The Silver Trio and the Enemy from Within

It was getting harder to get up in the mornings, as the warmth of summer slowly shifted into the chill of autumn. Not even Hermione and Theo were excited about classes in the mornings, needing the jar of hot chocolate that Tweak kept filled for Harry and his friends to get going. 

Harry in particular, still not quite at a decent weight, felt the cold hard. He had stolen one of Ron’s sweaters to wear under his robes, which had people ‘hilariously’ calling him Radrian or something similar. The only thing that kept him going, that kept him warm, in a fit of fury and indignation, was his single-person campaign to make Lockhart go insane.

(Said campaign had multiple volunteers by the end of the first week.)

Every few days, Harry would make a point of emerging from the crowd of students when Lockhart least expected, asking him the most obscure questions concerning his books.

The fact that at least half a dozen other students were always within listening distance didn’t seem to help the professor’s stumbling answers. 

By the third week of school, Lockhart was starting to look a little jumpy every time any student approached him in the hallways.

That knowledge, and a nifty notice-me-not charm before the man’s classes, and Harry no longer growled at anyone and everyone who talked to him before ten in the morning.

Surprisingly, Crabbe and Goyle were among the small population of students actually eager to attend class.

Three sessions had passed of their impromptu study session in the dungeons. Somehow (they all blamed Ginny), many of the Slytherin first years had decided to join, and Hermione found herself leading a tutoring session of almost a dozen students. 

Ron couldn’t help but agree that reviewing the previous year’s lessons and going over their current work in detail was a great way to keep ahead.

Hermione was just enjoying an excuse to regurgitate their textbooks. Especially when she realized that Crabbe and Goyle seemed to understand things better when it was told to them rather than them reading it.

It was Harry, though, that noticed the signs.

Dudley, too, as much as Harry hated to pay attention to him, had similar issues.

Three nights digging through a rarely used section of the library to find a spell that would read text aloud.

An exchange of coins to buy a Dictaquill from an upper year.

An owl to Dan and Emma had a box of muggle study aids appearing one morning after their first meeting. Highlighters, sticky notes, flashcards.

A muggle book on how to learn with dyslexia.

That next week, Harry spent much of their class time scribbling ideas on how best to help the other boys.

By the end of tutoring session two, Vincent and Greg were smiling.

For the first time either of them could remember, they actually understood the material.

It took them longer than most.

No one expected them to get straight O’s on their tests.

But ask them a question, and they didn’t stare blankly before either turning away or pulling a wand (or fist).

But as excited as the two were to have a better understanding of their classes, the shine started to fade after another week waking up in the chill of the Slytherin dungeons to leave warm beds for boring lectures.

Weekend mornings started later and later, the students gathering around fires roaring higher before even October.

Harry, however, was vibrating in a way very unlike him one Saturday morning after a letter at breakfast.

Only Ron was brave enough to ask after the gleeful cackle that fell from Harry’s mouth as he read.

“Mate? All good, I’m guessing?”

Harry looked up with an almost too-wide grin. “Oh, absolutely. Gerard sent word, the trial date is set.”

Pansy leaned forward, a gleam in her eye.  “Trial? Hadrian, are you getting in trouble without telling me? You know I’d get so many favors out of spreading rumors about you in hot water with the Wizengamot.”

“Oh, it’s not me in trouble,” Harry winked. “And feel free to share. Our illustrious Defense professor is finally going before a minor court for defamation and libel in the form of unofficial fanfiction called The Adventures of Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived.”

Everyone nearby at the table looked up towards where the blonde in question was sitting, checking for food in his teeth in the goblet in front of him. Within a single second, they all began laughing.

Pansy especially was eyeing the professor with a speculative eye. “Do you mind if I tell my mother? She’d love to have the scoop on a potential scandal.”

