Chapter 14
The Room of Requirement was silent. Its walls, bathed in a soft glow, seemed to pulse ever so slightly—as if responding to the energy that still swirled around the Gryffindor.
He was back to normal… or almost. His raven hair was still streaked with gold and green, his eyes burning and ever-changing. Every movement of his seemed charged with latent electricity, barely contained.
He had avoided Draco’s gaze while grabbing him by the arm and dematerializing him away from Dumbledore’s office. Now, Harry walked back and forth, his face impassive, his hands clasped behind his back, with shadows trailing behind him—all under the confused gaze of Hermione, Ron, and Blaise.
He was thinking. Thinking about how to set everything in order. About how to make the memories line up. What to erase, what to alter. But above all, how to make sure that nobody asked too many questions.
«Harry? Harry! Stop!» the brunette stepped in front of him, a hand pressed against his chest to hold him back. Her brown eyes were fixed on his, determined, worried.
«I know you prefer to handle things your own way.» she continued, while he remained silent.
«We know.» came Ron’s low, equally firm voice.
«But we want to understand something too. We’re a team, aren’t we?»
Harry lowered his gaze, drawing a deep breath. He could do it alone, as always. But in the end he nodded. Then his eyes landed on Blaise, waiting for him to understand—that he should leave. But before Zabini could even move, Draco spoke.
«Keep him here. He won’t say a word.»
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the redhead merely nodded. Only then did he let himself drop into an armchair with a long sigh.
«So, where do we start?»
The corridors of Hogwarts were silent. The echo of their footsteps resonated off the stone walls, accompanying the steady breathing of Draco as he walked but a few paces behind Harry.
He followed him. As always. But this time, the dark‐haired guy wouldn’t even spare him a glance.
He had avoided him the whole time. Ever since they’d dematerialized outside Dumbledore’s office, since they’d sat in the Room of Requirement, since he’d begun to speak.
He avoided him. And he couldn’t stand it.
«Harry, look at me, damn it!»
Nothing. Harry continued walking straight ahead, determined, his hands buried in the pockets of his uniform.
The blonde bit the inside of his cheek. He could feel anger and frustration crawling under his skin. Why did Harry avoid him? Why wouldn’t he look at him?
He quickened his pace—one step, then another. And finally, he grabbed Harry’s wrist.
«Stop. Please.»
At last, Harry halted. Slowly, he turned toward him. The Gryffindor held his breath—but did not lift his eyes.
For the first time, Harry was hesitant, indecisive, frightened.
Perhaps Draco understood, noticing the slight tremor in his fingers, the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing had shortened.
Without a second thought, Draco pulled him close and held him tight—a solid, warm embrace.
Harry remained motionless for a long moment. Then, slowly, he let himself relax.
His body softened against Draco’s, his breathing still a bit uneven as he ran his fingers through his soft, raven locks. With his other hand, he traced slow circles along Draco’s back—a reassuring, steady motion.
«Everything’s all right.» Draco’s voice was low, softer than usual—a whisper that only Harry could hear.
«Everything’s all right.»
And they stayed there. In the middle of an empty corridor, wrapped only in the sound of their breathing and the beating of their hearts.
Draco felt Harry’s breathing growing slower. His weight, growing heavier against him.
He lowered his gaze. And then he noticed that Harry had fallen asleep.
He stayed still for a moment, uncertain what to do. He didn’t want to wake him, but they couldn’t remain there.
With a sigh—and with a naturalness he never thought he’d possess—he scooped him up in his arms.
The dark‐haired guy didn’t stir at all. Only his face sank a little closer against Draco’s neck, his warm breath brushing his skin. Draco swallowed.
He focused on something else… he was light. Too light, and without thinking too much, he carried him away.
The Slytherin Common Room was bathed in a soft green light, the torches on the walls casting flickering glows that danced across the dark stone. The fireplace was alight—a bluish flame crackling silently in the hearth.
A few students were still awake, but when they saw him enter carrying the Gryffindor, no one dared to speak. He crossed the room without stopping, offering neither glances nor explanations.
He passed the dark leather sofas, the bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, the deep rug on which his footsteps barely made a sound. And finally, he reached his dormitory.
His room was neat and elegant, decorated in dark tones with silver accents. The four-poster bed—with green velvet curtains and black sheets—dominated the space.
A desk with perfectly aligned parchments stood next to a dark wardrobe, and beside the bed a window revealed the deep green waters of the Black Lake.
He approached the bed and gently laid Harry among the blankets.
He watched him for a moment. Harry barely moved, as he slipped off his shoes, loosened his untied tie, and removed his cloak to make him more comfortable.
Then he straightened up and quickly scribbled a message on a piece of parchment.
“Potter has fallen asleep. He’s with me.”
A small charm caused the parchment to crumple up on itself before it floated away and disappeared. Ron and Hermione would understand.
Only then did he return to look at the sleeping boy.
Harry slept curled up among the sheets, one hand hidden under the pillow, the other resting near his face. His breathing was deep and regular. His raven hair, messy as ever, fell lightly across his forehead, with highlights that still shimmered with magical energy.
He almost laughed.
“He looks like a cat.”
An idiotic thought. And yet… it was true. A black cat, wary and untamable, who every now and then allowed someone to come close.
He sat on the edge of the bed. He watched him.
He looked so different when he slept. Without masks. Without those damned enigmatic smiles. Without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
His gaze fell on Harry’s lips—slightly parted in sleep—then rose to the curve of his cheeks and the arch of his eyebrows.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not knowing whether to laugh or despair. But one thing he knew for sure: he was screwed.
Harry woke with a strange sensation. He felt… rested, and that was wrong.
He opened his eyes slowly, gazing at the dark ceiling above him, at the heavy green curtains of the canopy that framed the bed.
Then he realized something even stranger: he had slept.
Not the usual doze, not that light, alert sleep he was accustomed to—ever vigilant, always ready to react at the slightest sound. He had truly slept.
It was an alien feeling. For a moment he lay still, almost uncertain what to do with this new awareness. Then he turned over.
The cause of all his problems was there, lying beside him—a hand tucked under his head, the other abandoned on the mattress.
His body was long and lean, but not scrawny: broad shoulders, elegant legs, a relaxed posture imbued with a natural regality.
The platinum blonde hair was slightly tousled, falling softly across his forehead. Even his breathing was slow, steady. It smelled of mint and something fresh, clean, natural.
He watched him for a few seconds too long.
Then Draco opened his eyes. Grey. Cold as liquid silver.
And as soon as he met Harry’s gaze, a smile curled on his lips.
«What’s the matter? Don’t you think it’s a magnificent sight to see someone just waking up?» he joked, his tone languid and deliberately theatrical.
Harry sighed, rolling his eyes.
«Idiot.» the other one laughed softly—a low, amused sound.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a crash. Harry whipped around as Ron and Hermione stormed into the room, followed by Blaise—who looked more confused than ever.
«Harry, there’s chaos outside.» announced the brunette without preamble, handing him a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet.
The headline on the front page exploded before his eyes: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE MISSING?!
He quickly skimmed the article, then froze when he noticed the date. Three days. Three.
Slowly, he turned toward Draco, his green eyes blazing with incredulity.
«I slept for three damn days? Me?» he asked, his voice low and tense.
But Harry didn’t even give him time to answer.
In one fluid motion, he slipped out of bed. With a barely suggested gesture of his hand, a wave of magic flowed around him, weaving an elegant suit directly onto his skin.
A perfect, tailored black suit emerged—its lines impeccable, cut to fit his slender, agile form. The fitted jacket closed with a single button, revealing a black shirt beneath, the collar open without the need for a tie. The trousers fell flawlessly on his long legs, and polished leather shoes completed the image of a dark, magnetic authority.
He wasn’t just well dressed.
Draco watched him intently, his lips slightly parted, his eyes a shade darker than usual.
«Where are you going?» he asked after a moment.
«Where to?» replied Harry, already heading for the door.
«—to the Ministry.»
He paused only a second to turn toward the redhead.
«You come with me.» then his gaze slid over to the Ravenclaw.
You know what to do here. Ask Zabini and Malfoy if you need help.» And without waiting for any objections, he disappeared into the shadows alongside Weasley.
The light from the magical chandeliers reflected off the polished marble walls, yet the air was charged with electric tension. A sea of journalists crowded in front of the central podium, their excited voices echoing through the atrium as automatic quill pens scratched feverishly on parchment.
And at the center of it all, Harry Potter.
Standing upright in his elegant black suit, he dominated the scene with an icy calm. His green eyes fixed on the crowd with disarming confidence.
He raised one hand. Instantly, silence fell.
When he spoke, his voice was clear and firm.
«I imagine that all of you have read this morning’s Daily Prophet.»
A murmur of confirmation arose among the assembled.
«Albus Dumbledore is missing.» he let the words settle in everyone’s mind before continuing.
«But not because he was attacked or kidnapped. No.»
«He ran away.»
A wave of whispers filled the air.
«Why run away, you may ask? Why vanish without a trace?»
He paused, his eyes drifting over the faces in the crowd, letting the anticipation build.
«Because the truth is very different from what we’ve been told all these years.»
«For years, Dumbledore spun a perfect tale: good versus evil. The old, wise headmaster against the Dark Lord. And me—the boy destined to defeat evil.»
«A lie.»
A collective gasp erupted in the room, but he pressed on without distraction.
«Lord Voldemort is not the monster you’ve been led to believe. And he isn’t even my enemy.»
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice by an octave.
«He… is my father.»
The silence was deafening. Someone dropped a pen. A witch in a plum dress seemed on the verge of fainting. A faint, almost amused smile played on his lips before he continued.
«Dumbledore manipulated the story for years. He took the truth and distorted it until it was unrecognizable. He tore a family apart, fueled a war, and set me against my own father—all for his own purposes.»
«And when I discovered the truth?»
«He ran away.»
A lethal blow. A scandal that would shake the very foundations of the magical world. And Harry Potter, at the center of it all, didn’t even need to raise his voice.