, there was no stopping him.
And she didn't mind. Not one bit.
Last night had been... well, intense didn't even begin to describe it. Every touch, every kiss, had left her feeling weightless, like she was floating in some dreamlike haze where the world around them had disappeared. The way Harry had kissed her, the way he knew just when to slow down and when to make her heart race—it was almost too much, but in the best possible way. Hermione had never felt so thoroughly seen and adored.
As she lay tangled in the warmth of her sheets, the reality of it all still sinking in, she thought about how Harry had learned to kiss like that. Who had taught him? Surely, it wasn't just instinct? She wasn't even angry at the thought of another girl being involved. Honestly, she felt like thanking whoever it was. They had clearly done her a favor. If anything, she just wanted to know who to send a gift to—perhaps some chocolate or a nice thank-you card.
With that thought lingering, Hermione felt a deep sense of contentment settle over her. She stretched lazily, her muscles still tingling from the night's activities, and a wide grin spread across her face. She was utterly relaxed, basking in the afterglow of their time together. Harry had fallen asleep almost immediately after, and she had let herself drift off soon after, feeling his arm draped protectively over her.
Now, as morning light filtered through the cracks in the curtains, she shifted slowly, careful not to disturb the still-knocked-out Harry. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, his face completely relaxed, the lines of his usual tension smoothed out. She admired him for a moment before slowly slipping out of bed, her mind already buzzing with thoughts of the day ahead.
Still wearing Harry's oversized Quidditch jersey, her favorite thing to sleep in because of how warm and comfortable it was, Hermione padded across the room, the hem swishing against her thighs as she moved. She reached the curtains and threw them open with a bit too much enthusiasm, the morning light spilling into the room, momentarily blinding her.
But that wasn't what made her freeze.
It was the wide-eyed stares of her dormmates.
Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Isla Bennett, and Fiona Hughes stood frozen in place, their jaws practically hanging open. Hermione's heart stopped. It only took her a second to realize what had happened, but in that one second, she felt every ounce of blood drain from her face. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the situation.
She was wearing Harry's jersey. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. And worst of all, Harry was still in her bed, very much asleep and very much visible from where the girls stood.
Oh, Merlin.
Hermione didn't need a mirror to know exactly what she looked like. And she didn't need to ask her dormmates what they were thinking. It was written all over their faces. The horror, the shock, the questions forming behind those wide, unblinking eyes.
Before Hermione could even open her mouth to explain, the room erupted into chaos. Shrieks filled the air, Lavender's high-pitched scream blending with Parvati's panicked gasps, and the other girls' mortified giggle that quickly turned into an awkward cough.
Hermione could feel her face burning, an intense wave of embarrassment flooding her senses. She wanted to dive back into bed and hide under the covers for the next century. Maybe she could pretend this was all a dream—a very embarrassing dream that she could wake up from. But no, this was real, and there was no escaping it.
Her heart raced as her brain scrambled for something—anything—to say, but nothing came. She had royally messed up, and there was no coming back from it. She could only watch helplessly as her dormmates' reactions played out in front of her, the air thick with both panic and awkward amusement.
xxxxx
Harry and Hermione had done everything they could to control the situation. After the initial shock of being discovered in such a compromising position, they'd sat down with the girls in the dormitory, carefully explaining that they had known each other since childhood. All they'd done was sleep in the same bed, but that's all it was—sleeping, nothing more. But, as these things often went at Hogwarts, the truth was easily distorted by rumors and whispers that spread like wildfire.
Of course, that wasn't what made its way through the corridors of Hogwarts.
Hermione couldn't even pinpoint where the rumor started. She didn't know who to confront, who to scold, or who to pummel for spreading the misinformation, but the fallout had been relentless. In every hallway, they were met with glares from the girls and wide-eyed, knowing looks from the boys. It seemed as if every corner they turned, someone was talking about them.
The Weasleys had tried their best to help. Ginny offered her silent support, while Fred and George took matters into their own hands. Their defense of Harry and Hermione was more… creative, involving pranks that had landed the twins in detention multiple times for going a bit too far with students who dared tease either of them. But despite their efforts, the damage was done. The rumor was well and truly out of control.
But none of that compared to what happened when Daphne Greengrass decided to corner Hermione.