Harry met Ron’s amused gaze before he leaned forward with a smirk. “She can go through Gerard for any comments or interviews on my behalf, but I certainly can’t stop her from reporting on the event.” He paused, tilting his head as if considering something. “You may want to tell her to keep an extra eye on Mr. Most-Charming-Smile. I have a feeling these next few months won’t be too kind to him.”

“Does that have anything to do with your weekly trivia match with him?”

He gave her a grin. “Miss Parkinson, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

She laughed and then rolled her eyes when a shadow fell over Harry’s back.

Harry watched her. “Marcus or Professor Snape?” He giggled and jerked his head when his ear was flicked with a sharp snap. “Marcus, then.”

“C’mon. Tryouts are in two hours and I’ll be damned if you don’t outshine any other seeker wannabe’s by the entire Quidditch field.” Marcus patted Harry’s head. “Up.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a broom, Marcus, you can’t say up and expect me to do your bidding.”

Pansy leaned forward. “Also, bold of you to assume that anyone is going up against Hadrian in the tryouts. Anyone who is at all serious in Quidditch watched you practice with him every week last year. No one in their right mind is going to be trying out against that.”

“Well, then just consider it early practice. And no one asked you, Parkinson. Continue your eating and gossip-mongering, and just make sure my business isn’t one of the ones you’re sticking your nose into.”

She leaned back, eyebrows high. “Talking to me like an ass isn’t a good way to make sure of that, Flint. But on Hadrian’s behalf, I’ll let this one pass.” She stood, grabbing a pastry as she stepped out from the bench. “I’m off to crowd watch, since Ginny will inevitably end up at the field and the other firsties are still apparently scared of me.”

Harry nodded at her as he stood up as well. “If you’re sure you don’t want to watch as well. I’m sure Ginny would appreciate the company.”

“And I’m sure that Terry and whatever other tryhards show up will do the job admirably. Quidditch is boring. I’d rather sit in the Central Hall and just…” She waved a hand. “...see what happens, which should tell you how serious I am about it.” She walked away without looking back.

Marcus looked to Harry, who only shrugged, inhaling more food at his friend’s distraction. 

He grabbed Harry’s robes and began to pull.

It had warmed up by the time they had made it to the Quidditch field, a spattering of students eager to watch the showing of that year’s Slytherin team already in the stands.

Terry and Ginny ended up chatting just a few feet behind them as they walked, arguing about the chances of the Harpies that year. They sat at the edge of the field rather than the stands, Terry promising to explain Slytherin tactics and moves as Marcus ran the try-outs.

Marcus had Harry run through a few agility exercises on the ground before the rest of the hopefuls showed up, but soon enough there was a small crowd waiting as the clock ticked closer to the start time.

Just before Marcus called it into session, a small figure ducked between the older students, a flash of scarlet in a sea of green, until Colin Creevey was nervously standing between the captain and Harry.

“Uh, I’m sorry to intrude, but I was just wondering if I could take a few photos of the tryouts? The whole team, Hadrian, I promise, not just you. I’ll be taking a few of Gryffindor as well, but Dean Thomas told me that sometimes the teams try to keep things secret.” The first year shifted awkwardly on his feet as his eyes flickered between the two.

Marcus met Harry’s amused expression with a raised brow. Harry shrugged but gave a short nod. “Yeah, alright, kid. It’s not like there aren’t some lions in the stands right now anyway. But if you get any good shots, I’ll want copies, yeah?”

Colin grinned widely, before giving a shallow bow and running off again.

Harry watched him go with a pleased smile. “At least he’s actually starting to ask.”

Marcus rolled his eyes before calling for everyone’s attention.

The tryouts were a breeze for Harry. Pansy was almost right. No one bothered to try out for the seeker position.

No one except Draco.

Draco, who pulled Marcus aside just before the seeker tryouts started, gesturing wildly with a shiny broom.

Marcus just rolled his eyes, muttering lowly to the blonde, who began looking outraged.

