The Half-Blood Prince
As the first tendrils of morning light stretched into the Gryffindor common room, the familiar crimson and gold surroundings seemed to shimmer with a deceptive sense of calm. Harry and Ron, however, carried a heavy burden that threatened to shatter the illusion of peace. They sat on a plush, weathered couch, their expressions etched with worry, waiting for Hermione to join them. She was their steadfast friend, the one they trusted above all else to help unravel the mysteries that had begun to envelop their world.
When Hermione descended from the girls' dormitories, her cheerful demeanor waned as she took in the solemnity etched upon her friends' faces. Without a word, she settled onto the couch, her eyes filled with concern, demanding an explanation.
"Harry, Ron, what's happened?" Hermione inquired, her voice laced with anxiety. "You both look like you've witnessed a tragedy."
Harry exchanged a glance with Ron before launching into an animated retelling of the previous night's events on the Hogwarts Express. He spared no detail, recounting how he had missed the opportunity to disembark, the mysterious appearance of Aiden Lestrange, and the unsettling encounter with Draco Malfoy. He explained how Draco had insinuated that he might be working for Voldemort.
"But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" interjected Ron quickly, before Hermione could say anything. "You know how Malfoy is, always trying to make himself seem more important than he is.
Hermione frowned, deep in thought. "Well," she said uncertainly, "I don't know. It would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important, but that's still a serious claim to make, even for him."
"Exactly," agreed Harry, but he couldn't press the matter further. Too many curious ears were listening in on their conversation, and he noticed students staring at him and whispering behind their hands.
Sensing the tension, Ron steered the conversation toward the peculiar interaction between Aiden Lestrange and Professor Snape.
"Did you see Snape's face when Aiden spoke up? I swear he looked terrified."
Hermione's eyes sparked with intrigue, and her curiosity fully ignited.
"Frightened? Severus Snape? That's hard to believe."
Harry confirmed Ron's observation.
"I thought so too, but it was as if Aiden had struck a nerve. Snape backed down in a way I've never seen before."
Hermione leaned closer, her interest now fully engaged.
"Speaking of Aiden, Harry, I couldn't help but wonder why you agreed to meet with Draco Malfoy yesterday."
Caught off guard by Hermione's brazenness, Harry stumbled over his words.
"Well, I just... I want to hear him out and see what he has to say. It feels important."
Amusement twinkled in Hermione's eyes as she gently prodded, "Of course, Harry. Just like you wanted to see what Slughorn had to say. You've become quite the detective, haven't you?"
Harry flushed, feeling like he was under the scrutiny of the entire wizarding world.
"I just have this feeling, Hermione, that something's not right. Malfoy, Snape, Aiden—there's a connection there, and I need to uncover it."
Under Hermione's persistent gaze, Harry felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. He had been keeping a secret, one that he had overheard back in Diagon Alley, and its revelation weighed heavily on his conscience. As the weight of that knowledge bore down on him, he knew it was time to reveal what he had heard.
With a deep breath, Harry decided to lead Hermione and Ron out of the common room, away from potential eavesdroppers. He motioned for them to follow him into a quieter, more secluded part of the castle, where the shadows seemed to deepen with the gravity of his revelation. The torches lining the stone walls cast flickering, elongated shadows that danced ominously, setting the stage for a revelation of unparalleled intensity.
As they huddled together in the dimly lit corridor, Harry's heart pounded like a drum, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His voice, steady but tinged with unease, cut through the eerie silence.
"Hermione, Ron, there's something I haven't told you about what happened in Diagon Alley that night."
Hermione's eyes widened with curiosity, her inquisitive nature piqued.
"Harry, what is it? You can tell us."
Harry nodded, then continued, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, "Well, you see, I followed Draco into Borgin and Burke's that night, and I overheard him talking to his mother, Narcissa."
Ron raised an eyebrow, his senses heightened by the dramatic change in surroundings.
"What were they talking about?"
Harry took a deep breath, his gaze focused on Hermione, who was leaning in closer, eager to hear more. The dimly lit corridor seemed to come alive with the shadows as if the very walls were leaning in to listen.
"Draco... he was talking about his feelings, about someone he's attracted to."
"Go on, Harry. Who is he attracted to?" said Hermione.
Harry hesitated for a moment, then said, his voice barely above a whisper, "It's me… He's attracted to me."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, and Ron's jaw dropped in disbelief. The corridor seemed to close in on them, the shadows pressing in as if to emphasize the weight of the revelation. The air grew thick with tension, and a charged silence settled over the trio.
"You've got to be kidding, mate," Ron exclaimed, his voice hushed but incredulous.
Harry shook his head, his heart pounding with the dramatic nature of the secret he was revealing.
"I wish I were, but it's true. Draco was talking to his mother about his fear of Aiden and his attraction to me. He hates himself for it."
Hermione's expression softened with empathy as she processed the revelation. The dramatic tension in the air seemed to thicken as she spoke, her voice hushed and full of understanding.
"Harry, this changes everything. It explains why Draco has been acting so strangely. He's torn between his loyalty to the Dark Lord and his feelings for you."
Ron, still struggling to comprehend the revelation, muttered, "Blimey, I never saw that coming."
The torchlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the corridor's ancient stones as if the very castle were bearing witness to this dramatic revelation. Harry's emotions roiled within him, a tumultuous mix of confusion, compassion, and concern.
As the weight of Harry's revelation settled in, Hermione's and Ron's initial shock gave way to a growing sense of frustration. They exchanged a glance filled with unspoken questions and concerns, their brows furrowed with a mix of curiosity and irritation.
Finally, unable to contain his impatience, Ron blurted out without any tact, "Harry, does this mean you're... you know, gay?"
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief at Ron's insensitivity, and before Harry could even respond, she swiftly smacked Ron on the arm, her voice sharp with reproach.
