A Glimpse of Harry
At dinner, Ron found Hermione in the far back corner of the servants' dining hall, tucked away where the watchful eyes of the guards didn't often reach. They hadn't seen each other in weeks, each one lost in their own rigorous training routines. But tonight, Hermione spotted him and hurried to his side, slipping into the seat beside him. Ron glanced around, making sure they weren't being watched, and then leaned in, his voice a low, urgent whisper.
"We need to get out of here," he said, his tone firm, barely containing the desperation that had been building inside him.
Hermione nodded, her expression weary but determined. "I agree. But we have to find Harry first. We can't leave without him."
Ron gritted his teeth. "You don't think I know that? I've been looking for him everywhere, but this place—" He broke off, looking frustrated. "It's like we're kept apart on purpose."
Hermione sighed. "I feel the same way. But I have a feeling we're closer than we think." She glanced over her shoulder, her voice dropping even lower. "We have to keep our heads down and wait for a chance. It'll come—we just have to be patient."
Ron clenched his fists, nodding reluctantly. Patience was the last thing he felt capable of, but he knew Hermione was right. If they were going to find Harry, they had to be careful. Another slip-up could mean a punishment worse than any he'd faced so far.
They exchanged a brief, determined look, then fell into silence, picking at their food and avoiding the watchful eyes of the guards.
The next day, Ron was back outside under Master Jacob's supervision, carrying out the same relentless drills and exercises as always. The morning sun beat down on him as he pushed through the drills, his muscles aching, his mind heavy with thoughts of escape.
But as he passed by the front of the building, something in one of the high windows caught his eye. He slowed down, squinting through the glare of the sun, and then his heart skipped a beat.
Through the glass, he caught a glimpse of someone he could have sworn was Harry. His friend looked different, dressed in fine dark robes, sitting with a calm, collected air that didn't seem like the Harry he knew. But it was him—there was no mistaking the unruly hair, the familiar intensity in his eyes.
Harry was inside The House. And not just as a servant, either—he was seated next to a group of masters, watching something with focused attention.
Ron felt a rush of frustration and confusion. What's he doing in there? he thought, his mind racing. He couldn't make sense of it. All he knew was that he needed to get closer to the truth. But with Master Jacob's watchful gaze on him, he had no choice but to return to the drills, each step feeling heavier than before, the sight of Harry etched into his mind.
Meanwhile, in another part of The House, Hermione was following Mistress Isabell through the grand halls, her steps quiet as she trailed behind with a small group of other maids and butlers. They had been summoned for what Mistress Isabell called "a demonstration"—though what that meant, Hermione wasn't entirely sure.
They were led through several richly decorated rooms until they finally entered a large, imposing chamber filled with ornate, high-backed chairs. Hermione's breath caught when she saw the figures seated before them.
Master Callum, Mistress Eleanor, and Master Alaric were arranged at the front of the room, each seated with a regal bearing that made the space feel colder, more severe. But it was the fourth figure that stole Hermione's attention.
There, seated with the masters, was Harry.
He wore robes like theirs, his posture formal and composed. There was a new edge to his expression, a steadiness that she hadn't seen before, and it both unsettled and amazed her. Harry... what have they done to you? she thought, struggling to keep her face neutral.
Master Callum's voice broke the silence. "Mistress Isabell, thank you for bringing your new charges," he said smoothly, his tone carrying a faint air of authority. "Allow me to introduce our apprentice, Mr. Potter."
Hermione's stomach twisted at the title—apprentice. Harry wasn't just another servant. They were training him as one of them.
Mistress Isabell gave a respectful bow, inclining her head toward Harry. "An honor, Apprentice Potter," she said, her tone polite but distant.
Hermione and the other servants followed suit, bowing from the waist, though her mind was spinning. She couldn't reconcile the sight of Harry sitting there, so calm and collected, with the Harry she'd known all these years.
Mistress Eleanor's voice cut through Hermione's thoughts, her tone laced with an unmistakable command. "Let us see a demonstration, Mistress Isabell. Show us how your new maids and butlers are progressing."
Mistress Isabell nodded, straightening. "Of course, Mistress Eleanor." She turned to the small group, her gaze sharp. "You have been trained in the essentials. Show our masters your ability to serve with precision and grace."
Hermione forced herself to keep her expression calm, her movements steady as she joined the others in setting up a table, serving drinks, and carrying out each task with the meticulous care that had been drilled into her. She moved smoothly, following every instruction, keeping her head down as she performed the duties of a perfect maid.
But all the while, she could feel Harry's gaze on her. She wanted to look at him, to search his face for any sign that he was still himself, but she knew it would be a mistake. She focused instead on her tasks, moving through each one with the precision Mistress Isabell had demanded.
When the demonstration was over, Mistress Eleanor gave a slight nod of approval. "Adequate," she murmured. "Continue training them. They have potential."
Mistress Isabell bowed again, signaling to the servants that they were dismissed. As they left the room, Hermione couldn't resist a final glance at Harry, her heart aching with the need to reach out to him. But he merely nodded at her with a calm, distant expression, as though he were merely observing a piece of work rather than an old friend.
She followed Mistress Isabell back to the servant quarters, her mind whirling with questions. Harry... what have they done to you?
That night, Ron found Hermione again in the farthest corner of the dining hall. She sat down beside him, her face pale, her expression shaken.
"I saw Harry today," he whispered immediately. "Through one of the windows. He was inside the main house, dressed like one of the masters."
Hermione nodded, her voice low. "I saw him too. He's... they're calling him Apprentice Potter now, Ron. He's sitting with the masters. They're training him to be one of them."
Ron's jaw clenched, anger and confusion flashing across his face. "What? But—Harry wouldn't... he wouldn't just join them. Would he?"
Hermione shook her head, her voice heavy with worry. "I don't know, Ron. But he looked different. He was calm, composed... almost like he belonged there." She lowered her voice even further. "I think The House has changed him."
Ron stared at her, his fists clenching. "Then we have to get him out, Hermione. We can't just let them turn him into... into one of them."
"I know," Hermione replied, her voice steady but strained. "But we have to be careful. If they've made him an apprentice, then they must see something in him. He might be in deeper than we think."
They fell silent, each lost in thought, their food untouched. The familiar warmth of Hogwarts, of their friendship and freedom, felt miles away, as though The House had swallowed every trace of it.
"We'll find a way," Ron said finally, his voice firm. "We'll find a way to reach him. To remind him who he really is."
Hermione nodded, her gaze resolute. "Tomorrow, we start watching. We'll look for a moment when we can talk to him, even for just a second."
They exchanged a final, determined look before finishing their meals in silence, each one lost in the weight of the day's revelations.
That night, as Ron lay in his cell-like room, he thought of Harry, the way he'd looked in that window—composed, calm, so unlike the friend he'd always known. His anger simmered again, but beneath it, he felt a fierce determination. He wouldn't let The House take Harry from them. Whatever it took, they would find a way to break him free.
In her own room, Hermione lay awake, her mind racing with plans and possibilities. She would find a way to reach Harry, to pull him back before The House consumed him completely. And no matter what the cost, she would bring him back to the world they belonged in.