Hermione had been on her way to the library, hoping to distract herself from the relentless gossip, when Daphne appeared out of nowhere, blocking her path. The look on Daphne's face was icy, the kind of cold, calculating anger that made Hermione's stomach tighten in discomfort. Daphne was beautiful—everyone knew that. She was the girl that topped most of the boys' lists as the most beautiful girl in their year. Even Ron had harbored a childhood crush on her until her frosty personality had killed it off.
But Daphne wasn't just a pretty face. She was dangerous in her own way, especially when it came to Harry. She'd been relentless in trying to get Harry to sign a betrothal contract for the Potter family line, and Hermione had no patience for her persistence.
"What were you thinking, Granger?" Daphne hissed, her voice low and venomous.
Hermione bristled immediately, her eyes narrowing in defiance. "What? I didn't do anything wrong! We were just sleeping!" Her temper flared—how dare Daphne question her about Harry? He was hers, after all. She could do whatever she bloody well pleased with him.
"I'm not talking about that!" Daphne snapped, her voice sharpening. "I mean getting caught!" She leaned in, her eyes flashing with something dangerous. "I know Harry's trying to get you betrothed to him, but he promised me he wouldn't let it leak out until after I'm betrothed to him for the Black family line!"
Hermione's heart stopped. She froze in place, the world around her falling away as Daphne's words registered. A sharp, burning fury rose up inside her, and before she knew it, an angry flare of magic burst from her, making the air crackle with tension. Daphne visibly tensed and took a step back, her eyes wide with alarm.
"What did you just say?" Hermione growled, her voice low and dangerous.
Daphne blinked, her hand instinctively inching toward her wand. "Y-You didn't know?" she stammered, her confidence faltering as she realized she might've said too much.
"Expelliarmus!" The word left Hermione's lips before she even knew she had her wand in hand. Daphne's wand flew through the air, landing squarely in Hermione's grip. She pocketed it swiftly, keeping her own wand pointed directly at Daphne, her eyes burning with rage. "Repeat what you just said," Hermione demanded, her voice shaking with barely contained fury.
Daphne trembled, visibly shaken. She knew Hermione was brilliant—Draco had regaled her with stories of the girl's intellect—but this? This was something else. This was raw, unfiltered aggression, and it terrified her. The speed with which Hermione had disarmed her didn't show training; it was pure instinct, driven by fury.
Daphne swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. "Okay, listen," she said, lowering her voice. "Calm down. I thought you knew. When Harry ended my betrothal contract to the Potter line, he told me he intends to marry you and have you as the future Lady Potter," she explained quickly. "I argued, but he said that's what he wants—he wants nothing more than to marry you out of love. I respected that and gave up. But later on, I learned the Black family line would provide Harry with another wife, and I asked him… and he promised me that."
The words hit Hermione like a punch to the gut, but before she could even process them fully, something inside her snapped. Without thinking, she lunged forward, grabbing Daphne by the collar and lifting her off the ground. The pure, unrestrained power coursing through her made her stronger than she'd ever felt before. Daphne struggled, her hands clawing at Hermione's grip, but she was no match for the raw strength Hermione had honed through years of defending herself from bullies and the lot.
Hermione's mind raced. She had always known she was strong, stronger than most witches, especially physically. But this—this was something more. This was the kind of ferocity that came from deep, primal instinct, fueled by protectiveness and rage. Daphne had touched a nerve she shouldn't have, and Hermione's anger surged unchecked.
"G-Granger…" Daphne gasped, her feet dangling off the ground as she desperately tried to pull Hermione's hands away from her throat. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her face growing paler by the second. "S-Stop!"
But Hermione didn't stop. Her grip tightened, her mind consumed with the single thought that burned in her soul—Harry is mine. She leaned in close, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Harry's mine. I don't care about second wives. Take him away from me, and I'll kill you."
Daphne's eyes widened in sheer terror, her consciousness beginning to slip as darkness edged in around her vision. Just as she was about to lose herself completely, a voice echoed from the hallway.
"Hermione, no!"
Draco Malfoy's voice sliced through the fog of rage, and before Hermione could react, she felt herself being tackled to the ground. Draco shoved her away from Daphne, who collapsed to the floor, coughing violently, struggling to catch her breath.
"Shit, what are you doing?!" Draco shouted, his voice panicked, but Hermione didn't register his words. She was too far gone, her mind a storm of fury. She shoved Draco off her, sending him sprawling backward onto the stone floor.
