The Great Game: Blackest Dawn

Harry's boots softly tapped against the worn cobblestones of Hogsmeade, creating a muted echo in the crisp air, as if the village itself held its breath. The chill, a keen reminder of the encroaching winter, seemed to nudge him forward rather than deter his resolve. The Hog's Head Inn, with its dimly lit facade, promised a semblance of privacy in an increasingly watchful world. Posters highlighting the supposed heightened status of Purebloods caused Harry to roll his eyes. Will this idea ever truly die?

Each poster, each glance from passersby, felt like a shard from a mirror he once knew well, now fractured. He could almost hear the laughter of his friends, a stark contrast to the solitude of his current path. Was it the weight of the world changing, or had he? The posters weren't just paper; they were a reminder of a battle fought but perhaps not won. In the dim light of the Hog's Head Inn, he found himself wondering, when did the echoes of the past start sounding more like warnings for the future?

Securing a room had been straightforward; the innkeeper's glance, though quick and assessing, betrayed a readiness to accommodate for the right price. Harry noted the absence of Aberforth, filing it away as a curious detail in an otherwise routine interaction.

Once inside, the room's dim lighting and the heavy, oppressive decor invited a sense of isolation. The walls, adorned with faded tapestries and the occasional mounted creature head, seemed to close in, lending itself to a more closed off feeling.

Determined to enhance his magical abilities, Harry set his sights on brewing Growth Potions. It was a deliberate choice, aimed at gaining a tangible advantage in an increasingly uncertain landscape. Diagon Alley, with its vibrant thrum of life and commerce, was his next destination. Despite the familiarity, there was an undercurrent of watchfulness, as if the alley itself scrutinized his every move.

At the apothecary, the clerk's eyebrow quirked in mild curiosity at Harry's order, a silent acknowledgment of the unusual request before professionalism took over. This brief exchange left Harry with a faint sense of wariness, as if he was being judged for every purchase.

Obtaining a subscription to the Daily Prophet was a strategic move, a way to keep a finger on the pulse of the wizarding world's shifting dynamics. The vendor's boisterous demeanor barely masked his greed. He practically salivated when Harry signed the withdrawal certificate.

His final stop was Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occassions. The shop's inviting warmth and the murmur of hushed conversations provided a brief respite from the cold, yet even here, Harry felt somewhat uncomfortable, like each whisper was reporting to some hidden master.

Madam Malkin, however, was pleasant and greeted him with a smile. “And what can we do for you today, dear?”

“I need to be measured for new robes,” Harry replied, his voice steady but betraying a hint of unease at the prospect of being the center of attention.

After Madam Malkin fitted him and he purchased a few robes and changed, the shop door chimed, heralding the arrival of new customers. Harry paid them no mind, focused as he was on the task at hand, until a familiar voice pierced through the hum of activity, stopping him in his tracks.

“I think we get robes here…”

He turned, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of bushy brown hair and intelligent eyes, wide with recognition and surprise. Hermione Granger stood there, as if transported from his memories, a tangible link to a past he’d lost.

What…? She’s here?

“Hermione,” he breathed, a smile breaking across his face for the first time in what felt like ages. Time seemed to slow as she turned to look at him. The last image he remembered of her - of her corpse - rocketed through his mind, yet it was replaced by the warmth and kindness of her brown eyes. Each step Hermione took towards him was a step away from a grave he had visited in his nightmares. Her excitement, her curiosity about the world she was stepping into, reminded him of a time when magic was a wonder rather than a weapon. In her, he saw not just the friend he had lost but a beacon for the journey ahead.

As she looked back around the room, he caught her eyes. A light of recognition lit up her face.

“Are you… perhaps Harry Potter?”

His breath was caught in his throat. She’s here. She’s really here.

“I am, yes.”

Light danced in Hermione's eyes, her enthusiasm barely contained as if each word she spoke could bridge the gap between her dreams and reality.

“Oh, I’ve read so much about you! The famous Boy-Who-Lived! I am Hermione Granger.”

Harry laughed, more a huff of disbelief, escaping him unbidden. “Those books? They spin tales taller than the towers of Hogwarts. Trust me, I'm far more ordinary than they make me out to be.” His gaze drifted away, as if trying to spot the lies in the air between them.

“Books, lie? Never!”

An older blonde woman walked up behind Hermione and bowed to Harry. “Greetings, Heir Potter. I am Madam Justine. I apologize on behalf of the young Ms. Granger. She is unfamiliar with the nuances of our world.”

“But ma’am,” she started. “He’s famous. One of the most famous wizards alive!”

“And that’s precisely why he doesn’t want that attention,” she replied, sternly.

This has always been uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Hermione, I’ve just never liked those books.”

“Well, I can understand not wanting the attention.”

“It’s alright. But what are you doing here?”

She flinched back at his question, pain written on her face.

“Oh, is this a Pureblood only shop? I thought it was fine…”

“What? Of course not. You can shop wherever you’d like. Why would you ask anything about being a Pureblood?”

“Well… I’m sure you know but Muggleborns aren’t exactly permitted in many places in Diagon Alley, especially before we go to school. I had to get special permission just to buy a few items for my tutoring.”

Harry cocked his head. “Tutoring?”

“I want to go to Hogwarts and so I need to make sure I’m the best student around! They only take a few Muggleborns per year, you know. That’s why Madam Justine is escorting me today.”

Hogwarts only accepts certain students?

“I didn’t realize Hogwarts had a limit.”

A wistful smile tugged at Hermione's lips, her gaze flickering with a mix of admiration and a trace of envy. “Well you are Harry Potter. Of course they are going to take you, being the Heir of an Ancient and Noble House and all.”

No, no this isn’t right. I’ve never known Hogwarts to reject anyone, especially because of Blood Status.

“I thought Hogwarts was the only magical school around. How could they reject students?”

“Oh no, Heir Potter, Hogwarts is the most prestigious,” Madam Justine said. “But there are many schools for magicals all over the country. Some even specialize in Muggleborns.”

“But I want to go to the best school,” Hermione said resolutely.

“Yeah…” Harry said, thoughts drawn elsewhere. This is wrong. The one place that was supposed to be a haven for magical children now persecutes them?

Harry forced himself to smile. “Well it’s good you will be able to study at least. You seem the type to do quite well.”

Hermione beamed in response. “Thank -”

A loud crash tore through the street outside. Instantly Harry was bounding outside as the screams echoed through the building. Hermione’s voice, calling after him, seemed distant as he pushed his way through the crowd.

The chill of the air paled in comparison to the cold grip of horror that seized Harry as he beheld the scene outside Madam Malkin's. The sight of the young dark haired girl, her life extinguished so brutally, was a silent scream in the cacophony of Diagon Alley. Harry's senses were assaulted by the smell of spellfire, the sight of blood staining cobblestones that had once known the laughter of children. Her body was twisted and contorted in unnatural angles, her face was scorched with most of her features melted off, and her clothes were torn to shreds. Each murmur of the crowd, each expression of resigned pity, was a weight pressing down on him. The injustice of it all ignited a fury deep within, a fierce desire to right a world so clearly gone awry. But beneath the anger, there was a haunting question: how had the world he fought to protect twisted into this?

A flash of auburn hair streaked across his memory. A young girl, twisted and broken, her eyes dull and lifeless. A chill wracked through Harry’s body as he recalled the devastating sight. Bodies strewn about, their hopes and dreams cut agonizingly short. The sight before him was a stark, brutal reminder of what was at stake, of what could be lost in the blink of an eye. It was about every life touched by the darkness, every future dimmed before its time, every light extinguished in the cold grasp of death.

That familiar wave of nausea rose in Harry’s throat as the auburn haired girl and this dark haired girl blended as one in his mind’s eye. With a heavy heart and a resolve hardened by the sight of such needless devastation, Harry turned away from the scene, the image of the girl with the auburn hair etched into his memory forever. He would carry her with him forever, a reminder of the cost of failure and the price of hope.

Such brutality. This is not just senseless, it is a message.

“What’s happened here?” Harry asked, his voice firm. The rage of injustice boiled in his belly.

An elderly man, who had been kneeling beside the girl, stood to address Harry's question. "She was a servant, accused of failing her lord. A Half-Blood," he explained, his voice tinged with a resignation that only deepened Harry's anger. "It's a message, they say. A warning to Muggleborns and Half-Bloods to know their place."

The explanation struck Harry like a physical blow, the injustice of it burning in his chest. He looked around and saw others with expressions of pity written on their faces. I’ve seen death before, too much of it, but the casual cruelty and acceptance of it by others, it chills me to the bone.

Beside him, Hermione was visibly shaken, her face a portrait of horror and disbelief.

"This is barbaric," Hermione said.

The old man turned to her. "This... this is the harsh reality for many, especially for those not born into 'pure' magical families.”

“Such brutality.”

“Truly monstrous.”

“She should have listened to her Lord but this was too much.”

“Poor girl…”

The crowd's murmurs and the sight of the girl's broken body drove many to pity. I didn’t realize there was such discrimination.

“Apparently this is normal if you displease your patron,” Hermione said.

A hot, searing anger coursed through Harry, his stomach churning as if he'd swallowed fire. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks.

Monster. This is not the world I fought for.

“I will inform the Aurors. Such a waste,” the old man said.

As the crowd began to dissipate, Harry and Hermione locked eyes. A silent agreement formed between them. They could not tolerate the injustice that had unfolded before them.

Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her partly down an alleyway with Madam Justine following right behind.

“We should head back, Ms. Granger. Your parents aren’t going to want you to be around this.”

Harry summoned his Heir Ring and traced a small ritual circle around him. Bright blue magic followed the tip of his fingers. He drew a series of runes around the circle and the light intensified.

Madam Justine’s eyes went wide. Hermione gasped. “You can do wandless magic!”

Harry smiled at her. “A bit, but keep it a secret.”

Hermione nodded. 

Harry weaved his fingers tracing an intricate pattern and gestured towards the girl's body. The same blue magic pulled at Harry’s fingertips.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, a lilt of concern in her voice.

“A ritual to trace who cast the spells that did this to her. You can smell the spellfire on her so this was very recent.”

As he finished his gestures, a complex series of dozens of runes appeared in front of him. Each rune represented a different spell cast on her in a short period of time. 

“They are close. Follow me.”

“We really need to get back,” Madam Justine said.

Harry considered Madam Justine’s words for a moment. If I turn away now, I betray everything I've ever stood for. It's not just about fighting; it's about standing up for what's right, even if I have to start all over again.

“We will confront those who did this and get justice for that girl.”

“What? No! Heir Potter, I beg of you to please see reason. Neither you nor Ms. Granger should confront anyone capable of doing that to anyone.”

Harry took a deep breath. I shouldn’t risk her life. “Hermione, you should stay. This could get ugly.”

Hermione looked up at Harry, her eyes shining with a mix of bravery and the kind of excitement only a child could have when faced with a real-life adventure. She took a tiny step closer, her small hands balling into fists as if she was getting ready to tackle a challenge head-on.

"Harry, I've read about heroes in my books," she began, her voice wavering slightly. "You know, wizards and witches who did really brave things because it was the right thing to do. I always think to myself, 'What would Hermione do if she was there?'" She paused for a second, biting her lip.

She unclenched one hand and waved it around, trying to grab all of her thoughts and put them into words. "When you're just reading, it's easy to say, 'I'd be super brave,' but it's different when something real happens." She placed her hand on her chest, right over her heart. "I can't just watch when something wrong is happening. This is my moment to show I'm brave, to help and protect."

She looked directly into Harry’s eyes. "I get it, it's scary, and I'm still learning about all this magic stuff," she said, her voice getting softer. She stood a little taller, as if trying to seem more confident. "But I know what's good and right. Helping that girl and being on your side, that's the good and right thing to do."

She moved a bit closer, so they were almost side by side. "I wasn't really asking if I could come with you; I was saying I'm going to," she declared, her hand reaching out. "We'll work it out together, like a really tricky puzzle," she added, her serious face breaking into a hopeful smile, "and I'm pretty great at puzzles."

“Hermione…”

Hermione's stance solidified, her small frame seeming to gather an inner strength that made her stand taller, her jaw set in a line of unwavering resolve. Her eyes sparkled, not with tears but with a steely determination that belied her age. 

To think she would be like this even at 9 years old.

“Alright, but you have to stay out of danger. Don’t risk yourself.”

“Heir Potter-”

“I have made my decision, Madam Justine. Follow or don’t. No harm will come to Hermione, I promise that.”

As Harry and Hermione followed the magic of his ritual, Madam Justine bit her lip. She hesitated for a moment before following them.

“Alright, I can’t force you, Heir Potter, but please don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

The air was heavy with anticipation as Harry, Hermione, and Madam Justine made their way through the dimly lit streets, the echoes of their footsteps mingling with the distant, muffled sounds of the city at night. A palpable sense of unease hung over them, a cloak woven from the threads of whispered rumors and shadowed glances that followed them from every corner, every alleyway they passed. They spoke little, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their mission pressing down on them with every step they took towards their destination.

The pub was nestled between two nondescript buildings, its facade as unremarkable as the others that lined the street, save for the faint, pulsing glow of magic that seeped from its cracks and crevices. The intense pull from his ritual assured him that this was the right place. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the door. The magic that emanated from the pub was thick and dark, reminiscent of the oppressive atmosphere that had clung to the air in the dens of Dark Wizards he had encountered in his past.

Without a word, Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside, Hermione and Madam Justine close behind. The interior was a stark contrast to the quiet street they had left behind. The pub was alive with noise, a cacophony of voices that rose and fell like the tide, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and the raucous laughter that seemed to emanate from every corner. For a moment, they went unnoticed, three figures standing at the threshold, but that moment was fleeting.

As Harry's gaze swept over the crowd, his magic surged within him. With a flick of his wrist, fireworks erupted overhead, a brilliant display of light and sound that momentarily silenced the room and drew every eye to them. The sudden quiet was more ominous than any whisper, a taut string ready to snap.

"I want to know," Harry's voice cut through the silence, strong and unwavering despite his youthful appearance, "who tortured and killed the dark-haired Half-Blood girl. Speak now."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of surprise and disdain, before a group of men detached themselves from the shadows, their expressions a mix of amusement and challenge. They were burly, their faces etched with the kind of lines that spoke of hard lives and harder choices.

"And who might you be, boy?" one sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Playing hero, are we? You're a bit young for that, aren't you?"

The others laughed, a harsh, grating sound that filled the space between them with tension.

Harry's gaze didn't waver. "My age doesn't matter. What these monsters have done does. Now, answer me."

Their laughter died as quickly as it had begun, replaced by a cold, menacing quiet. "You're in over your head, kid," another man growled, stepping closer. "Leave now, and maybe we'll forget you ever came in here. Stay, and you'll regret it."

The threat hung in the air, palpable and heavy, but Harry stood his ground. The magic within him pulsed, a steady drumbeat that echoed the beating of his heart. He was not afraid. He had faced down Dark Lords before, had stared into the face of evil more times than he could count. These men, these threats, they were nothing compared to what he had already overcome.

"I'm not leaving," Harry declared, his voice steady, "not until I get my answers."

The room held its breath, the standoff a spark away from igniting into something far more dangerous. Harry, Hermione, and Madam Justine stood united, a small island of defiance in a sea of hostility. They were outnumbered, perhaps, but not outmatched.