“My father—”

“Your father has already owled me, Malfoy, and we came to an agreement that has nothing to do with you getting the seeker position. Now, do you want to continue to piss me off and end up with no chance of joining the team while I’m running it, or do you want to let me continue tryouts?”

Draco turned red, but twisted away and back towards the rest with a move he must have stolen from his godfather.

He still went for seeker, making sure he shoved Harry out of his way whenever possible.

It didn’t happen often, even on equal footing with the same broom. Harry easily caught eight out of the ten snitches, one in just under two minutes.

Marcus offered Malfoy a reserve position, which made him storm off the field, shoving through a contingency of Gryffindor players who had just walked on.

“Oi, Flint, bugger off, would you? You’re over time by at least twenty minutes,” Oliver called, not even looking towards the Slytherins as he gestured for Fred and George to drop the Gryffindor gear they were carrying off to the side.

“Just finishing up, Wood, give us a mo’.” Marcus rolled his eyes as he turned back.

“Now would be preferable.” Oliver had finally turned, arms crossed as he stared Marcus down across a few yards of the field.

Either to congratulate the players, or sensing the potential for conflict, nearly everyone in the stands had filed down to the grass to make a loose circle around the two teams. 

Ginny and Terry, in particular, took a stance behind the Slytherin captain.

Harry, however, ignored all of that to study the profile of his friend.

Marcus’s mask was good.

But Harry had known him for over a year, now. 

Had seen him donning a persona in the hallways to push away suspicions on the House, smirk in place, eyes always in motion.

Had spent quite a few nights listening to him wallow over the eyes of his boyfriend, how hard it was to date a Gryffindor, let alone another Quidditch captain.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the disconnect before that moment.

Even if he couldn’t read Marcus, Wood was not a Slytherin, and didn’t bother to hide his frustration.

Harry could tell that Marcus was setting his jaw, avoiding Oliver’s resentful gaze. That there was something that had happened between them, something that Marcus hadn't told Harry, that the twins hadn't picked up from Oliver.

As the two captains faced against each other, neither saying anything substantial, just blustering over rights to the field, Harry looked past them to the Weasley twins, who were now bracketing Oliver with worried expressions. 

Fred was watching the conversation, set in, keeping a particular eye against the bulky form of Cormac McLaggen, who was lurking just beyond the edge of the crowd.

George, however, immediately caught Harry’s eye and shrugged, bewildered.

Harry tuned back in, subtly taking a step closer to Marcus.

“It’s fine, Oliver, we’re almost done. Give us a few minutes and we’ll be out of your way.” Marcus shot him a tight grin. “No harm, no foul.”

“Unlike your gameplay,” Cormac sneered, stepping forward. “It’s not like you’re going to actually have a chance this year. Just because you have the precious Boy-Who-Lived doesn’t mean your team is worth anything, or that you get special hours on the field.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We had permission from Hooch, just like you. Shove off, McLaggen.”

The other seeker took another step forward, into the circle left open by the students watching the standoff. “Why don’t you fuck off, Potter, before I find reason to send you to the hospital wing again.”

Before Harry could scoff at the childish threat, someone else stepped forward from the masses.

“Leave Harry alone, you’re just jealous!” Colin stomped his foot from the side of the crowd. Most of the older students rolled their eyes, but McLaggen turned with a sneer.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, you little mudblood. He’s a traitor to his own kind, to the Light.” 

McLaggen only made it one step towards the first year before Harry was in between them.

“Don’t call him that. How are you any better than the Slytherins you claim to hate when you talk to kids like that? How are they supposed to learn our culture when you cut them off at the knees like that?”

“Mind your own business, Potter. As you snakes like to say, this is a House matter.”

Harry scoffed with a disbelieving expression. “This literally started with you talking all this shit at me. That makes it my business, you utter imbecile.”

“Just because you’re set on brainwashing all your little mudbloods doesn’t mean you can get away with it, Potter.”

