Chapter 35: Explosion
Notes:
Just a quick update. Been stuck in bed for almost two weeks due to an illness but everything's good and I'll start writing again. Missed you guys.
Chapter Text
As Hermione Granger made her way through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, each step felt heavier than the last. She'd been eager to return, longing for the comfort of her friends after two weeks away with her mother. Her brief leave from school had been to handle what they gently called "the incident," though the reality weighed far heavier. The grief, the nightmares—it all felt tangled around her heart.
Today was supposed to be different, though.
She had thought Harry would be waiting for her, ready to welcome her back with his usual warmth. But McGonagall's office had been empty, and only the open Floo connection had let her know she was expected.
Still, as she approached the Room of Requirement, she was surprised to see Draco Malfoy appear, his face grim, as he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. His tight grip on her arm and the silence that filled the air was unnerving. Before she knew it, they were stepping inside, Draco's tension seeping into her as he kept her close.
Inside, Ron greeted her with a tight, almost desperate hug, his relief palpable. "You're finally here," he said, his voice a mixture of relief and worry.
"What's going on?" Hermione demanded, her voice catching. "Where's Harry?"
She saw Luna in the corner, standing with an unusual intensity as she stared at two Marauder's Maps that showed every moving figure in Hogwarts. Luna's unwavering focus on Harry's dot unnerved her.
"Luna?" Hermione tried again, stepping closer to her. "What's Harry doing?"
Luna finally looked up, her usual dreamy demeanor absent. "Oh, hello, Hermione," she greeted softly, but her voice was barely above a whisper. "Welcome back, but I'm sorry... I'm a bit busy."
Hermione felt an unfamiliar, gnawing panic bubble up as she looked around at her friends. She stomped her foot, her voice firm. "I need an explanation now!"
The boys looked at each other, worry etched into their faces, and Draco glanced at Luna before beginning. "Alright, just... listen carefully. During the first week you and Harry were gone, we started talking to students who... who Lockhart had harmed."
Hermione's breath caught, her mind barely able to wrap around what he was saying.
"We managed to get testimonies from some of them," Draco continued. "We even added a drop of blood to seal their statements as truth. They trusted us to keep their names out of it when it finally goes public."
Ron took over, his tone tense. "When Harry got back, we still needed to talk to three students who seemed… who couldn't remember much of what had happened with him. These two girls, they... they seemed so confused when we tried to talk to them."
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as her gaze flickered to Luna, who was now gnawing her nails, eyes glued to the map.
"It just happened that those same girls were at Lockhart's quarters the night we decided to watch his office again," Draco went on, his voice barely steady. "So, under the Cloak, me, Luna, and Harry sneaked in and… and we saw it, Hermione. When there was a flicker of hesitation with the girls, Lockhart immediately Obliviates them, every time they're in there. They don't know. They can't remember the horrible things that happened."
The horror of it washed over her like a tidal wave. She felt frozen as she tried to process what they were saying. Her mind spun, each detail adding to the dark crescendo that tightened in her chest.
"Where is Harry going then?" she managed to whisper, feeling the desperation claw at her throat. "Why isn't he here?"
Draco hesitated, his gaze dark and uncertain, as he held out a parchment. She recognized it—the list of Muggleborn girls who had been targeted by Lockhart. Hermione had seen it before, her name last on the list.
But this time, she saw something new.
A single line had been drawn through her name.
The realization hit her like a blow to the chest. Her breaths came shallow and rapid, her hands shaking as she clutched her sides, feeling a nauseating wave of horror wash over her.
"N-No," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she stumbled back, her legs giving out beneath her. "No! No! This isn't possible! I never- No!"
She fell to her knees, clutching her arms around herself as if trying to hold together her own breaking heart. A raw, choking sob tore from her throat as the bile rose, and she barely had time to turn to the side before she retched, her body heaving with the weight of it all.
The floor beneath her blurred, and she felt nothing but disgust and betrayal, trapped in a nightmare she could never have imagined.
xxxxx
Luna let out a quiet sigh, watching Hermione's body shake from the violent reaction she couldn't suppress. Luna swiftly flicked her wand, vanishing the sick on the floor with a precise movement, before casting a gentle, grounding charm to steady Hermione's balance. She kept her expression calm as she turned to pull Ron aside, guiding him back to the Marauder's Maps, where Harry's dot was steadily making its way through Hogwarts' halls.
"Honestly, I told you all to wait for me to check on her first," Luna muttered, her tone low but edged with frustration. She knelt beside Hermione, placing a reassuring hand on her back, her fingers light but steady. "Hermione, can you hear me?" she whispered gently, her voice calm as the storm of emotions churned beneath them.
Hermione was barely aware of Luna's words. Her hands gripped her arms tightly as if the mere action could prevent her body from splintering apart. The weight of Ron's and Draco's conversation in the background, murmuring anxiously over the map, faded in and out. Luna's voice, however, pierced through the haze, an anchor amid her racing thoughts and spinning emotions.
"Puritatem reprehendo," Luna murmured, lifting her wand as a faint, white glow enveloped Hermione, slowly expanding before dimming, disappearing just as quickly as it came. Luna's features softened, her serious expression melting into something approaching relief.
Hermione's eyes met Luna's, her chest heaving. "W-What was that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as if afraid of the answer.
"It's a medical spell," Luna explained, her tone calm but laced with a trace of anger at the situation, "for checking if…if there were attacks, or breaches of a certain kind." She hesitated, but her eyes held firm on Hermione's. "You're purity's safe, Hermione. Nothing happened to you. It's as Harry predicted. Lockhart crossed you off his list probably because he couldn't touch you. You were too close to Harry, and he feared the fallout if Harry ever found out."
Hermione gasped, clutching Luna's shoulders, and shook her, disbelief and relief flooding her expression. "Are you sure?" Her voice trembled. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Yes," Luna managed to reply, laughing softly as Hermione's grip tightened in gratitude, her shoulders releasing as she hugged her fiercely. She wrapped her arms around Hermione in return, allowing her friend to take comfort, however brief, in the safety they were desperately trying to secure. "Now, take a deep breath. We need to think—figure out what Harry's next step is."
Hermione nodded, finally standing with shaky legs, her determination rekindling as she looked toward Ron and Draco. They stepped forward with expressions of remorse, ready to apologize, but she waved them off. She appreciated the care they'd taken to confirm everything before telling her, but she couldn't let them dwell on it now. Her gaze flickered to the maps, narrowing as she spotted Harry's dot, pacing intently.
"Where's Harry headed?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she followed his figure moving further away. Her chest tightened as she saw his path—directly toward the Headmaster's office. "Is he going…to Dumbledore?"
The others exchanged wary glances, and Ron broke the silence. "When he stormed out of here, we thought for sure he'd be going after Lockhart," he muttered, as if still doubting the decision.
Hermione's mind raced, putting together the clues Harry left. "Wait—he left you all here?" she asked, her voice sharpening as her suspicions took root.
"Yeah," Draco answered, an edge of frustration in his voice. "Told us to wait until you got back and handed over spare wands and the Invisibility Cloak. Then he bolted."
All eyes turned back to the map as Harry's dot finally paused in the Headmaster's office, the tiny figure marked by his name now stationary, locked in place. Hermione's heart pounded as she thought through every step Harry must have planned, every angle he'd covered without her. Her mind churned, analyzing why he'd told them to stay behind, piecing together the strategy he must have calculated, thinking back to the spare wands and cloak he'd left for them.
Her eyes darted to the small bundle on the couch. The spare wands. The cloak.
The realization hit her like a blow. Hermione's stomach twisted with newfound dread. "Where's Lockhart?" she demanded, voice ice-cold and focused.
