Chapter 1 — The Feast and the Fracture
The day had begun bright and sharp, one of those crisp autumn mornings where the light over the lake shimmered like frost. Hogwarts had dressed itself in gold and shadow — pumpkin garlands along the corridors, candles carved into grinning faces hovering above banisters, the scent of roasted squash and cinnamon butter wafting up from the kitchens.
It should have been perfect. But the air inside the Great Hall was charged with something else — tension, anticipation, the kind of restless energy that came before a storm.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, Ron to his left, Hermione across from them, parchment spread around her like a protective wall. Around them, students buzzed about the upcoming Halloween feast, the excitement of sweets, and rumours of new enchantments decorating the Great Hall.
Hermione had been on edge all morning. She had corrected Seamus's wand posture three times in Charms, scolded Dean for confusing Lumos with Levioso, and given Ron a speech so long about proper wand care that he had almost choked on his pumpkin pasty.
Now, as they waited for lunch, Ron muttered under his breath, "She's insufferable. Always has to show off."
Harry frowned slightly. He'd grown used to Ron's quick temper, but something about the way he said it today made the words sharper than usual. "She's not showing off," Harry said evenly. "She's just… serious about learning."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Serious? She's a nightmare! You saw her crying after class yesterday — can't even take a joke."
Harry didn't answer. Across the hall, at the Slytherin table, Percy Chronos sat flanked by Artemis and Athena, the three of them forming an odd but mesmerizing island of calm. Artemis was laughing quietly at something Athena whispered, her silver hair catching the light of the enchanted ceiling, while Percy leaned back, watching the hall like a chessboard he'd already solved. Even now, when he looked so utterly relaxed, there was something regal about him — something that made even the pureblood heirs at nearby tables speak more carefully.
Harry had learned to read that expression. Percy wasn't detached; he was watching.
Always watching.
Harry admired it — that effortless command, that subtle awareness of everything around him. But lately, he had been trying to do what Percy told him: make your own choices, fight your own fights.
That advice echoed now, as Ron grumbled under his breath again.
"Maybe she'll stop acting like she knows everything once she's humiliated," Ron said, tearing his bread in half. "Bet she doesn't even have friends outside books."
Harry's brows drew together. "That's not fair, Ron."
Ron blinked, surprised at the mild rebuke. "Oh, come on, mate, it's just a joke—"
Harry's voice, though quiet, carried weight. "You don't joke like that about someone who tries. You know what it's like when people talk behind your back."
For a second, Ron flushed, stung by the reminder. Harry didn't mean it cruelly, but the truth had its own sharpness.
The conversation died.
A few seats away, Neville caught Harry's eye and gave a small, grateful smile. Even he had noticed Hermione's isolation.
At the Slytherin table, Athena's gaze flicked toward the Gryffindor corner, her golden eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. "Your little lion is growing teeth," she murmured to Percy.
Percy's lips curved in faint pride. "He's learning when to bare them."
"And when not to?" Artemis teased softly.
"Not yet," Percy admitted, taking a sip from his goblet. "But that will come."
Athena leaned closer, whispering, "You do realize Dumbledore is watching him like a hawk now? That twinkle of benevolence is just a disguise. He's uneasy — every bit of confidence Harry gains chips away at his control."
Percy's eyes flicked briefly toward the staff table. Dumbledore was smiling, yes, but there was a stiffness to the old man's posture that didn't match the feast's merriment. Snape leaned toward him, whispering something, his expression half-sneer, half-warning.
Percy smirked faintly. "Let him watch. It'll make the game more interesting."
By the time twilight fell, the castle had transformed into something out of a fairy tale. The Great Hall glowed with floating pumpkins and flickering candles. The walls shimmered with ghostly illusions — dancing spectres and fluttering bats, courtesy of Flitwick's charms class.
Harry entered alongside Ron and Neville, the murmur of hundreds of voices washing over them.
At the Slytherin table, Percy rose briefly to greet Artemis and Athena as they returned from helping the house elves decorate. The two girls had donned elegant dark-green robes, accented with silver, their beauty causing even older students to glance twice. Several boys tried to muster courage for compliments but faltered under Percy's calm, knowing smile.
As the feast began, platters appeared — roast chicken, mashed potatoes, pumpkin juice, treacle tart. Laughter filled the hall; even the ghosts drifted merrily above the tables.
