Shadows in the Night
Chapter 4: Shadows in the Night
Snape was not a man who easily admitted defeat. But no matter what he tried, Potter was always one step ahead.
The boy was like a shadow in the corridors of Hogwarts—impossible to grasp, even harder to understand.
He appeared only when absolutely necessary and disappeared again the moment no one was looking.
He spoke to no one.
He kept to himself.
He hid behind his hood like a fortress wall.
But Snape knew better.
No one can hide forever.
And he would find out what Potter was hiding.
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Harry knew Snape was watching him.
It had started with small, almost imperceptible things—a gaze that lingered too long, a sudden movement in the corridors when Harry thought he was alone.
Snape was hunting him.
And Harry was the prey.
But he had no intention of being caught.
He became even more careful.
He took new routes through the castle, avoided certain locations, and spent even more time in his hiding place.
But it wasn't enough.
His instincts were getting stronger.
The urge for movement, for freedom, for fresh air—it was becoming unbearable.
His wolf felt trapped.
Caged.
It was only a matter of time before he sought an escape.
And Harry found one.
He began sneaking out of the castle at night.
It was risky, but he had no choice.
His wolf needed the forest.
The first night had been liberating.
The moment he had reached the shadows of the trees, he let the transformation happen.
His body became smaller, his senses sharpened, his heartbeat calmed.
The white wolf stretched, dug his claws into the earth, and took a deep breath.
Here, he was free.
Here, he was safe.
He spent the nights wandering, hunting—even if just playfully—and letting his mind settle.
But freedom had its price.
He was getting less and less sleep.
His body was exhausted, his mind worn down.
But it was necessary.
And then—he had found a solution to his other problem.
He had researched.
Searched through old books, analyzed spells.
And finally, he had found one.
A concealment charm—one that could be placed on an object to alter the wearer’s appearance.
For Harry, it was perfect.
He had enchanted a thin silver chain—a small, inconspicuous trinket he could wear under his clothes.
With a single thought, he could make his white hair appear black again.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
At last, he could move in public without fear of being discovered.
But his exhaustion was catching up to him.
He was tired.
Always tired.
And eventually… it became too much.
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It started with one simple mistake.
After weeks of avoiding them, of constant hiding, he was too tired to keep going.
He entered the Great Hall, his shoulders heavy, his eyes burning.
He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help it.
For the first time in weeks, he sat down at the Slytherin table.
The room went silent.
The other Slytherins stared at him like they were seeing a ghost.
"Potter?" Malfoy’s voice was cautious, suspicious.
Harry ignored him.
He was too tired to talk, too exhausted for an argument.
He sank onto the bench, pulled his hood down, and rested his head on his arms.
And then…
Silence.
A moment of pure, tense silence.
And then—
"His hair…" Pansy whispered.
"It’s black," Zabini said flatly.
Malfoy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
"It was white," he said slowly. "I know what I saw."
"Well," Nott said dryly, "obviously not."
Harry could hear them.
But he was too tired to react.
He closed his eyes.
He knew he would have to explain it eventually.
But not now.
Not today.
Today, he just wanted to sleep.
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A loud clatter.
The murmur of voices.
Harry’s consciousness slowly drifted back from the darkness.
His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish.
He blinked, the blurred reality around him slowly coming into focus.
The first thing he saw was a pair of silver-grey eyes.
Malfoy.
He was staring directly at him, arms crossed, that typical smug expression on his face.
Harry blinked in confusion.
Was this a dream?
Since when did he sit directly across from Malfoy?
His gaze wandered over the table—past the steaming plates of food, past the Slytherins watching him—some curious, others skeptical.
And then Malfoy spoke.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
Harry’s brain stalled for a second.
Then, he was wide awake.
He snapped upright, looking around frantically.
The Great Hall.
Breakfast.
The Slytherin table.
He was sitting among them.
His body tensed, muscles coiled, ready to bolt.
What had he done?
How had he been so careless?
He had to run, get away, disappear—
But then—
A loud growl.
Directly from his stomach.
Harry froze.
The noise around him stopped for a second.
Then—
"Looks like someone desperately needs a meal," Zabini remarked with amusement.
Harry didn’t move.
He could feel heat rising in his cheeks.
Yes, he was hungry.
Starving.
He had spent the last night in the forest, traveled further than usual, and the exhaustion had drained him.
Run or eat?
Run or eat?
He ran a hand through his hair—and noticed his hood was down.
For a split second, panic flared—
But no one reacted.
No one stared in shock.
His hair was black.
The charm was working.
That calmed him slightly.
Harry exhaled slowly and let his gaze drift over the table.
Bacon. Toast. Eggs. Fresh fruit.
His wolf whimpered, demanding he take something.
Hesitantly, he grabbed a piece of bread.
He waited for someone to comment.
For someone to remind him he didn’t belong here.
But nothing happened.
Instead, Pansy pushed a plate of sausages toward him without a word.
Nott said nothing, simply taking another roll for himself.
Zabini grinned, as if he had just won an interesting bet.
Malfoy leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"See, Potter? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"
Harry didn’t answer.
He ate.
And for a fleeting moment, he didn’t feel so alone