Luna raised her wand, pointing to Ron's map. "Gilderoy Lockhart," she commanded. The enchanted parchment shimmered, and Lockhart's dot blinked, highlighted, showing the quickest route from the seventh-floor corridor down to his current location.
Hermione's lip curled as she took it in, a thrill of satisfaction surging within her as she saw the extra charms they'd managed to embed on the map were working perfectly. "We have to do it now," she said, her voice unwavering, a sharpened edge of resolve in her tone as she reached for a wand.
"Do what?" Draco asked, his brows furrowing as he processed her tone.
"We're going to kill Lockhart." Her voice was hard, determined. She tightened her grip on the wand. "Harry's using himself as a distraction. He's in Dumbledore's office so we have our chance."
Ron's eyes widened, his voice strangled as he took in her words. "Hermione, are you serious?"
"Yes," she hissed, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her gaze steeled over her friends, daring them to question her decision. "Questions later. Right now, we move. He's been harming people under our noses for too long."
Luna, Draco, and Ron met her gaze with a mixture of alarm and agreement, seeing the fury igniting her features, the raw determination in her eyes. They nodded in unison, each one understanding the necessity in her words, the weight of the choice she was making. Together, they moved into position, ready to make their way down, as Hermione pocketed the cloak, her heart pounding with the gravity of what lay ahead.
xxxxx
Professor Albus Dumbledore observed the young man standing before him with a mix of curiosity and concern. In all his years of knowing Harry Potter, he'd never seen him so still, let alone accepting lemon drops with such nonchalance. Harry had already unwrapped and consumed three pieces of the candy, yet he hadn't offered so much as a hint as to why he'd come. Dumbledore waited, the twinkle in his eyes tempered with patience, but inwardly, he couldn't help but wonder at the boy's unusual calm.
"Harry?" Dumbledore finally prompted, clearing his throat gently. "Is there a reason for this visit?"
Harry's gaze sharpened slightly as he blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "Oh, right." He affected an innocent tone, though there was a familiar spark of intensity behind his green eyes. "I was wondering when you'd get around to replacing the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Uncle Moony mentioned he's interested in the job, you know."
Dumbledore's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Ah, but we already have a Defense professor, my boy," he replied, a hint of amusement brightening his expression as he stroked his beard.
"Yeah, but you do realize he's a scam, right?" Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes with the kind of youthful derision that often masked something deeper. Dumbledore could sense there was more behind Harry's words, but he allowed the boy to continue.
"Harry, you shouldn't speak of your professor in such a way," Dumbledore admonished, though there was that customary twinkle in his eyes. He knew all too well that Harry wasn't the type to hurl accusations without reason.
Unbothered by the mild reprimand, Harry leaned forward, his tone growing sharper. "Headmaster, I've learned more from library books than from that man's entire class. History of Magic has been more riveting lately." He shot Dumbledore an annoyed glance, and Dumbledore felt the weight of the boy's frustration pressing against the silence in the room.
Harry wasn't exaggerating; Lockhart's classes had become nothing more than a tiresome routine of exaggerated stories and self-flattery. As Dumbledore studied him, he saw the subtle changes in the young wizard—an edge, a world-weariness unbefitting his age. He couldn't ignore the suspicion that something beyond mere annoyance with Lockhart was plaguing him.
"Let it be, Harry," Dumbledore said at last, sighing. "Professor Lockhart's contract is temporary, after all, and the term will be over soon enough."
Harry's response was a low grumble, his expression darkening further as he crossed his arms, visibly displeased. Dumbledore watched him closely, noting the tension in his frame, the way his fingers twitched at his sides as if ready to reach for his wand. Whatever this encounter with Lockhart entailed, it had clearly unsettled him in ways Dumbledore hadn't anticipated.
As the conversation lulled, Dumbledore allowed his mind to wander. There were other matters that intrigued him—chiefly, Harry and Hermione's recent return to the Potter Manor. Ever since it had been revealed that Hermione was a witch, she and her mother, Emma Granger, had taken up residence there for reasons no one had fully explained. It was an unusual choice, considering both Harry and Sirius Black's wariness about allowing anyone into their inner circle. It spoke volumes that Harry, so guarded and self-contained, had granted the Grangers such trust.
The boy in front of him wasn't the same eleven-year-old who'd stepped into Hogwarts two years ago. Harry had grown, not just in stature, but in confidence and intensity. And there was Hermione, ever at his side, her influence seemingly gentle but deeply rooted. Dumbledore mused to himself about the bond between them, sensing its power and promise. If Hermione held a key to connecting with Harry, it would be wise to encourage it—though, in time, he would steer the boy toward alliances more suited to his legacy, perhaps one that would bind him securely to the pureblooded heritage he held as Sirius's heir.
Dumbledore leaned back with a thoughtful smile, considering his options. A pureblood match might bring stability, allow Harry to expand his influence—
But his thoughts were shattered by a sudden, deafening explosion that reverberated through the castle walls, shaking the room with its force. The portraits lining the walls gasped in alarm, and several frames shook as the occupants craned their necks to see what was amiss. The resounding boom echoed, and Dumbledore's head snapped toward the doorway, his brow creasing with alarm.
Both he and Harry remained frozen for a heartbeat, locked in a tense silence. They exchanged a look—one of mutual understanding and unspoken urgency. Without another word, they bolted from the office, Dumbledore's long robes trailing behind him as he swept out the door, Harry close on his heels.
xxxxx
Harry and Dumbledore exchanged tense, silent glances as they made their way through the crowded corridors of Hogwarts, students and professors alike jostling past them, faces etched with alarm and worry. The hallways were abuzz with hurried whispers and fearful glances, but both Harry and Dumbledore moved with determined purpose, following the faint yet unmistakable trail of smoke lingering in the air.
The smell of burnt wood and scorched stone intensified as they drew closer to the epicenter of the blast. Professors Flitwick and Sprout joined them, hurrying from opposite directions, robes swirling as they approached the source of the commotion. Judging by the grim set of their expressions, they had already narrowed down the possible locations of the explosion, their worried glances darting between the dungeons and the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor. There was a heavy, unspoken understanding in their eyes—a suspicion that had come to rest firmly on the latter.
One brief glance from Dumbledore seemed enough to confirm what neither professor dared to voice aloud. Harry, however, sensed the silent consensus; Lockhart must have done something reckless.
The pair arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, now flanked by Professors McGonagall and Snape, both doing their best to keep the students at bay. McGonagall's normally composed demeanor was strained, her lips pursed tightly as she ushered straggling students back to their common rooms. Snape, however, looked equal parts livid and disgusted, his black eyes flashing as he surveyed the wreckage inside the classroom.
Harry's heart pounded as he took in the sight, an unsettling tension settling over him like a weight. What was once a classroom now looked as though it had been struck by a destructive spell of massive proportion. The walls were blackened and pitted with deep scorch marks, and shards of shattered desks and chairs lay scattered among chunks of stone that had fallen from the ceiling. Heavy dust hung in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of magic gone awry.
"What the hell?" Harry whispered, almost to himself. He stood close to Dumbledore, who seemed as shocked as he was at the utter devastation before them.
But then Harry's eyes landed on something that sent a shiver down his spine—a dark, crimson stain marring the otherwise gray stone floor. He swallowed, feeling his stomach turn. "Ugh, is that... b-blood?"
At Harry's hesitant question, the professors followed his gaze to the dark smear near the center of the wreckage. The sight of it drew an uncharacteristic gasp from Professor Sprout, and even McGonagall's expression flickered with alarm. Silence fell over the group as each professor's face grew more grave. Wordlessly, they began to sift through the debris, carefully shifting rubble aside until, beneath a tangle of collapsed beams and shattered stone, they uncovered the figure of Gilderoy Lockhart, sprawled and motionless.
