Chapter Text
1st of September 1993, Wednesday (Same Day)
Harry Potter
"I-I can't breathe," Diana wheezed out, and Harry realised his magic had been flaring.
"Sorry," he offered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, reining in his magic. Sirius had warned him that his presence had become dangerous, but Harry had thought his godfather had been joking because what did that even mean?
Taking a better look, it seemed Draco wasn't making trouble for the Muggle-born girl, but merely speaking to her. Amiably. Harry held no illusions that his former rival had truly changed his ways, merely that he had more tact in this world and was less arrogant and confrontational.
But no, this was not a matter of tact. The two of them genuinely seemed to be getting along.
Since when has Draco Malfoy been so friendly with Muggleborns?
Harry had no time to contemplate it further as his friends came streaming through the open door one after another. First was a thoughtful-looking Padma chatting with an absent-minded Morag. Anthony Goldstein also made his way into the compartment, following the girls as usual, like an uninvited but tolerated guest.
"Damn, what did you eat during the summer, Potter?" he whistled. "It looks like someone stretched you out. You're as tall as Black now and could probably give Oliver Wood a run for his galleons."
Harry had barely noticed any change, but the physical training Sirius had shown him during the summer had been quite fun. Speaking of the devil, Juno entered just then and noticed he had indeed almost caught up to her height now, even if Harry's shoulders were a tad broader.
Her gaze immediately paused on Malfoy after she greeted everyone. "Trying to join the Eagles, cousin?"
Juno was as pale as snow, in contrast to everyone else, who were various degrees of tan. Even the blond Slytherin had a healthy bronze hue to his face for once. It was as if the blue-eyed witch had spent the whole summer hidden in some dark room. Perhaps she had, considering she had planned to stay hidden in Black Manor.
"...Only for the train ride," Draco said uneasily. "If you would all have me."
"I don't mind," Diana was the first to respond. "Maybe he can tell us some more about Slytherin."
Anthony tilted his head, inspecting the Slytherin boy, but eventually offered, "So long as it doesn't include Crabbe and Goyle."
Morag and Padma shrugged, and Juno remained silent as all the eyes of the compartment fell on Harry, as if expecting him to have the final say.
"You can stay," he decided, seeing no harm. "But don't you need to do that Slytherin thing of yours?"
With Elise Travers and Roger Rosier graduating, the House of the Snakes needed a new leader among the students.
Draco ran a shaky hand through his not-so-perfect blonde hair and said, "I'll be backing the Carrow twins."
"Good."
"Why is it good?" Diana asked curiously.
"It means that my cousin has finally agreed to do what is right and support my group in Slytherin," Juno explained, visibly satisfied. "I see you have finally mustered a degree of cunning and discernment, Draco. You have no way of prevailing against Greengrass, let alone Montague, for influence or power."
"Yeah, whatever," was the half-hearted response.
That only seemed to stoke Diana's curiosity. "What is this competition again?"
"A power play over influence, connections, and your ability to draw others under your banner," the tall witch explained, her blue eyes pausing on Harry. "Usually, it's a clique led by one or two or three—sometimes groups unite for power, too. It concerns the arrangement of single rooms in Slytherin, the use of their duelling room—"
"They have a duelling room?" Padma asked, surprised.
"Yes, we do," Draco explained. "It's mostly always taken by the upper years. Being on top of Slytherin also includes personal tutoring from the Head of the House and the usage of the House's bath—it's even bigger than the prefect's."
"Ugh, that's so unfair," Morag complained.
"Well, nothing stops your house heads from doing the same," the blonde boy shot back, voice proud. "Don't you eagles have a whole library to yourself? I also know Flitwick allows your top students each year access to the Restricted Section."
"I suppose," Padma relented.
The conversation died off then as the Hogwarts Express blew its shrill whistle and the train started moving with a groan. They quickly placed their luggage on the racks and got comfortable. Harry noticed he was receiving far more glances from his friends than before, mainly from the girls. Even Anthony and Draco glanced his way, too, but not as frequently, and only the girls looked away as soon as he caught them staring. Just as Morag pulled out the latest edition of Witch Weekly, Diana and Padma started playing Exploding Snap while Juno pulled out yet another textbook.