“You really want to die, boy? Want to meet that pretty girl in the afterlife?”

Lightning twitched between Harry’s fingers for a moment as he glanced around the room.

Too many. Can’t use lightning. Must be precise.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Harry said, fire dancing behind his eyes.

The men laughed again and slowly spread out around Harry.

Four wizards. Unknown capabilities. Brutality necessary.

“You had your chance boy.”

Harry felt the surge of magic behind him and his instincts kicked in. He sidestepped the curse - a Full Body Bind - and fired his own stunner at the man, who barely managed to shield it. Another surge of power behind him and Harry turned just in time to dodge the deadly curse before all four wizards descended upon him. 

The room exploded in madness with every witch and wizard scrambling for cover. Hermione and Madam Justine were jostled but found cover behind an upturned table, both peeking out to watch the carnage.

Harry dodged and shield, deflected and summoned before a careless stunner careened towards Hermione and Madam Justine. The older witch reacted just in time to bring a shield up to protect them both, but the heat of rage spread through Harry’s blood.

Unlike before, this was not a dance of calculated moves and defensive postures. This was war, raw and unbridled. Harry's eyes, usually a bright beacon of hope, now flashed with an intensity that was almost terrifying. Both of his hands moved not just with precision but with a speed that was almost a blur, each spell cast not just to disarm but to incapacitate with extreme prejudice.

His counterattacks became a tempest, each spell a thunderclap of retribution. A Bone-Breaking Curse struck one Dark Wizard squarely in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening crunch of shattered bone.

Another assailant, wand raised in a silent curse, found his arm suddenly snapping back, twisted and broken, by an invisible force that Harry wielded with merciless efficiency. The third, attempting to circle around for a better vantage, was met with a Blasting Curse that detonated at his feet, hurling him backward, his screams lost amidst the roar of the battle.

The last, seeing his comrades fallen, fear etched deep in his eyes, raised his wand in a desperate attempt to flee. But Harry was upon him, a spell whispered with lethal intent that left the man suspended in the air, every movement causing him agony, a living testament to the folly of crossing the young wizard.

Madam Justine's shield flickered and faded as the last foe was subdued, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and admiration for the young wizard who stood panting, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes still burning with an inner fire. The pub was silent now, save for the groans of the defeated, the air heavy with the scent of magic and pain.

Harry's arms lowered slowly, his breaths evening out as the rage that had fueled him dissipated. He turned to Hermione and Madam Justine, his gaze softening. "Are you both alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

“What is this madness?” a roar echoed out from above.

Out stepped a well dressed, middle aged man with dark hair, his ebony wand tipped with spellfire.

“What damn fool is stupid enough to attack Lord Alton Nott of the Noble House of Nott?”

Harry squared his features and stood to the challenge. “I am Harry Potter, Heir of House Potter. I came to confront the men that tortured and killed a Half-Blood girl. They attacked me and I defended myself.”

The older man scoffed. “Heir of House Potter? The Ancient and Noble House of Potter? I refuse to believe a child could do this to my men. Prove it!”

Without hesitation, Harry extended his hand, showing the Heir Ring of the Potter family. The crest was unmistakable, its magic palpable even to the skeptical Lord Nott.

Nott's demeanor shifted, though his scorn remained. "You really are a Potter? There aren’t many other families brave and foolish enough to defend an impure Half-Blood," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Have you any idea how our world works? The girl belonged to me. I can do with her as I please."

“She was a person, not property,” Hermione cried out, her voice wavering. 

Lord Nott laughed. “Control your lessers, Heir Potter. It is beneath me to respond to one of such low station.”

Tears welled up in Hermione’s eyes, but she said nothing.

Harry bristled at this dismissal. “You have no right -”

“I have every right,” Nott roared. “She was mine! She displeased me! She is lucky I did not cast her out and only gave her to my men. What happened to her after that is of no concern to me. If she is dead, that is because she failed and was weak.”