For a while, it felt like peace.
Until Ron's loud voice shattered it.
"She's been crying all day!" he announced, voice carrying farther than he meant. "Over a spell! Honestly, you'd think she'd been attacked by a troll or something."
Several students laughed. Even Seamus snorted, though he looked guilty afterward.
Hermione, who had been seated not far away, froze mid-step at the Gryffindor entrance. Her face crumpled. She turned and ran, her bushy hair vanishing through the doors before anyone could stop her.
The laughter died quickly.
Harry stared at the empty doorway, guilt twisting his stomach. Ron fidgeted, mumbling, "Didn't mean it like that…"
From the Slytherin table, Artemis's voice drifted lazily, sharp with irony. "So brave, these Gryffindors — heroes in training, slaying girls with words."
Several students turned to look. Ron flushed crimson.
Percy shot Artemis a look — amused, approving, but faintly warning. Then his eyes shifted to Harry. The boy was already pushing to his feet.
"I'll find her," Harry said quietly.
Ron started to follow, but Percy's voice, calm and level, carried across the tables. "No, Ron. Let him go alone."
Ron turned, startled. Percy's expression brooked no argument.
Outside the Great Hall, the corridors were dim, lit only by floating torches. Shadows shifted over the ancient stone walls. Harry walked quickly, scanning corners, calling softly for Hermione. His guilt gnawed at him — not for something he'd said, but for not stopping Ron sooner.
He reached the girls' bathroom corridor, hesitated. The door was closed. He almost knocked.
Then — the scream.
It was sharp, echoing, and unmistakable.
In the Great Hall, the sound carried faintly, distant but chilling. Students paused mid-bite. Percy's head snapped up. Across the room, Kaal's feathers rippled in agitation, the hybrid creature perched near the upper arches. The castle's wards hummed faintly — alive and warning.
A moment later, Professor Quirrell burst through the doors, pale and trembling, his turban askew. "T-t-troll!" he stammered. "In the d-d-dungeons! Troll in the dungeons!"
Screams erupted. Chaos followed.
"Prefects! Lead your houses!" McGonagall shouted, rising instantly.
But Percy was already moving. His eyes met Artemis's; a silent understanding passed between them. He gestured once — stay with the Slytherins. Then he slipped through the confusion like water through reeds.
Dumbledore's voice boomed, "Silence!" But even his magic could not quell the rush of fear that had flooded the hall.
Percy ignored the commands. He knew exactly where Harry would go — not to safety, but to her.
Harry ran.
The sound had come from the girls' lavatory. His wand shook slightly in his hand. He pushed the door open — the smell hit him first, then the sight: a hulking mountain of grey skin, its head scraping the ceiling, swinging a club the size of a log.
Hermione was trapped behind a broken sink, her eyes wide with horror.
Harry didn't think. He moved.
He darted forward, yelling, waving his arms. "Hey! Over here!"
The troll turned, grunting stupidly. Its club came down — missing him by inches.
Harry rolled, grabbed the nearest thing — a broken pipe — and hurled it at the creature's head. Useless. The troll only roared.
And then Ron was there, breathless, eyes wide. "What the bloody hell—Harry!"
"Help me!" Harry shouted. "We need to distract it!"
Ron's wand trembled. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he yelled, desperate.
The club shot upward, hovered — then dropped squarely on the troll's skull. The beast swayed, staggered, and collapsed with a tremendous crash.
The silence afterward was so loud it hurt.
By the time Percy arrived, the professors were already on their way. He stopped at the doorway, unseen. Artemis and Athena had followed at a distance, invisible to mortal eyes through a subtle charm.
Percy's expression was unreadable — part pride, part something darker.
Artemis whispered, "He would have died if not for Ron."
Athena smiled faintly. "And now he has friends who will follow him into madness."
Percy's gaze lingered on the boy who stood in front of the fallen troll, blood on his cheek but eyes fierce. "He's learning," Percy murmured. "And he's not alone."
Later, when Dumbledore questioned them all in the hospital wing, the Headmaster's eyes darted not to Harry, but to Percy, who stood quietly behind McGonagall.
The old wizard's voice was smooth. "Remarkable courage, Mister Potter. But you seem to attract unusual company, don't you?"