"Blood and Darkness, Rothlyn's Curse Compendium? That doesn't seem to be in the school curriculum," Anthony noted warily.
"Indeed, it is not."
"The rumours that you're some sort of murderess in training will continue if you keep reading such things in public, Juno," Harry reminded wryly. There seemed to be more to the matter, judging from the fact that Draco turned as white as a sheet at the sight of the book.
Juno merely tapped the book with her wand, and the cover wiggled, transforming into an unassuming textbook on Runes.
"So, which electives did you all choose?" Diana tactfully changed the topic.
"Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures, of course," Padma was the one to reply. "But forget about that. We have a far more interesting query on our hands. So Harry, Juno—how will your classes go now that you're done with your O.W.L.s?"
"Professor Flitwick has offered to continue the previous arrangement," Harry said. "Essentially self-study with guidance and assignments from the teachers, or join the sixth years in their classes. I don't particularly want to sit with the older years, so you'll see us in classes this year, doing our self-studying."
"Indeed," Juno agreed. "Without Herbology, Astronomy, and History of Magic, though."
"Ah, darn it, now I feel envious," Padma bemoaned. "But then I remember the countless hours of study and practice you did. At least you'll join us with electives, unlike Harry, right?"
"Yes. Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes."
"So, what did you guys do during the summer?" Anthony prodded after a short moment of silence.
"Oh, I was busy studying for the first month and a half," Diana said, looking a tad irritated. "You know, my Muggle exams. Then we went on holiday to America…"
Juno and Harry remained conspicuously silent, and for good reason. The two of them had spent the summer training and plotting via house elf correspondence. This was how he knew that the Hogwarts Express had become a death trap for anyone attempting to attack. Aside from the two Aurors that patrolled the hallways, there were a dozen more hidden under invisibility cloaks, and just as many hit wizards spread across the train.
Even more supposedly followed after the train on brooms.
According to Narcissa, the Ministry planned to use Juno to lure out Bellatrix. A few years ago, he would have been aghast at the thought of the Ministry using students as bait for dark wizards, but this was Cornelius Fudge, and the inability to decisively deal with the Azkaban Escapees for the good part of a year had probably turned the man desperate. While Professor Dumbledore had evidently agreed to such a scheme, Harry had spotted Professor Flitwick and Deputy Headmistress Amelia Bones in the first compartment earlier. It didn't take much to figure out that two of the strongest teachers in Hogwarts were here to ensure the students' safety in case of any mishap.
Regardless, Harry himself felt tense; his nerves stretched thin as his fingers flexed, and he was ready to draw his wand and curse any coming enemy immediately. Or fight off dementors should the Ministry be so stupid as to send some again. Of course, Draco's mother claimed Bellatrix had caught wind of the trap and wouldn't come—she was probably the one to inform her sister, after all.
In about an hour, the Hogwarts Express was already in the countryside, and Draco looked torn between fascination and awkwardness, doubtlessly feeling like an outsider. His eyes kept lingering on Diana, as if she were the most interesting thing in the compartment. Even Juno kept an eye on her cousin, and judging by the curl of her lips, she found it all too amusing.
Diana herself seemed dispirited, doubtlessly bothered by the prospect of changing schools. The weather turned gloomy as it started raining, and the mood followed. The rhythmic pittering of the raindrops muffled everything, sounding almost hypnotic.
"Hey, Harry." Draco leaned over, carefully nudging him to the side. "Can we—er—talk in private?"
"Sure, follow me."
Unlike last time, none of his friends even raised an eyebrow at Malfoy's request.
Thankfully, the hallways seemed empty, save for the figure of the trolley lady that could be seen in the neighbouring car. Harry decided to be thorough and still spun his wand, casting a silent Muffliato, both to prevent eavesdropping and to muffle the sound of the train.
"So, spill," Harry said.
Draco rubbed his nose awkwardly, his usual pride or arrogance nowhere to be seen.
"Err—can you tell me more about Muggles and Muggleborns?" he asked, voice small, as if afraid that someone else would overhear. "...I am beginning to believe that what my parents told me is, well, let's say it's inaccurate."
That was a surprising amount of introspection for someone from a family of staunch believers in their own superiority.
