Chapter 7
Harry spent the next 6 months watching the Marauders Map. He noticed that Lydia’s name would disappear almost every night. For weeks, he inspected the map diligently, searching for her name. It was only at night, for a few hours after dinner, or sometimes until he couldn’t stay up any longer. It was infuriating. Where was she? Why wasn’t she telling him anything? Everyday, she acted like everything was normal. They saw each other every day. They met between classes, held hands as they walked through the castle, and spent time in the Gryffindor common room together. She kissed him like nothing was wrong, like she wasn’t keeping something from him. She would say she needed to study, or she was tired and needed to go to bed early, like it was perfectly normal. Which it was, except for the fact she disappeared every single time.
Harry was happy in his relationship besides her weird disappearances. It was progressing nicely, they could talk for hours, they cuddled, shared kisses here and there. He would often invite her to the Gryffindor common room and they would huddle up near the fire, studying, laughing, talking. Their relationship was basically perfect. His fellow Gryffindors saw them together and were visibly jealous. He had the most beautiful girl in school. Some didn’t like the fact he let a Slytherin in their common room, but once they got to know her, they didn’t mind. She had a magnetic personality, charming everyone she met. He inquired multiple times on why they never spent time together in the Slytherin common room. She would always distract him when he brought it up. Until one night he couldn’t take it anymore and shared his feelings. He felt as if she didn’t trust him there, or maybe she was embarrassed to show off that their relationship had progressed more than they let on in the corridors. That it was a real, authentic, relationship. After some badgering she finally relented, leading him down to the dungeons.
Lydia led Harry through the cold, winding corridors of the dungeons, her hand wrapped firmly around his as they walked. The further they descended, the more out of place Harry felt. The torches lining the stone walls flickered dimly, casting eerie shadows across the narrow passageway. It was colder down here.
"Don’t say anything stupid," she murmured with a teasing smile.
Before he could ask what that meant, she turned to the stone wall and spoke.
"Sanguis et honorem."
The wall melted away. Harry barely had time to process the entrance before Lydia tugged him inside. He had only ever been inside the Slytherin common room once. That time, he hadn’t paid much attention to its appearance. Few non-Slytherins had ever been inside. It was almost an unspoken rule—Slytherins didn’t bring outsiders in. And Lydia… she had always avoided the topic. That fact alone made his stomach twist. Tonight, though, she finally caved. The Slytherin common room was vast, much larger than he expected. Unlike the warm, cozy Gryffindor Tower, everything here felt sleek, regal, and refined. The room was illuminated by the greenish glow of the Black Lake, which pressed against the windows, casting shadows that danced along the walls. The furniture was dark and elegant, all carved wood and black leather. The emerald-and-silver banners hung high, displaying the serpent crest of Slytherin. A grand fireplace crackled in the center of the room, but even the fire felt different—it was controlled, tamed, not the wild and roaring flames of Gryffindor. A few students lounged on the couches. Others worked at dark wood tables, quills scratching against parchment. Harry felt entirely out of place. Lydia, however, fit perfectly. She walked through the room with effortless confidence, her hand still wrapped around his. Even if some of the other Slytherins turned to stare, their gazes shifting between him and Lydia, she didn’t falter. Harry, on the other hand, felt the weight of every glance. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was assessing. Calculating. Judging. Slytherins weren’t like Gryffindors—they didn’t just blurt out their opinions. They studied. They watched. And right now, they were watching him.
Lydia led him deeper into the common room, her grip on his hand steady, reassuring. She sat them in a far corner, away from the nest of snakes.
"Oh, look, the Gryffindor pet has arrived." Pansy Parkinson strutted over, looking smug. Behind her, Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini followed at a lazier pace, both of them looking far too entertained for Harry’s liking. And on the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy sat in an armchair, his expression dark. Parkinson came to a halt in front of them, folding her arms as she gave Lydia a pointed look.
"You brought him here?" she asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow.
Lydia didn’t so much as flinch. "Obviously."
Parkinson clicked her tongue. "Interesting. I just assumed you wanted to keep your two worlds separate."
Harry stiffened. What was that about?
Nott leaned lazily against a nearby pillar, grinning. "Well, well. Hogwarts’ golden boy, right here in the snake pit. This is historic."
Zabini chuckled. "Should we commemorate the occasion? Engrave his name on the wall? Maybe right next to Salazar’s?"
Harry forced himself to stay relaxed, but every instinct in him was on edge. Lydia, however, looked entirely unbothered.
"Are you all quite done?" she asked in annoyance.
Nott tilted his head, grinning wider. "I don’t know, Lyd. Are we?"
Harry hated the way he said that. Like there was some inside joke he wasn’t in on. Like there was something he was missing.