"Ron! That's absolutely none of your business, and it's incredibly rude to ask such a personal question!"
Harry paused for a moment, his thoughts racing as he considered Ron's question. He took a deep breath and looked at his two friends with a sense of vulnerability he had rarely shown before.
"You know, Ron, I don't really know if I'm gay or not," he admitted honestly. "I've never really thought about it that way. What matters right now is figuring out what's going on with Draco. I still can't shake the feeling that he might have the Dark Mark, and that's why he's so scared."
Hermione nodded in agreement, her support unwavering.
"You're absolutely right, Harry. Draco's situation is important, and we need to understand it better."
Ron, although still processing Harry's response, recognized the importance of their mission. "Yeah, you're both right. Sorry for bringing that up. Let's focus on what we do know."
Harry continued, his mind racing with newfound insights. "There's something else you both should know. Aiden... he's a Legilimens as we all know, but it seems that he read Draco’s mind. That's how he knew about Draco's feelings. I think Draco might believe that I know about it too, which is why he punched me on the Hogwarts Express. He's afraid of what might happen to him if anyone finds out."
As Harry, Hermione, and Ron made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, the serenely blue ceiling above them seemed to mirror the calm that had settled within the trio. Wispy clouds painted delicate strokes across the enchanted ceiling, resembling the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. Yet, despite the tranquil atmosphere, there was an underlying tension in the air, a sense that something significant was about to unfold.
As they tucked into their plates of porridge, eggs, and bacon, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that a storm was brewing. It was as if his senses had heightened, and he could somehow sense the imminent arrival of Aiden. He glanced over to the entrance of the Great Hall and saw Aiden and Draco making their way inside.
The sight was enough to put everyone on edge. Several curious eyes followed their progress, expecting conflict to erupt at any moment. Even the professors at the staff table seemed alert, their expressions a mix of concern and wariness.
To Harry's surprise, Draco and Aiden didn't head for the Slytherin table as expected. Instead, they made their way toward the Gryffindor table, causing a hushed murmur to ripple through the hall. It was an unusual and daring move, and Harry could feel the tension rise among his fellow students.
Draco approached Harry directly and made an unexpected request, his voice low but determined.
"Potter, can we talk for a moment? Alone."
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ron and Hermione, his curiosity piqued, before nodding in agreement. He pushed his plate away, his appetite forgotten, and followed Draco out of the Great Hall, through the massive oak doors, and into the tranquil courtyard.
The morning sun bathed Hogwarts' courtyard in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows that seemed to dance around Draco and Harry as they stood in their secluded corner. It was as if time had slowed down, allowing their emotions to simmer beneath the surface of their tense conversation.
As they stood beneath the soft, golden sunlight, Draco began to speak, his words hesitant and tinged with an apology. "Potter, I... I owe you an apology."
Draco's voice wavered as he continued, "I should have never punched you on the train. I... I was just scared."
"Draco," Harry interrupted, his voice steady but firm, "only apologize if you truly mean it. Words alone won't change anything." He looked into Draco's gray eyes, searching for sincerity.
Draco blinked in surprise at Harry's unexpected comment, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion and a touch of embarrassment.
"I mean it," he said earnestly, his voice softening. "I was a prat."
Harry wasn't in the mood for half-hearted gestures. He locked eyes with Draco, his voice unwavering.
"If you're planning to take me on a date, you might want to work on your charming skills first."
Before Draco could gather his thoughts, Harry cut him off, his tone more intense now.
"You don't have to be so afraid, Draco."
Draco furrowed his brows, the frustration returning to his voice as he asked, "Why do you care, Potter? You don't know the half of it."
Harry maintained eye contact, his gaze unwavering.
"I'm willing to listen.”
Draco hesitated, his emotions churning within him.
"You mean that?" he asked, genuine surprise coloring his words.
Harry nodded firmly. "Yeah, I do."
A moment of silence hung in the air, their surroundings feeling like a cocoon of intimacy, where the drama of their past and present played out under the morning sun.
Draco's uncertainty began to wane, and he spoke with a touch of vulnerability.
"I... I appreciate that, Harry. But you must understand, there are things I can't tell you. It's not safe."
Harry's frustration lingered, but he didn't let it show.
"I get it, Draco. I'm not asking you to spill all your secrets. I just want you to know that I'm not your enemy, and I'm willing to give you a chance."
Their connection felt perceptible in the courtyard, a fragile bridge between two individuals who had been adversaries for so long. The unspoken tension hung in the air, leaving them both acutely aware of the significance of this moment.
Draco's uncertainty remained, and he questioned Harry with a searching look.
"You're not doing this for Aiden, are you?"
Harry shook his head, his expression sincere.
"No, Draco. This is between you and me."
Draco's conflicted emotions swirled within him as he took a step closer to Harry, his voice low and filled with regret.
"Harry, I... I wish things were different."
Harry's gaze softened as he replied, "I know, Draco. We all have our roles to play, but that doesn't mean we can't choose who we want to be."
Before Draco could respond, their intimate conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Severus Snape. The Potions Master's dark eyes bore into them, and he motioned impatiently for them to return to the Great Hall.
As they made their way back, Draco couldn't shake the uncertainty that Harry's words had stirred within him. He cast a suspicious glance at Harry, his emotions a swirling mix of confusion, doubt, and a flicker of hope.
Harry, on the other hand, couldn't ignore the gravity of what he had just done. His words to Draco were carefully chosen, each sentence designed to draw him closer, to extract information that might be vital. He had taken a step into the unknown, fully aware that there was no turning back.
But behind the façade of empathy and understanding, Harry knew he was not being entirely authentic. He had devised a plan, a dangerous game of emotional manipulation. Draco's emotions were his chess pieces, and he intended to move them strategically to uncover the truth about Draco's involvement with Voldemort.
