Midnight Stroll
Harry Potter crept through the dimly lit halls of Hogwarts, the familiar thrum of magic and mystery enveloping him like a shroud. The Marauder's Map lay clutched in his hand, its parchment warm and pulsing with life. The name “Peter Pettigrew” flickered ominously on the map, a blaring signal that set his heart racing.
Pettigrew? Harry frowned, confusion swirling in his mind. He had thought Pettigrew was dead—murdered by Sirius Black. But now, here he was, his name glowing defiantly on the map.
With every cautious step, Harry felt the weight of uncertainty press down on him. What was Pettigrew doing at Hogwarts? A knot twisted in his stomach as he traced the name with his finger, its ink shimmering under the flickering torchlight. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the brink of something significant, something that could unravel everything he thought he knew.
The dot representing Pettigrew began to move, leading him deeper into the castle. A surge of adrenaline coursed through Harry, urging him to follow. He had to know what this meant. With a tight grip on his wand, he stepped forward, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls.
As he followed the moving dot, the corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, each flicker of light whispering secrets of the past. Fear mixed with curiosity, and anger simmered just beneath the surface. This isn’t happening! I’m not going mad! Harry’s heart raced with each step he took, the air thickening with the gravity of the moment.
Suddenly, the dot representing Pettigrew halted, the name shifting and twisting as if alive. Harry raised his head, peering down the corridor where Pettigrew should be. His pulse quickened, and cold sweat broke out on his brow as he scanned the shadows for any sign of the man. Where the hell are you?
“Where are you?” he muttered to himself, frustration creeping into his voice. He looked back at the map, the name still pulsing with an unsettling life of its own. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement approaching—another name was drawing near: Professor Lupin. Panic surged through him, and Harry's mind raced. No, no, no. Not now.
“Shit,” he whispered, feeling the pressure of the moment crashing down on him. If Lupin saw him out here at this hour, it would lead to a cascade of questions he couldn’t afford to answer. With a pounding heart, he quickly raised his wand, the shadows creeping closer as Lupin’s footsteps echoed in the corridor.
In a frantic motion, he whispered, “Mischief Managed!” The map folded itself into a blank sheet of parchment, the secrets it held vanishing like smoke. Darkness enveloped him, and Harry pressed himself against the cold stone wall, barely daring to breathe.
He strained to listen, his heart racing as Lupin approached.
Harry peeked around the corner just as Lupin passed, his expression calm yet alert, shadows playing tricks on the lines of worry etched on his face. He watched as Lupin continued down the corridor, oblivious to the turmoil unfolding just a few feet away.
He strained to listen, his heart racing as Lupin approached. The familiar warmth of the professor’s presence brought a mix of comfort and dread, reminding Harry of their last conversation.
Harry peeked around the corner just as Lupin passed. He watched as he continued down the corridor, oblivious to the turmoil unfolding just a few feet away.
But in that moment of distraction, Harry felt his grip slip; his wand fell from his hand with a clatter that echoed ominously against the stone floor. Time seemed to freeze as the sound reverberated in the stillness, the world narrowing down to that singular moment.
“Shit!” Harry cursed inwardly, panic surging through him. He pressed himself back against the wall, holding his breath as Lupin’s footsteps halted and began to turn back.
Every muscle in Harry's body tensed, and he fought against the urge to bolt down the corridor, knowing he couldn’t risk being seen. He could hear Lupin’s footsteps approaching again, the soft shuffle of shoes against the stone floor.
The footsteps drew nearer, the soft shuffle of shoes against the stone floor becoming an ominous soundtrack to Harry’s growing dread. Just as Harry steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation, Lupin’s voice broke through the tension, a whisper echoing in the stillness.
“Lumos.”
The tip of Lupin's wand lit up, casting a warm glow that illuminated the corridor. Harry held his breath as the light washed over him, revealing his hidden form pressed against the wall.
“Harry?” Lupin's voice was barely a whisper, laced with disbelief and concern, as he stepped closer, the light highlighting the lines of worry on his face.
With a defeated sigh, Harry let his head fall back against the cold stone wall, the weight of his situation crashing down around him. So much for sneaking around, he thought bitterly. What was I even thinking?
“Professor,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession, laced with embarrassment. “I—”
“Why are you out here?” Lupin cut him off, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “It’s past curfew. You shouldn’t be wandering the halls alone, especially not with Sirius Black on the loose.”
Harry felt the heat rush to his cheeks, and he struggled to find the right words. “I was just… checking something,” he mumbled, knowing full well how feeble it sounded. The truth was a jumble of confusion and fear, and he couldn't risk spilling everything to Lupin—not now, not like this.
Lupin stared at him for a moment, his gaze penetrating as if he could see straight through Harry's facade. The weight of his scrutiny made Harry shift uncomfortably, feeling exposed in a way that left him vulnerable. Finally, Lupin sighed, his expression softening with concern.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, a command that felt more like an invitation to safety. “We need to talk.”
With a hesitant nod, Harry followed Lupin through the winding corridors, his heart racing. The warmth of the flickering torchlight contrasted sharply with the cold dread pooling in his stomach. As they reached the door to Lupin’s office, a familiar comfort washed over him, yet anxiety lingered like a shadow.
Lupin paused before entering, glancing at Harry. “Stay close, and for goodness' sake, be quiet,” he murmured. Harry nodded, gripping the Marauder’s Map tightly in his hand, feeling the parchment's cool surface against his palm.
Once inside, the door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the cozy space filled with books and the faint scent of potion ingredients. In a quick movement, Harry glanced around to ensure they were truly alone. Then, he discreetly tried to slip the map into his pocket, wanting to hide it from Lupin’s view.
“Harry,” Lupin said suddenly, turning to face him, his expression serious. “Give me the parchment.”
Caught off guard, Harry froze, the weight of the map feeling like lead in his pocket. Reluctantly, he pulled it out and handed it over, a sense of unease coiling in his stomach. Lupin took the map, his eyes scanning the familiar lines and names, the map’s enchantment glimmering softly under the dim light as he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
“Sit down,” he instructed, his voice calm but edged with an underlying tension. Harry obeyed, settling into a chair as Lupin moved to sit on the edge of his desk, facing him. The professor’s posture was relaxed, but his eyes held a grave intensity that made Harry’s heart race.
Lupin studied Harry for a moment, a mixture of concern and disappointment swirling in his gaze. “I don’t know how you got this map,” he began, his tone serious, “but I am extremely disappointed that you are using it.” The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. He felt his cheeks flush, embarrassment creeping in as he shifted in his seat.
“Sirius Black could use this map to find you, Harry,” Lupin continued, his voice firm but filled with a hint of sadness. “You’re gambling with your life, and I won’t allow it.”
As Lupin spoke, Harry sat in silence, feeling the weight of his words settle around him like a heavy cloak. He felt the gravity of his situation sinking in, the reality of the threat looming outside the walls of Hogwarts.
“This is poor thanks to your parents,” Lupin pressed on, his gaze unwavering. “They sacrificed everything to keep you safe, and you are playing a dangerous game by putting yourself at risk like this. You have no idea how precious your life is, Harry.”
Harry remained silent, the lecture sinking deep into him. He couldn’t find the right words to respond, his mind swirling with a mixture of shame and frustration. Part of him wanted to defend his actions, to explain the weight of the discoveries he was grappling with, but the words lodged in his throat, refusing to come out.
Lupin regarded Harry with a mix of disappointment and frustration, his brow furrowing deeply. The warmth of the office felt stifling under the weight of the moment, and Harry could almost feel the heat of the professor’s glare on him.
“What was so important that you had to be out of bed roaming the castle at night?” Lupin’s voice was sharp, the calm facade crumbling under the strain of his concern.
Harry shifted in his seat, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation settle over him. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “The map isn’t accurate anyway.”
Lupin’s gaze sharpened, confusion flaring briefly across his features. “What was that, Harry? Could you repeat yourself?” His tone was firm, as though he expected Harry to clarify something significant.
Harry hesitated, the weight of Lupin’s scrutiny pressing down on him. “I said it doesn’t matter anymore,” he repeated, slightly louder this time but still shrouded in a veil of defeat. “The map isn’t accurate anyway.”
Lupin’s expression shifted from confusion to concern, his brow furrowing deeply. “What do you mean by that?” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, intent on deciphering the hidden layers beneath Harry’s words.
Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself to meet Lupin's gaze. There was a flicker of determination in his chest, the weight of secrets and revelations pressing against him like an impending storm. “Professor,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt, “my name isn’t even on the map.”
Lupin frowned, his brow furrowing deeper. “What do you mean, Harry? You need to elaborate.”
Harry hesitated, the words tumbling over one another in his mind. “I mean… Harry Potter isn’t on the map at all.” He paused, the weight of what he was about to say heavy on his tongue. “Instead, there’s some bloke named Matthew Lupin.”
The silence that followed felt like an eternity, stretching out until it became almost unbearable. Lupin's expression morphed from confusion to something more intense—anger flickering in his eyes, shadowed by hurt.
“Where did you hear that name?” Lupin finally whispered, his voice low and tense.
Harry felt a knot form in his stomach at the tone of Lupin's voice. “I swear, I didn’t hear it anywhere!” he insisted, panic creeping into his voice. “I just… I found it on the map! I can show you!”