"What, the stealing magic bits?"
"I…" Draco ran a shaky hand through his slicked-back hair, turning it into a bird's nest. "I'm not sure anymore—not only about stealing magic but everything else. That's what I'm asking."
"Stealing magic sounds pretty ridiculous if you think about it," Harry mused, and the Slytherin boy gave him an awkward chuckle. "In the end, even if you look at the numbers, you have a different number of squibs compared to the Muggle-born children each year, usually significantly more squibs. The easier explanation is just luck. From what I gathered from reading on the subject, the more you marry your closer relatives, the bigger the chance of having a squib child, and most Muggle-borns have a drop of magical blood somewhere in their lineage."
"I see," Draco said thoughtfully. "What about Muggles? I suppose they aren't a bunch of savages either, huh?"
"They're like you and me, if without the magic. Some are bad, some are good, but most are just… normal. They've compensated for their lack of magic with clever inventions and knowledge by harnessing the power of electricity," he summed up. "What brought this on?"
"...Just a thought," the Slytherin boy said far too quickly. "Thanks for clearing up my doubts. Oh hey, look—the trolley lady is here. Want something? It's on me this time!"
A minute later, the two of them returned to their compartment. Draco hobbled in with his hands full, having purchased a third of the wares and threw them on his empty seat, declaring, "Take as much as you wish!"
Just then, the compartment door slid open, and a breathless second-year Hufflepuff girl entered, warily looking around the floor as if expecting Nyx to lunge from the shadows.
"I'm here to d-deliver these to Harry Potter a-and Juno Black," she stuttered out, crimson creeping up her neck as she looked at Harry. She held up two familiar-looking scrolls tied up with violet ribbons that were quickly snatched by Juno. The girl turned as pale as chalk at the sight of Juno and quickly excused herself, fleeing the compartment.
"You spooked the poor thing," Harry joked.
"Is it my fault she's as skittish as a hare?" Juno retorted tersely.
"So, what is it?" Diana asked, eyeing the two scrolls in Juno's hands.
"Slughorn, probably," Harry murmured.
"Got it in one." Juno opened her message with a frown and read aloud, "Miss Black, I would be delighted if you would join me for lunch in compartment C.
Sincerely,
Professor H.E.F. Slughorn."
"I did hear last year Slughorn invited a few older years to an enchanted mini-lounge at the front, where he gathers influential students," Goldstein said.
"Mini-lounge?"
"The old Potions Master expands one of the compartments and has even convinced the Headmaster to spare some house elves for luxury cooking for the train ride," Juno was the one to explain. "But he only does it on the first of September each year—the rest of the time, Slughorn prefers to remain in school."
"But why now?"
"It's the headmaster," Draco said. "Professor Dumbledore forbade Professor Slughorn from involving anyone younger than third-year students in his club activities. I'll probably receive an invitation of my own soon."
"You don't look very excited about going, Harry," Diana observed. "You haven't even touched your letter."
"Slughorn just likes collecting talented and well-connected folks as if we're Chocolate Frog Cards," Harry said glumly. "I'm not exactly excited to hear him gush about how many important people he knows."
"At the same time, we should go at least once," Juno countered, throwing him a knowing look.
Harry was about to decline, but stopped himself. Right, they were in dire need of connections right now and couldn't afford to be picky.
"Fine," he agreed, trying not to scowl. Judging by Diana's amused snort, he had failed. "I suppose just once wouldn't hurt."
As much as Harry wished it was otherwise, they needed more influence and allies. Last year showed that no matter how talented and skilled, two young students couldn't do much outside of school.
The corridors were mostly empty, the occasional student who had come out of the compartments throwing Harry and Juno curious glances. Some more curious ones would outright hurtle out of their seat to get a better look at them. He was measured with renewed interest, while Bellatrix's daughter was regarded with wariness or outright fear.
Harry could feel gazes on him as they continued to the front. These were not coming from the compartment, however—the hit-wizards and the Aurors were indeed here. Even Juno's stride was stiffer, doubtlessly having sensed them.
"They've read that article Skeeter wrote during the summer," she observed, her voice dangerously thin.
"I had almost forgotten about her existence," Harry said absentmindedly. Then his mood quickly soured as he remembered that the Ministry's gag order on his person had run out. "Ah… she can write about me freely, now, can't she?"