The damage was shocking—Lockhart's robes were torn, dusted with the remnants of splintered wood and stone. His usually pristine golden hair was matted with dust, his face streaked with grime and blood. He looked almost unrecognizable, like a broken doll left discarded in the aftermath of a storm.
Suddenly, chaos broke out as students in the surrounding hall caught sight of Lockhart's crumpled form, their gasps and frantic murmurs filling the air. McGonagall raised her voice, stern and unyielding, as she and the other professors ordered the students to return to their common rooms, their voices carrying a tone that brooked no argument. Slowly, reluctantly, the crowd began to disperse, many casting furtive glances back toward the wreckage as they departed.
Harry lingered a moment, gaze fixed on the professor's unconscious form. He felt a strange sense of confusion, as though he were missing something vital, a memory just out of reach. His eyes narrowed, but no amount of concentration could summon the elusive thought that dangled on the edge of his awareness. With a resigned sigh, he finally shook his head, surrendering to the haze of uncertainty clouding his mind.
Turning away from the scene, he followed the throng of Gryffindors as they moved back toward the tower. His thoughts remained heavy, unsettled, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon. Whatever had happened here felt like the beginning of something far darker, and despite himself, he couldn't shake the nagging sense that somehow, in some way, he was already involved in it.
xxxxx
Harry entered the Gryffindor common room with a tense frown, a feeling of unease gnawing at the edges of his mind. It felt like an itch he couldn't scratch, as if something important was slipping through his grasp, just beyond reach. He paused, trying to shake the sensation off, but it clung to him like a shadow.
"Harry!" Ron stumbled in front of him, looking like he'd sprinted the entire way. His hair was a mess, and he was breathing heavily. Luna stood next to him, serene as always, though her gaze held a piercing intensity as she looked at Harry. "Where have you been?!"
Harry opened his mouth, ready to respond, but the words faltered. There it was again—that nagging, irritating feeling of something missing. "I was… I was at Dumbledore's," he managed, his voice uncertain. "We heard an explosion… oh! We just came back from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It was a mess. Lockhart was on the ground, bleeding, with his limbs pointing in all sorts of weird directions."
"Is he… is he alive?" Ron whispered, his voice wavering slightly.
Harry frowned, a hint of the bizarre scene flashing in his memory. He nodded. "I think so. He was breathing, but they're taking him to the hospital wing to see if he'll need to be sent to St. Mungo's."
Ron muttered something under his breath, his jaw clenched, but Luna reached out and patted his arm gently. Her touch seemed to calm him, if only a little. Harry watched them both, an uneasy feeling growing in his chest. Something was clearly off.
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and worry.
"I'll explain later, Harry," Luna murmured, her usual dreamy tone replaced by something more serious. She leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "For now, it's best if we just stay here."
With a slight nod, Harry allowed Luna to pull him into a cozy corner of the room. The flickering light from the fireplace cast shadows across their faces, adding a sense of gravity to the moment. Ron sank down beside them, his gaze fixed intently on Harry, a strange, almost haunted look in his eyes.
"Mate, are you… are you alright?" Ron's question was hesitant, but the worry in his voice was clear.
Harry gave him a crooked grin, trying to dispel the tension that seemed to coil around them all. "Me? I'm fantastic… I think. Why?"
"N-Nothing." Ron mumbled, though he glanced nervously at Luna as if asking for reassurance. Luna simply nodded, her gaze thoughtful and distant.
Before Harry could press further, a voice cut through the quiet murmurs of the common room. "Harry?" Hermione's voice carried a mixture of relief and urgency. He turned, catching sight of her standing by the far side of the room. Her expression softened when their eyes met, and she hurried toward him.
Harry's face lit up instantly, breaking through the grim mood that had settled over him. "Hermione!" He rose to his feet as she closed the distance between them, barely giving him a moment to react before she flung herself into his arms, squeezing him tightly. He chuckled, catching her midair as her familiar laugh echoed in his ears.
"Since when did you get back?" he asked, settling her onto the couch next to Luna. "You should've told me you were coming. I would've come to pick you up!"
Hermione's brows furrowed as she regarded him. "What do you mean? You knew I was coming today. You told them before you left the Room that—" She stopped, glancing quickly around the room before pulling out her wand and casting a series of privacy spells. Her gaze was suddenly intense, worried. "Harry… what was the last thing you remember?"
Harry blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "The last thing?" He thought hard, furrowing his brow. "Well… I remember going to Dumbledore's office to ask him about… something, but that's all. Earlier than that, I guess I woke up and went straight to Dumbledore's? Next thing I know, I'm eating his lemon drops and telling him that Uncle Moony wants the Defense Against the Dark Arts position… and then we heard the explosion."
"Bloody hell, Harry, you've lost your memories!" Ron's exclamation broke through the silence, his face a mixture of shock and concern.
"What?" Harry's heart sank. He tried to force his mind to grasp at the elusive threads of memory, but there was a strange, undeniable blankness. It was as if parts of his mind had been quietly erased, leaving behind only fragments. A cold wave of dread washed over him, draining the color from his face.
Ron and Hermione exchanged panicked glances, their own worry escalating as they looked back at Harry's pale face. Luna, however, remained calm, raising her hand slightly, drawing Harry's attention.
"Luna? What's wrong?" he asked, hoping she might provide some clarity.
Luna's silver-blue gaze held his firmly, a strange wisdom flickering in her eyes. "Harry… you've lost your memories because you told me to perform a short-term memory charm on you."
"What?!" Hermione's voice was filled with alarm. "Harry, that's… that's dangerous! Memory charms can go wrong so easily. You could have—"
"Hey, don't look at me!" Harry snapped, though there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "I didn't even know I did that. I forgot about it entirely!" He turned back to Luna, his expression skeptical yet desperate. "Are you sure, Luna? This… I didn't even know I knew the spell for a short-term memory charm."
Luna nodded, her gaze unwavering. "You don't know the charm, Harry. But I do. I told you I could perform it when you asked if any of us knew the Obliviate spell. I told you that I only know the short-term version. You'd forgotten that too. Afterward, you ordered me to cast it on you as soon as you left the Room of Requirement so that you'd act naturally around Dumbledore."
Harry's brow furrowed as he tried to recall, but the memory remained maddeningly out of reach. The frustration was almost unbearable, each effort to remember only increasing the hazy discomfort in his mind. Finally, he shook his head. "I still can't remember… but it does sound like something I'd ask you to do." He sighed, a deep sense of unease settling over him. "What else happened? I need to know everything that I missed."
A heavy silence fell over the group, each of them glancing at one another, the weight of unspoken knowledge hanging heavily in the air.
xxxxx
Harry couldn't believe his ears, his mind whirling as he tried to process the revelations Luna had unraveled. His memory felt fractured, like shards of glass, and with each word Luna spoke, he pieced together the dangerous events he'd somehow orchestrated and then chosen to forget.
The afternoon light filtered softly through the Gryffindor common room, casting long shadows over them. Harry's gaze flicked from Hermione to Ron, both of them solemn and tense as they recounted the tangled plot they'd woven to protect Hermione and finally expose Lockhart.
"I left you some spare wands and the Cloak?" Harry asked dumbly, his voice quieter than intended, still tinged with disbelief.
Hermione's eyes flashed with that fierce, quick intelligence that both impressed and unnerved him whenever she took charge. She leaned closer, her voice a fierce whisper. "Yes, Harry! You left us those wands for a reason. There's no way you would've just given us those things unless you wanted us to… deal with him ourselves."
Her tone wavered slightly, as if she herself was still processing what they had done. Harry could practically see the events she described unfolding in his mind, chaotic and edged with a touch of horror. Ron leaned in, his face tight with nerves as he recounted their harrowing encounter with Lockhart.