With Draco momentarily out of the way, Hermione knelt beside Daphne, grabbing a fistful of her hair and forcing her to look up. Daphne's teary, terrified eyes locked with hers, and Hermione's expression was cold, merciless. "I see a betrothal contract coming Harry's way with your name on it, and I'll claw your eyes out," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.
With that final warning, she released Daphne, letting her collapse back onto the floor in a heap. Without another word, Hermione stormed off, her steps echoing through the corridor, leaving Draco behind to help the gasping Daphne to her feet.
xxxxx
The incident with Daphne had thrown Hogwarts into chaos. The gossip spread like Fiendfyre, ignited by none other than Hermione's fury. Her anger was a living, breathing thing, unleashed upon anyone foolish enough to mock or taunt her. It wasn't just verbal retaliation—no, Hermione had taken to sending jinxes at anyone who so much as whispered about the altercation. The spells were mild but effective, causing discomfort, humiliation, and, most importantly, silence. Unfortunately for her, the Slytherin crowd found this an excellent source of entertainment, pushing her limits at every opportunity.
She'd held her ground fiercely, but it was a precarious position. The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws had stopped teasing after a particularly nasty incident involving Fred and George Weasley. The twins had taken matters into their own hands, delivering pranks and hexes in Hermione's defense, making it clear that Gryffindor stood behind one of their own. The other houses quickly learned their lesson, but the Slytherins were relentless. They thrived on provoking her, eager to see how far Hermione would go.
And she did go far. Too far.
One especially nasty hex aimed at a group of laughing boys had nearly resulted in a catastrophic incident—one of their nether regions swelling like an overinflated balloon, nearly bursting. The sight had been horrific, the laughter turning to gasps of horror. That was when Snape had stepped in, his eyes colder than ever as he sentenced Hermione to four days of detention. The Potions Master's legendary dislike for Gryffindors hadn't spared her, even with Harry being his former tutee. In Snape's eyes, the jinx was reckless, and Hermione's Muggle-born status certainly didn't earn her any leniency. She was tasked with dissecting and cleaning potion ingredients—an unenviable punishment.
Harry had tried to protest on her behalf, but a single, withering glare from Hermione silenced him immediately. She was furious, and that fury had extended to him. Her silent treatment cut deep, making him restless, gnawing at him. Hermione's absence from his side made everything worse. He had attempted to scare off anyone who might tease her again, using his own influence and growing reputation. While it had quelled some of the chaos, it hadn't helped the one thing driving him mad—Hermione's anger towards him.
The situation gnawed at him, the tension in the air thick whenever they were in the same space. She wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't even look at him directly. It was unbearable.
Draco, thankfully, had shed some light on the matter. He told them about the one-sided fight with Hermione and Daphne. He sat casually in the Room of Requirement, where they waited for Hermione to finish her detention. Ron and Harry were tense, but Draco's casual posture suggested he was more amused by the situation than concerned.
"She tried to choke her?" Ron's voice was incredulous, a mix of shock and horror etched across his face. The room itself seemed to echo his disbelief, as if even the enchanted walls couldn't believe Hermione would go that far.
Harry, however, only waved a hand dismissively. "Completely deserved it." He said it as if it were a joke, but a nagging concern lingered in his voice. Daphne was, after all, still a friend. Her loyalty to him was unquestionable, and he couldn't just dismiss what had happened.
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Daphne's fine. A little battered, sure. There's a light bruise on her neck, but she'll live. She's scared of Hermione now, though—she made that clear to me." He smirked, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "She promised she wouldn't pull any more stunts like that. She'll accept whatever decision you make, Harry. As long as she and Astoria stay under your protection, everything will be fine." Draco leaned back, eyeing Harry with a knowing look. "But Hermione? She made it quite clear that anyone who tries to become a second wife to you will regret it. She won't stand for it."
The room fell silent for a moment. Harry felt his frustration bubbling up again, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders.