"We'll figure out a way to deal with that sow later." The statement was made with deceptive calm, but Harry could feel the hostility in her voice. "But that is for later."
"I do know a thing or two about how to deal with Skeeter," he murmured. "How did that thing you were doing go?"
"Mostly successful," Juno drawled out. "But it remains to be seen if it will be of any use. We can discuss such delicate matters further later in private."
They arrived at compartment C, but they were far from the only ones inside. It was starkly different from what Harry remembered in his previous life. The small room was visibly extended by magic beyond the size of the train car, becoming a miniature hall—or a lounge, judging by the plush velvet seating and lacquered tables that would be more in place in Malfoy Manor rather than the Hogwarts Express.
It was cosy and bright, untouched by the gloominess of the storm outside.
"Harry, my boy," Slughorn greeted him enthusiastically, jumping out of his seat with surprising agility for his significant girth that seemed to take up enough space for three. "And joined at the hip with Miss Black, as usual. Come, come, make yourself comfortable!"
Juno subtly elbowed him as she sat next to Hestia and Flora, the twins frantically waving at the two of them. Harry quickly joined her, being squished between his cousins, who somehow looked quite happy despite their impassive faces. He took a glance at the surrounding attendees.
Oliver Wood was here, and so was Cormac McLaggen. Surprisingly, Ron's red mane could be seen beside Damien Greengrass at a neighbouring table, along with Lily Moon and Blaze Zabini. Megan Jones from their year in Hufflepuff, Roger Davies, the new Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, and the Seventh Year Slytherin Prefect Gemma Farley. At the other table by the corner, Cedric Diggory was sitting with a nervous Susan Bones, a bored Fabian Fawley and a wary Neville Longbottom, who glared at Juno.
There was also an older boy and girl from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor that Harry couldn't name. Lastly, Amelia Bones was here in her modest black and yellow robes that failed to hide her figure. The deputy headmistress was slowly eating something that looked like a fancy version of the Yorkshire Roast.
As last time, everyone here had been invited because they knew someone influential or famous, except for Ron. But Harry knew Slughorn was easily impressed, and Ron's show of courage and valour in that Diagon Alley fight had impressed the Potions Master, doubly more so when the Greengrasses were involved.
"Now, I suppose you know everyone here?" Slughorn asked. "This is Ronald Weasley from your year—he fought off a few of those thugs at Diagon last Christmas with his bare hands!" Ron's ears turned red as all the eyes in the lounge turned to him. "That over there is Jasen Littewick, nephew of—"
"No need for further introductions, Professor," Harry interrupted dryly. "I've seen everyone here in school before."
Hestia's lips twitched while Flora put a hand before her mouth as her shoulders shook.
"Cheeky like your father," Slughorn chuckled, more amused than offended. "No need to waste my breath, I suppose!"
Then, he swept out his meaty arms at the tables. "Here, I've made arrangements for proper lunch and refreshments—it cost a pretty knut, you know. You just say what you want on your plate, and it shall appear. Beef Wellington!" The iconic steak wrapped in pastry appeared on his plate, and Slughorn nodded to himself with satisfaction. "Of course, not everything can be made—you can see the menu here."
Harry cautiously opened the thin booklet and grimaced at the ridiculous prices. The list of meals was long and lacked a price tag—evidently Slughorn's gift— but the drinks were ridiculously expensive. The cheapest was a cup of butterbeer at a galleon and three sickles, over fifty pounds in Muggle currency. No wonder only Amelia Bones and some Slytherins had cups in front of them, and Slughorn looked pained at the amount of expensive-looking food Ron was eagerly piling on his plate.
This had to be a trick. Slughorn hadn't done this before, judging by Juno's frown, and to do it this year… was it because it was Harry's first time with the club?
Juno didn't hesitate to order a serving of venison pie and two cups of orange juice, the second being for Harry, and Damien Greengrass generously ordered drinks for everyone at his table, including Ron.
"Now, Harry, where to begin?" Slughorn twisted his moustache, looking equally intrigued and troubled. "Two years I've taught you, and yet I feel as though I barely know you! The youngest wizard to take the O.W.L.s! Shame you haven't signed up for my N.E.W.T. Potions classes—you certainly have your mother's penchant for it! Alas, such a pity."
