For Harry, the past few weeks had felt like a dream.
He was no longer the unnoticed boy who slept in a cupboard under the stairs.
He was the Boy Who Lived.
The youngest Seeker Gryffindor had seen in a century.
He had friends. He had endless plates of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
Even Peeves throwing chalk at him felt more entertaining than being used as Dudley's punching bag.
Except for two things.
The first was Potions. Snape's undisguised hatred confused Harry deeply.
The second unsettled him far more.
Lucian Ashford.
On Friday evening, the fire burned brightly in the Gryffindor common room.
Hermione sat curled in an armchair, attempting to smack Ron lightly with a copy of Magical Theory while explaining the basic transformation principles of Transfiguration.
Harry sat cross-legged on the carpet, idly turning his holly wand between his fingers. His thoughts drifted elsewhere.
"Oi, Harry, are you even listening?" Ron complained, rubbing his arm. "Hermione's gone mad. She actually thinks Ashford's performance in Charms wasn't just technique but art."
"Art? It was creepy."
At the name, Harry stiffened slightly. A puff of smoke curled from the tip of his wand.
"I don't understand why you're both so biased," Hermione said, closing her book.
"Yes, he's cold, but he helped us on the train. He put Malfoy in his place. He even tried to save Neville during flying class.
Objectively speaking, he's a genius."
"Genius?" Ron snorted. "Fred and George think so too. They say he fixed their self-writing quill. But there's something off about him."
Ron lowered his voice and leaned closer to Harry.
"I don't like his eyes."
"That's just your insecurity talking," Hermione replied sharply.
"No."
Harry's voice cut in quietly.
"It's not just his eyes."
He struggled to put the feeling into words. "Every time I get near him... I feel scared."
"Scared?" Hermione frowned. "You mean because he looks severe? I admit he always looks serious, but objectively speaking he's—"
"No. Not that kind of scared." Harry shook his head, his face pale.
"It's like... like when you stick your hand into freezing water and touch something slimy.
Or when you smell something faint but poisonous. You know it's dangerous, even if you can't explain why."
He remembered passing Lucian in the corridors several times.
The black-haired boy always carried a notebook, walking straight ahead without acknowledging anyone.
But whenever the distance between them closed, something inside Harry recoiled.
It made him want to step back. To gag.
Once or twice, he had even felt the impulse to draw his wand and hex him.
That frightened Harry more than anything. He was not someone who harbored random malice.
"Maybe it's because he's too perfect," Hermione suggested, trying to reason it out. "Psychologically, people can react negatively to something that feels unnaturally flawless."
"Oh, come on," Ron muttered, shivering. "My dad once said some Dark wizards carry a sort of cursed aura. Animals and little kids can sense it. Maybe Harry's instincts are picking up something like that."
Harry didn't answer.
He stared into the fire. The unease lingered like a shadow. Ashford... is there something wrong with his soul?
The clock on the wall struck eleven with a dull clang.
Harry suddenly stood.
The sharp awareness, the creeping dread he had just felt, was wiped away as if erased by an invisible hand.
In its place came a surge of heat.
Anger.
It was familiar.
The same anger he had felt when Draco insulted Ron's family on the Hogwarts Express. The same anger when Draco had stolen Neville's Remembrall.
Only this time, it came without cause.
"It's time," Harry said, his eyes slightly unfocused, almost feverish. "Malfoy challenged us to a duel in the trophy room. If you're scared, Ron..."
The words left his mouth before he fully understood them.
A small voice flickered in the back of his mind.
Wait. Why do I have to go? It's just an argument. Hermione's right. We'll lose House points...
But the doubt vanished instantly.
If I don't go, Malfoy will laugh. I'm a Gryffindor. I have to go.
The logic was flimsy. Yet his body was already moving.
Another voice inside him screamed, This isn't right!
Just moments ago, his mind had been clouded with unease about Lucian. Why was that gone? Why was something trivial suddenly all-consuming?
The anger toward Malfoy swelled until it drowned everything else.
'I'm Gryffindor. I won't be a coward.'
The thought branded itself into his mind.
"Who says I'm scared?" Ron shot up immediately, his face red. "I'll go kick that ferret's backside!"
"You're both mad!" Hermione snapped, jumping out of her chair. "If you get caught, Gryffindor will lose points! I'm only coming to stop you!"
They slipped through the portrait hole and into the dark corridor.
Three figures disappearing into shadow.
Like marionettes stepping onto a stage where the trap had already been set.
Just before entering the darkness completely, Harry glanced back instinctively.
Behind them, the fire in the common room crackled steadily, as if laughing at a fate that could not be refused.
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