Nott’s grin turned sharp. "Tell me, Potter," he mused. "Has Lydia told you about her favorite pastime?"
Harry’s stomach tightened. "What?"
Nott smirked. "You know. Sneaking off. Disappearing for hours. Always with the same person."
Lydia went completely still. A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitched.
"Oh, come on, Potter," Nott drawled, "don’t tell me you haven’t noticed."
Harry’s pulse roared in his ears. Noticed what? Why are they like this?
And then, Nott turned, his smirk widening.
"Oi, Malfoy!"
Across the room, Malfoy looked up. Lydia’s face was unreadable. He hated that he could never tell what she was thinking. Malfoys scowl deepened immediately, irritation flickering across his features. He looked like he’d been sitting there brooding for a while, his mood already sour before Nott dragged him into whatever this was. Harry wasn’t sure what he expected Malfoy to do—sneer at him, make some sarcastic remark, anything, really—but for a long moment, Malfoy just stared. First at Theo. Then at Lydia. And then his gaze landed on Harry. His jaw tensed. With an exaggerated sigh, Malfoy pushed himself up from his chair and stalked over.
"What, Theo?" His tone was bored, irritated, like he couldn’t be bothered with any of this.
Nott grinned. "Potter here is feeling a bit out of the loop. Thought maybe you could help him out."
Malfoy’s gaze flicked back to Harry. And something in his eyes changed. It was brief, barely noticeable—but Harry caught it. He had no idea what it meant. Malfoy smirked, slow and sharp, his entire demeanor shifting into something casual, careless. "I doubt it," he drawled. "Potter’s never been good at keeping up."
Harry clenched his jaw. "Try me."
Malfoy’s smirk widened, like he was enjoying this far too much. Theo looked absolutely delighted. Pansy looked nervous and Lydia was completely still.
"He’s got bite," Blaise murmured.
Pansy sighed dramatically. "Boys, must we?"
But no one was listening. Because Malfoy had locked onto Harry now. And whatever this was, it wasn’t just casual banter anymore. Malfoy exhaled, shaking his head slightly, but the smirk never faded. "You know," he said, voice smooth and measured, "I have to say, Potter, you’re much slower than I expected."
Harry frowned. "What?"
Lydia’s fingers tightened around his. Theo chuckled under his breath. Draco just tilted his head slightly, studying him. "It’s been, what? Months? And you still haven’t figured it out?"
Harry’s stomach twisted. "Figured what out?"
Malfoy let out a soft, mocking hum, like he was debating whether or not to spell it out for him. Then, finally, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"You should be more concerned with your girlfriend's whereabouts—" his gaze flickered to Lydia for the briefest moment before snapping back to Harry—"and who she’s with."
“Draco cut it out,” She told him, with—what was that—a pleading look in her eyes?
Malfoy turned his gaze to her. His features softened as he stared at her. He had a heat in his eyes. The world around Harry tilted. Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t angry at Malfoy for being an arrogant, smug git. He was angry because Malfoy was looking at his girlfriend like that. Like he wanted her. Like he had for a long time. Harry’s fingers curled into fists. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t quite breathe right. His heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out the sound of Theo’s snicker, Blaise’s amused hum, Pansy shifting awkwardly at the tension. But Lydia wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Malfoy..
He swallowed hard, forcing the words out before he could overthink them. "I’ve seen you."
Lydia blinked, turning back to him. "What?"
Harry’s jaw clenched. "On the Marauder’s Map." His voice was measured, cold, sharper than he meant it to be. "Every night. I’ve seen you disappear. And I never asked, because I—" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "I trusted you."
Lydia went completely still. Malfoy’s smirk finally dropped.
Parkinson’s eyes widened. "Wait—what map?"
Nott perked up immediately. "Yeah, let’s circle back to that, actually."
Zabini, ever composed, lifted a brow. "I do love new information."
Harry ignored them, his gaze locked onto Lydia. Waiting. She wet her lips, but no words came out. She knew what he’d seen. And she wasn’t going to explain it. Malfoy stepped slightly closer to her, his presence deliberate, and Harry saw red.
"Say something," Harry demanded, voice lower now.
Lydia exhaled slowly, but she didn’t look at him. "Harry, it’s not what you think."
He let out a sharp, hollow laugh. "Then tell me what it is."
Her mouth opened—then closed.
Parkinson shifted uncomfortably, breaking the tension. "Alright, so, back to this map—"
Nott grinned. "Yes, Potter, tell us more about how you’re stalking our dear Lydia."
Harry clenched his jaw, not taking the bait. "You two disappear off it all the time. Where do you go?"
Lydia and Malfoy both stayed silent, staring at each other, trying to communicate something. Nott and Zabini exchanged glances, intrigued.