"We didn't have much of a plan, Harry," Ron began, his fingers clenching into the fabric of his robes, "only to ask him questions, get him to slip up. But the second he pulled out his wand…" He swallowed, his eyes flickering with the unease of that moment. "Well, Draco and I panicked and hit him with Bombarda—both of us, just… reflex, I guess."
Harry could feel the tension in the room thicken. He closed his eyes, visualizing the scene: the explosive blasts of their spells, Lockhart's raised wand, and Hermione throwing up a shield charm just in time. In his mind's eye, he saw the aftermath—the classroom thick with smoke, furniture splintered across the floor, and Lockhart sprawled in a heap, bruised and bloodied. The image brought a dark sort of satisfaction, unsettling in its intensity, and he found himself chuckling, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"I can't believe you guys did that," he finally said, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of it. "Merlin's beard, the classroom was an absolute disaster."
Ron gave a tentative grin, scratching his head as he met Harry's gaze. "Was it really that bad?" he asked, a mix of curiosity and unease in his tone.
"Bad enough that I doubt we'll have classes in there anytime soon," Harry replied, a grin tugging at his lips despite the gravity of it all. But then, an idea sparked, widening his smirk. "I wonder if Colin took any photos from before it was cleaned up. We could pass them to Rita Skeeter, let her know about the 'accident'—make it look like Lockhart's incompetence is finally being exposed."
Ron's eyes lit up, and Hermione leaned in with a slow, determined nod. The thought of publicly humiliating Lockhart, exposing his vanity and irresponsibility, was too enticing. Harry could practically feel the weight of the Daily Prophet in his hands, see the shocked reactions of those reading an article showcasing Lockhart's bloodied, battered image alongside a scathing exposé.
"But what do we do now?" Hermione interrupted, her voice pulling him back to the present. Her face was set with worry, her brow furrowed as she looked at each of them. "How do we get rid of him for good?"
Harry took a breath, his mind racing with possibilities. "We'll need to take a step back. Lay low until we figure out our next move. The problem is the students he's already affected—those two poor souls he Obliviated permanently."
An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and they all exchanged a heavy look. They knew the effects of a permanent memory charm were irreversible. The tragedy of those two students' lives, blanked out and altered irrevocably, weighed on them all. A chill ran down Harry's spine, his fingers tightening on the edge of the sofa as he absorbed the severity of Lockhart's crimes.
"Then there's the Hufflepuff girl," he added after a moment, recalling the girl who'd been trailing Lockhart, her eyes glazed with blind infatuation. "She's still enchanted, but it doesn't look like a potion or a charm." He looked to Hermione, hoping she might have insight.
"That's right," Ron nodded, his face clouded with uncertainty.
Hermione's brow knitted as she considered his words. "So, if she's not under a spell, then… it might be some other kind of manipulation," she murmured, biting her lip. "Harry, do you remember the Polyjuice potion Mum used when she visited? We could… I don't know, use something like that."
Harry's eyes widened, and a slow smile began to form as he considered her suggestion. "You're talking about using Polyjuice to infiltrate… You think you could make it?"
Hermione hesitated, her face flickering with both fear and determination. "I'll need to get the ingredients," she replied, her voice firm with resolve. "It'll take time, but if it helps us expose Lockhart…" She trailed off, looking at Harry with an expression of urgency and risk.
The weight of their choices settled heavily between them, an unspoken bond forming as they exchanged a look of mutual understanding. Harry knew they were on a dangerous path, one that could lead to serious consequences if they were caught. And yet, as he gazed into their faces—each one resolute, each one willing to see this through with him—he felt a surge of gratitude mixed with the tension tight in his chest.
They would go forward, whatever it took.
xxxxx
It didn't take long for word to spread throughout Hogwarts about the accident in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Rita Skeeter, as relentless as ever, had latched onto every snippet of information, inflating the smallest details and maximizing the scandal of it all. The single photo Harry provided—a smoky, chaotic mess of shattered furniture and scorched walls—had made the front page. Rita spun her story with a flair only she could muster, casting Lockhart as a bumbling professor whose own "enthusiastic" demonstrations had almost destroyed his career in a single, fiery blast.
Harry had made sure it looked like an unfortunate mishap, carefully constructing the narrative so that Lockhart's reputation would suffer while still keeping him around. As tempting as it was to see him dismissed outright, Harry knew they'd need time to carry out their own plan for the professor. For the entire week, Howlers streamed into the professors' offices, berating them for the danger students faced in the DADA classroom. Harry's fingers itched for the next move, his mind calculating every possible outcome.
But for now, here they were in the Room of Requirement, each of them absorbed in their own roles.
The air in the room was heavy with the cloying stench of stewed herbs and other acrid ingredients. The cauldron bubbled, sending up foul-smelling clouds that drifted across the room in thick, oily plumes. The space had morphed into a makeshift potions lab, with vials and jars of ingredients strewn across every available surface, their glass surfaces dulled by the hazy air. The smell was enough to make anyone queasy, but Harry pressed on, the tang of purpose outweighing the discomfort.
"Oh, it smells disgusting in here!" Ron complained, covering his nose with his sleeve as he and Harry made their way inside. His face twisted with distaste, his eyes watering as he squinted against the dense fog hanging over the cauldron.
Near the center of the room, Hermione and Luna were huddled over the simmering concoction, focused entirely on their work. Hermione's brow furrowed in concentration as she measured out precise quantities of each ingredient, adding them with a practiced hand. Beside her, Luna stirred, her movements slow and steady, her face serene despite the thick, nauseating scent swirling around them.
On a worn couch in the corner, Draco sat back, a cloth pressed firmly over his face in a feeble attempt to ward off the smell. His eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and discomfort as he watched his friends, his muffled voice carrying a tone of disdain. "Worst part is, the smell just gets worse and worse."
Hermione shot them both a look, her eyes fierce over the rim of her cauldron. "You two keep complaining, and I'll make sure your next dose has Filch's hair in it!" Her voice was a low hiss, her tone deadly serious. "Luna hasn't even said a word about the smell."
Harry stifled a grin, his gaze shifting to the two girls laboring over the potion. He approached, holding out a chocolate frog for Hermione and a sugar quill for Luna, his gesture met with appreciative smiles. The air between them felt tense but warm, bound by a shared purpose.
"Need any help?" he asked, his voice softer now as he leaned close.
Luna accepted the quill with a faint smile. "Thanks, Harry, but we're nearly finished. Just need to divide it into doses and add the hair." She gestured to the potion with a graceful hand, her tone as calm and dreamy as ever, though her eyes sparkled with intensity.
Ron looked intrigued, glancing from the cauldron to Harry, then back. "Who are we using for the potion?"
Harry pulled a tiny vial from his pocket, holding it up to catch the dim light. Inside was a single dark hair, short and fine. "Justin Finch-Fletchley. Got it from him during Herbology," he explained, shaking the vial slightly. "Hermione's got hair from Susan and Hannah for her and Luna."
Draco's snort was audible even through the cloth on his face. "Honestly, infiltrating Hufflepuff shouldn't be this complicated. If we knocked, they'd probably invite us in for tea."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle, and the laughter bubbled up in Ron too. The three boys exchanged a knowing look, Draco's sarcasm laced with a dark kind of humor they all shared.
Still, Harry's gaze hardened, turning serious as he pocketed the vial. "You two are staying here. We need someone with the Cloak ready in case the Polyjuice wears off early."
Ron's face fell, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. "Why does Luna get to go?" he asked, his tone half-jealous, half-incredulous.
"Because Luna can perform a short-term memory charm," Harry snapped, his voice edged with impatience. "If anything goes wrong, she's our best shot at covering it up. Plus," he added, glancing meaningfully at Hermione, "we need a girl to check the dormitories."
Ron grumbled under his breath, his shoulders slumping, but he didn't argue further. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, casting a dark look at the cauldron.