“Shut up! You’re a bully and an ass, but you don’t see people calling you out on that!” Colin ducked under Harry’s arm to glare up at McLaggen.

McLaggen, whose face soured immediately. “Why don’t you shut up, you worthless—” He whipped out his wand and shot a sickly yellow spell at the first year, who tried to dodge, only to fall back.

Harry, however, had better reflexes, and flung himself forward on instinct, catching the jinx in his shoulder as he made sure Colin was out of the way.

It wasn’t even a second later that his stomach churned, and he fell to his knees next to Colin, one hand holding him up, the other on his mouth.

It was only a second before Harry paled and couldn’t stop himself from hurling, a handful of slugs spewing from his mouth.

Chaos erupted as people reacted to the incident.

Only Gryffindors laughed, and only a few at that.

No Slytherin even smirked where another house could see. 

Marcus was at Harry’s side, pulling him up as he shot his boyfriend an enraged look. George immediately took his other arm, whispering platitudes as they moved him away from the crowd, Colin and Ginny following behind.

Fred, however, was in McLaggen’s face with a near-feral grin, voice too low for anyone else to hear, but the expression on Cormac’s face made it clear the words weren’t nice.

The rest of the Slytherin team were either behind Fred, staring McLaggen down, or making sure Harry was getting off the field without anyone else following.

The Gryffindor Chasers were trying to send everyone else away, either back to the castle or just away from the conflict.

It wasn’t working, but Harry was too busy trying to ignore the strangely slick quality of the nausea currently cycling through his body.

George looked over at Marcus with a frown. “Hagrid’s is closer than Pomfrey’s. If it’s just a slug-vomit jinx, there’s not much to do but let it run.” 

The other boy nodded. “You should get back before Fred does something stupid.”

“We’ve got it from here, go.” Ginny sped up to take her brother’s place under Harry’s arm. “Tell Fred that Mum would be furious if you get in serious trouble this early, so no witnesses.”

George gave the lightest of snickers before watching Harry with worried eyes. “Nook tonight? Just so we can see you’re okay?”

Harry gave a weak nod, and George sprinted back towards the field.

Just in time for another round of slugs to come up.

Ginny sighed as they moved towards the groundskeeper’s hut. “Ron and Hermione will freak when they find out what happened.”

Marcus laughed. “Where even are they? Figured at least Ron would have shown up.”

Harry groaned before answering. “Ever since he won that chess match in the Quirrelmort gauntlet last year, McGonagall’s been wanting to play him in a game. They settled on today for the first go. And Mione’s probably with Anthony and Theo somewhere, pretending to study while they actually go over Germanic hearth rituals that Anthony’s mum taught him.”

Ginny spared a glance back towards Colin, who was a few feet behind, worrying at his lip.

She shook her head. “Like I said, they’ll be pissed.”

Harry gagged, but fought it back. “I’m more worried about Pansy, honestly. A lot just happened, and she was talking about how boring she found Quidditch.”

She rolled her eyes as Colin ran forward to knock on the hut door. “I’ll relay it all to her in vivid detail, no worries there.”

A few minutes later, Harry was sitting in one of Hagrid’s massive armchairs, a bucket on the floor in front of him, Ginny sitting on the floor beside him, and Colin at the table, looking through the film of his camera.

Hagrid had put a kettle on the fire before ducking out, citing the need to check on the ruckus on the field before actual blood was shed.

Marcus leaned against the door with a fierce scowl. “I’m sorry, Hadrian. Oliver and I… we’ve had a bit of a mishap lately.”

Harry looked up, concerned, even as another wave of slugs threatened to come up.

“It’s fine, and we’ll get over it. But I was getting pissed that he was letting McLaggen and his cronies shit all over you and Granger. Even the twins were getting upset, and I told Oliver that he needed to do something before they did. He didn’t take my advice too well.”