Parkinson frowned. "Hold on. How do you even know that? What kind of map—"
"That’s not the point," Harry snapped, cutting her off. This witch was relentless. His gaze burned into Lydia. "I’ve never questioned you about it before. But now? Now I need to know."
Lydia swallowed, her fingers twitching at her sides. "Harry, please—"
"You won’t even deny it!" His voice cracked slightly at the edges. "You and Malfoy disappear for hours. You won’t tell me where, you won’t tell me why. And now you expect me to just let it go?"
Her eyes flashed with something unreadable. "I—I—Harry…"
Parkinson cleared her throat. "So. The map?"
Harry turned to her, jaw tight. "It shows everyone in the castle. Where they are. Where they go. And Lydia and Malfoy?" He exhaled sharply. "They disappear. Off the map. Completely."
Nott looked stunned. “They do love to disappear, even we’ve been discussing it.”
Both Lydia and Malfoy shot him a glare.
Zabini, looking curious, adjusted his sleeves. "You’re telling me there’s a map that shows everyone in the castle?" His eyes gleamed with interest. "Everywhere they go?"
"And you never thought to share this before, Potter?" Parkinson added, tilting her head.
Harry ignored them, his gaze burning into Lydia. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, drowning out the hum of the crackling fire, the shifting of bodies as the small group closed in around them.
"I don’t care about the bloody map," he snapped, his voice low, sharp. "I care about where you’ve been going. And why you’ve never told me."
Lydia’s fingers twitched at her sides, her expression locked down into something carefully neutral. "Harry—"
Parkinson sighed dramatically, looking between them before flicking her gaze back to Harry. "Alright, so… back to this map."
Harry’s jaw clenched. Why wouldn’t she just shut up about the map?
"It’s enchanted," he said curtly. "Shows everyone in Hogwarts. Their exact locations. Every second of the day."
Zabini let out a low hum of approval. "Impressive. I’d ask where you got it, but I doubt you’d tell me."
Nott chuckled under his breath. "More importantly—why do they disappear?" He turned to Malfoy now, an eyebrow raised. "You lot hiding in another dimension, or something?"
Malfoy’s shoulders were rigid, his entire body tense in a way that was so unlike him. His jaw twitched slightly as he kept his gaze carefully fixed on the floor. And that pissed Harry off. Because Malfoy wasn’t taunting him anymore. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t throwing anything back in Harry’s face. No. Malfoy was uneasy.
"What’s going on, Malfoy?"
Malfoy’s head snapped up. "I don’t have to explain myself to you, Potter."
"Then explain yourself to them." Harry gestured around the room. "Because even your own friends don’t know where you’ve been going."
Nott let out a dramatic sigh. "It’s true, Draco. You and Lydia sneak off all the time. The least you could do is satisfy our curiosity."
Parkinson frowned, her arms still crossed. "I don’t see why they’re being so cryptic about it. It’s weird. I’ve been about to interrogate you both for months.”
Malfoy’s temper flared. "Oh, shut up, Pansy—"
"Then just say something!" Harry’s voice came out sharper than he intended. "Because right now, all I see is you looking at my girlfriend like—" He cut himself off before he could finish the sentence.
"Hold on." His brown eyes gleamed with delight as he turned back to Malfoy. "So you do you fancy her?"
Zabini let out an amused laugh. "Obviously, it’s not like he’s been hiding it. The way he looks at her, come on, everyone can see it."
Malfoy’s entire body went rigid. Lydia’s eyes snapped to Nott. "Theo, shut up," she warned.
Nott did not shut up. "I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?" he continued, tone deliberately casual. "You disappear together all the time. You’re always in each other’s business. And now you won’t even tell Potter what you’re actually doing?"
Parkinson’s eyes widened slightly as she looked between them, a knowing look in them. Of course. She knew he fancied her the entire time. Harry’s stomach felt like it was being ripped apart. And Malfoy—Malfoy said nothing. He didn’t scoff. Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t laugh it off like it was ridiculous. He just stared.
Harry’s heart was hammering, his fists curling at his sides. "You—" His voice came out like a breath, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. "It was never about where you were going," he murmured, his voice hollow. "It was about who you were with."
Lydia flinched. Malfoy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Merlin’s sake, Potter—"
Harry stepped back. It felt like the floor had just collapsed under him. Like something was shattering apart inside him, piece by piece. "I can’t believe I was this stupid."
Lydia’s eyes widened. "Harry, wait—"
But Harry was already turning, his entire body numb. "Don’t." His voice was quiet, but final. "Don’t follow me. Don’t explain. Just—" He swallowed, shaking his head. "Just stay here. With him." He stormed out.