Draco stirred, lowering the cloth from his face slightly, his gaze calculating as he regarded Harry. "And you're sure you'll be fine in the dormitories? Might want to take the Invisibility Cloak, just in case."
Harry nodded, the tension easing slightly as he acknowledged Draco's concern. "Yeah, I guess. Good idea. I'll take it."
He turned his attention back to the cauldron, watching as Hermione continued stirring the murky liquid, her movements precise and controlled. Draco's words hung in the air, a warning that resonated deeper than it might have seemed. There was a looming sense of danger, of an unspoken risk they were all taking.
But even amid the tension, there was a strange calm as the girls worked. Harry trusted Hermione's skill implicitly, and Luna's steady presence was grounding in its own unique way. The potion's surface rippled, shifting colors as each new ingredient was added, the whole concoction finally settling into a sickly green hue.
As they finished, Draco leaned back, sighing heavily. "Just… watch out for Longbottom, Harry," he muttered.
A chill ran down Harry's spine at the mention of Longbottom, a reminder of their past run-ins. "I can handle him," he said dismissively, shrugging off the warning.
Hermione's brow knitted as she glanced over. "Wait, Longbottom?"
Luna's eyes darkened, her voice softening with a hint of sadness. "Pretty rude boy. Last time Harry and I were talking, he shoved Harry down and asked if I was alright. Like he thought Harry was bothering me." Her voice was serene but laced with a disappointment that Harry hadn't missed at the time.
Ron's reaction was instant. "That idiot! He only pulls this rubbish with Harry because he thinks he can. Just because he's got some misplaced sense of 'honor' or something. That stupid Hufflepuff…" His voice dripped with disdain.
Hermione seemed stunned, her gaze snapping to Harry with a flicker of concern. "Wait, why was he pushing you? What were you and Luna doing?"
Harry rolled his eyes, exasperation creeping into his tone. "That's what you're focused on?" he muttered, shaking his head. "It was ages ago. I was just asking Luna about… plans for Parkinson. Took her to the greenhouse, and Longbottom happened to be there."
Draco's face turned serious, his voice dropping as he looked directly at Harry. "Look, just promise me you won't get into a fight with him. Longbottom only acts tough because he thinks he has to. He's beneath you, Harry."
Harry's mouth twisted in a half-smile. "Relax, Draco. I'll be in and out. Just an hour—get the information we need and leave."
Ron scowled, muttering under his breath, "I still want to go."
Both Harry and Draco spoke in unison, their voices final. "No."
The cauldron hissed, a plume of steam rising as the potion finally settled, ready for them to divide into doses. They all exchanged a heavy look, the weight of their decisions pressing down on them, a shared burden that bound them together tighter than any spell.
Chapter 36: Pudding
Chapter Text
The Room of Requirement morphed to fit their every need, its usual magical ambiance replaced by a somber, makeshift laboratory. The air reeked of an acrid, nauseating stench that clung to their robes and refused to dissipate. The cauldron in the center emitted wisps of greenish steam, curling and spreading an almost oppressive atmosphere of dread.
"I must say, you look great in yellow, Harry," Draco sneered, leaning casually against the far wall. His voice carried an undercurrent of smug amusement, his gray eyes glinting as they took in Harry's reluctant appearance in the Hufflepuff robes.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry muttered, flipping him off with a grin that betrayed a flicker of nervousness. Despite his best efforts, the ill-fitting robes made him look almost comical—a rare sight for someone usually so confident.
Ron, sitting cross-legged near the doorway, snorted as his gaze wandered. "I can't believe the Hufflepuff common room is near the kitchens," he remarked wistfully, shaking his head. "If I'd known that, I might've asked the Sorting Hat to put me there. Imagine sneaking to the kitchens every night—paradise!" His wistfulness clashed with the grim purpose of their mission, a stark reminder of how different the stakes were for each of them.
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, her gaze flicking to Luna, who was gently stirring a simmering vial of potion. The younger girl's dreamy expression remained unperturbed, a stark contrast to Hermione's tense demeanor. It was almost maddening how Luna seemed unaffected by the weight of what they were about to do.
"You have the potions ready, Luna?" Hermione asked, her tone clipped and hurried.
Luna nodded serenely, holding up three vials filled with thick, murky liquid. "Yes. And the hair?" she asked, her tone as calm as if they were discussing tea, not preparing for a high-stakes infiltration.
Hermione retrieved the small pouches of hair from her pocket and held them up for Luna's inspection. They glinted faintly in the low light. "Remember," Hermione began, her voice firm as she handed the vials to Harry and Luna, "we don't know how long this will last, so ideally, we're in and out within the hour. No unnecessary risks. No delays."
Harry gave a quick nod, his jaw tightening with determination. "Got it. I'll focus on gathering intel in the common room—pretend to show interest in… what's her name again? Heather Williams?"
"That's right," Draco said, pushing himself off the wall. His face had lost its earlier smugness, replaced by a more somber expression. "But keep your wits about you. This is a test run for the Polyjuice Potion, not a free-for-all. If anyone gets suspicious, bail immediately. Hermione," he continued, fixing her with an intense stare, "you've got the Invisibility Cloak and the hardest job here. Don't get distracted. Finish as fast as you can and head to the Gryffindor common room or back here. No heroics."
Hermione nodded sharply, clutching the cloak in her hand.
Ron grimaced, eyeing the vials with undisguised disgust. "Ugh, the potion looks awful," he muttered, his face wrinkling as if the mere sight of it could make him sick. "Be careful, guys. I mean it."
Harry exchanged a look with Luna and Hermione. "Bottoms up, girls," he said, forcing a smirk as he raised his vial. Their vials clinked together in a mock toast before they simultaneously tipped them back.
The liquid burned as it slid down Harry's throat, thick and cloying, leaving a vile aftertaste that made him gag. His stomach churned violently, and his knees buckled as he dropped the empty vial, clutching at his midsection.
"I—I think I'm going to be sick," Harry gasped, his voice strained as he dropped to his hands and knees.
Luna was no better, kneeling beside him with a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, her wide eyes watering as she struggled to keep the potion down. Hermione staggered to the nearest table, clutching its edge as her legs gave way beneath her.
"I—I can't," Hermione choked out before disappearing behind the table, the sound of her gagging filling the room.
"Sh—shit," Harry groaned, his entire body convulsing as the potion began to take effect. It was as though his very bones were shifting, his skin stretching and reshaping itself.
"It's working!" Ron shouted, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and horror. "Harry and Luna—they're changing!"
Draco's face blanched as he peeked over the table at Hermione. "Hermione?! W-What's going on?!" he demanded, his usual composure slipping.
Hermione's voice was a strained whisper from behind the table. "The potion… it didn't work on me. Something's wrong."
Harry groaned as he staggered to his feet, his transformation complete. The reflection staring back at him from a nearby mirror was unfamiliar—he was Justin Finch-Fletchley now, down to the mop of sandy blonde hair and slightly crooked smile.
Beside him, Luna—now Hannah Abbott—placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. Her dreamy voice sounded odd coming from her borrowed form. "We need to go, Harry," she said softly, though her gaze lingered on Hermione with concern.
"What about Hermione?" Harry protested, glancing at Draco, whose expression was a mix of frustration and worry.
"Go!" Hermione's voice was sharp and commanding. "You don't have time to wait for me. Just go!"
Harry hesitated, his instincts warring with his better judgment. Finally, he nodded, his face pale. "Make sure she's okay," he muttered, directing his words at both Ron and Draco before allowing Luna to pull him toward the door.
Draco crouched by the table, whispering something to Hermione as she remained hidden. His eyes flicked to Harry one last time, his expression unreadable. "Watch your back," he murmured.
Harry gave a short nod before slipping out with Luna, the door closing behind them.