Harry could feel everyone's curious gazes drilling into his face and groaned inwardly.
"I studied hard," he eventually offered in the blandest tone he could muster. "And you exaggerate my skills in Potions greatly, Professor."
"Humble too, just like Lily," Slughorn beamed at him. "There's always time to change your mind, of course. You're always welcome in my Potions classes with such stellar grades. Should you come, you won't regret it. I will give you my personal guidance, my boy. Your future will be bright, whatever path you choose to take!"
Despite his brazenness, the rotund Potions Master was not without tact and moved his attention to Juno, who had been coldly observing until now.
"Miss Black, I'm sorry to hear of your great-grand-aunt's passing," he began, not looking remorseful or sad at all.
"She'll be sorely missed," was the cold response. "Her demise was an unfortunate accident."
Anything else Slughorn would have asked was interrupted by the sliding of the door as Draco entered, face cautious.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy!"
Thankfully, the topic quickly moved away from Harry as Slughorn started conversing with Draco and Fabian Fawley about family matters and the Board of Governors. He also seemed eager to impress the deputy headmistress and drag her into the conversation, but Amelia Bones merely repelled all attempts with an unimpressed glance from underneath her monocle.
The rest of the train ride was thankfully uneventful, and neither Bellatrix Lestrange ambushed the Hogwarts Express nor were they stopped by any dementors. After the gathering in compartment C, Harry and Juno returned to their friends, while Draco went to seek his fellow Slytherins.
"I don't envy those first years," Morag said with a shudder at the downpour that had only grown stronger by the time they arrived at Hogsmeade Station. Most students were soaking wet, with a few exceptions that had brought umbrellas. Harry merely spun his wand, conjuring makeshift umbrellas—more like a wooden stick capped with leather—and started giving them out to his friends.
"Thanks," Diana muttered as she made a face at the muddy ground towards the carriages. "Let's get out of here."
They rushed to the closest carriage along with many other students.
"I still can't believe Slughorn is trying to court Amelia Bones," a scandalised Padma exclaimed as soon as they were inside, protected from the downpour.
"She is a beautiful witch," Anthony offered shamelessly. "Most models in Witch Weekly have nothing on her."
"Professor Bones is nearly fifty, you lech," Morag said, voice laced with disgust. "Have you no shame?!"
"Well, I can hardly pretend I'm blind, can I? Woman barely looks a few years out of Hogwarts!" he retorted, undaunted. "And it's not just me who says our Deputy Headmistress is quite the looker. Everyone knows it. Right, Harry?"
All the girls turned to Harry, much to his chagrin. Juno, in particular, was giving him a very intense look.
"She does look rather charming in her strict sort of way," he agreed. "On rare occasions when she doesn't catch students causing trouble and doling out punishment as if it's candy on Hallow's Eve, at least. She's almost like Professor McGonagall, really."
"No way, man." Goldstein waved his hands, looking outraged. "Professor McGonagall looks and acts old!"
"Well, if Tony likes Professor Bones so much, he can try inviting her to Hogsmeade," Diana proposed innocently. Anthony reddened like a tomato and sealed his mouth shut, unwilling to speak further. "So, are you all excited for Hogsmeade?"
"You're assuming they'd allow us to go." Padma wrung her hands nervously. "They halted all visits to Hogsmeade last year after the Azkaban breakout, remember? And Bellatrix Lestrange and her cronies are still on the run! Err-sorry, Juno—no offence, but your mother is scary."
"None taken," Juno said, but Harry noticed her right hand twitching, clawing as if eager to grip her wand.
"Dumbledore did allow Hogsmeade visits when May rolled over," Morag reminded, her face hopeful. "At most, we'll still be allowed to go, but not as often."
"Aww, that sucks."
The rest of the carriage ride was spent in idle banter while Harry gazed through the small window, watching the unrelenting rain turn everything into a muddy mess. They arrived at the castle and quickly rushed into the Great Hall, only to notice the headmaster was absent.
"They said Professor Dumbledore was busy with something," Penelope Clearwater was the one to explain. The now seventh-year witch only wore a prefect badge—seemingly someone else had become the Head Girl position this time. "And no, don't ask me when he'll return because I don't know either."
The hall quickly filled with students muttering complaints while drying their robes with their wands. Amelia Bones was the one to lead the shivering first years inside.
All of them were dry and looked at the deputy headmistress with an equal measure of fear and admiration. Harry barely remembered anything from the Sorting or the Welcoming Feast—Professor Bones held a short speech, introducing Professor Lupin as the new History of Magic Professor and then listing the usual forbidden items and warning newcomers away from the Forbidden Forest. The staff was mostly the same, much to the chagrin of many.
The worst offender was obviously Professor Alfred Perrywinkle, who was still here with his stuffy grey robes, teaching Defence for a second year in a row.
Trelawney had returned to teach Divination, looking tired and less absentminded than Harry remembered. Hagrid was again teaching Care for Magical Creatures, judging by the absence of Kettleburn, who had lost yet another finger last school year, according to the rumour mill, leaving him with four fingers, one arm, and half a leg remaining.
As soon as the feast ended, Juno pulled him aside from the crowd. Anthony saw them, winked, and gave Harry a thumbs-up before rushing up the marble staircase.
"Show me that place," she said expectantly.
It took Harry a few seconds to realise she was speaking about the Room.
"Alright," he said. "Follow me."
"One moment, Nubilus Obscurus!"
Juno quickly grasped his hand and disillusioned herself, causing Harry to do the same before leading her up the floors through the side staircases and secret passageways, trying not to think about Anthony Goldstein's antics. He mostly failed. Juno's fingers were cold and soft, but not unpleasant. And well, despite her paleness, she was even more… beautiful than last year. And there was a new, dark charm to her.
A sigh tore from his throat. Harry had once again entered puberty and started noticing girls. Worse, the girls were also noticing him. And the fact that most of his friends were girls and were each pretty in their own way, even his cousins, Hestia and Flora, didn't help.
Thankfully, they arrived at the Seventh Floor. Harry promptly shoved those thoughts away as he halted in front of the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and tapped his face with a "Finite Incantatem," dispelling his Disillusionment Charm.
He motioned at the portrait. "Do you see this?"
"Yes," Juno said after dispelling her disillusionment. "I swear it wasn't here last term."
"Good," Harry said. "Maybe you can see it too."
"So, how do you access this… secret chamber?"
"Walk back and forth three times in front of the wall opposite the portrait, thinking of what you need."
Juno hastily paced three times, and a fancy, ornate door appeared. She approached hesitantly, took the silver handle, and pulled it open.
Harry wordlessly followed her into what looked to be a perfect copy of the Black Manor dining room with all the finery and posh furniture.
"It works!" Juno exclaimed, looking delighted as she promptly sat on the chair at the head of the table. "Can this room really turn into anything?"
"Most things," Harry offered. "It can show books from the library, and it can produce enchanted dummies that I usually use for training. Oh, and every now and then, I use it as a fancy indoor pool for a nice swim or a bath. You can't get food here, though. But the house elves can bring you some, if you ask politely."
"So you have used this as your luxurious resort and personal quarters," Juno surmised. "At least all those hours spent reviewing for the second-year exams weren't wasted. No wonder you went missing last year—someone has a taste for luxury," she teased.
"Funny thing to say for someone who almost lived in the Chamber of Secrets last school year," Harry shot back. "You even turned the lair of Salazar Slytherin and his basilisk into your private parlour."
"It's a good parlour." Her smile cooled down. "Anyway, let's get to business. I finally had the Cup and the Locket sent to Dumbledore anonymously two weeks ago. It was quite the effort to make sure nothing could be traced back to me."
"Great," Harry said, easing himself into one of the chairs. "When will you write about the Diadem and the Gaunt Ring?"
"I already did three days ago," she said. "Of course, I presented the destruction of the former and the location of the latter as my conjectures, so we don't know how long the headmaster will take to verify my words. Or if he'll even trust them."
"...If my visions are correct, Dumbledore will eventually find the Gaunt Ring on his own. Hopefully, he won't fall into the trap." As much as Harry distrusted the headmaster, he feared that Wizarding Britain would fall rather quickly after his death should the dark lord return.
"I did warn him about it, but there's no knowing what he'll do." Juno motioned at the table. "Come now, sit. We should discuss further preparation to deal with Voldemort's impending return."
"There's still a chance Barty Crouch Junior and the rest of the lot fail," Harry said, more to convince himself rather than anything else.
"Unlikely. My aunt did say they have already found the Dark Lord and are working tirelessly to help him regain his body." Her eyes turned cold, like two chips of ice. "Voldemort will be returning rather soon, and we'd better prepare instead of wasting time on vanities like wishful thinking."
Harry rubbed his face tiredly. He still remembered the reign of terror, the killings, the uncertainty, and being hunted down like a dog. How could he ever forget?
"Very well."
Juno's next words made him pause.
"I suppose you're still opposed to striking first to remove the bulk of his supporters, including the silent ones that merely sympathised and indirectly funded his rise to power the last time?"
It seemed that two months of solitude had awakened a vicious streak in his friend.
"I've already decided I'm not going to break into people's homes and murder them in their sleep just because there's a chance they might be hostile or it's just inconvenient to keep alive," Harry retorted heatedly. "Will I have to slay all who stand in my way, regardless of whether they are innocent or not? Or leave no witnesses behind? If I do that, how will I be any different from Voldemort?"
"Do not be naive, Harry. It's precisely that kind of mercy that left Voldemort and his cronies to linger like rot upon a wound in Wizarding Britain," she hissed. "And now we have to suffer the price of mercy."
"I already said I'll fight when I need to," Harry stood his ground. "But don't expect me to just become some slaughterer. Aye, I can grit my teeth, slip into my enemy's home at night and kill them. But once I start doing it, when will I stop?"
"When the Death Eaters are all dead," Juno said. "When your enemies have been dealt with."
Harry pinched the bridge of her nose.
"And what if all those killings make me new enemies, Juno?" She grimaced. Sighing, Harry kept pressing, "What if I grew to like killing? Solving all my problems by 'removing' them. What if I become something as bad as Voldemort—or even worse? What then?"
"Then," Juno's mouth quivered, betraying her agitation, "We'll think of something then."
But it sounded like she wanted to convince herself more than him.
Harry just slumped on the tapered chair, feeling tired. "I see you have yet to volunteer to do something similar," he murmured.
"I'm not nearly as powerful or skilled with a wand," Juno said, her voice softening. "And forgive me, Harry. I just wanted… to make things easier. For both of us."
Why did she sound so honest when speaking such chilling words?
"Right. But there has to be some other way," he said almost desperately. Killing was so… ugly. So final. Harry no longer believed he could avoid fighting or killing altogether, but that didn't mean he welcomed it.
"Of course." Juno clasped her hands, leaning forward. "If not the wand, then the velvet glove. We build up our connections and undermine his influence."
"And I assume you have a plan?"
She took out a hefty roll of parchment. "I have compiled a list of potential students who can assist us. We can invite them to a private… club of sorts. You can call it a budding faction, to be precise. But in its heart, it will be an exchange of time, power, knowledge, and resources for favours. We might have to tutor some, outright teach them how to fight or duel, or help them with their personal goals to get them on our side."
It sounded like a more exclusive version of the DA, one not aimed at taking important exams.
"I can work with that," Harry said with a yawn. Then he stole a glance at his watch. "It's getting late. Let's go rest for tonight. We have the whole year ahead of us."
3rd of September 1993, Friday (2 days later)
Albus Dumbledore
It took two days to break into the Gaunt's Shack with Alastor's help. The small shack was so littered with traps and curses that it reminded him of Nurmengard, despite being leagues smaller.
"Are you sure this mysterious informant of yours can be trusted?"
"Trusted? Perhaps not. But all of his letters align with my conjectures and research, so I can't ignore them," Albus softly said. "Slytherin's Locket and Helga Hufflepuff's Cup were the real deal."
Receiving two destroyed Horcruxes and news of the dismantling of the third—Ravenclaw's fabled Diadem—at Quirrell's hand had been surprising, to say the least. Albus had tried to track the sender to no avail and had even taken his time to consult with Gellert.
"I still don't like this," Moody growled out. "If they want to oppose Voldemort, why all the secrecy?"
After much contemplation, he had chosen to confide in Alastor on the matter of Horcruxes. Mainly because Albus needed someone to watch his back, and the one-eyed Auror held vigilance and skill that would make up for his deficiencies. Not everything, of course, but the broad strokes, just in case Albus met a mishap and someone needed to continue the fight.
"Perhaps they don't trust me," Albus offered. "Or perhaps they're afraid of spies in the Order. Many of the Death Eaters still run free."
"That much is true—Lestrange and her lot are as slippery as they are thorny." Moody's magical eye spun erratically, inspecting the surroundings.
Each step was slow and deliberate, for each wooden plank and window was rife with traps and vicious curses that made even Albus shudder. Even the thick layer of dust had turned into a spike, trying to pierce their feet upon entry.
"Someone tried to force an entry through the shutter recently—the dust there is quite a bit lighter." Alastor turned to the side. "Doubt they ended up well. That place has half a dozen curses layered into an elaborate trap. Even the window sill and the torn drapes are bloody cursed. If you manage to open the window and slip in, avoiding all the traps, the floor itself will trip you up, sending you sprawling back. The drapes will strangle you, slamming you into the cursed sill."
After another tense fifteen minutes, they were already deep into the abandoned shack. "It's here. I can't see through this section of the floor." Alastor pointed at a particularly rotted plank. "The planks themselves are cursed. Do you truly think this is the last one?"
"Yes," Albus said. With much help from Gellert, he managed to divine the number of soul pieces that shared a similar origin to the Diary. Alas, they only got the number after much toiling. Tom had been thorough—their whereabouts were well-protected against Divination and all types of scrying magic. "With the diary, there are two more remaining. Tom Riddle's wraith and, if our uncertain ally is not wrong, the Gaunt Ring that rests here. Let us get to it."
With a wave of the Elder Wand, the cursed plank forcibly vanished despite its protective enchantments, revealing an ordinary-looking box beneath.
"Let me," Alastor said, putting on his dragonhide gloves. "I don't see any curses or traps here."
Carefully, he took out the box, and with a tug, it slid open.
Albus' gaze was immediately attracted by the large finger ring inside. The golden ring itself was of shoddy make, but the inky black stone encrusted on top was engraved with a very familiar sign. A triangle encompassing a circle, with a vertical line inside.
The Deathly Hallows.
Was it really?
...Was he staring at the Resurrection Stone?
A rush of excitement filled his chest, and Albus reached out without hesitation. He could see Arianna again, only for his hand to be swatted away by Moody.
"Constant Vigilance!" the scarred Auror barked out. "I can see a very, very nasty rotting curse on this thing, intertwined with some sort of complex Alluring Charm. This is unlike you to fall for such paltry tricks, Albus."
A tired sigh rolled off Dumbledore's mouth as he closed his eyes, not daring to look at the ring. "I am far from infallible. Thank you, Alastor."
"Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
Two hours later, all signs of their entry inside the Gaunt Shack were removed. Then, they made way to Alastor's cottage and watched as Fiendfyre incinerated Tom Riddle's Diary and the Gaunt Ring in a special stone furnace. The limits of his self-control had been stretched because of the knowledge that the Resurrection Stone might be destroyed and his opportunity lost.
Blood-curdling shrieks echoed as a black, oily mist oozed out through the thin slits of the furnace's door. Soon, the cursed flames died off, and Albus hastily latched the furnace open, revealing the stony insides glowing bright red from the temperature. Nothing remained from the diary but ash and a pool of molten gold. Amidst the pool lay the black stone, completely undamaged.
"Damn, this thing is tough to withstand Fiendfyre," Moody said as Dumbledore cautiously pinched it between his fingers. It felt cool to the touch, and the urge from before to see his long-dead sister was not diminished at all. Even the Death Stick had gone quiet as if to observe whether he could resist the temptation or would give in.
"Only the Dark Lord's wraith remains now," Moody's voice quickly brought him back to the present, and the headmaster hastily shoved the Hallow into his pocket. "What are we going to do?"
"Try to hunt him down before he regains his body," Albus said, voice distant. The Elder Wand thrummed eagerly in his fingers.