Harry stormed through the castle, his footsteps sharp, unrelenting against the stone floor. His breathing was uneven, his mind racing, tumbling, collapsing in on itself. Lydia. Malfoy. He had been so stupid. The signs had been there for months, right in front of him. The sneaking off. The whispered conversations. The way Malfoy looked at her like he wanted her—like he had already had her. Harry felt sick. By the time he reached the portrait hole, he could barely form a coherent thought.
"Password?" the Fat Lady asked, eyeing his disheveled state.
"Forget it," Harry snapped. "Just let me in."
She sniffed, unimpressed, but swung forward, granting him entrance. The Gryffindor common room was warm, bustling with life, but Harry didn’t stop to acknowledge anyone. He made a beeline for the sofa near the fire, where Ron and Hermione were sitting.
The moment Hermione saw his face, she paled. "Harry, what—"
"I need to talk to you," he said, voice tight. "Now."
Ron blinked, frowning. "Mate, what’s going on?"
Harry’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t trust himself to sit down. "It’s Lydia," he forced out. "She—she’s been sneaking off. For months."
Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance.
Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "She disappears off the Marauder’s Map every single night, and I never questioned it. I never—I trusted her."
Hermione’s expression softened slightly. "Harry—"
"With Malfoy."
Ron’s face contorted in horror. "Wait—what?"
Harry let out a shaky breath. "They’ve been sneaking off together. All the time. And I was too bloody blind to see it."
Hermione’s brows knitted together. "Harry, I—are you sure it means—?"
"Theo Nott spelled it out for me," Harry said bitterly. "And Malfoy? He didn’t deny it. Not once."
Ron’s ears were red now. "I’ll kill him."
Harry shook his head, voice cold. "Get in line."
Hermione looked torn between caution and concern. "Did Lydia say anything?"
Harry let out a short, humorless laugh. "She barely said a word. And you know why?" He clenched his jaw. "Because there was nothing to say. Because it’s true."
Ron stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "That’s it. I’m finding Malfoy and I’m cursing his smug, pointy face—"
"And then what?" Harry snapped. "You think he’s just gonna admit it? He won’t. He’s a snake, Ron. He’s been playing me like a bloody idiot this whole time, and she—" He cut himself off, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.
Hermione reached forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Harry… I know this hurts. But are you sure you want to do something about this tonight?"
Harry exhaled sharply, shaking her off. "What am I supposed to do? Just sit here while Malfoy laughs about it? While she—" He stopped, gritting his teeth.
Ron’s fists clenched. "We’ll make him talk."
Hermione’s eyes flashed with concern. "Ron, no—"
"You think I’m gonna let this go?" Ron hissed. "After everything that git’s done to him? To all of us?"
Harry didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was that his hands were shaking. And no matter how tightly he clenched them, he couldn’t make them stop.
—
The last week of school felt like a slow, agonizing crawl toward the end. Harry avoided Lydia like it was second nature, like he had been training for this moment all year. It wasn’t even difficult—she didn’t try to speak to him, didn’t chase after him, didn’t even seem to expect anything from him. That should have made it easier. It didn’t. Everywhere he turned, she was there but not there. She had withdrawn into herself, speaking only to Pansy Parkinson, keeping to the Slytherin common room as much as possible. Even when they were in the same space, she acted like he didn’t exist—and Harry told himself he was fine with that. It was better than the alternative. It was better than watching her look at Malfoy. Because he had seen it now. He had spent months being blind, being stupid, being a fool. But now, there was no more pretending. Every time he caught sight of Malfoy, it was like he was back in that common room, hearing Theo Nott spell it out for him, watching Malfoy smirk like he knew something Harry didn’t. It made his blood boil. He kept his head down, threw himself into whatever distractions he could find, but the bitterness, the betrayal—it clung to him. Hermione tried to talk to him about it, tried to get him to open up, but he brushed her off. What was there to say? That he had been an idiot? That he had let himself fall for someone who had never been his to begin with? That he didn’t even know if he was angry at Lydia or at himself? Ron, on the other hand, was itching for a fight. Every time they saw Malfoy, Ron’s hand twitched toward his wand, but Harry didn’t let him do anything about it. It wouldn’t change anything. And that was the worst part—no amount of yelling, fighting, or hexing Malfoy into oblivion would make this feel any less like losing. On the last day, when they boarded the Hogwarts Express, Harry told himself he wouldn’t look for her. He wouldn’t try to catch one last glimpse, wouldn’t search the corridors for a flash of dark hair, wouldn’t hope that maybe—just maybe—she would look at him, would say something, would do anything to make this make sense. And yet, as he sat in the compartment with Ron and Hermione, staring out the window, he couldn’t help but wonder. Had it ever really been real between them? Or had he been fooling himself from the start?