“Heir Potter, please,” Madam Justine whispered. “It would be unwise to linger longer. There is nothing you can do here. Do not seek to fight Lord Nott. Even if you win, the law is on his side.”

Harry’s head fell. A cold fury settled in his chest. So that’s it? I just leave after everything here? There is no justice for the girl?

“All magicals have worth, Lord Nott. I am a Half-Blood and I defeated four of your men.”

Lord Nott narrowed his eyes. “You were lucky. Learn your place, Heir Potter. You are young. I will forgive you this once. The magnanimous Noble House of Nott is not unkind. We understand the follies of youth.”

Harry locked eyes with the man, who bore a wicked grin that radiated sheer arrogance.

“But if you ever enter my pub again without a proper apology, I will declare a blood feud across your entire House. The Wizengamot will uphold this on the basis of honor.”

Madam Justine whimpered. “Please, Heir Potter! There aren’t many things worse than a blood feud. He is threatening to wipe out your whole family. Let us leave this place.”

Harry looked around and dozens of wands were trained on him. The smoke and debris of the pub combined with the silence of the owners of those wands told Harry everything he needed to know. Lightning arced uncontrollably from the tips of his fingers.

I can’t protect Hermione and Justine here.

Harry stiffened and walked slowly to Hermione. “We are leaving Lord Nott. I would ask you not to curse us in the back unless you wish to suffer the same fate as your men.”

Lord Nott scoffed. “We are not cowards here, Heir Potter. Expect an owl from my solicitor for damages to my pub.”

Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her from the pub as Madam Justine walked closely behind. Once they were a few streets away, Harry stole a glance at Hermione.

Her shoulders were shaking and her face crumpled into an expression of despair.

“I had no idea they were such monsters!” Hermione cried out, her voice cracking.

Harry pulled her closer and she launched herself into his arms. Harry rubbed gentle circles on Hermione’s back, but he was lost for words.

What do you say to someone who has people treat them as lesser?

Madam Justine locked eyes with Harry and nodded slightly before she bent over a bit and stroked Hermione’s head gently. “There, there, Ms. Granger. It will be okay. The most important part is that we left alive and unharmed.”

After a few moments, Hermione had calmed down and released Harry from her deathgrip, her eyes glued to the cobblestone. He led them to a bench a few streets over.

“Thank you for trying Harry,” she whispered. She sniffed heavily. Her face was red and puffy.

Harry clenched his fists as a tightness in his chest grew intense. How can I hope to protect the people I care about when it’s the world itself that is broken?

Screams and lightning flickered across his mind again. Death. Despair. Destruction. The smell of sizzling ozone and burning flesh. The faces of those brought low by spellfire. Those who faced their Final Night. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna… How many more must die before the evil of blood purity will be defeated?

I have killed 7 Dark Lords that all preached to know the truth of blood purity. How many more exist in this time? How many more need to die before there is finally peace?

“Heir Potter?”

Instantly the cloud of memories was lifted.

Harry looked to Madam Justine, whose lips were set as a thin line, her posture was straight and unwavering.

“While I appreciate your compassion for those of us in a lower status, your conduct was reckless,” she started, gesturing towards Harry. “Lord Nott will certainly see to it you suffer in some way for your brazen action. He may take it upon himself to find a way to punish myself and Ms. Granger as well.”

Yet more failure.

“I was only trying to do what I thought was right.”

Her expression softened and she stooped to his height, maintaining eye contact. “I understand. But please consider our position more. We do not have titles to protect us. Your power is impressive - far beyond what I have ever seen a boy do - but it is not the magical might of a wizard that protects us here. We Half-Bloods and Muggleborns must keep our heads down. We have to serve the right Pureblood and pray to Mother Magic that we do not upset them.”

The same nausea filled Harry again. “And the dead girl? Does she not deserve justice?” His tone had a touch more venom than he intended.