Behind the table, Hermione wiped at her eyes with trembling hands, her frustration and fear bubbling just beneath the surface. Draco stayed by her side, his usual sharp tongue replaced by an uncharacteristic silence as he kept watch. The tension in the room was palpable, thick and suffocating, as they waited for the outcome of a mission that now hung precariously in the balance.
xxxxx
Harry and Luna made it to the Hufflepuff common room in just a few minutes. Conversing slightly and waiting at the entrance for the enchanted barrel to reveal the way inside, they kept their conversation casual, mindful of the Polyjuice Potion coursing through their veins.
Harry, currently disguised as Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Luna, appearing as Hannah Abbott, had rehearsed their roles meticulously. Still, there was a nervous edge to their movements as they stepped inside the warm, cozy sanctuary of the Hufflepuff house.
The low-ceilinged room was instantly comforting, with its earthy tones and golden-yellow glow. Burnished copper glinted in the firelight, and overstuffed armchairs in shades of yellow and black were scattered across the room, inviting anyone to sink into their soft cushions. Circular windows framed views of rippling grass and dandelions, an oddly tranquil sight despite the mission they were here to complete. A grand honey-colored mantelpiece, intricately carved with badgers, stood as a testament to the house's founder, Helga Hufflepuff, whose portrait hung just above it, watching over her domain.
Despite the warmth of the room, Harry felt anything but comfortable. His gaze darted around, scanning the room for any signs of trouble. Luna, ever serene, leaned closer, her voice low as she murmured, "I'll head to the dormitories now. Remember, we need something personal—a diary, letters, anything incriminating."
Harry nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line as he handed over the Invisibility Cloak. Luna accepted it, her fingers brushing against his briefly before she turned and blended into the crowd, heading towards the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories. Harry resisted the urge to glance after her, knowing it would draw attention. Instead, he took a steadying breath and moved to an empty armchair, picking up a random book from a nearby table.
Opening it to a random page, Harry feigned interest, his eyes skimming over the text without absorbing a single word. His mind raced. The Polyjuice Potion had limited time left, and while he trusted Luna to know what to do, the thought of her being caught made his stomach churn. She wasn't as adept at subtlety as Hermione, and if something went wrong, the blame would undoubtedly fall hardest on her.
He shifted in his seat, trying to appear casual, but the tension in his shoulders was obvious. His fingers tapped against the book's spine, a nervous rhythm that betrayed his growing unease. He glanced up occasionally, scanning the room for any sign of Luna—or worse, suspicion.
"Hey, Justin, you okay?" The sudden voice startled him, and Harry looked up to see Neville Longbottom standing nearby. With him were Ernie Macmillan and Zacharias Smith, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to faint suspicion.
Harry forced a cough, schooling his expression into one of weariness. "Yeah, just feeling a little under the weather today," he said, his voice carefully mimicking Justin's tone.
"You do look a bit off," Zacharias noted, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Maybe you should head to the hospital wing."
"No need," Harry said quickly, waving a hand dismissively. "I was actually planning to talk to Hannah about something before curfew." He glanced towards the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories, hoping Luna would emerge soon.
Ernie frowned. "Hannah? Why do you need to talk to her?"
"It's about homework," Harry said, keeping his tone light. "Nothing serious."
Neville exchanged a glance with Ernie and Zacharias, his brow furrowing. "You could've asked me, you know. I don't see why you need to bother Hannah with it."
Harry bit back a sigh of frustration. "Look, Neville, it's not a big deal. I'm just waiting for her, that's all."
But Neville didn't seem convinced. His gaze lingered on Harry, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. Harry's hand drifted towards his sock, where his wand was hidden. His real wand was safely tucked away, but Justin's wand, pilfered while the real Justin was unconscious, rested within his robes. The weight of it was both reassuring and unnerving.
Before the tension could escalate, a voice called out, "Justin?"
Harry turned sharply to see Luna—still disguised as Hannah—standing at the edge of the room, her expression calm but purposeful.
"You said you wanted to talk to me?" she asked, her voice lilting with just the right amount of curiosity.
Harry blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before nodding. "Uh, yeah. Right. Hold on." He rose from his seat, grateful for the interruption.
As he approached Luna, Neville called out, "Wait, where are you going? It's nearly curfew!"
Harry didn't respond. Instead, he grabbed Luna's hand and muttered, "Let's go," leading her towards the exit. Once they were out of earshot, he whispered, "Everything okay? Did you find anything?"
"I'll tell you later," Luna replied, her tone calm as always. But there was a subtle urgency in her step, and Harry didn't press further.
"Shit," Harry muttered as they rounded a corner, feeling the telltale tingling that signaled the Polyjuice Potion's effects beginning to wear off. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak from Luna's robes and threw it over them both, their steps quickening as they made their way towards the seventh floor.
Behind them, faint voices echoed from the Hufflepuff common room, but Harry didn't look back. His heart was pounding, his mind racing. They couldn't afford to be caught now—not when they were so close to escaping.
As they reached the safety of the seventh floor, Harry let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "That was too close," he muttered, glancing at Luna, who simply smiled, her serene expression belying the tension of the situation.
"We managed," she said softly.
'For now,' Harry thought grimly.
xxxxx
The Room of Requirement felt strangely empty when Harry and Luna stepped inside, its usual ambiance of magic and adaptability tinged with an unnerving sense of absence. The door creaked softly behind them, its sound swallowed by the vast silence of the room. The space, which had so often been a haven for their group, now seemed alien—an echoing void where their friends should have been.
Harry's instincts kicked in immediately, his sharp green eyes scanning every corner of the room. His friends were gone. Hermione, Draco, and Ron had promised to meet them here after the Hufflepuff common room heist. The lack of their familiar presence set his nerves on edge, a gnawing unease curling in the pit of his stomach. He stepped further into the room, his boots making dull thuds against the stone floor, each sound amplified in the unsettling quiet.
Behind him, Luna moved with her characteristic calm, shrugging off the robes of her earlier disguise. The motion was fluid and deliberate, her focus unwavering even as the air around them seemed to crackle with unanswered questions. She replaced her robes with her crimson-and-gold Gryffindor set, the colors standing out sharply in the dim light of the room.
Harry mirrored her movements but never stopped glancing around. His fingers worked almost automatically at the clasps, his mind racing with possibilities. His friends wouldn't have left without reason, especially not Hermione.
"What did you find, Luna?" he asked, his voice low but steady, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease. He moved toward one of the long tables that the room had conjured, rifling through scattered books and empty wrappers. Every misplaced item seemed to mock his search, their friends' absence growing more alarming with every passing second.
"I found Heather's diary," Luna said, her tone even, as she pulled a slim black book from the folds of her robe. She held it delicately, almost reverently, as though the secrets it contained might burst free if handled too roughly. From her other hand, she produced a neatly rolled piece of parchment. "And one letter—from Lockhart," she added, her wide, silvery eyes flicking briefly to Harry before lowering to the items she held.
Harry paused, his gaze shifting to the diary and the letter. The weight of the discovery settled heavily on his mind, though Luna's calm demeanor did little to ease his apprehension.
"I think we should wait for everyone before we check what this is about," Luna continued, her voice soft but firm.
"That's good and all," Harry said, his tone clipped, "but where are they anyway?" His jaw clenched as he spoke, frustration creeping into his words. "D-Did you think something happened with Hermione?"
Luna frowned, an expression rare on her otherwise serene face. "We made the Polyjuice Potion perfectly," she said, her voice measured but quieter now, as though the truth of her words might keep disaster at bay. "If it didn't work, it should've affected us both too, Harry. The only thing we couldn't account for was how long the potion's effects would last. So far, we managed to stay in disguise for almost forty-five minutes."
