Chapter 226 – The Secret Harry Wants to Hide
Spread a rumor and break a leg.
The three boys now felt that way—especially with the existence of those photos.
Harry wanted to explain why Ron and Draco seemed so concerned about his body, but he didn't want anyone to know the real truth: the power that had turned into a phoenix and now lived inside his heart.
Maybe Dumbledore suspected he could summon a phoenix, but he didn't know that the summoned phoenix had not vanished—it had remained, nesting within Harry.
To Harry, that phoenix radiated a motherly warmth. He couldn't bear to lose it.
"We are just friends!" After what felt like endless questioning, the three of them kept repeating the same line.
Well, not quite three. Apart from Draco, neither Ron's parents nor Draco's father truly cared about sexual orientation.
Ron's mother, however, was deeply concerned. And Mr. Weasley—though more relaxed—always respected her views.
As for Draco, Lucius Malfoy had simply assumed that his son's closeness to Harry meant something else.
Mr. Weasley, for his part, welcomed Harry like family, but to save face with his wife, he played along with her worries.
"Fine, I actually like Pansy," Draco blurted at last. Under the heaviest pressure, he could no longer keep up the act.
He could have explained the real origin of the photo, but that was Harry's secret. Since Harry hadn't shared it, Draco—his friend—wouldn't expose it either.
"From the Parkinsons? Then we'll arrange the engagement immediately! I'll ask Narcissa to contact them!" Lucius Malfoy lit up at the answer.
He loved his son deeply, just as Arthur Weasley did. But in his mind, early engagement and eventual heirs were the safest path, regardless of Harry Potter's involvement.
"Isn't this too sudden? I'm still a child!" Draco muttered, reaching for a drink to calm himself.
"If you don't agree, I might think you're lying. Look at our greatest white wizard—he died alone because he never married." Malfoy smirked.
Suddenly "cued," Dumbledore looked rather bewildered.
This feeling was alien to him—being forced into marriage by parental expectation. His father had been imprisoned early, and his mother's life had revolved around caring for Ariana. Dumbledore had long played the role of father more than son.
"Very well. Is this why you came here—and why you drove away Petunia and Dudley?" Dumbledore asked lightly when he regained his composure.
"Come on, you feel the same way, Dumbledore. That's why you're not treating Harry's matter as serious." Sirius, ever the outsider, grumbled.
"Where did you get that photo?"
"At the time, I was testing a spell and drew the attention of Fawkes and other students. We kept running until I was exhausted, covered in sweat. I'm not as fit as Ron and Draco. They used a trick George and Fred taught them—a Muggle 'listening' technique—to check if I needed the school nurse."
Harry forced a reasonable explanation. He'd even started with a leading question, hoping they'd cling to that answer and overlook the gaps in his story.
It was psychology—a trick Harry had picked up from secretly watching television back at Privet Drive when the Dursleys were away. It had fooled Dudley often enough. He just hoped it would work here too.
That memory stung—once, he'd forgotten to switch off the still-warm TV, and Aunt Petunia had caught him. Since then, she'd always asked Mrs. Figg to babysit him, robbing him of those stolen moments of solitude.
"Sirius gave it to me."
"Black gave it to me," Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley said at once, both turning to glare at Sirius.
"It's not a secret—you just never asked." Sirius shrugged.
"Fine, I'll say it. The Daily Prophet is mine now. Rita Skeeter took the photo. She wouldn't reveal how—called it a special talent for digging private dirt."
"Dumbledore, do you know what's going on?" Harry asked quickly, hoping the headmaster might provide clarity.
"I'm not sure knowledge always leads to understanding," Dumbledore mused.
"At her level, if Rita Skeeter hasn't improved much since graduation, I can imagine a dozen ways she could have gotten your photo," he added.
It wasn't bragging—his memory was razor-sharp. He still recalled Skeeter's strengths and flaws as a student, especially her unusual skill in shapeshifting, which she'd always downplayed.
He also remembered her absence during a stormy Christmas long ago. The answer was obvious—Rita Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus.
But Dumbledore kept that deduction to himself.
"Alright." Harry nodded, relieved enough.
By late night, everyone had reached the same conclusion: leave the matter alone.
Lucius Malfoy, already reassured by Draco's forced admission, hurried off to plan the Parkinson engagement. No one else cared about Harry and Ron's supposed "relationship."
"Very well, you may all go," Dumbledore finally said, dismissing them.
"You're not leaving?" Arthur Weasley asked curiously, ears pricking up.
"Not until Petunia and the others return," Dumbledore said seriously, his eyes sliding toward Sirius.
"I know, I know—I'll fetch them right now." Sirius answered quickly.
"Do you even know where Aunt Marge is?" Harry asked, frowning. He suspected Sirius had done something to the Dursleys before coming back.
"There are many things you don't know." Sirius smiled mysteriously—then vanished with a sharp crack.
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