As they reentered the Great Hall, the weight of his deception bore down on him.
Ron couldn't help but notice the change in Draco's demeanor as they settled back into their seats at the Gryffindor table. He leaned in and whispered to Harry, "You know, mate, Draco seems to be in a better mood now. Whatever you said to him worked."
Harry offered a half-smile in response, though his thoughts were far from celebratory. He leaned closer to Ron and Hermione and began to reveal, in partial detail, his plan to get closer to Draco and uncover his ties to Voldemort.
Hermione, ever the voice of moral conscience, frowned deeply.
"Harry, this plan of yours, it just doesn't sit right with me. It feels morally wrong to manipulate someone's emotions like that, even if it's Draco Malfoy."
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, torn between loyalty to his friend and his own reservations about the plan.
"I'm with Hermione on this one, Harry. It doesn't sound like a great idea."
As they continued their discussion, Harry couldn't help but glance over at the Slytherin table. Aiden Lestrange, the enigmatic Legilimens, caught his eye and winked at him, a gesture that sent shivers down Harry's spine. It was as if Aiden knew about Harry's plan, and the realization left him feeling exposed and vulnerable.
Draco, oblivious to Aiden's reaction and the complexities of the situation, smiled warmly at Harry from across the Great Hall. His smile was genuine, a small glimmer of hope in his stormy world.
Meanwhile, Severus Snape observed the unfolding situation with a worried look etched across his sallow features.
After a hearty breakfast in the Great Hall, they remained seated, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of timetables this year was more complex than usual due to the need to confirm that everyone had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T. subjects.
Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions. Without further ado, she shot off to a first-period Ancient Runes class, her enthusiasm for learning as evident as ever.
Once Hermione had departed, Professor McGonagall turned her attention to Harry. With a stern but caring expression, she consulted her notes as she addressed him.
"So, Potter, Potter... Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven't you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, recalling his previous conversation with Professor McGonagall.
"It was, but you told me I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., Professor."
Professor McGonagall nodded thoughtfully.
"And so, you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with 'Exceeds Expectations' at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?"
"Yes," said Harry, relieved by the change in requirements, "but I didn't buy the books or any ingredients or anything."
"I'm sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some," replied Professor McGonagall, her tone reassuring. "Very well, Potter, here is your timetable. Oh, by the way, twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course, and you can fix up trials at your leisure."
A few minutes later, Ron received his timetable as well, cleared to take the same subjects as Harry. With their schedules in hand, the two friends left the table together.
"Look," said Ron, his face lighting up as he examined his timetable, "we've got a free period now... and a free period after the break... and after lunch... excellent!"
Harry, however, had other plans. He leaned in closer to Ron and confided, "I think I'll head to the library for a bit."
Ron's eyes widened in shock.
"The library? Seriously, Harry?"
Harry nodded with determination.
"Yeah, I want to do some research. You go back to the common room; I'll catch up with you later."
With a puzzled expression, Ron agreed and headed back to the Gryffindor common room, leaving Harry to embark on his quest for information in the library.
As Harry made his way to the library, his thoughts consumed by the mysteries surrounding Draco, he was suddenly stopped in his tracks by the appearance of Aiden Lestrange. Aiden also had a free period, and there was something in his demeanor that immediately put Harry on edge.
"Harry," Aiden greeted him with a nod, his usual air of confidence surrounding him.
Harry didn't waste any time and got straight to the point.
"Aiden, have you been reading my mind?"
Aiden's brow furrowed in irritation, a subtle display of his well-practiced poker face.
"Harry, I've already told you, I would never invade your thoughts without your consent."
The words hung in the air, leaving a lingering sense of unease between them. Harry wasn't willing to back down just yet, determined to dig deeper into the mysteries surrounding Draco and Aiden's connection.
"But you invaded Draco's thoughts, didn't you?" Harry pressed, his voice tinged with frustration. "Without his permission."
Aiden's gaze remained unwavering, his voice calm despite the brewing storm of emotions. "Legilimency is far more complex than you realize, Harry. There are nuances that escape casual understanding."
Harry leaned in closer, his emerald eyes searching Aiden's for any sign of deception. "Is he in danger, Aiden? Does he know the risks?"
Aiden hesitated for a moment, then spoke carefully, "Draco and I practice Occlumency together. It's a bond that goes deeper than you can imagine."
Harry's mind raced with possibilities, and he couldn't help but wonder about Draco's involvement with Voldemort.
"Has Draco been given a mission by Voldemort?" he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.
Aiden's response was measured, and he didn't seem surprised by Harry's question.
"Perhaps, Harry. Perhaps. But you know what they say about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer."
Harry nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "That's exactly my plan, Aiden. I'm going to get close to him, date him even, and find out what he's hiding."
Aiden's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, a shared secret passing between them.
"Well, Harry, I do believe that could be a rather enlightening experience."
Changing the subject, Aiden asked, "Why are you going to the library, Harry?"
"I'm searching for books on ancient magic. There's something I need to learn."
Aiden's interest was piqued memories of their past adventures flickering in his eyes.
"Ancient magic, you say? It reminds me of our rendezvous in the Forbidden Forest."
Harry nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Yes, Aiden. It's time to uncover the mysteries of our world, no matter where they may lead."
As Harry and Aiden entered the library, a hushed reverence seemed to hang in the air, and the weight of knowledge pressed down on them like an invisible shroud. The library held its secrets close, but it also beckoned to those who dared to seek its hidden truths.
Before them, two diverging paths of whispers of ancient magic seemed to materialize, a mystic guide drawing them deeper into the heart of the library's labyrinthine shelves. It was as though the very essence of ancient magic acted as both shield and guide, guiding them toward their destinies.