Harry absorbed her words but continued scanning the room. The unease in his chest had solidified into a cold knot of worry. His gaze swept across the conjured furniture, the flickering torches casting restless shadows. Then he saw it: a small scrap of parchment tucked haphazardly beneath a pile of snacks. It was almost invisible amidst the clutter, but something about its placement caught his attention.
He strode toward it, his movements sharp, and snatched it up, scattering crumbs and half-eaten wrappers onto the floor. His eyes darted over the messy scrawl, and his heart sank. Ron's handwriting was unmistakable, even in its rushed state.
"Hermione's in the infirmary," he whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding in his ears.
Luna stepped closer, her usual dreamy expression giving way to genuine concern. "What happened? Is she alright?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with worry.
Harry forced himself to smile, though it felt hollow and brittle. "I'm sure she's alright," he said, though the words came out stiffly. His mind raced with possibilities—had the Polyjuice Potion didn't have a good effect on Hermione? While the Elixir of Life should have protected Hermione from any serious harm, it did nothing to quell the dread building inside him. "You should go back to the common room. I'll check up on Hermione in the infirmary."
Luna nodded without hesitation, moving to the trunk they had stashed in the room. She placed Heather's diary and Lockhart's letter carefully atop it, her motions precise and deliberate. The items seemed to gleam ominously in the torchlight, as if holding secrets too dangerous to uncover at this moment.
Without another word, they left the Room of Requirement, the heavy door swinging shut behind them with an echoing finality.
xxxxx
The heavy oak doors of the Hospital Wing swung open with a loud creak as Harry strode in, his footsteps echoing through the otherwise hushed space. He paid no mind to the noise he was making, his focus singular and unrelenting. The sense of unease that had gripped him since he left Luna safely in the Gryffindor common room only deepened as he scanned the room. His stomach churned with a mixture of dread and frustration as he spotted Draco, Ron, and, to his surprise, Sirius Black seated around one of the beds near the back of the infirmary. They were speaking in low, hurried tones, their expressions a mixture of concern and weariness.
A bed nearby was shrouded by curtains drawn tightly around it, the white fabric glowing faintly in the moonlight spilling through the tall windows. Harry's pulse quickened; he didn't need to guess who was behind them. His grip tightened on his wand, still tucked into his robes, as he stormed towards the group.
"What's going on? Where's Hermione?" Harry demanded, his voice sharp and filled with barely restrained urgency.
Draco and Ron exchanged uneasy glances, their usual bravado noticeably absent. Sirius sat silently, scratching his head in apparent frustration. Harry's gaze darted between them, his anxiety spiking.
"She's fine, Harry," Draco finally said, his tone placating but unconvincing. "Nothing too serious..."
There was a brief pause as Draco faltered, his silver eyes flicking to Ron for support. Ron, true to form, blurted out the truth in a panicked rush.
"She turned into a cat!"
Harry froze, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he glared at Ron. "Stop joking around. I'm serious. What happened?" His voice was low and filled with simmering anger as he pushed past them to yank the curtains aside.
The sight that met him made his breath catch, his hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the curtain. Inside the bed sat Hermione—but not entirely Hermione. Her tear-streaked face was unmistakable, but her ears were pointed and covered in soft tawny fur, twitching faintly at the sounds in the room. A tail curled miserably around her as she clutched the blanket tightly around her body, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Harry's mind raced as he backed away, the curtain slipping shut behind him. He turned to the others, his face pale with shock.
"Is this some kind of sick prank? Where's Hermione?" His voice was tight, filled with disbelief and anger.
Sirius stood, his expression grave. "Harry, that is Hermione," he said evenly. The weight of his words crushed any lingering hope that this was a cruel joke.
Swallowing hard, Harry turned back to the bed and slowly pulled the curtain open again. Hermione's tear-filled eyes met his, and her trembling voice confirmed the truth he didn't want to accept. "I-I don't know what happened, Harry," she whispered, her voice cracking as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
Harry's heart ached at the sight of her despair. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. He ignored the unfamiliar sensation of fur brushing against his skin, focusing instead on her trembling form and muffled sobs. "It's okay, Hermione," he whispered softly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "We'll fix this. I promise."
Madam Pomfrey's stern voice cut through the moment as she approached from the other side of the curtain, carrying an assortment of bottles and vials. "Mr. Potter, there's no need to panic," she said briskly, though her expression betrayed a hint of sympathy. "This unfortunate mishap was caused by using cat hair instead of human hair in the Polyjuice Potion."
Hermione's ears flattened, and her tail drooped further as Pomfrey continued. "The transformation process was interrupted, leaving her in this half-human, half-cat state. Thankfully, this condition is temporary, but she'll need to remain in the infirmary for several weeks for observation and treatment."
Harry's stomach twisted at the mention of weeks, but his concern remained fixed on one thing. "But she'll change back, right? This isn't permanent?"
Pomfrey nodded firmly. "She will return to her normal form, though there may be some... lingering effects." Her gaze shifted to Hermione, who seemed to be listening intently despite her tears. "Her enhanced senses—sight, hearing, smell—and cat-like agility will likely remain. However, I must caution against any future attempts at becoming an Animagus. Given her current state, such a transformation could become irreversible. She will most likely turn into a cat and won't turn back completely into a human anymore."
Hermione's soft voice broke through the tension. "I-I can live with that," she murmured, her ears perking up slightly as Harry resumed stroking her hair—fur?—comfortingly.
Sirius stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he addressed Madam Pomfrey. "I appreciate your care, but I'd like to take Hermione home for her recovery and privacy, as well. She can be better looked after by the house-elves under my supervision. We will have Andromeda look after her as well."
Hermione's protest died on her lips as Sirius raised a hand. "This is for your safety, Hermione," he said gently. "Harry will send your notes and anything else you need. I'll ensure you don't fall behind on your studies."
Pomfrey looked reluctant but nodded. "I'll prepare her discharge paperwork. But I insist on regular updates on her condition."
Before leaving, Sirius turned to Madam Pomfrey. "I trust this matter won't leave the infirmary," he said, his tone firm. After a moment, Pomfrey begrudgingly swore an oath, her expression tight with professional pride.
As Sirius left to speak with Professor McGonagall, Harry stayed by Hermione's side, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. Whatever it took, he would make sure Hermione recovered fully—and that something like this never happened again.
xxxxx
Ron and Draco had already left, having been thoroughly briefed on Hermione's predicament. Their mixed reactions—Draco's half-mocking disbelief and Ron's wide-eyed horror—still lingered in Harry's mind, though he'd barely paid attention to their departure. All that mattered now was Hermione.
Hermione, still covered in soft, tawny fur, sat close to Harry on her bed. Her ears twitched with every small sound, and her tail curled and uncurled behind her as she spoke, her voice filled with a mixture of embarrassment and resignation.
"Apparently, Susan Bones has a pet cat," Hermione explained, the hint of a frustrated pout tugging at her lips. "It must have been on her robes… I didn't notice. I added the fur to the potion without thinking." She sighed deeply, shaking her head as though trying to rid herself of the memory.
Harry listened intently, though he couldn't entirely suppress the amused grin threatening to break through. Despite the situation, there was something oddly endearing about Hermione's new feline features. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing outright.
"We were lucky," Hermione continued, her golden-brown eyes locking onto Harry's. "Madam Pomfrey said that something inside my body stopped the transformation from completing." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper as her tail flicked nervously. "It must've been the Elixir."
The sensation of her whiskers brushing against his cheek broke Harry's composure entirely. He burst into soft laughter, unable to hold it back. Hermione pulled away immediately, her ears flattening against her head in annoyance.
"Harry!" she hissed, crossing her arms in indignation. Her tail flicked sharply behind her, mirroring her frustration.
"S-Sorry!" Harry stammered between chuckles, raising his hands defensively. "It's just… when you leaned in, your whiskers tickled my face."