If possible, Harry paled further. “You’re in a fight with your boyfriend… over me?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Marcus said as he rolled his eyes. “You’re like a little brother to me, and to the twins. Da would flip if something happened to you, and I wouldn’t be much better if it was something I could have avoided.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked, trying to file that information as normal. “I’m—”

Marcus sighed, trying to remember what Hermione had told him to say when something like this happened.

To make sure Harry didn’t blame himself for having people want to protect him.

“Hadrian James Potter, if you’re about to say you’re sorry over this, I’m conjuring woodlice in your book collection. My decision to stand up for a friend is not your fault, and nothing you can say will make me regret that choice.”

Harry smiled softly. “Okay.”

Ginny nudged his leg. “He’s right, you know. Fred and George would do anything for you, just like they would for me or Ron.”

He winced. “I’m still… not really used to that. Even after all of last year.”

“I know. But we’ll be here to remind you whenever you need. Unless we’re, you know, causing chaos for your sake. Might be hard to find then.”

He nudged her back. “Thanks, Red.” He slowly turned his head, wincing as he did. “And thank you, Colin. You didn’t have to stand up for me back there, but I appreciate it.”

Colin looked back over. “You stood up for me, too, Hadrian. Not to mention you just took that jinx for me. And…” He trailed off, blushing. “I know you asked Dean to teach me about wixen… our culture. And I’m glad you did, there’s so much I didn’t know. So I wanted to apologize for being so forward, and so obnoxious that first week. I was even annoying the other Gryffindor first years. So, you know. Thanks. And sorry.”

Harry waved him off before ducking over the bucket again.

Ginny held up a cup of water, which he chugged gratefully. 

“No worries, mate. You didn’t know, just like I wouldn’t have if I didn’t have people tutoring me on it. Just, you know, pass it on to the next first gen. That’s how it changes for the better.”

Before Colin could respond, Marcus was almost shoved forward by the force of the knocking on the door.

When he moved, the door swung open, revealing a panting Ron, who immediately sank next to Ginny, hand reaching to push away the strands of hair hanging over Harry’s face. 

“I’m going to kill McLaggen,” he hissed, eyeing the bucket with a sneer.

Harry shook his head under Ron’s hand. “I’m fine, Ron. He wasn’t even aiming for me, I jumped in front of Colin.” He nodded towards the other boy, who waved awkwardly from his seat.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Now we’ll never be rid of him,” he muttered under his breath. 

Harry and Ginny both smacked his side, and he bit back a laugh.

The court date was coming up, and fast. Harry and any of his friends who didn’t mind pissing off a professor were getting more and more blatant with their campaign to drive him slowly mad.

It was Pansy, of course, that had come up with using the phrase trials and tribulations. For tradition, she said. Harry had grinned and sent word to their group.

They recruited a few first years from each house to weave the words into questions or discussions about class or his books.

Hermione had rolled her eyes, refusing to join in on ‘psychological torture’ that could alter his testimony.

By the morning of the trial, which was also the morning of the first quidditch match of the year, the man looked ready to throw himself from the Astronomy Tower.

Harry was sipping at the cup of Indian tea that Padma had introduced him to, content and smiling at the Ravenclaw table.

Right in the eyesight of the man himself. 

Every few minutes, Harry would look up until Lockhart made eye contact with him, grinned, and then turned back to Padma’s Hindi lesson.

After the fourth time, the man stood and left the Great Hall in a hurried huff.

Harry grinned at Padma’s rolling eyes and practiced asking for a kulhar of chai.

“Mione, please. It’s the first game of the season, you have to come.”

“We’re not even playing in this game.”

“Cedric would be so disappointed to hear you say that.”

“Am I supposed to care? We barely talk to Cedric.”

“I do, and he would be sad if we didn’t go.”

“No one’s saying you can’t go, Susan. But I fail to see why that means I do.”

“You can read in the stands, but it’ll be the first proper outing of the year, just come for the company. And we’ll pass your camera around.”

“See, Padma at least knows that logic is more effective than guilt.”