Their footsteps were nearly silent as they moved through the aisles, and their fingers brushed over dusty tomes of forgotten enchantments and long-lost rituals. The path eventually led them to two separate books, each hidden away in the coveted restricted section.
Harry's heart raced as he reached for his chosen book, his fingers trembling slightly as he felt the weight of centuries of knowledge contained within its pages. He couldn't help but wonder if this was a test, a trial by the ancient magic itself. He knew that taking a book from the restricted section was strictly forbidden, and the consequences could be severe. Yet, he couldn't turn back now.
Aiden, undeterred by the risks, seized the opportunity to grab several other books, his long fingers deftly selecting volumes filled with forgotten spells, mythical creatures, and even the darkest corners of magic. Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort, seeing one of the books Aiden selected, its title hinting at the forbidden world of dark magic. It sent shivers down his spine, a reminder of the thin line he was treading.
But Harry was resolute, just as he planned to manipulate Draco to uncover the truth, he hoped to do the same with Aiden. Their paths had become intertwined in a dance of secrets, and he was willing to go to great lengths to uncover the mysteries that surrounded them.
After carefully stashing the forbidden books in his bag, Harry kept an eye out for Madam Pince, who always seemed to possess an uncanny knack for detecting rule-breaking students. Just as he began to relax, a curious occurrence unfolded before him. A book, seemingly of its own volition, floated gracefully toward Harry. Its worn cover bore intricate symbols that hinted at the arcane knowledge held within. Without hesitation, Harry reached out and clasped the tome, its ancient pages crackling with anticipation.
With their newfound discovery, Harry and Aiden embarked on a quest for knowledge, seeking the secluded sanctuary of an empty table in a shadowy corner of the library. The ancient magic that had guided them here now beckoned them into its enigmatic embrace.
As they settled down, Aiden leaned in, his voice a soft murmur in the hallowed silence.
"Wandless magic, Harry, is a realm of limitless potential. It transcends the boundaries of wand and incantation, connecting you directly to the very essence of magic itself."
Harry listened intently, his eyes scanning the pages of the book that had presented itself so mysteriously. The text was filled with intricate diagrams and cryptic notations, reminiscent of ancient runes.
Aiden continued, his words carrying the weight of experience. "To master wandless magic, one must grasp the concept of intent, the unwavering will to mold magic to your desires. It's a profound connection that goes beyond mere spells."
As the two wizards delved deeper into the mysteries of wandless magic, their conversation flowed like a hidden stream of wisdom. They debated theories, shared their struggles, and uncovered insights hidden within the pages before them. It was a unique moment of connection, forged through their shared thirst for knowledge.
Amidst their discussion, Harry couldn't help but notice another book that seemed to materialize out of thin air. Its cover was tattered, pages yellowed with age, and it exuded an aura of profound magic. His fingers brushed against its spine, and he couldn't resist adding it to their growing collection.
"This one seems promising," Harry remarked, his voice hushed in reverence. "It's as if the magic itself is guiding us toward hidden truths."
Aiden nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting the same sense of wonder. "Indeed, Harry. These books may hold the answers to questions we've yet to ask."
Their curiosity extended beyond wandless magic. Harry, recalling his previous encounters with accomplished wizards and witches, brought up another intriguing topic.
"You know," Harry mused, "I've often wondered about non-verbal spells. They seem incredibly useful and, well, discreet."
Aiden's eyes sparkled with interest. "Ah, non-verbal spells, a more advanced form of magic. They demand even greater control and mastery. It's about channeling your intent without the need for spoken incantations. Would you like to explore that as well?"
The two of them eagerly read the tome on non-verbal magic. It was a challenging endeavor, but the exhilaration of mastering this advanced skill drove them forward.
"Harry," Aiden said, his voice a soft cadence in the stillness, "this spell here, it's a form of wandless magic that can manipulate the elements. Imagine controlling fire or water with just your thoughts."
Harry's eyes widened with fascination.
"That's incredible. Do you think it's possible to master something like that?"
Aiden nodded, his expression illuminated by the flickering candlelight.
"With dedication and practice, anything is possible in the world of magic. It's all about understanding the intricacies and the connection between the magical elements and your own inner power."
With newfound knowledge in their hands and the promise of greater revelations ahead, Harry and Aiden sealed their pact. They agreed to reconvene later that night, guided by the enigmatic whispers of ancient magic and the allure of secrets waiting to be unveiled.
As they reluctantly parted ways for the time being, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and trepidation.
"Remember, Harry," Aiden advised, his words a quiet mantra, "Non-verbal magic is about your will commanding the spell. The incantation becomes a mere formality. Let your intent guide you."
Reluctantly, Harry left the library, a nagging sense of curiosity about ancient magic still gnawing at him. His mind buzzed with the allure of spells performed without wands and words. As he made his way toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, he couldn't help but replay Aiden's advice on mastering wandless magic in his head.
The corridor was empty, save for Hermione, who struggled under the weight of an armful of heavy books. Her expression bore the unmistakable signs of academic exasperation. She lamented her hefty workload, her voice carrying the burdens of essays, translations, and daunting reading assignments.
"A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read all of these by Wednesday!" Hermione exclaimed, her words filled with the despair of a diligent student.
Ron couldn't resist a teasing tone, his face feigning sympathy.
"Shame, Hermione. You've got it rough."
However, Hermione's curiosity was insatiable, and her gaze shifted from her academic obligations to Harry, her eyes alight with intrigue. Ron followed suit, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
Harry couldn't suppress a sigh, realizing that he needed to share at least a partial truth with his ever-curious friends. He offered a small, somewhat secretive smile.
"I spent my free period in the library, doing a bit of research."
Ron couldn't resist a playful tease.
"Research, Harry? Never thought I'd see the day when you voluntarily went to the library just to read some dusty old books. What's next, becoming a bookworm like Hermione?"