Lupin’s gaze remained fixed on Harry, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. “Show me,” he said, his voice steely.
Lupin's eyes narrowed as he reached for the map, his expression shifting to one of resolve.
“There Sir!” Harry exclaimed, stepping forward, his finger hovering over the name that had haunted him since he first discovered it. “It’s right there—Matthew Lupin!” He could barely contain his urgency.
As Harry demonstrated the map’s revelation, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of triumph. But when he turned to look at Lupin, he was taken aback by the expression on the professor's face. The lines of worry deepened, and for a moment, it seemed as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.
Lupin’s eyes glistened with an emotion that caught Harry off guard—was it fear, or something deeper? The professor’s voice trembled slightly as he whispered, “Harry, this… this can’t be right.”
For a brief moment, Lupin looked as if he might break down, his composure slipping as the reality of what Harry was saying sank in. “Matthew Lupin?” he repeated, the name hanging in the air
like a ghost, the very essence of sorrow threading through his words. His gaze snapped back to Harry, an earnest plea in his eyes. “Harry, please tell me this isn’t some sort of trick. I can’t bear to think…”
Harry met his professor's gaze, the weight of the moment heavy between them. “Professor,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “why doesn’t my name appear as Harry Potter?” The question felt as if it had been building inside him, aching for release. “And who is Matthew Lupin?”
Lupin took a moment to collect himself, his expression softening as he looked at Harry. “Harry,” he began gently, “I helped create this map when I was your age. I know it inside and out, and I can assure you it’s not broken. The Marauder’s Map never lies.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, and Harry felt his pulse quicken as he leaned in, trying to absorb the implications. “What do you mean?” he asked, bewildered.
Lupin sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The reason your name doesn’t appear as Harry Potter is that you aren’t Harry Potter, at least not legally."
Harry sat in stunned silence, the revelation swirling around him like a storm. “I have to be Harry Potter!” he exclaimed, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “I look exactly like James Potter! Everyone says so!” Yet even as he spoke, a sense of resignation settled in his chest, as if he could feel the weight of truth pressing down upon him.
Lupin’s expression softened, yet sadness flickered behind his eyes. He took a deep breath, allowing the gravity of the moment to settle around them, the silence thick with unspoken truths.
Finally, Harry broke the stillness, his curiosity edging out the confusion. “Who is Matthew Lupin?” he asked quietly, almost dreading the answer, as if he were prepared for something he wouldn’t want to hear.
Lupin’s smile was tinged with sadness, his gaze drifting as he spoke. “He was my son,” he said softly, the words carrying a weight that seemed to fill the room. “He died when he was a newborn, when he was just a couple of weeks old. Losing him… it’s a pain that never really goes away.”
Harry felt a pang of sorrow shoot through him, his heart aching for the loss Lupin had endured. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, the sincerity of his words settling between them like a fragile bridge.
Harry hesitated, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. “Professor,” he began tentatively, “are there any wizarding tests or spells for genealogy? You know, to figure out who your parents really are? I just… with everything you’ve said about the map and how it doesn’t show me as Harry Potter, I don’t know what to think about myself anymore,” he admitted, the vulnerability creeping into his voice. “I mean, if I’m not who I thought I was—if my name isn’t even on the map—what does that make me?”
Lupin’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly, as if drawing Harry into a cocoon of understanding. “There is a test—a genealogical examination—that Gringotts performs. It can help trace your lineage and determine parentage,” he explained gently. “And since tomorrow is Saturday, I can take you there if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity.
Lupin’s smile was warm, but it held a hint of sadness. “You don’t have to thank me, Harry.”
As they sat together in the dimly lit office, the weight of unspoken words hung in the air between them. Harry leaned back in his chair, his thoughts swirling.
After what felt like an eternity, Lupin finally broke the stillness, his voice gentle yet firm. “Harry, it’s quite late. You should probably get some rest.”
Harry nodded, reluctantly accepting the reality that he couldn’t linger here forever, even if he wanted to. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he replied.
Lupin’s expression softened as he added, “Let’s meet outside my office at eight tomorrow morning. I promise, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Okay,” Harry replied, a flicker of hope igniting within him. He stood up, feeling the weight of the conversation still pressing down on him but also a strange sense of purpose.
“Goodnight, Professor,” he said quietly, his heart full of gratitude as he headed toward the door.
“Goodnight, Harry,” Lupin replied, a hint of warmth in his voice that eased some of Harry’s lingering worries. "Make sure not to stray from your path back to the common room." Lupin continued, "If you do, I shall know."
As Harry stepped into the corridor, the cool air washed over him, grounding him as he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room.