Hermione let out a frustrated huff, her tail curling around her waist like a protective barrier. "I can't help it!" she snapped, though her ears twitched upward, betraying her curiosity at Harry's reaction.
"I know, I know," Harry said, managing to regain some semblance of seriousness. He cleared his throat, though his eyes still twinkled with amusement. "It's a good thing this isn't permanent because I'm hopelessly ticklish. I'd probably end up sitting on your tail by accident."
Hermione's sharp glare softened, and her ears perked up slightly as she regarded him. Her voice, however, was hesitant. "You'd… still have me around even if it was permanent?"
"What?" Harry blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. He reached out instinctively, placing a reassuring hand on her fur-covered shoulder. "Of course, I would. Did you really think I'd just abandon you over something like this?"
Hermione looked down, her ears drooping once more. "Y-Yes," she admitted softly.
Harry shook his head, letting out a sigh. "You're crazy, Hermione Granger," he said with a small smile. "You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."
Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. He ignored the unusual texture of the fur under his lips, focusing instead on the soft, contented sound she made in response. Hermione's purring grew louder, filling the quiet space around them, and Harry froze for a moment, startled.
"You're purring, Hermione," he said, his voice somewhere between wonder and disbelief.
If Hermione's face hadn't been covered in fur, Harry was certain he would've seen her blushing furiously. She looked away, her tail twitching erratically as she muttered, "I can't help that either…"
Harry leaned back, laughing softly at her clear embarrassment. "Your mum's going to kill you when you get home," he teased, trying to lighten the mood further.
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands—or rather, paws. "She's going to freak out," she said miserably, her voice muffled. "I'll probably be banned from brewing potions forever."
Harry grinned, trying to suppress another laugh. "I think she'll be more concerned about all the fur you'll shed in the house. Do you think your tail will knock things over?"
"I wish you could come with me," Harry admitted after a beat, his tone turning more serious. "I just got you back, and now you're leaving again."
"It's only for a few weeks, Harry," Hermione said softly, though the sadness in her voice mirrored his own.
"Still too long," Harry muttered. "I wonder if Kreacher could take me back and forth between here and Potter Manor…"
"You can't do that," Hermione said sharply, her tail flicking. "That's not allowed."
Harry shrugged, his green eyes glinting with mischief. "Neither is brewing Polyjuice Potion to sneak into the Hufflepuff common room, but that didn't stop us, did it?"
Hermione sighed, exasperated. "You'd get into so much trouble."
"Let them expel me," Harry said with a dramatic wave of his hand. "I'd like to see Dumbledore try."
Without thinking, Harry reached out again, his fingers finding the soft fur under Hermione's chin. He scratched lightly, and to his surprise, she leaned into his touch, purring loudly once more. The sound made his heart race in a way he couldn't quite explain, and he felt a blush rising to his cheeks.
Hermione, meanwhile, seemed blissfully unaware of the effect she was having on him. She closed her eyes, the tension in her body melting away as she leaned closer to him. Harry closed his own eyes, willing himself to calm down as the gentle purring lulled him into a strange, peaceful state.
It was going to be a long few weeks without her.
xxxxx
The Room of Requirement had transformed to suit their needs, as always. The spacious room was dimly lit with floating candles, casting soft shadows on the walls. Books, parchment, and quills were strewn across the large table in the center, where Harry, Ron, and Draco sat, their expressions serious as they sifted through the diary entries Luna had stolen from Heather's room. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, mingling faintly with the sugary aroma of Luna's pudding, which she was enjoying on a cozy couch in the corner.
"So, what's the plan now?" Draco asked, breaking the silence. His silver-blonde hair shimmered faintly in the candlelight as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in a way that radiated both boredom and curiosity. "Do we do anything without Hermione with us?"
Harry sighed deeply, running a hand through his perpetually messy black hair. His emerald eyes flickered toward the worn, leather-bound diary resting on the table. It was Luna's latest acquisition—an unsettling testament to Heather's obsessive infatuation with Lockhart. The confessions within painted a disturbing picture of unspeakable acts in the professor's quarters. The sheer desperation and unhinged devotion in Heather's words made Harry's stomach churn.
"It's clear why Lockhart didn't Obliviate her," Harry said finally, his tone low and heavy with disdain. "She's too infatuated to betray him. She'd rather suffer than risk losing his attention entirely."
Draco wrinkled his nose, the disgust on his face mirroring Harry's thoughts. "Merlin, that man is a disaster," he muttered, kicking his chair back and forth idly. "How is it that someone like him ever got a teaching post at Hogwarts?"
"We'll deal with him properly this time," Harry replied, his voice sharp with resolve. He reached into his robes and pulled out a familiar dagger—its blade gleaming wickedly under the flickering candlelight. Hermione's dagger. The very weapon she had used to kill the dragon last year during their ill-fated adventure.
Ron and Draco exchanged a glance but said nothing, their unspoken understanding solidified by the events they'd endured together.
"This time," Harry continued, gripping the hilt tightly, "no tricks, no second chances. I'll use my Fenrir form if I have to." The intensity in his voice sent a chill through the room, but neither Ron nor Draco flinched. They were far too deep into this mess to turn back now.
As they poured over the parchment covered in meticulously copied diary entries, Luna lounged on the couch with a contented air. She had curled up with a bowl of pudding she had retrieved from the kitchens earlier, the dessert's creamy sweetness a stark contrast to the grim discussion happening across the room. Her silver eyes were dreamy as always, but there was a flicker of unease beneath her calm exterior.
"You comfortable over there, Luna?" Ron asked, glancing enviously at her treat. His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him he hadn't eaten since lunch.
"Yes, Ronald," Luna replied with a serene smile before dipping her spoon back into the pudding.
Draco snickered, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't even bother to offer you a bite, Weasley. Tragic."
"He's smarter than that," Harry said, smirking. He shot a glance at Ron, who looked thoroughly put out. "Ron tried it once. Luna nearly bit his hand off."
Ron shuddered at the memory, rubbing the back of his hand as if he could still feel her teeth. "I'm telling you, never come between Luna and pudding. It's not worth the risk."
Draco shook his head in mock disbelief. "Merlin, why are we only friends with crazy girls? It's like some sort of cosmic punishment."
Harry laughed, his mood momentarily lightened. "Astoria doesn't count. She just enjoys teasing you because you make it so easy."
"That's rich, coming from you," Draco shot back, though there was no real venom in his voice.
Ron leaned forward, his freckles barely visible under the warm glow of the candles. "Draco's just mad because Astoria's taking lessons from Daphne."
"Not everyone needs to learn how to be a menace from Daphne," Draco muttered, though the faintest hint of a smirk betrayed his amusement.
Their laughter filled the room, momentarily easing the weight of their task. The camaraderie between the boys was palpable, a hard-earned bond forged through trials most second-years wouldn't even dream of facing.
Luna, however, didn't join in the laughter. She remained curled up on the couch, her pudding nearly finished. Her eyes wandered to the table, where Hermione's dagger rested ominously beside the diary. A pang of longing settled in her chest. She missed Hermione's sharp wit and level-headedness, especially during moments like these when everything seemed to teeter on the edge of chaos.
The absence of their best friend—a half-cat, half-human Hermione—was keenly felt by all of them. But for Luna, it was especially hard. Hermione's absence had created a void, and while the others seemed determined to press on, Luna couldn't shake the feeling that they were incomplete without her.
Her gaze lingered on Harry, Ron, and Draco as they bent over the parchments, their conversation shifting back to their strategy. Despite their determination, she could see the tension etched in their faces, the shadows under their eyes. They were trying so hard to keep things together, but it was clear that this was no ordinary task.
Luna sighed softly, setting her empty bowl aside. For now, all she could do was wait—and hope that Hermione would be back with them soon.