Hermione shot Ron an indignant look but then turned her gaze back to Harry, her curiosity undiminished.
"What were you researching, Harry? Anything interesting?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, torn between sharing his newfound knowledge about ancient magic and keeping it close to his chest. Eventually, he chose the latter option, deciding that the less his friends knew about his investigations, the better.
"Just some things I came across. It's not that exciting, really."
As they approached the classroom, the imposing figure of Professor Snape appeared, his sallow face framed by curtains of greasy black hair as always. A heavy silence fell over the queue, and Snape's commanding presence demanded immediate attention.
"Inside," he instructed, and the students obediently filed into the classroom.
Snape's influence on the room was unmistakable. It felt darker than usual, as though shadows clung to the corners, and the heavy curtains he'd drawn over the windows shrouded the room in near darkness. Flickering candlelight provided the sole illumination, casting eerie, dancing shadows that seemed to twist and writhe with a life of their own.
The walls were adorned with a series of unsettling images. Grotesque scenes depicted individuals trapped in apparent agony, their bodies marred by gruesome injuries and twisted into bizarre, nightmarish contortions. Some images seemed to pulsate with an unnatural, almost malevolent energy, their disturbing details catching the eye and refusing to let go.
"I have not asked you to take out your books," Snape's voice sliced through the air like a scalpel through flesh.
The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the classroom in a cocoon of anticipation. He moved with predatory grace, his dark eyes locking onto each student's gaze, his presence an oppressive weight that seemed to stifle even the faintest of breaths. Hermione, her copy of Confronting the Faceless hastily stowed away, quickly returned it to her bag, concealing it beneath her chair. The palpable tension in the room seemed to grow with each passing moment.
As Snape continued, his gaze lingered for the briefest of moments on Harry's face, an unspoken challenge passing between them. Harry couldn't help but feel that Snape's eyes held something more, something personal, as if they were engaged in a private battle that transcended the confines of the classroom.
"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe," Snape remarked, his tone dripping with a sort of detached observation.
Harry couldn't help but think, you believe… like you haven't watched them all come and go, Snape, hoping you'd be next. The thought ran through his mind like a scathing retort, a silent commentary on Snape's longstanding ambition to occupy the position he now held.
"Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities," Snape continued, his voice now lowering, drawing the students in like a siren's call. They leaned forward, eager to catch his every word, as if they were being initiated into some dark and forbidden cult. "Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced."
Snape's measured steps carried him around the edge of the room, his presence casting a long, looming shadow that seemed to swallow the very light. As he spoke, the students followed him with rapt attention.
"The Dark Arts," Snape murmured, his voice now carrying an unsettling intimacy, as if he whispered secrets from the abyss. "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."
Harry couldn't tear his gaze away from Snape. The way he spoke about the Dark Arts, it was as if he held a deep reverence for the very things they were meant to combat. It sent a chill down Harry's spine, the contrast between Snape's words and the role he was meant to play as their protector striking him with an unsettling dissonance.
In that moment, a decision solidified within Harry. Aiden's offer to delve into the Dark Arts no longer seemed like a distant temptation but a calling, a path shrouded in darkness that he was now determined to tread. His intense loathing for Snape, mingled with a burning determination, fueled a burgeoning passion within him. He would take up Aiden's offer, and he would master the Dark Arts. Not out of a desire for malevolence, but to make Snape, the self-proclaimed expert in this twisted art, fear the very forces he had so passionately described.
"Your defenses," Snape's voice resonated through the dimly lit classroom, each word laden with a chilling weight, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the Arts you seek to undo."
His pallid hand gestured towards the gruesome images that adorned the walls, each frozen in a nightmarish tableau of suffering and despair, their grotesque forms cast in eerie candlelight. The dim, flickering flames danced wildly, casting elongated shadows that twisted and contorted the visages of the tormented figures.
"These pictures," he continued, his voice rising slightly, "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse."
As his skeletal hand swept toward an image of a witch writhing in indescribable agony, her contorted features twisted in a silent scream of torment, the students couldn't help but shudder. Snape's cold, clinical description only heightened the macabre nature of the images, their faces etched with the horrors of dark magic.
"Feel the Dementor's Kiss." His voice became a haunting whisper as he shifted his hand to point at a wizard slumped against a wall, his pallid skin contrasting sharply with the inky darkness that surrounded him. His blank eyes stared into nothingness, as if the very essence of his soul had been devoured. "Or provoke the aggression of the Inferius."
Their eyes were drawn to a horrific scene of a bloody mass on the ground, the twisted remnants of a life once lived. The gruesome details were etched with such precision that it was impossible to look away. The very mention of Inferi sent a chill rippling through the room, as if the malevolent spirits themselves were lurking in the shadows.
"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil's voice trembled as she spoke, her fear evident in the quiver of her words. "Is it definite, is he using them?"
"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," Snape replied, his tone carrying the weight of unwelcome knowledge like a curse that lingered in the air. "Which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again."
He set off once more, his black robes billowing ominously as he circled the room, like a vulture inspecting its prey. The students followed his every move, their unease deepening with each step, as if they were trapped in the very nightmares depicted on the walls.
"… you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of non-verbal spells," Snape announced, his obsidian eyes fixed on each student in turn. "What is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?"
Harry couldn't shake a sense of unease. It was as if the ancient magic had led him to a book on non-verbal magic in preparation for Snape's lesson.
Hermione's hand shot up eagerly, her vast knowledge ready to spill forth. However, at the last moment, Harry raised his hand, surprising everyone, including himself. Snape's thin lips curled into a wicked smile as he motioned for Harry to respond.
Harry began to speak, his voice resonating with newfound understanding.