Madam Justine did not break eye contact as she furrowed her brow slightly. “It is not about what she deserves but what helps the rest of us. I want nothing more than to see her murderers in chains or worse, but attempting to force that will see me arrested as a Half-Blood. She was owned and a Lord may do as they wish with their property in our society.”

Harry couldn’t find the will to lift his head again and so stared between his feet.

Her gentle voice reached out again. “Do you not have a guardian to teach you these things?”

Harry sighed. “No. I was unaware of my Heir status until just this morning. Most of this is new to me.”

Madam Justine hummed to herself for a moment. “Then allow me to teach you as well, Heir Potter. Think of it as thanks for trying to right that wrong. I can’t very well allow a future Lord to risk himself in the future.”

Hermione looked up at this suggestion, sniffling again. “Madam Justine is a good teacher. You will learn lots from her.”

Harry looked into Hermione’s eyes. Her tears had dried but pain was written all over her face.

She doesn’t understand this focus on blood purity.

He hugged her tightly. She hesitated for a moment before returning his embrace. “I will protect you,” he whispered intently.

She buried her head into his neck. “I don’t understand why people look down on those of us without magical parents.”

He broke the hug. “It’s because they think they are better than you. You have to show them they are wrong.”

She smiled weakly at him. “I’m good at reading and puzzles. Do you think that will convince them?”

“Absolutely. You’ll learn loads about magic and show them how wrong they all are. I promise.”

Her smile grew larger. “Thank you Harry. You are just as heroic as the books say you are.”

Heat rose in his face as he laughed awkwardly. “Well Madam Justine, I could really use your help. It’s clear I have a lot to learn.”

Madam Justine’s visage grew intense. “Can I trust that you will follow my instructions, Heir Potter? I do not want to get dragged along into another adventure where I have to shield myself and my charges from spells.”

“I give you my word, Madam Justine. I will follow your instructions.”

She locked eyes with him for a moment before sighing and looking away. “Well, I can’t very well allow you to make those mistakes again. I would be more than willing to tutor you.”

“Right… Can you send your contract to my vault in Gringotts?.”

Her smile returned to her face. “I’ll have my owl deliver it later today. In the meantime, it is high time I get this young lady back to her parents.”

Harry nodded. “Understood. For what it’s worth, I am sorry for scaring you today.”

She drew herself to her full height again, posture rigid. “Yes well… I am sure you will consider your actions more carefully in the future. Good day, Heir Potter.” Madam Justine curtsied.

Hermione smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It was great to meet you Harry even if it wasn’t the nicest day.”

Harry returned the smile, making it as warm as he could muster. “We will get to know each other very well, Hermione. Let’s meet up soon.”

Hermione gave one more hug before Madam Justine Apparated them away.

Darkness clawed its way back into Harry’s mind. Can’t do anything right but kill. I have to be better.

Harry sighed before focusing on his room. The familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube was but a distant focus. Empty coldness filled his chest. He started unpacking his ingredients and books.

Time to get started.

Lord Nott pulsed magic as he tapped on his wrist and felt the oppressive weight of another consciousness pressing into his mind as he whispered into the void, "Hephaestus calls to Master Hades."

The response was a deep, cold gust in the mental link, chilling him to the bone. "Hephaestus, you tread dangerous grounds summoning me thus. Your news had better warrant the risk."

With a bow that bent his will as much as his body, Lord Nott replied, "Indeed, Master. Harry Potter has emerged, wielding power that... surpasses expectations."

A surge of palpable fury sent ripples through the bond, a pressure that threatened to crush Lord Nott's very soul. "Is it time, then? We must hasten our efforts."

"Immediately, Master. And the ancient device?"

"Regrettable as it has slept since the Age of Myth. It pains me so to lose such a significant piece of history. It awakens tonight. Should Potter align with celestial forces, we cannot delay. Eliminate any who stand in our way."

"With pleasure, Master. For our Dawn!

"For our Dawn!”