"What are you going to do now?" Ron asked cautiously. "This whole thing is getting out of hand. Hermione's a wreck, and she's already facing enough trouble just because she's Muggle-born. People already look down on her for that. Now she's at risk of becoming a social outcast if they find out the two of you are… well, whatever you are." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
Harry exhaled, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice tense. "I promised Daphne the Black family line because it seemed like the easiest way to handle things. She's been pushing for a betrothal for ages, but now… Now that Hermione's seeing red every time she's around, I don't know if that's even possible." His voice grew louder with each word, frustration seeping into every syllable. "If I announce anything official, it'll cause chaos! Hermione's already furious, and it'll only make things worse!" He slammed his fist into the table, letting out a sharp scream of frustration. "I don't know what to do! Bloody hell!"
Ron and Draco exchanged a glance, their expressions grim. They knew Harry well enough to understand how cornered he felt, how conflicted he was.
For a moment, silence filled the room again, the weight of Harry's outburst lingering in the air.
"What if…" Ron hesitated, glancing towards the door to ensure they weren't overheard. "What if you announced a betrothal contract to the Black family line but included someone else?" His words were cautious, as if he knew the very suggestion would be controversial.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "And who do you suggest? Another girl for Hermione to tear apart?"
Ron shook his head quickly. "No, not just anyone. I was thinking… what about Luna?"
The suggestion hung in the air for a moment. Harry blinked, trying to process what Ron was saying. Luna Lovegood? His mind raced with the implications.
Draco frowned, though he looked more intrigued than dismissive. "Luna?"
Ron nodded, warming to his idea. "Think about it. Luna's different. She's not like the others. She's brilliant in her own way, and let's face it, she's the only one who ever seems to catch Hermione off guard. Luna's got this way about her—she doesn't care about the usual things. Titles, marriage, status… it's all background noise to her. And if we're being honest, she probably wouldn't even mind. She's more interested in pudding than politics."
Harry stared at Ron, the thought of Luna as a second wife swirling in his mind. It was absurd and yet… there was something about it that made sense in the twisted reality they were living.
Draco, meanwhile, tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "And what about the issue of heirs? You know how the pureblood families are about legacy."
Ron shrugged, unfazed. "Who's to say Hermione can't just have four kids? And who will know anyway? Two for the Potter line, two for the Black line. Simple as that."
Draco let out a low chuckle. "So, we have Luna as the second wife, but Hermione's the one producing the heirs? The mightiest wife of them all?"
"Exactly," Ron said, nodding. "Luna wouldn't care about the politics, and the Lovegoods aren't connected to any influential families. They're purebloods, sure, but they've always done their own thing. Their magazine's got a niche following, and Xeno wouldn't care what people said. He'd be thrilled his daughter was protected by Harry."
Draco leaned back, still thinking. "And if things get too bad, Harry and the rest of us can just run to France. You and Sirius are dual citizens, after all."
All eyes turned to Harry, who had been quiet throughout the discussion, deep in thought. The plan sounded outlandish, but in the madness of Hogwarts politics, it might just work.
"I'll have to run this by Sirius first," Harry finally said, his voice low. "And I need to talk to Hermione. I have to calm her down before I even suggest anything like this… And Merlin help me if she tries to kill me for suggesting it. Or worse… hurts Luna."
"You're on your own with that," Draco said with a wry smile. "I don't know about you, but I'm terrified of her. Hermione wasn't just trying to injure Daphne—she was sending a message. I'd love to see the next girl who tries to make a move on you."
Harry groaned, slumping forward on the table. "Is it bad that I'm starting to like her more and more?"
"You're both mental," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "That's why you're perfect for each other."
xxxxx
Under the dense, shadowy canopy of the Forbidden Forest, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and moss. A soft, eerie stillness hung in the air, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant cry of some unseen creature. The fading daylight struggled to penetrate the thick web of branches overhead, casting everything in a dim, otherworldly twilight.
Harry pushed deeper into the forest, his feet crunching on the fallen leaves and twigs beneath him. He had ventured here before—enough to no longer feel the pang of fear the forest could evoke in most students—but today there was a sense of purpose behind his steps. He had come looking for Luna, and he knew exactly where to find her. She often sought solace in the oddest of places, and the Forbidden Forest had become one of her favorite retreats.
As Harry approached a familiar clearing, his eyes caught sight of Luna sitting on a mat, legs crossed, her attention focused on something invisible to him. A faint smile played on her lips, and she was throwing small pieces of meat into the air, watching them vanish as if they had been swallowed by the air itself. It was unnerving, watching the pieces disappear into nothing, but Harry knew better. Luna had spoken about it before, in that airy, nonchalant way of hers. The Thestrals—creatures that only those who had witnessed death could see. Luna could see them, but Harry couldn't.
Even knowing that the Thestrals were there, invisible to his eyes, gave him a strange, uneasy feeling. Watching Luna sit there, feeding creatures he couldn't see, made her seem even more otherworldly than usual. She was completely at ease, as if the strange beasts were her closest friends.
"Hey, Luna," Harry greeted, his voice soft as he approached and sat beside her on the mat. The coolness of the forest floor seeped through his clothes, grounding him in the moment.
Luna's head turned toward him, her silvery-grey eyes lighting up as she smiled. "Hello, Harry," she said dreamily, tossing another piece of meat toward the unseen creatures. "Trouble in paradise?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard by her words. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, you're joking," he realized, shaking his head with a faint smile. "That's a good one."
"You didn't laugh," Luna observed, her eyes returning to the spot where the meat had disappeared.
"Sorry," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't have the energy to laugh at the moment. Things have been... a bit absurd lately."
Luna nodded in that slow, thoughtful way of hers. "I've heard," she said, tossing another piece of meat, her eyes distant. "But I don't see why everyone is so bothered by a boy and a girl sharing a bed. We do that all the time."
Harry froze, his heart skipping a beat. "W-We do?" he stammered, eyes widening at her casual statement.
Luna giggled softly, the sound barely disturbing the peace of the forest. "Maybe," she mused, her smile widening. "In another world, perhaps."
Harry exhaled, shaking his head. That was Luna for you—always on the edge of reality, her thoughts drifting somewhere he could never quite reach. He leaned back against the mat, staring up at the tangled branches above, trying to gather his thoughts. He had come to ask her something important, something that had been weighing on him for days.
"I came to ask you something," Harry began, his voice low, hesitant.
Luna turned her gaze back to him, her face serene, as though she already knew what was coming. She often had that effect, as though she could see straight through you to whatever thoughts were stirring in your head. It was unsettling, but in moments like this, it also made things easier.
"You want me to be betrothed to you," Luna said softly, her tone light, but with a note of certainty that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "Under the Black family line, of course. But only as a display. Hermione will be your true wife, and she'll be the one to carry on both family lines in the future."
Harry's throat went dry. He hadn't even asked the question yet, and here she was, saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He nodded slowly, not bothering to ask how she knew. Luna always knew.
"Would you be okay with that?" Harry asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Luna hummed softly, her eyes drifting back to the empty air where the Thestrals roamed unseen. She was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching out between them like the endless shadows of the forest. Harry could feel his heartbeat quickening, a knot forming in his stomach as he waited for her response.
"I don't particularly care," she said at last, her tone light but thoughtful. "But I am a little concerned that Hermione might feed me to the Giant Squid if she finds out."
Harry blinked in surprise, then let out a laugh, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "She won't do that," he said, shaking his head. "I won't let her."
"You never know," Luna said in that airy, matter-of-fact way she had. "Girls can be quite unpredictable when it comes to matters of the heart."
Harry chuckled, though he wasn't entirely sure if she was being serious or not. "No, really," he insisted. "I promise, I'll even make an oath if that'll make you feel better." He reached for his wand, but before he could cast anything, Luna's hand gently pressed his arm down.
"There's no need for that," she said softly, her voice full of warmth. "I trust you, Harry. Your word is enough."
For a moment, Harry just stared at her, his chest swelling with gratitude. It was strange, the calm she brought him. Despite the oddity of their conversation, despite the weight of everything that had been happening, Luna's quiet acceptance made everything seem... simpler.
"Thank you, Luna," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Really. You don't know how much this means to me."
Luna gave him a small smile, her eyes shimmering with something that could have been amusement—or something deeper. "You don't need to thank me," she said, her voice a whisper in the still air. "Just remember that I'm yours, Harry. In this world, and all the others, I'll always be here for you."
Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that. He wasn't even sure if she was being serious or just Luna being Luna. But either way, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. One more piece of his chaotic plan had fallen into place, and though the road ahead was still full of uncertainty, at least he knew he wasn't walking it alone.
They sat in silence after that, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the wind and the quiet shifting of invisible creatures around them. Harry couldn't see the Thestrals, but he knew they were there, just as Luna always seemed to be. Strange, elusive, and somehow... comforting.