"The advantage of a non-verbal spell," he explained, his words measured and deliberate, "is that it allows the wizard to perform magic without the need for spoken incantations. It's silent, swift, and can catch an opponent off guard in a duel. The caster's intention becomes their primary focus, requiring a deep connection with magic itself."
"Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spellcasting," Snape admitted begrudgingly. His voice dripped with condescension, a palpable sense of annoyance at being bested, even in this small way.
As Snape finished his begrudging acknowledgment of Harry's response, Aiden, sitting not far from Harry, couldn't resist a subtle yet enthusiastic clap of his hands. It was a gesture that seemed proud and supportive, a way of acknowledging Harry's unexpected prowess in front of the class. Harry glanced over at Aiden, who wore a faint, mischievous smile, but his attention was quickly drawn to the Slytherin students across the room.
Aiden's fellow Slytherins, however, regarded him with thinly veiled animosity. Their eyes bore into Aiden's back, filled with a mix of jealousy and resentment. In the corner of the classroom, Draco Malfoy couldn't help but snigger, relishing the tension that had suddenly gripped the room.
Snape's eyes narrowed at Aiden's brief applause, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he continued with the lesson, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance.
"Not all wizards can do non-verbal, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some," his cold, calculating gaze once again fell upon Harry, "lack."
Harry recognized that Snape's thoughts had wandered to their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. Their shared history was one of bitter conflict, and Harry refused to drop his gaze, glaring defiantly at Snape until the professor finally looked away.
Snape continued, "You will now divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."
The tension in the classroom was palpable as students nervously paired up, glancing warily at their partners. Snape's instructions heralded the beginning of an intense and challenging lesson, one that would test their magical abilities and concentration in an entirely new way.
Harry, who had secretly taught many of his classmates the Shield Charm as members of Dumbledore's Army, knew that this lesson would be different from any they had encountered before. None of them had ever attempted non-verbal spellcasting in a practical setting, let alone a Shield Charm.
Ron had initially assumed that he would be Harry's partner, as was their usual practice. However, Aiden's unexpected request to work with Harry caught Ron off guard. He reluctantly agreed to partner with Hermione.
As the lesson began, a reasonable amount of cheating ensued. Students whispered incantations under their breath, hoping to evade Snape's scrutiny. Hermione, ten minutes into the lesson, managed to flawlessly repel Ron's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word. Harry couldn't help but feel bitter at the injustice of it all. In any reasonable class, Hermione's feat would have earned Gryffindor twenty points, but Snape chose to ignore it.
Snape, with his billowing black robes and sallow complexion, moved among the students like a brooding specter. He watched Harry and Aiden with an intensity that was equal parts unsettling and ominous. The rest of the class couldn't help but glance over, their awe palpable as they observed the non-verbal duel unfolding between the two.
Harry struggled at first, attempting to break the habit of verbal spellcasting that had become ingrained in him over the years. But then it clicked—it was as if they were engaged in a silent dance, each move and countermove executed in silence. Harry concentrated, channeling his determination into his wand. With a focused intent, he summoned a fiery bat, a non-verbal spell that left Aiden momentarily unable to block.
"Pathetic, Lestrange," Snape sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Here – let me show you –"
Without warning, Snape turned his wand on Harry, ready to demonstrate his mastery. Harry's resolve hardened, and he silently summoned ancient magic. A powerful Shield Charm materialized before him, a barrier fortified with the secrets of ages past.
The force of Snape's spell collided with Harry's ancient magic, and for a moment, it seemed as though the very fabric of reality itself was at stake. Snape was knocked off his feet, crashing into a desk with a resounding thud.
The entire class stood in awe, their collective breath held in suspense. Snape's dark eyes glinted with a mix of fury and begrudging respect as he righted himself, his scowl deeper than ever. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, knowing that he had just defied Snape in a way no student had before.
Snape's cold voice cut through the hushed classroom, "Do you remember me telling you we are attempting to jinx, Potter?"
"Yes," Harry replied stiffly.
"Yes, sir," Snape corrected.
"There’s no need to call me 'sir,' Professor," Harry retorted without thinking. The audacity of his response hung in the air, and several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, Ron, Dean, and Seamus wore grins of appreciation, reveling in Harry's daring retort.
"Detention, Saturday night, my office," Snape snapped, his voice tinged with irritation. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter … not even the Chosen One."
Amidst the lingering tension, Aiden couldn't contain his awe. "Great job, Harry! You showed him why you are the Chosen One," he exclaimed, his admiration echoing through the room. More gasps followed, and Snape's sharp gaze swung towards Aiden, promptly assigning him detention as well.
As they left the classroom for a break, Ron was positively beaming with pride. "That was brilliant, Harry!”
“You really shouldn’t have said it," Hermione chastised Ron, her voice tinged with concern.
"He tried to jinx me, Hermione, in case you didn’t notice!" Harry responded, his frustration evident. "I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn’t he use another guinea pig for a change? What’s Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defense? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff –"
Hermione interjected, drawing a surprising parallel. "Well, I thought he sounded a bit like you."
"Like me?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Yes," Hermione replied, "when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts – well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"
Harry's momentary disorientation gave way to a sense of grudging respect. Hermione had framed Snape's words in a new light, making him consider that there might be more to Snape's unconventional teaching methods than met the eye. In that exhilarating moment, Harry realized that bravery and quick thinking could take many forms, even if they came from the most unexpected sources.
During their break in the Gryffindor common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves embroiled in an animated discussion about non-verbal magic.
"But honestly, Harry," she began, her tone almost pleading, "how did you manage to answer Snape's question about non-verbal magic? It's not something we've covered extensively before."
Ron couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh at Hermione's persistent curiosity, but Harry's response was tinged with a hint of annoyance. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ready to defend himself.
"Hermione, you know I got an Outstanding in my OWL. I'm not completely clueless when it comes to this subject."
