Enemies of the Heir

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Harry slammed his notebook shut with such force that several first-years at a nearby table flinched. The Slytherin common room wasn't his preferred workspace, but it was nearly eleven, and Flitwick's borrowed classroom was occupied by fifth-years practicing for their Charms O.W.L.

"Sorry," Harry muttered to no one in particular, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. Ten nights of failure had left him with singed eyebrows, silver dust embedded under his fingernails, and precisely zero functional Etruscan-enhanced talismans. Minister Lombardi will think I'm a fraud. Or worse, a child playing at magic beyond his understanding.

He shoved his notes into his bag and stared morosely into the green-tinged fireplace. The dancing flames reflected in his glasses, temporarily obscuring the dark circles forming beneath his eyes.

"Your face will freeze that way if you keep scowling."

Harry looked up to find Daphne Greengrass standing beside his armchair, a large leather-bound book tucked under one arm and her usual composed expression firmly in place.

"I'm not scowling," Harry said automatically. "I'm thinking deeply."

"Is that what you call it?" Daphne's eyebrow arched with practiced precision. "The rest of us have been calling it 'Potter's Talisman Tantrum' for the past weeks."

Harry felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I haven't been throwing tantrums."

"No? What would you call storming through the common room at midnight muttering about 'idiot Etruscan symbolism' and 'ancient magical incompatibility'?"

Was I that obvious? Harry winced. "Passionate academic discourse?"

The corner of Daphne's mouth twitched. "If that helps you sleep at night." She glanced around the common room, which was gradually emptying as students headed to bed. "Walk with me?"

Curious despite his foul mood, Harry gathered his things and followed her out of the common room. They walked in silence through the dungeon corridors, the only sound their footsteps echoing against the ancient stone walls.

"Where are we going?" Harry finally asked as they climbed the stairs to the ground floor.

"Somewhere quiet," Daphne replied. "Your talisman efforts are becoming the subject of considerable gossip, and I prefer my conversations private."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Just what I need. More attention."

"Yes, the burden of fame must be terrible," Daphne said dryly. "How do you manage?"

"With remarkable grace and dignity," Harry replied automatically, then snorted at his own response. "At least, that's what I will tell the journalists."

They reached the third floor and stopped before an oak door Harry had passed countless times without notice. Daphne tapped it with her wand in a complex pattern, and the door swung inward to reveal a small, well-appointed study.

"Welcome to the Greengrass Thinking Room," Daphne announced, stepping inside.

Harry followed, his eyes widening as he took in the unexpected space. Bookshelves lined three walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and curious artifacts. A polished oak desk occupied one corner, while comfortable armchairs surrounded a small fireplace on the opposite wall. Everything gleamed with the telltale signs of meticulous upkeep.

"How—" Harry began, but Daphne cut him off.

"Family privilege. The Greengrass line has attended Hogwarts for seventeen generations. Great-great-grandfather Hyperion was particularly generous with his donations after the Goblin Rebellion of 1831."

"And the teachers just... let you have a private room?"

Daphne settled into an emerald armchair, arranging her robes with practiced grace. "Professor Snape is aware. The others respect traditional arrangements." She gestured to the chair opposite. "Now, your talisman dilemma. I believe you're approaching it from the wrong angle."

Harry dropped into the indicated chair, his mind still processing the revelation of secret rooms for privileged families. Would my parents have had something similar if they'd lived? The Potters were an old family, too.

"Potter, are you listening?"

"What? Yes, sorry." Harry straightened. "Wrong angle. Got it."

Daphne sighed. "You're attempting to force Norse and Etruscan runic systems to coexist without accounting for their fundamental magical orientations."

Harry blinked. "That's... exactly what I've been struggling with, actually."

"I know. Your frustrated mutterings are quite specific." Daphne reached inside her robes and withdrew a small crystal flask. "Observe."

The flask contained what appeared to be liquid light—a swirling, shimmering substance that flowed like water but glowed with an inner radiance.

"Is that... light?" Harry leaned forward, fascinated despite himself.

"In a manner of speaking." Daphne held the flask up to the firelight, where the contents shimmered even more intensely. "It's a manifestation of pure magical energy, channeled through a Rune Arc. It's a method of connecting traditionally incompatible magical systems by creating a transitional bridge of runes." Daphne traced her finger along the flask's surface, where Harry now noticed tiny symbols etched in a perfect semicircle. "See how the Norse bind-runes here gradually transform into Babylonian cuneiform here? The arc allows the magic to flow smoothly between systems rather than clash."

Harry stared, momentarily forgetting his own frustrations. "That's... brilliant. Are you making talismans too? We could be rivals." He grinned, only half-joking.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I have no interest in talismans. My project is... different." She carefully returned the flask to her pocket. "But the principle applies to your work. You're trying to use silver as a universal conductor, and it's failing because Etruscan magic requires a different material base than Norse."

"So I need different materials?" Harry frowned. "The problem isn't my design?"

"The design is only half the equation. A perfect rune sequence on the wrong material is like writing poetry on tissue paper and throwing it in a lake." Daphne reached for his notebook. "May I?"

Harry hesitated—his notes contained months of work and proprietary designs—but handed it over. If I can't trust a fellow Slytherin with ambitions too large to risk betraying mine, who can I trust?