Harry glanced at Percy, who only smiled, faint and knowing.
"Yes, sir," Harry said simply. "But that's not a bad thing, is it?"
Dumbledore's smile didn't reach his eyes.
That night, in the safety of their quarters, Percy sat with Artemis and Athena, the warmth of the fire curling against their silhouettes.
"He's starting to move without us," Artemis said softly.
"Good," Percy replied, his tone a blend of pride and melancholy. "Because the next storm will be his to face."
Athena rested her head on his shoulder, her hand finding Artemis's. "And ours to watch," she murmured.
Outside, Kaal unfurled his golden wings atop the tower, his cry cutting through the night — ancient, fierce, and alive.
Hogwarts slept uneasy beneath it.
Chapter 2 — The Troll and the Aftermath
The morning after Halloween broke in muted colours. The usual hum of Hogwarts was absent — replaced by cautious whispers, the scrape of shoes over stone floors, and the hush of disbelief that hung heavy in the air.
A troll in the castle.
That phrase had travelled faster than any ghost or gossip.
Even Peeves had gone silent.
Harry woke before dawn. His muscles ached, and his mind felt oddly blank — as if the night before had happened in another life. The image of the troll collapsing replayed in fragments: the sound of Ron's trembling voice shouting the spell, Hermione's terrified sob, the shock of how quickly it had all ended.
But more than anything, he remembered Percy — standing silently in the doorway as the professors stormed in. Watching, but not interfering. Like always.
Harry hadn't needed saving.
Not this time.
And Percy had known it.
Hedwig was perched near the window, her golden feathers catching the sunrise like molten fire. She gave a soft, approving cry when Harry sat up.
"I know," Harry muttered, rubbing his face. "I didn't die. You can stop looking smug."
Hedwig clicked her beak, unimpressed.
Down in the Great Hall, breakfast felt like a tense funeral rather than a feast. The ceiling had lost its charm, a pale reflection of dawn bleeding through thin clouds. Students clustered in small groups — whispering, pointing subtly toward Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table.
Even Hermione wasn't at her usual seat.
Ron stabbed his toast moodily. "She's avoiding us, isn't she?"
Harry didn't look up. "Would you blame her?"
Ron sighed. "I said sorry, didn't I? I mean, we did save her from a troll."
Harry finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "We also nearly died. So maybe not the best argument."
At the Slytherin table, Percy watched the exchange with faint amusement, sipping pumpkin juice while Artemis murmured something that made Athena smirk.
Draco Malfoy, farther down, was holding court like a bitter prince. "Oh, please," he said loudly enough for half the Hall to hear. "A troll? You expect me to believe Potter took down a troll with Weasley of all people? Maybe his pet eagle did it for him."
Several Slytherins laughed. Pansy giggled in that rehearsed way that meant she wasn't entirely sure what she was laughing at.
Percy didn't bother to correct them. He didn't need to. The way Kaal swooped silently down from the rafters at that exact moment, landing near Harry's seat with a metallic flash of wings, made every Slytherin's laughter die in their throats.
Draco's fork slipped out of his hand.
"Subtle," Athena murmured, eyes glinting.
Percy's lips twitched. "Kaal has a sense for timing."
Artemis's silver hair brushed his shoulder as she leaned in. "So do you."
The professors were no less unsettled.
McGonagall was pale, her lips pressed into a line that could cut glass. "A troll in Hogwarts," she said under her breath, pacing near the staff table. "I still don't understand how it got past the wards."
"It did not get past them," Snape replied coldly. "It was led in."
Flitwick's high voice trembled slightly. "You mean someone brought it—?"
"Obviously." Snape's tone could have frozen lava. "And if I were to wager, I'd say whoever did it wasn't planning for it to end up near the first years' lavatories."
"Enough speculation," Dumbledore interjected, calm but distant. His eyes drifted toward Harry, and for a brief moment, something flickered behind the twinkle — calculation, concern, and something colder. "What matters," he said softly, "is that no student was seriously harmed."
Percy, at the Slytherin table, felt the weight of that gaze. He didn't flinch. He only smiled faintly and took another sip of his drink.
Dumbledore's magic brushed the room like a breeze. Subtle. Testing. Passive Legilimency, searching for cracks in composure.
It slid off Percy like light against a mirror.
And Dumbledore knew it.
His expression tightened ever so slightly before he looked away.
Later that morning, as classes resumed, the air remained heavy with gossip. Every corridor echoed with whispered theories.
Harry found himself trailed by eyes everywhere he went — admiration from Gryffindor, curiosity from Ravenclaw, and envy from Slytherin. Even Hufflepuff students peeked over cauldrons when he passed.
When he and Ron entered the Transfiguration classroom, Hermione was already there. She had her nose in a book, eyes red-rimmed but determinedly focused.
Ron stopped awkwardly at the door. "Er… Hermione?"
She didn't look up.
Harry nudged him gently. "You should say it properly."
Ron cleared his throat. "Look… I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't've said all that stuff. You're… you know, brilliant."
That got her attention. She blinked once, surprised, then sighed. "You're lucky you're not as hopeless at apologies as you are at studying."
Harry grinned. "So you're friends again?"
Hermione hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant smile. "Only if you both promise not to nearly get killed again."
Ron looked sheepish. "No promises."
Hermione rolled her eyes — but the tension broke.
From the back of the room, Artemis leaned over to Athena. "They're rather adorable, aren't they? Like cubs pretending to be lions."
Athena smirked. "Cubs with claws. They'll grow."
Percy, pretending to take notes, hid a smile. "And when they do," he murmured, "the world will finally tremble."
That evening, the atmosphere began to ease. The professors, though stern, seemed relieved; Dumbledore even granted Gryffindor twenty points for "sheer nerve and courage."
Percy's name was not mentioned, though McGonagall's gaze lingered on him briefly — perhaps wondering how much he'd known, or how he'd known when not to intervene.
Harry felt lighter. Not because of the points or the praise, but because for the first time, he had friends — real friends. Hermione had joined them in the common room that night, helping Neville with his homework, chiding Ron for bad posture, laughing despite herself when Seamus accidentally set his parchment on fire.
And for once, Harry didn't feel like the outcast who'd stumbled into magic. He felt… like he belonged.
In the dungeons, though, the whispers continued.
Draco Malfoy paced near the fire, frustration simmering beneath his polished veneer. "Potter gets all the attention again," he muttered. "Even Snape couldn't defend him without looking the fool. And Chronos just sits there acting like he's above all of us."
Blaise Zabini, lounging in his chair, smirked. "He is above us. You've seen what happens when he walks past — even the portraits straighten up."
Draco scowled. "He's nothing but a fraud. So he has a fancy name. I'll prove it."
Daphne Greengrass's voice, calm and cutting, drifted from the corner. "Be careful whom you try to humiliate, Draco. The last person who mocked Chronos in public found their quill turning into a viper in the middle of class."
"That was an accident," Draco snapped.
Daphne smirked. "Of course it was."
Up in Percy's quarters, the fire burned low.
Artemis sat curled on the couch, reading, while Athena lazily drew runes on the armrest with her fingertip. Percy stood by the window, Kaal perched beside him, feathers glowing faintly in the torchlight.
"He's changing," Percy said at last.
"Harry?" Athena asked.
"Yes." Percy's voice was soft, thoughtful. "He's beginning to trust himself. That's the hardest step."
Artemis closed her book and looked up. "And Dumbledore?"
Percy's gaze drifted toward the tower beyond the window, where the faintest flicker of magical surveillance still shimmered. "He's tightening his hold. The wards listen to him less now — they respond to Harry instead. Hogwarts is remembering who she belongs to."
Athena smiled, slow and knowing. "So it begins."
Percy turned, his expression gentling. "No," he said quietly. "It's already begun."
He crossed to the couch and sat between them, the quiet of the moment folding around them like a familiar spell. Artemis leaned her head on his shoulder. Athena laced her fingers with his. They didn't need words — their shared silence was enough.
The fire crackled softly, Kaal's eyes glinting like living embers.
Outside, the castle exhaled, its magic shifting in subtle rhythm with the heartbeat of its chosen protectors.
By morning, the troll was gone. The fear had faded into gossip, the danger into story.
But the change remained — in the way students whispered Harry's name with awe, in the way Dumbledore's eyes measured Percy more cautiously, in the way Hogwarts itself seemed to hum faintly when Harry and Percy crossed paths.
The balance had shifted.
And though no one yet understood it, that night had been the turning point.
Not just for Harry Potter — but for the destiny of everyone who called the castle home.
Chapter 3 — Fires and Friendships
The days after the troll attack changed everything at Hogwarts.
Not visibly, not in some grand declaration — but in the smaller ways that mattered more: the way Hermione began sitting beside Harry and Ron at breakfast instead of across the table, the way the three of them fell into easy rhythm during classes, finishing each other's sentences, covering each other's mistakes.
Where there had once been awkward silences, there was now laughter. Where there had been tension, there was trust.
It felt natural, as if the troll had knocked more than a bathroom wall down — it had broken the walls between them too.
That morning, the Great Hall was warmer than usual, sunlight spilling through enchanted windows in long gold stripes. The pumpkin decorations had been replaced by ivy and shimmering autumn leaves. The Halloween chaos had passed, but the energy of it lingered — a strange, electric awareness that Hogwarts had come too close to something dangerous, and survived.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry sat between Ron and Hermione as they tore through plates of toast and bacon. Hermione was reading a book even as she ate — "Hogwarts: A History," again — and Ron was halfway through his second helping when he said through a mouthful of food,
"You know, I reckon we should've got a medal or something. A troll! And we survived. That's proper hero stuff, that is."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You got lucky."
Harry smiled faintly. "Yeah, Ron. If that spell hadn't worked—"
"It did work," Ron interrupted proudly, pointing his fork. "And that's what matters."
Hermione sighed but smiled, turning a page. "You really are impossible."
Neville, sitting across from them, laughed nervously. "I still can't believe you two faced a troll. I can barely manage a toad."
"Don't worry," Harry said kindly. "You'll get there. Just… maybe not with trolls."
That got a round of laughter. Even Hermione's stern look softened.
Across the hall, at the Slytherin table, Percy leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. Artemis was pouring herself pumpkin juice while Athena absently traced a rune onto the tablecloth, her mind clearly elsewhere.
"They're finally bonding," Artemis said quietly, watching the Gryffindor trio with an amused smile.
"They're meant to," Athena replied. "Some bonds form only in crisis. Mortals seem to need danger to remember they're alive."
Percy's eyes lingered on Harry. "He's beginning to draw others to him naturally," he murmured. "Not through fame — through gravity."
"Your influence," Artemis said softly.
Percy shook his head. "No. His own choices. That's the difference."
He sipped his drink, his gaze flicking briefly toward the staff table. Dumbledore was watching too — smiling as though nothing in the world could surprise him. But Percy saw through it; the Headmaster's fingers drummed absently on the table, his eyes distant, calculating.
Snape, beside him, looked sour enough to curdle milk.
By afternoon, the castle had regained its rhythm. Classes resumed, lessons flowed, and the older students had already turned the troll incident into legend.
"You heard what happened?" Seamus said loudly in the corridor. "Harry Potter, facing a troll with only a stick and guts—"
"It was a wand," Hermione corrected automatically, passing by with her books.
Dean laughed. "Same thing, isn't it?"
Ron looked pleased with the attention. "Yeah, well, I was there too, you know."
"Course you were, mate," Seamus said with a grin. "And what were you doing? Taking notes?"
The laughter that followed was harmless, but it set off the smallest flicker of irritation in Ron's chest. Harry caught the look and nudged him lightly.
"Hey," Harry said, "don't let it bother you."
Ron shrugged. "Doesn't. Just—" He hesitated, scowling. "You're getting all the glory, that's all."
Harry frowned. "I didn't want any glory."
"I know," Ron muttered, his tone softer now. "It's just—never mind."
Harry didn't press. Percy had taught him that sometimes, silence was the better answer.
That evening, the Gryffindor common room was a chaos of warmth and noise. The fire roared in the hearth, casting orange light on walls hung with banners and old moving portraits. Students sprawled on the sofas, laughing, swapping Halloween stories, playing Wizard's Chess.
Harry and Hermione sat cross-legged near the fire, helping Neville with his Transfiguration notes. Ron, predictably, was challenging Seamus to another game of chess, grinning like nothing in the world could go wrong.
Hermione looked up suddenly. "You're distracted," she said.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"You keep glancing at the portrait hole."
Harry hesitated. "I was just… thinking."
"About what?"
He hesitated again. "About Percy."
Hermione tilted her head. "You mean that Slytherin you're friends with?"
Harry smiled faintly. "Not just Slytherin. He's… different. He makes you feel like he's always five steps ahead, but he never looks down on you for it."
Hermione pursed her lips. "That's rare."
Harry nodded. "He said once that being brave doesn't mean rushing in first. It means knowing when not to."
He poked at the fire thoughtfully. "I think I'm starting to understand what he meant."
Far below, in the Slytherin common room, the mood was colder. The green-tinted light reflected off the lake through high windows, and the conversation was hushed but sharp.
Draco Malfoy sat near the fire, his expression stormy.
"Potter's little stunt won him a fan club," he sneered. "McGonagall's giving him Quidditch privileges, everyone's talking about him, and now he's friends with that mudblood girl."
"Language, Draco," Daphne Greengrass said smoothly from the sofa. "You're starting to sound like your father."
Draco flushed, glaring. "You don't understand, Daphne. Potter's dangerous."
Blaise smirked. "Dangerous? He's a first-year."
"So was Chronos," Draco muttered darkly. "And look what he turned into."
For a moment, the others went silent. The mention of Percy's name carried weight — not fear, exactly, but something close to awe.
"He's not like us," Daphne said finally. "Whatever he is, he's not just a student. Even the castle treats him differently."
Draco slammed his hand on the table. "Exactly! And Potter's following him around like an apprentice. If Chronos is training him, we're all finished."
Blaise chuckled. "Then perhaps you should stop provoking him."
Later that night, in Percy's private quarters, the firelight cast soft golden patterns over ancient stone. Artemis was sprawled lazily on the couch, her hair cascading like silver threads, while Athena sat beside Percy, reading aloud from a small book of enchantments she'd borrowed from the library.
"Harry's friendship with the girl is a good sign," Athena said softly, closing the book. "He's beginning to balance logic and instinct."
Artemis smiled. "He's learning compassion. That's rarer than courage."
Percy leaned back, eyes half-closed. "And compassion will be his greatest weapon — and his greatest pain."
Artemis reached over, touching his hand. "You speak like a prophet."
He smiled faintly. "I've seen enough to know how stories like his unfold."
Athena's gaze softened. "You almost sound sad."
"Not sad," he said quietly. "Just… aware."
They sat in silence for a while. Outside, the water from the Black Lake shimmered faintly against the walls. The castle seemed to hum, alive with whispers — the gossip of students, the restless magic of portraits, the sigh of ghosts moving through the night.
Artemis broke the quiet first, leaning against Percy's shoulder. "You know," she murmured, "if we're to live among mortals, we might as well enjoy their dramas."
Athena smirked. "Jealousy, ambition, pride — their favourite poisons. They amuse me endlessly."
Percy chuckled lowly. "Then you'll enjoy what's coming. Draco's pride will not rest quietly."
The next morning, Harry found a surprise waiting at breakfast: a small, wrapped parcel and a note written in neat, looping script.
"From Professor McGonagall," Hermione read over his shoulder, eyes wide. "It's your broom!"
Harry grinned, unwrapping it carefully to reveal the sleek, polished handle of a Nimbus Two Thousand. Gasps filled the Gryffindor table. Even Percy, across the hall, allowed himself a small, approving nod.
Draco's glare from the Slytherin table could have melted stone.
Ron let out a low whistle. "You're going to be brilliant, mate."
Harry smiled, excitement and nerves twisting together in his chest. "Yeah," he said softly, running his fingers along the broom's shaft. "I just hope I don't fall off."
Hermione smiled, her tone teasing but kind. "You won't. You're a natural."
Percy's voice, faint but clear, drifted across the hall: "Confidence, not fear, Potter. The wind listens to those who believe they can fly."
Harry looked up, met his friend's eyes, and nodded.
That night, as the castle lights dimmed and students drifted toward sleep, Harry found himself lying awake in the Gryffindor dormitory. The sounds of soft breathing filled the room — Ron snoring, Neville shifting in his bed, the wind whispering against the windows.
Hedwig stirred on her perch, giving a soft cry. Harry smiled at her silhouette against the moonlight.
For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he felt whole.
He had friends.
He had purpose.
He had something to believe in.
And somewhere deep in the castle, a quiet figure in green robes watched over him, knowing that the true tests — the ones that would shape them all — were still to come.