"But non-verbal magic is different, Harry. It requires a deep connection between the wizard and the magic. You can't just ace it like any other subject. How did you—"
Interrupting her before she could finish her thought, Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "Alright, I'll come clean. I was actually studying non-verbal magic right before class."
Ron's skepticism deepened, and he exchanged a knowing look with Hermione.
"Studying non-verbal magic? That's a bit… odd, isn't it? How did you even know to do that?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I just stumbled upon some helpful resources, Ron. You know how it is."
Unspoken suspicions lingered in the room, with Ron feeling a gnawing sense that something wasn't adding up and Hermione convinced that Harry was withholding more than he let on.
After their break, Hermione headed off to her Arithmancy class, leaving Harry and Ron to begrudgingly tackle Snape's homework in the common room. The assignment turned out to be far more complex than they had anticipated, and their progress was agonizingly slow. Time slipped away, and they were still wrestling with the intricate problems when Hermione returned for their after-lunch free period.
Hermione, with her exceptional skills and determination, managed to significantly expedite the process. Her presence breathed new life into their efforts, and they were able to complete the challenging assignment just in time.
As the bell rang to signal the start of the afternoon's double Potions class, they gathered their belongings and retraced the well-worn path to the dungeon classroom that had long been Snape's domain.
The corridor leading to the N.E.W.T. level Potions class was a curious blend of anticipation and trepidation. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way, they couldn't help but notice the strikingly small number of students advancing to this elevated level of Potions. Merely a dozen individuals had managed to meet the rigorous O.W.L. requirements, and it was glaringly apparent that Crabbe and Goyle hadn't made the cut. In contrast, four Slytherins, including Malfoy and Aiden, had successfully secured their positions. Accompanying them were four Ravenclaws and a solitary Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan.
Ernie, donning a slightly pompous air, extended a warm greeting to Harry. As they exchanged pleasantries, their conversation drifted to fond reminiscences of their time spent in D.A.
Slughorn, the effervescent Potions professor, made his appearance, and his enthusiasm was infectious as he welcomed the budding N.E.W.T. students. The dungeon classroom, though familiar, bore an unusual atmosphere today, permeated by ethereal vapors and alluring fragrances that piqued the students' curiosity.
Upon their arrival at the table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione claimed their seats. Harry couldn’t help but notice the enchanting blend of scents emanating from the golden cauldron before him – treacle tart, the earthy aroma of broomstick handles, and a warm, sweet, slightly spicy, and faintly woody fragrance.
As the trio settled in, Ernie approached, initially intending to join the Gryffindor contingent. However, as Aiden arrived and the two came face to face, Ernie, not prone to confrontation, gracefully relinquished the seat to Aiden. Hermione's response was a mixture of nervousness and curiosity, while Ron, in his classic style, opted for blatant indifference, much to Harry's annoyance. The intoxicating aroma of the potion seemed to linger around Aiden, casting a mysterious allure over the room.
Aiden leaned in closer to Harry, his voice carrying just enough for their circle to hear. "Harry, have you ever encountered Amortentia before?"
Harry's brow furrowed with uncertainty, but Aiden's question was enough to spark his recognition.
"Amortentia," he replied, his voice steady and sure. "The most potent love potion in the world. They say it smells differently to each person, depending on what attracts them. No, I haven’t encountered it before."
Hermione, who had been listening intently, couldn't hide her surprise at Harry's knowledge. She turned to him, her eyes wide.
"Harry, I didn't know you were familiar with Amortentia!"
Harry offered a sheepish grin, realizing that he hadn't shared this piece of magical trivia with his friends. "Well, you know, Hermione, I've picked up a few things over the years."
Aiden nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Precisely, Harry. So, what scent fills your senses when you inhale this potion?"
Harry took a moment to revel in the enchanting fragrances that wafted around him.
"I smell treacle tart," he began, his voice carrying warmth, "the earthy scent of broomstick handles, and a sweet, slightly spicy, and faintly woody fragrance."
Aiden didn't hesitate to share his own olfactory experience. "For me, it's treacle tart as well, mixed with the comforting embrace of cinnamon and the earthy, petrichor-like scent that follows a summer rain."
Ron leaned in with curiosity and confusion etched across his face.
"Petrichor? What's that?"
Aiden took a moment to explain. "Petrichor is the delightful aroma that arises when rain touches dry soil or pavement. It's the scent of earth after a refreshing downpour."
Ron pondered this newfound knowledge, his expression deep in thought. Then, without fully realizing the implications of his words, he made a comment that sent ripples through the room.
"You know, Harry, that's what you smell like to me."
The words hung in the air, a potent blend of innocence and suggestion that seemed to linger and intertwine with the brewing potion. Aiden, caught off guard by Ron's comment, found himself in a moment of profound contemplation.
"Now then, now then, now then," Slughorn's jovial voice resonated in the dungeon, a slightly rotund figure wading through the haze of shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."
Amidst the flurry of activity, Harry hesitated, raising his hand as a ripple of uncertainty washed over him.
"Sir?" he called out, seeking the professor's attention.
Slughorn's round face beamed with warmth as he turned his attention to Harry.
"Harry, m'boy?"
Harry continued, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I haven't got a book or scales or anything, and neither does Ron. We didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see."
The professor's genial expression remained unwavering as he reassured Harry. "Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all." With a knowing twinkle in his eye, he continued, "You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales. We've also got a small stock of old books here; they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts."
Slughorn's portly form glided over to a corner cupboard, his gait filled with a sense of purpose. After a brief foray into the cupboard's depths, he emerged with two worn, dog-eared copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage. With a gracious smile, he handed the books to Harry and Ron, along with two sets of tarnished scales.
Slughorn returned to the front of the class, his girthy figure exuding an air of excitement.
"I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet."