Daphne flipped through the pages with an expert eye, occasionally humming or raising an eyebrow. "Your arithmantic calculations are sound. The problem lies in application." She turned the book toward him, pointing to his Etruscan power-enhancement sigil. "Your current talismans detect minor curses—hexes, jinxes, basic dark magic. But the Italian Ministry wants protection against ancient burial curses. You're essentially asking a rain gauge to measure an ocean."

"So what do I do?" Harry asked, frustration creeping back into his voice. "I've tried every configuration I can think of."

"You need to expose your prototype to powerful curses—let it experience what it needs to detect." Daphne tapped the page thoughtfully. "Find a curse breaker. Have them test increasingly powerful curses on your talisman until it either breaks or adapts."

"And where exactly am I supposed to find these better materials you mentioned?"

Daphne frowned slightly. "That's where I can't help you. Silver works for basic applications, but for ancient magic..." She trailed off.

Harry waited, but she seemed lost in thought. "Daphne?"

"House Greengrass has extensive records on materials magically resonant with different runic systems," she said slowly. "House Black likely has even more comprehensive texts, given their... varied interests."

"Great, so I just need to break into an ancient pureblood library," Harry said dryly. "No problem."

"Don't be dramatic. I merely mentioned it as context," Daphne replied. "I can't hand over family grimoires, Potter. There are oaths involved."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Harry ran a hand through his hair again, making it stand up even more wildly. "I promised Minister Lombardi a prototype by the end of my Second Year."

"You could use parts from magical creatures," Daphne suggested. "Pure silver is adequate for standard work, but the truly powerful talismans throughout history incorporated materials like dragon heartstring, sphinx bone, or golden skin."

"Golden skin? From what creature?"

"Several possibilities. The most potent would be nundus, but good luck finding one of those," Daphne said, missing Harry's sudden tension. "Doesn't your friend Scamander work with magical creatures? Perhaps he could provide something suitable, maybe a piece of skin from a dragon, or eartheater."

Harry fidgeted with the cuff of his robe. "Newt's brilliant, but he doesn't keep a collection of animal parts just in case I might need them."

"Typical Hufflepuff," Daphne muttered. "All heart, no foresight."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Your best hope might be to pray for some dangerous magical creature to appear at Hogwarts so you can harvest what you need."

The image of Itisa flashed unbidden in Harry's mind—her sleek, powerful form, the deadly grace with which she moved. For a fraction of a second, he considered what a single scale or whisker from a nundu might do for his talisman.

The thought made his stomach churn with disgust. I'd sooner fail completely than use Itisa like that. She's not some magical ingredient—she's my friend.

"You went quiet," Daphne observed, studying his face. "Too extreme an option?"

"Using a creature for parts isn't something I'd do," Harry said firmly. "I'll find another way."

Something in his tone must have conveyed his conviction, because Daphne nodded, a hint of respect in her eyes.

"Admirable, if impractical," she said. "Though I suppose if anyone can find a workaround, it would be the boy who created a Ministry-classified protection device before his twelfth birthday."

Harry smiled despite himself. "Was that a compliment hidden in there somewhere, Greengrass? I thought you were the Ice Queen of Slytherin."

"A ridiculous nickname," Daphne scoffed. "Merely because I don't fawn over every passing boy or engage in pointless dramatics."

"If it helps, I think you're actually quite warm," Harry said without thinking. "You know, underneath all the... Greengrass-ness."

Daphne rolled her eyes, but Harry caught the pleased expression she tried to hide by turning toward the fire. "Poetic as always, Potter."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the fire crackling softly.

"Can I ask you something?" Harry ventured, thinking of Astoria's trembling hands and the way Daphne had watched her sister. No, that's not my business unless she wants it to be. "About magical materials—are there records of what works best for which type of magic? Not your family books, just... general knowledge?"

"Some," Daphne replied. "The Department of Mysteries supposedly maintains the most comprehensive records, but they're hardly accessible to the public." She glanced at him with sudden interest. "Why? Do you have something specific in mind?"

Harry shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Just trying to avoid asking a dangerous creature to donate parts to my project."

"Noble," Daphne said. "But at some point, Potter, you may have to acknowledge that truly powerful magic often requires sacrifice."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "But I'd rather it be my sacrifice than someone else's."

"How very Gryffindor of you," Daphne said, but there was no malice in her tone.

Harry grinned. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."

Daphne finally allowed herself a small smile, the firelight softening her usually composed features. "Your secret is safe with me, Potter. Now, shall we head back before curfew? I have no desire to explain to Professor Snape why I'm harboring the resident talisman prodigy after hours."

As they made their way back to the Slytherin common room, Harry found his frustration had ebbed, replaced by new determination. Rune Arcs, material resonance, exposure to powerful curses—it wasn't a solution yet, but it was a direction.

Tomorrow - Night

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, a piece of parchment before him with "Curse Breakers" written at the top and precisely nothing else. Itisa lounged at the foot of the bed, occasionally swatting at his quill when he tapped it against the parchment in frustration.

"This shouldn't be so complicated," Harry muttered. "I've got enough gold to hire someone decent. I just need to find the right person."

He chewed his lower lip, considering his options. Maybe I should write to Newt again. He's traveled everywhere—surely he knows a curse breaker or two. And they'd have to be discreet, given his line of work.

"Stop stealing my quill," Harry scolded as Itisa pounced on it for the third time. The disguised Nundu gave him what could only be described as a smug look, before delicately placing the slightly mangled quill back beside his parchment.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. The dormitory door cracked open, revealing Sebastian Sallow's sharp features.

"Harry," Sebastian said quietly, glancing at their sleeping roommates. "Got a minute?"

Harry checked his watch—nearly midnight. "Something wrong?"

"Not wrong. Interesting." Sebastian's eyes darted to Itisa, who had gone unnaturally still. "Just you. The... cat can stay here."

Harry exchanged a glance with Itisa, who blinked slowly in that deliberate way that meant she had no intention of following instructions. "She'll probably follow anyway. She doesn't really take direction well."

Sebastian frowned slightly. "Fine. But keep it quiet." He hesitated. "And close."

Intrigued, Harry pulled on his shoes and followed Sebastian from the dormitory, Itisa padding silently behind them. The common room was empty save for a sixth-year asleep over their Transfiguration essay.

"Where are we going?" Harry whispered as they slipped into the dungeon corridor.

Sebastian put a finger to his lips. "You'll see. I've found something... unusual."

They descended deeper into the dungeons, past the Potions classroom and through corridors Harry had never explored. The air grew noticeably colder, and the torches more widely spaced, casting long shadows that seemed to move independently of their flames.

"How far down are we going?" Harry asked, his breath visible in the chill air.

"Almost there," Sebastian answered. "I discovered it last week while looking for a quiet place to practice advanced charms." He glanced back at Harry. "Anna's been getting worse again."

Harry's curiosity shifted to concern. "I thought the Aqualis crystal was helping?"

"It is," Sebastian said grimly. "But it's not enough." He stopped abruptly before a blank stretch of wall, distinguished only by a faint discoloration in the stone—a slightly darker patch shaped vaguely like a coiled serpent.

"That's why I've been looking for alternatives," Sebastian continued, pressing harder against the wall. "Traditional healing has its limits. Sometimes you need to look... elsewhere."

The wall dissolved beneath his touch, revealing a narrow archway. Beyond it lay a circular chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. The room contained nothing but a stone pedestal in its center, atop which sat a small, obsidian cube marked with silver runes.

"What is this place?" Harry breathed.

"Some kind of test," Sebastian said, stepping through the archway. "The first of four chambers, from what I can tell. Old magic—very old. Possibly even from the Founders' time."

Harry followed, Itisa slinking through the entrance behind him. "And you think it might help Anna?"

Sebastian approached the pedestal. "I think it might lead to knowledge that could help her. Ancient healing arts. Magic that's been forgotten or... suppressed."

Harry studied the obsidian cube. The runes were unfamiliar, more angular than the ones he'd studied. "Have you solved it?"

"The first two chambers, yes." Sebastian gestured to the cube. "This one requires a specific spell. Watch."

He drew his wand and made a complex motion, ending with a sharp jab toward the cube. "Morbus Revelio," he intoned.

The cube shuddered, then split along invisible seams, rearranging itself into a miniature archway that matched the room's exit on the opposite wall. The new doorway glowed with soft green light.

"Dark magic?" Harry asked, recognizing the spell classification.

Sebastian pursed his lips. "Originally, it was healing magic—used to reveal illness hidden within the body. The Ministry reclassified it during the Forbidden Magics Codification of 1812 because it could potentially be used to identify weaknesses in an opponent."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Where did you learn it?"

"Family library," Sebastian replied, already moving toward the newly revealed doorway. "The Sallows were known for healing before they became known for... other things."

They entered the second chamber, larger than the first and dominated by a shallow pool of silver liquid at its center. Floating above the pool was a sphere of what appeared to be pure darkness, absorbing the torchlight around it.

"This one's trickier," Sebastian said. "The spell needs to be cast directly into the void sphere, but it repels most magic. Took me three attempts."

He raised his wand again, his face set in concentration. "Lux Inferna," he whispered.

A jet of black fire erupted from his wand, striking the sphere. Instead of being repelled, the flame was absorbed, causing the sphere to pulse with crimson veins before dissolving into the silver pool below. The liquid drained away, revealing another doorway set into the floor.

"Hellfire," Harry said, unable to keep the shock from his voice. "That's definitely dark magic."

"By current classification, yes," Sebastian acknowledged. "Five hundred years ago, it was used to burn away cursed tissue that wouldn't respond to conventional healing. Saved thousands of lives during the Plague of Nightmares."

Harry was skeptical. "And you learned that from your family library too?"

"My uncle's private collection, actually," Sebastian admitted.

They descended through the floor opening into a much larger chamber. This one contained a series of stone pillars arranged in a circle. Each pillar was carved with elaborate runes and topped with a crystal orb that glowed with faint blue light. In the center stood a marble font filled with what looked like quicksilver.

"This is where I got stuck," Sebastian said. "I can't figure out what spell it requires."

Harry approached the font cautiously. The quicksilver surface rippled though nothing disturbed it, forming patterns that reminded him of constellations. "These carvings on the rim—they're Sumerian, I think. Similar to ones I studied for the Italian Ministry project."

Sebastian looked impressed. "Can you read them?"

"Not fluently," Harry admitted. "But this section here..." He traced the symbols with his finger, careful not to touch the liquid. "It's talking about 'blood carrying memory' and 'the sacrifice of knowledge.'"

Itisa prowled around the circle of pillars, her tail lashing with obvious agitation. She hissed softly at the font.

"Even your cat doesn't like it," Sebastian observed. "Smart animal."

Harry studied the quicksilver more closely. "I don't think we need a spell. I think it wants... memories."

"Memories?" Sebastian's brow furrowed.

"A specific kind," Harry clarified. "Knowledge that's important to you. The kind that defines who you are." He pointed to the Sumerian script. "See this? 'That which is learned through pain brings the greatest understanding.'"

He concentrated, thinking of what knowledge he'd gained through difficulty. His mind settled on the moment he'd discovered how to properly channel magic into his first talisman—the searing pain as his magic had flowed into the silver, the sensation like his fingertips were burning from the inside out. The knowledge that creation required sacrifice.

Drawing his wand, Harry pressed it to his temple and concentrated on extracting that memory—not removing it, but creating a copy. A bronze filament clung to his wand tip.

"Harry, wait—" Sebastian began.

But Harry had already touched the filament to the quicksilver surface. The liquid rippled violently, then stilled. One by one, the crystal orbs atop the pillars changed from blue to green.

"How did you know to do that?" Sebastian asked, clearly impressed.

"The inscription," Harry shrugged. "And something Andromeda told me about old magic—it's often about fair exchange."

The floor beneath them trembled, and a section of the wall slid away, revealing a fourth doorway.

"Your turn now," Harry said to Sebastian. "Unless you want to stop?"

Sebastian's expression hardened. "No. I've come too far." He extracted his own memory—Harry tactfully looked away during the process—and added it to the font. The remaining orbs turned green, and the quicksilver drained away into unseen channels.

"Last chamber," Sebastian said, moving toward the new opening.

The fourth room was smaller than the previous ones but more ornate. The walls were covered in frescoes depicting wizards performing complex rituals. In the center stood a plinth with a shallow basin atop it. The basin contained neither liquid nor object—just a swirling mist that changed colors as they watched.

"I have no idea what this wants," Sebastian admitted.

Harry circled the basin, studying the mist. Itisa followed, her golden eyes fixed on the swirling colors. Suddenly, she reared up, placing her front paws on the edge of the basin. Before Harry could stop her, she exhaled a soft breath over the mist.

The mist solidified instantly into a perfect crystal sphere, which rose from the basin and hovered in the air. Inside the sphere, images formed and dissolved—a forest, a mountain range, a vast desert.

"What in Merlin's name..." Sebastian breathed. "Your cat just solved it."

The sphere floated toward the far wall, where it pressed against the stone. The wall dissolved, revealing an enormous silver door. Unlike the previous chambers' entrances, this one was elaborately decorated with three prominent symbols:

' A withered tree stands alone on a hill beneath a moonless sky. Beneath it, a shadowy figure offers a ripe apple to a skeletal hand emerging from the roots. There are no birds in the sky, no wind, only stillness.

A serene garden where every person is smiling and planting flowers... but all of them wear silver collars chained to an unseen point in the sky. One figure looks up, not at the sky, but at someone in front of him, eyes wide with dawning realization.

A marionette on tangled strings dances mid-air above a bed of broken glass. Its face is a painted smile, but its eyes are bleeding. Around it, invisible hands pluck the strings. '

Itisa growled low in her throat, the sound reverberating unnaturally in the chamber.

"I've never seen symbols like these," Harry said, approaching the door. "What do you think they mean?"

Sebastian shook his head. "I don't know. But look at the craftsmanship. Salazar Slytherin's time."

"You think he built this place?"

"Or someone of his bloodline," Sebastian said. "The magic feels... similar to the enchantments in the Slytherin common room, but older, more powerful."

Harry ran his fingers over the skull symbol, feeling a faint vibration beneath his touch. "Do you think what's behind here could help Anna?"

"I'm certain of it," Sebastian said firmly. "Why else create such elaborate protections unless there's something valuable to protect? Ancient knowledge, powerful artifacts—something Slytherin wanted kept hidden but not destroyed."

Harry eyed the door dubiously. "No handle, no keyhole. How do we open it?"

"Those three symbols. I think they might be symbols of spells. Back then, they used to make a small painting for each spell, representing what that spell can do, Alohomora's painting was a key hole and someone inserting their wand into it instead of a key."

Harry retrieved his wand. "Alohomora," he attempted, knowing it was futile. The door remained immobile.

For the next twenty minutes, they tried increasingly complex spells, all without success. Even Itisa's attempts—headbutting the door with surprising force—produced no results beyond an irritated Nundu.

"I think we should either find a way to open the door some other way, or if you are right, we need to use the three specific spells to open this door."

Sebastian sagged against the wall, disappointment evident in his posture. "Another dead end."

"Not necessarily," Harry countered. "We know this place exists now. We can research the symbols, maybe find references to them in the library."

"I don't think the standard sections will help us."

"Then we check the Restricted Section," Harry suggested. "I'm sure I can convince Flitwick to give me permission for 'advanced talisman research.'"

Sebastian considered this, then nodded slowly. "It's worth trying." He glanced at his watch. "We should head back. It's nearly two in the morning."

They retraced their steps through the chambers, which remained open now that they'd passed the tests. As they emerged into the dungeon corridor, Sebastian turned to Harry with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

"Harry, this stays between us," he said quietly. "If the wrong people learned about this place..."

"Lockhart would probably claim he built it himself," Harry quipped, earning a reluctant smile from Sebastian.

"I'm serious," Sebastian insisted. "If anyone found out I was researching magic classified as 'dark'—even if it's for healing—my family's reputation would suffer. And Anna's treatments at St. Mungo's might be jeopardized."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Your secret's safe with me. We'll figure this out together."

Sebastian studied him for a moment, then extended his hand. "Thank you."

As they shook, Harry was struck by how much this meant to Sebastian—usually so composed and aloof, now openly showing vulnerability. The length he was willing to go to save his sister...

I'd do the same for someone I loved, Harry realized. Cross lines, break rules, risk everything.

Itisa bumped her head against Harry's leg, a gentle reminder of how far he'd already gone to protect those he cared about.

"Come on," Harry said, scratching behind Itisa's ears. "Let's get some sleep. We've got research to do tomorrow."

Nine Days Later

Nine days had passed since Harry and Sebastian's exploration of the mysterious chambers, and their discreet research in the library had yielded frustratingly little. The three symbols remained unidentified, and Harry's talisman work had stalled as he waited for a response from Newt about potential curse breakers.

Harry sat at the Hufflepuff table for dinner, a habit he'd developed to maintain connections across house boundaries. Itisa lounged beneath the table, occasionally accepting treats from Susan Bones, one of the few students the disguised Nundu genuinely seemed to like.

"Tomorrow's Halloween," Nymphadora Tonks announced, her hair shifting from its usual bubblegum pink to a festive orange. "Think the feast will top last year's?"

"Hard to beat floating pumpkins that sang opera," Susan said, reaching down to offer Itisa another morsel of chicken.

"You're going to make my cat fat," Harry complained.

"She's hardly in danger of that," Susan replied. "She's the most athletic cat I've ever seen."

Harry smothered a grin. If only they knew her daily exercise routine involves hunting animals in the Forbidden Forest.

"Speaking of athletic," Nymphadora said, leaning forward eagerly, "only two more weeks until we get to watch the Aurors train! I've been practicing my dueling stance every night." Her hair shifted again, this time to a serious navy blue. "Do you think they'll let me try some of the obstacle courses?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall your name being on the invitation."

"Harry!" Nymphadora's hair flashed red with indignation. "You wouldn't."

"I might," he teased, enjoying the momentary upper hand. "Lady Amelia specifically invited me, after all."

"But you know I'm planning to enter Auror training after graduation," Nymphadora protested. "This is a valuable opportunity for my future career!"

Harry maintained his serious expression for about three more seconds before breaking into a smile. "Of course you're coming. I already told Lady Amelia I was bringing you."

Nymphadora's hair cycled through several colors before settling on a relieved pink. "Prat," she muttered, flicking a pea at him. "Nearly gave me heart failure."

"What do Aurors actually do in training?" Susan asked. "Aunt Amelia never talks about it."

"Combat drills, tracking exercises, practice with magical restraints," Nymphadora recited, clearly having researched the topic extensively. "And they have these specialized magical targets that shoot hexes back at you!"

As the conversation continued, Harry's attention was drawn to the Ravenclaw table, where Luna Lovegood sat alone at the far end, an empty space around her like an invisible barrier. A group of older Ravenclaw girls kept glancing her way and whispering behind their hands. One of them—a pretty third-year with long dark hair that Harry recognized as Cho Chang from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team—said something that made the others laugh loudly.

Luna appeared not to notice, serenely eating her pudding while reading a book propped against a water pitcher. But Harry caught the slight stiffening of her shoulders at the laughter.

"Harry? You still with us?" Susan waved a hand in front of his face.

"Sorry," he said, dragging his attention back. "Just thought of something."

Dinner concluded shortly after, with students dispersing to their respective dormitories. Harry lingered, watching as the group of Ravenclaw girls followed Luna out of the Great Hall, their expressions suggesting nothing friendly.

"I'll catch up with you later," he told Nymphadora, who gave him a curious look but didn't question him.

With Itisa at his heels, Harry trailed the Ravenclaws at a discreet distance. Luna walked alone, seemingly in her own world, occasionally stopping to examine some invisible phenomenon in the corridor air. Each time she paused, the distance between her and the group of girls narrowed.

Eventually, on the fifth floor, one of the girls—a stocky fifth-year with a prefect badge—called out, "Hey, Loony! Found any Nargles tonight?"

Luna turned, her expression mild. "Not yet. They're quite shy around negative energy, you know."

"Is that what you call it?" Cho Chang asked with exaggerated sweetness. "I thought it was just people with functioning brains avoiding lunatics."

The girls laughed, closing in around Luna. Harry tensed, moving closer while remaining just out of sight behind a suit of armor.

"Your shoes are very nice," Luna remarked to Cho. "I had a pair like that once, but they seem to have gone walking on their own."

"How tragic," another girl said, making a show of examining her own footwear. "Maybe the Nargles took them?"

"I don't think Nargles would fit in Helen's trunk," Luna replied placidly. "But they might enjoy visiting the portrait behind which you hid my star earrings, Marietta."

The girls exchanged glances, their smiles turning uglier.

"You know what, Loony?" the prefect said. "Since you're so good at solving mysteries, why don't you solve the mystery of how to make friends? First clue: stop being such a complete freak."

Harry had heard enough. He stepped out from his hiding place, but before he could intervene, the girls had surrounded Luna and were herding her up the spiral staircase to Ravenclaw Tower. He followed at a distance, Itisa moving silently beside him.

At the top of the staircase, the Ravenclaw door stood imposingly, lacking a doorknob or keyhole. Instead, it featured a bronze eagle-shaped knocker.

As the group approached, the knocker came alive, its metal beak opening to pose a riddle:

"I am ancient, yet newborn with each whisper. My gaze brings eternal sleep, while my voice commands those who shed their skin. What am I?"

The prefect frowned in concentration. "Death," she answered after a moment's thought.

The knocker replied, "Well reasoned," and the door swung open.

Harry hung back as the girls pushed Luna inside, their laughter echoing in the stairwell. Once the door closed, he approached the knocker, which immediately animated again.

"For you, a different challenge," the knocker declared. "Silent as shadow, I pass through hallowed halls. My whispers speak of secrets, while my touch turns life to stone. Those who seek me find death, yet I have never lived. What am I?"

Harry's brow furrowed. That's not a standard riddle.

He considered the clues carefully. Silent as shadow—something stealthy. Whispers of secrets—perhaps referring to Parseltongue? Turn life to stone... that was the key.

"A basilisk," Harry answered, surprised by his own conclusion.

The knocker seemed to study him for a moment. "Perceptive," it finally said, and the door swung open.

The Ravenclaw common room was a wide, circular space decorated in blue and bronze. Stars were painted on the domed ceiling, and tall windows offered a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. Under different circumstances, Harry might have appreciated the airy, intellectual atmosphere.

Instead, his attention was fixed on the scene near the fireplace, where Luna stood surrounded by the group of girls. Her shoes were missing, and Cho Chang was holding a pair of radish-shaped earrings over Luna's head, just out of reach.

"Looking for these, Loony?" Cho taunted. "Maybe you should try summoning a Wrackspurt to help you."

Luna simply watched with her usual dreamy expression, though Harry detected a hint of sadness in her large silver eyes.

A male prefect lounged nearby, but he didn't seem to want to interfere. Several other Ravenclaws were scattered around the common room, most pretending not to notice what was happening.

"Accio Luna's earrings," Harry said clearly, drawing his wand.

The earrings flew from Cho's hand directly into his. The common room fell silent as every head turned toward the entrance where Harry stood, Itisa a sleek shadow beside him.

"How did a Slytherin get in here?" someone finally asked, breaking the stunned silence.

"Your door asked a riddle. I answered it," Harry replied coolly, crossing the room to hand Luna her earrings. "Apparently you're not the only ones who can solve puzzles."

"Potter," the female prefect said, recovering from her surprise. "This is Ravenclaw Tower. You have no right to be here."

"And you have no right to steal Luna's belongings," Harry countered, scanning the room. He spotted a pair of blue shoes partially hidden behind a bookshelf and summoned those as well. "Or did they teach you that prefects are supposed to encourage bullying in those fancy leadership seminars?"

The prefect flushed. "We were just having a bit of fun. Lovegood knows that."

Luna accepted her shoes with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Harry. The floor was getting quite cold."

"Fun?" Harry repeated incredulously. "Taking someone's shoes in October and making them walk barefoot is 'fun'? Hiding their possessions is 'fun'?"

"It's none of your business, Potter," Cho Chang snapped, though she took a step back when Itisa's golden eyes fixed on her. "And you shouldn't have that cat in here."

"Luna is my friend," Harry said firmly. "That makes it my business." He turned to the prefects. "Aren't you supposed to stop this sort of thing? Or does Ravenclaw house pride only extend to exam results?"

The male prefect stood up, attempting to assert authority. "Look, second-year, you can't just barge in here and lecture us. You don't understand how things work."

"I understand perfectly," Harry replied, his voice level but carrying an edge that made several students shift uncomfortably. "You're picking on Luna because she's different. Because it's easier to mock what you don't understand than to admit there might be things you haven't learned from your precious books."

"Oh please," one of the girls scoffed. "What would a twelve-year-old Slytherin know about anything? Just because you got lucky with some trinket doesn't make you special."

Harry kept his voice calm, his face calm. "That 'trinket' is being mass-produced by the Ministry of Magic to protect Aurors," he said. "And it was complex enough that most adult wizards couldn't replicate it." He looked around the room, meeting their gazes one by one. "I'm not saying this to brag. I'm saying it because you seem to think being older gives you the right to be cruel. It doesn't."

Itisa chose that moment to produce a low, rumbling growl that sounded distinctly unlike any housecat. Several students took involuntary steps backward.

"What is wrong with that cat?" Marietta whispered, eyes wide.

"She doesn't like bullies," Harry said simply. He turned to Luna. "Do you have everything?"

Luna was putting on her shoes. "I think my blue scarf is still missing, and my mother's silver bookmark."

Harry looked pointedly at the female prefect, who hesitated, then grudgingly motioned to one of the other girls. "Marietta, go get Lovegood's things from the dorm."

"But—" Marietta began to protest.

"Just do it," the prefect hissed.

While they waited, an uncomfortable silence fell over the common room. Harry stood beside Luna, acutely aware of the stares from the Ravenclaw students. They probably think I'm confirming every Slytherin stereotype right now, he thought wryly. Barging in uninvited, making threats, and bringing a dangerous beast.

Finally, Marietta returned with the scarf and bookmark, thrusting them at Luna without meeting her eyes.

"Thank you," Luna said gently, as if she were accepting a thoughtful gift rather than her own stolen possessions.

Harry turned to leave, but Luna touched his arm lightly. "It was very kind of you to come," she said, her voice carrying clearly in the quiet room. "But you know, they're not really bad people. Just a bit confused about how friendship works."

Something about her genuine lack of malice made the moment more powerful than any angry speech could have. Several of the Ravenclaws looked ashamed, including Cho Chang.

"Maybe," Harry said, "but real friends don't take your things or make fun of your beliefs." He glanced meaningfully at the prefects. "And if this happens again, I'll be speaking with Professor Flitwick directly. I'm sure he'd be interested to know why his house is targeting one of its own."

With that, Harry turned and headed for the door, Luna and Itisa beside him. As they reached the entrance, Luna paused.

"I think I'll stay," she said serenely. "It is my house, after all. And I have some reading to finish before bed."

Harry studied her face. "Are you sure?"

Luna nodded. "Quite sure. The air feels different now—lighter, somehow. Less Wrackspurt-infested." She smiled at him. "Thank you for being my friend, Harry Potter."

Something warm bloomed in Harry's chest, a feeling of having done something genuinely right. Not clever or impressive or advantageous—just right.

"Anytime, Luna," he said, and meant it.

As he descended the spiral staircase with Itisa, Harry reflected that for all his magical accomplishments and growing reputation, sometimes the most important magic had nothing to do with spells or talismans, but with simple human decency. It was a lesson he hoped the Ravenclaws had learned tonight—for Luna's sake, and perhaps for their own as well.

Harry descended the spiral staircase from Ravenclaw Tower with a mixture of satisfaction and lingering anger. The blank incomprehension on those students' faces when confronted with their cruelty—as if the idea that Luna had feelings had never occurred to them—still rankled.

"At least she's got her things back," Harry muttered to Itisa, who padded alongside him. "Though I wonder how long it'll last."

The corridors were nearly deserted this close to curfew. In the distance, he could hear Peeves causing some sort of commotion, but the poltergeist's chaos seemed far away.

"We should head straight back," Harry told Itisa, stifling a yawn. Between his talisman research, Sebastian's secret chambers, and now this confrontation with the Ravenclaws, he'd had precious little sleep lately. "The last thing I need is detention from Filch when I've got three essays to finish tomorrow."

Itisa's ears suddenly pricked forward. She froze mid-step, her entire body becoming unnaturally still.

"What is it?" Harry whispered, instantly alert.

Then he heard it too—a voice, but unlike any human voice he'd ever encountered. It seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves:

"...so hungry... for so long... smell blood... KILL..."

Harry whirled around, trying to locate the source. "Did you hear that?" he asked Itisa, before realizing how absurd the question was. Of course, she'd heard it—she'd sensed it before he had.

"...rip... tear... KILL..." The voice was moving, slithering away down the corridor.

Without conscious decision, Harry found himself following it, drawn by a combination of curiosity and dread. Itisa kept pace, her golden eyes fixed on the wall beside them.

"It's inside the walls," Harry murmured. "Just like before."

The voice grew fainter as they pursued it, winding through corridors and up a flight of stairs. As they turned a corner near the second floor, Itisa suddenly stopped. Her form began to shimmer and distort—the familiar magical illusion that disguised her true nature falling away like water.

In place of the housecat-sized feline stood a Nundu, taller than Harry, with spotted fur that rippled with barely contained power. A ridge of spines extended down her back, and her massive jaws could easily crush a human skull. Most alarming, her normally golden fur was shifting to a deep crimson streaked with black—a transformation Harry had never witnessed before.

"Itisa!" Harry hissed frantically, glancing around for witnesses. "What are you doing? Someone could see you!"

But the Nundu paid him no heed. She growled at the wall, a sound so deep it seemed to vibrate the very stones of the castle. Her claws extended, scraping against the floor as if she were preparing to pounce.

"...KILL... TIME TO KILL..." The voice was moving upward now, toward the higher floors.

Harry hesitated, torn between following the voice and dealing with Itisa's unexpected transformation. The decision was made for him when Itisa suddenly bounded forward, forcing him to chase after her.

"Itisa, wait!" Harry called in a harsh whisper, racing to keep up with the massive predator. "You can't just—"

He skidded to a halt as he rounded the next corner. Itisa stood rigid before him, her massive form blocking the corridor. Beyond her, illuminated by flickering torchlight, was a message written on the wall in what horribly appeared to be blood:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Beneath the message, a large puddle of water spread across the floor, reflecting the grisly words. Something small and furry hung suspended beside the writing—Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, rigid and unmoving, her eyes wide with frozen terror.

"We need to go," Harry said, suddenly aware of how it would look if they were discovered here—him, a Slytherin, standing before this ominous message with a deadly predator at his side. "Now, Itisa!"

The sound of distant voices spurred them into action. Itisa's form shimmered once more, shrinking back to her housecat disguise. They fled down a side passage just as footsteps approached from the main corridor.

Before Harry could move, a piercing scream echoed down the corridor. He whirled around to see a Hufflepuff girl standing frozen, her eyes fixed on the bloody message and the suspended form of Mrs. Norris.

"The Chamber of Secrets!" she shrieked. "Someone help!"

Harry glanced down, suddenly realizing Itisa was nowhere to be seen. Where did she go? His moment of panic was interrupted as students began pouring into the corridor from all directions, drawn by the screams. Why are they all here so suddenly?

"What's happened?" "Look at the wall!" "Is that... blood?"

Then someone shouted, "Potter's here! He did it!"

Harry found himself surrounded by accusing faces, backing away from the crowd forming around him. "I didn't—I just found it like this—"

"WHAT'S HAPPENED TO MY CAT?" Argus Filch's ragged voice cut through the commotion as the caretaker pushed through the gathering students. When his eyes fell on Mrs. Norris's rigid form, his face contorted with fury and anguish. His gaze swiveled to Harry, standing alone near the scene.

"YOU!" Filch lunged forward, his gnarled hands outstretched like claws. "YOU'VE MURDERED MY CAT! I'LL KILL YOU!"

"I didn't touch her!" Harry protested.

"He was with me in Ravenclaw Tower just minutes ago," a dreamy voice announced. Luna had appeared, regarding the scene with mild curiosity.

"And why should we believe Loony Lovegood?" someone muttered.

Suddenly Sebastian appeared at Harry's side, his expression coolly dismissive. "Potter's been with us in the Slytherin common room planning a study group. We just came up to fetch a book from the library."

Anna appeared beside her brother, looking pale and coughing slightly. "It's true. Harry wouldn't harm a cat." She looked meaningfully at Filch. "Even one as perpetually annoying as yours."

Filch's face purpled with rage. "How dare you—"

"That's quite enough," came Nymphadora's voice as she pushed through the crowd, her prefect badge gleaming. Her hair was a stern blue as she positioned herself between Harry and Filch. "Harry hasn't done anything wrong. He wouldn't hurt an animal."

"Then what's he doing here?" Filch snarled.

"As Sebastian said—" Harry began.

"Allow me to examine the scene!" Gilderoy Lockhart's booming voice interrupted as the Defense professor swept dramatically into the corridor, resplendent in robes of midnight blue. "I've seen this precise situation in Transylvania. Classic case of the Transmogrifian Torture. Very nasty business. Kills instantly—I'm surprised the poor creature isn't more contorted—"

"She's not dead, Argus."

The commanding voice of Albus Dumbledore silenced everyone as the Headmaster arrived, followed closely by Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick. Dumbledore moved toward Mrs. Norris, gently detaching her from the wall sconce.

"She has been Petrified," he announced after a brief examination.

"Ah, I thought so!" Lockhart declared. "So unfortunate I wasn't called immediately. I know the perfect counter-curse that could have spared her—"

"If I might interrupt your self-aggrandizement, Lockhart," Snape said silkily, "perhaps we should consider how this occurred rather than listening to fabricated remedies."

Filch pointed a trembling finger at Harry. "Ask him! He did it!"

"I never touched Mrs. Norris," Harry said firmly. "I heard a noise and came to investigate. That's when I found... this." He gestured toward the bloody message.

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes studied Harry for a moment. "I do not believe that Mr. Potter had anything to do with this, Argus."

"But he was here! Right at the scene!" Filch insisted.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Argus," Dumbledore said quietly.

"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch shrieked. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her," Dumbledore continued patiently. "Professor Mirabel has recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. When they have reached their full size, a potion will be made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart volunteered immediately. "I've done it a hundred times, could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," Snape interrupted, his voice arctic. "I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."

Harry caught Astoria's eye as she appeared at the edge of the crowd. She gave him a small, supportive nod, then mouthed what looked like "Not your fault."

Dumbledore turned to address the gathered students. "Everyone will please return to their dormitories immediately. Prefects, please escort your housemates." He looked at the blood-red words shimmering on the wall. "It seems Hogwarts faces a challenge once again."

As the crowd dispersed, Harry found himself flanked by Sebastian, Anna, and now Astoria and Daphne. Nymphadora gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before departing to lead the Hufflepuffs.

"Thanks for backing me up," Harry murmured to his friends.

"You're welcome," Sebastian replied quietly. "Though I'm curious what you were really doing here."

Harry glanced at the message one more time as they walked away.

"Looks like the trick-or-treating came early this year."

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