“Because Padma knows that if you come on the condition that you can read during the game, that means she can, too.”

“Cedric will be disappointed if you didn’t come, Hadrian needs to see what he’s up against this year.”

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person, Diggory, and no one’s talking to you. Go bother your fangirls. And that still doesn’t explain why I have to go.”

“Tonks is a friend of mine, Granger, and she told me to make sure all three of you have some fun this year.”

“Reading in the common room is fun.”

“Shut it, Hermione, you’re coming to the game, and I’ll buy you a whole new book as a reward.”

“...do I get to pick which book?”

It wasn’t even discussed that they all headed up towards the Slytherin stands, Susan and Anthony playfully arguing about the outcome, the rest following as they rolled their eyes.

They sat in what had become their section the year before, Flick’s influence offering them a place up front and center, Harry’s stubbornness ensuring they kept it.

They were still early, even after the half hour it took to convince Hermione to join them.

They had already put their things down, Hermione sitting and reading in their area while most of the others were up and mingling throughout the nearby clusters of students.

It wasn’t until Lee gave the ten minute warning that they all sat down, a small patch of colors in a sea of green. Padma and Hermione were in the center, while Susan, Ron, Harry, and Ginny were almost over the railing up front. Justin, Anthony, Theo, and Pansy took up the row behind them, Pansy seemingly more interested in talking to the fourth year girls sitting next to them, the boys taking notes on the runes used for the isolation spells for the Slytherin section.

Levi, even more smug as a sixth year, gave them a scolding glance. “Hadrian, I specifically remember Flick telling you last year that my show was a House secret. You have five non-Slytherins sitting with you.”

Harry gave him a winning smile. “Flick was the one who invited Justin to sit with us at the last few matches last year, Avery. So if anything, this is her fault. Besides, they won’t say anything. If you put on a good enough performance, at least.”

Levi smirked. “No complaints about my performance, yet, Potter.”

Everyone in hearing distance groaned, and popcorn started being thrown from the stands around him, even as he dodged and laughed.

(Justin had been the one to bribe his parents into sending bags of microwavable popcorn after Harry mentioned the need for it, and they had snuck down to the kitchens to show Tweak and the elves how to make it from scratch. Needless to say it was a massive hit.)

“Honestly, Potter, your dogs can’t sit somewhere else? You’re fouling up the stands.”

They all turned to see Blaise Zabini, of all people, sneering down at them.

Harry barely bothered looking at the other boy. “They’re not my dogs, Zabini, feel free to ask them to move if you have an issue, though.”

Blaise glared, looking at the lot of them, eyes catching on the redhead Hufflepuff in particular, who had an elbow on Pansy’s shoulder as she looked back.

Susan stared at him, unblinking.

He stared back with a raised brow.

Everyone around them got quiet.

He finally rolled his eyes and moved a few rows up, sitting awkwardly with Draco and a few of the upper years.

No one bothered watching him leave.

Cedric, of course, caught the snitch, drawing out a win during the fairly balanced game. He didn’t notice the heart eyes being sent his way by the third year Ravenclaw seeker he had beaten to the catch. He was too busy being lifted in the air by his teammates, and seeking out the trio’s eyes in the Slytherin stands, raising the snitch triumphantly. 

Lady Dawn barely blinked at Harry as he told her the password with a smile.

“No trouble, please, young snake.”

“Would I ever?” He ducked through, ignoring her snort of disbelief. “Hey, Nev!” He ran a hand over the other boy’s shoulders, stopping momentarily. “Haven’t seen you in the Nook for a while, let alone the snake den. You doing okay?”

Neville looked up, eyes wide. “O-oh, I-I’m fine, Hadrian. Just… Gran wasn’t quite pleased with my grades last year, I-I’m trying-I’m trying to stay ahead.”

Harry frowned. “You know we wouldn’t mind helping you, yeah? No matter what class it is, one of us should be able to muddle through the homework with you.”

“Thanks, Hadrian, but I want to-want to learn it on my own.”

“If you’re sure-Hey, Perce! Got a sec?” Harry winked at his godbrother and bounded over to where Percy was descending the stairs with a large tome under his arm.

The prefect sighed. “Hadrian, you’re not allowed to be in here.”

“And yet, Lady Dawn let me in. Interesting, don’t you think? Say, can I pick your brain about Wizengamot trials?”

He readjusted his glasses, peering down at Harry’s innocent smile. “Does this have anything to do with why Professor Lockhart canceled his lessons yesterday to meet with a lawyer?”

“I can’t help that he didn’t take the suit seriously until the last minute. We’ve been preparing since last year. I’m just glad that they didn’t need me to be there in person, although I would have liked to run into your da.”

“He would have been thrilled to see you, too, I'm sure. Come on, I’m going to study near the Ravenclaw Tower, we can talk on the way.”

Ten minutes later, Harry was biting back a smile as he watched Percy fumble his way through an awkwardly formal greeting with a Ravenclaw prefect. Must be the girl Ron said he’s been swapping letters with all summer.

Harry left them to their… ‘studying’, instead heading back towards the dungeons.

He had only gotten a few corners away when a voice crept through the hallway, freezing him in place like ice had formed through his body. It slipped past like a cloak scraping along the marble floor, subtle but chilling.

“Come… let me feast… let me free… he calls…”

He whipped around, eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of the source of the venomous voice. 

Nothing.

He tilted his head, trying to hear which direction the voice was heading. 

Harry tried to look calm, nodding at others students with a polite smile, even as he sped walk down flights of stairs, changing directions randomly as the whisper moved further away.

By the time he hit the central hall, he was panting, and the dull murmur of the masses of students relaxing on a Saturday drowned out any chance he had to tell which way the whisper went next.

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering around the atrium.

It wasn’t until a gentle hand on his shoulder pulled him from his search that he noticed Justin muttering his name with a frown.

“Hadrian, are you okay? You’ve been standing here for like, two minutes, just scanning the room.”

Harry reached up, grabbing Justin’s hand in his own. “You doing anything right now?”

The Hufflepuff’s response was immediate. “Nothing that can’t keep until you’re okay.”

Harry pulled Justin back towards the stairs he had only gotten halfway down. “I need a soundboard, and the Nook’s closer than the dorms.”

Justin followed, squeezing Harry’s hand any time his eyes started to wander.

They stumbled into the Nook, Harry barely even noticing Ginny and Fred scribbling at the table. 

Which they dropped immediately when they saw how pale Harry was, how worried Justin looked.

A moment later, they were settled around Harry’s feet as he sat in his armchair, a cup of tea steaming in his hand.

“I… I was walking back from Ravenclaw when I heard…” He shuddered in his seat. “It was worse than even Quirrelmort last year. It was… It wasn’t just loud, it was like… It was like it was shifting the floor beneath me. It was… deep, resonant in a way that made my hair stand on edge. And it sounded… mad, on edge… almost hungry.”

Justin and Fred traded an uneasy gaze. 

Ginny, however, leaned forward. 

“What did it say?”

“Something about wanting to be free, and that he calls.”

Everyone looked worried.

Harry threw his head back, smacking it on the cushion of the seat behind him. “I know it sounds crazy, that I sound crazy, but if I thought it was just a prank, just some spell, that would be different. I’ve never heard of a spell like that, not one that sounded so… It wasn’t like a sonorous. It was…”

Ginny pulled him into a hug, ignoring the heat of the spilt tea on her shirt before Justin moved it from Harry’s grasp. “You’re not crazy. We’ll figure it out.”

Fred moved to one of the chalkboards, scribbling Voice in Walls under the words 1992-1993 Mysteries.

When they left a few minutes later, no one paid any attention to the worried hiss of Ozzy whispering from the door.