With a sweeping gesture, he indicated several potions arranged strategically around the room. Among them were Veritaserum, Polyjuice Potion, and Amortentia. Aiden and Hermione shared a knowing look, swiftly naming each one.
Curiosity piqued, Slughorn turned his attention to Hermione.
"May I ask your name, my dear?"
Hermione responded with grace, her voice steady.
"Hermione Granger, sir."
The professor's eyes widened with intrigue. "Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"
Hermione's expression dimmed as she replied, "No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."
Harry observed a hushed conversation between Malfoy and Nott, resulting in a pair of sniggers. However, Slughorn remained undisturbed, his eyes shifting between Hermione and Harry, who sat beside her.
"Oho!" Slughorn's jovial tone filled the room. "'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"
Malfoy wore an expression much like the one he had when Hermione had punched him in the face, which didn't escape Harry's notice. Hermione turned toward Harry, her face radiant with gratitude. She whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"
Harry, somewhat bewildered by Ron's disgruntled expression, replied, "Well, what's so impressive about that? You are the best in the year. I'd have told him so if he'd asked me."
"Harry," Aiden murmured, his words laced with an intriguing mixture of sincerity and mischief, "you know, Draco reckons you could easily be the best in the year if you actually tried."
The unexpected compliment sent a warm flush rushing to Harry's cheeks. He couldn't help but feel flattered by the unexpected praise, and it made him consider the possibilities. What if he did apply himself more rigorously to his studies? What could he achieve?
Harry's attention briefly flicked to Hermione, whose face bore a complex expression, a blend of curiosity and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. It was as if she were silently processing the implications of Draco's comment.
Ron, however, seemed to find the whole situation rather amusing. He chuckled heartily, his laughter echoing in the dungeon classroom and drawing the attention of nearby students. Harry shot Ron a bemused look, a hint of offense tugging at the corners of his expression. After all, he hadn't anticipated such a candid comment from Draco Malfoy of all people.
Aiden, observing the varying reactions his words had provoked, couldn't contain his mischievous grin. It was evident that he had intentionally dropped this bombshell to observe the ripple effect it created among their group, and the results were proving to be quite entertaining.
Ernie Macmillan's curiosity got the better of him as he pointed at the small, black cauldron perched on Slughorn's desk, where a mesmerizing molten gold potion bubbled and danced without spilling a drop.
"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one."
Slughorn grinned, savoring the suspense he was creating. His eyes twinkled as he turned to Ernie.
"Ah, Mr. Macmillan, an excellent question! You see, this little potion is none other than Felix Felicis. I take it,” he turned, smiling, to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, “that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?”
The entire class leaned forward, their anticipation palpable.
"It’s liquid luck. It makes you lucky!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.
Malfoy, who had been disinterested until now, suddenly focused intently on Slughorn's words.
"Indeed, Miss Granger," Slughorn continued, "Felix Felicis, it is. A most peculiar potion. It's tricky to brew and catastrophic if brewed incorrectly. However, when concocted properly, as this one has been, you'll find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off."
Terry Boot couldn't resist asking, "Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?"
"Because if taken excessively, it induces giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," Slughorn explained. "Too much of a good thing, you see. Highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly and very occasionally..."
"Have you ever taken it, sir?" Michael Corner asked, his interest piqued.
Slughorn's eyes unfocused, as if he was transported back in time. "Twice in my life," he reminisced. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."
The class was spellbound by Slughorn's tale, and Harry couldn't help but think it was rather effective, whether genuine or not.
"And that," Slughorn finally said, snapping back to reality, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."
A profound silence enveloped the room, the sounds of bubbling potions amplified.
"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," Slughorn revealed, withdrawing a minuscule glass bottle with a cork from his pocket. "Enough for twelve hours of luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."
"But I must warn you," Slughorn continued, his tone more serious. "Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions... sporting events, for instance, examinations or elections. So, the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only... and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"
Slughorn's eyes swept over the expectant faces, and he suddenly grew brisk.
"So," he concluded, "how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left, which should be enough time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"
The atmosphere in the dungeon was thick with tension as the students competed for the coveted bottle of liquid luck. Harry, determined to make the most of this opportunity, bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him. He couldn't help but feel annoyed as he noticed that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, rendering the margins as black as the printed portions. However, to his surprise, those annotated instructions turned out to be even better than the original ones.
As Harry meticulously followed the improved directions, he couldn't help but notice that everyone in the class kept glancing around, attempting to gauge how their peers were faring. This constant scrutiny was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions; it was difficult to keep your work private, but it also allowed for learning from others.
Hermione, usually the top student in Potions, appeared frustrated by the challenging task. Nevertheless, Harry pressed on, feeling a sense of accomplishment he had never experienced in this class before.
To everyone's astonishment, Harry's potion emerged as the best among the students' efforts, securing him the prized bottle of liquid luck.
With deliberate care, Harry tucked the tiny bottle into his inner pocket, a swell of triumph swelling within him. He couldn't deny the rush of pride that washed over him, but it was tinged with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he relished the furious and envious looks that the Slytherins shot his way. On the other, a pang of guilt tugged at him when he noticed the disappointed expression on Hermione's face. Ron, in contrast, looked utterly dumbfounded by Harry's unexpected victory, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.
Hermione meticulously examined the battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making but could find nothing wrong with it. Her scrutinizing gaze swept over every page, checking for any hidden imperfections or detrimental notes. Satisfied that the book appeared ordinary, she looked up to see that nobody else was paying attention to her inspection.
After Hermione continued her thorough examination, Harry took the opportunity to retrieve the book. Bending low to ensure that no one would see, he reached out for it. However, as his fingers closed around the book's spine, he noticed something unexpected.
There, scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting that had guided him to victory in the potion competition, were the words:
This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince