Harry's approach to navigating the halls of Hogwarts had changed significantly. Previously, he walked with a confident nonchalance, unconcerned about being caught by teachers or prefects. Now, every movement was deliberate, and he scrutinized his surroundings with vigilance. The memory of the burn mark on his basilisk hide armor haunted him, leaving a lasting impression.
Even Hermione and Neville noticed his transformation.
"Harry, you're acting... differently," Hermione remarked one evening in the library, observing him glance at the door for the fifth time within minutes.
"Paranoid, you mean," Neville added cautiously, though not unkindly.
Harry leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "Not paranoid. Careful. Someone in this castle tried to kill me, and I'll be damned if I give them another chance."
Although Hermione wanted to protest, the icy determination in Harry's voice silenced her.
A few days later, Fred and George caught Harry by the portrait hole.
"Potter," Fred whispered with a mischievous smile.
"We heard about your little... incident," George chimed in.
"And we thought you'd need this more than we do."
They handed Harry a creased, worn piece of parchment.
"What's this?" Harry asked, suspicion evident in his tone.
Fred and George exchanged a knowing look. "Something that kept us out of trouble for years."
"Or got us into it," George corrected.
As Harry unfolded the parchment, he felt the rush of powerful magic. His eyes widened as the ink swirled into an elaborate map of Hogwarts, with tiny dots labeled with names moving across the page.
"The Marauder's Map," Fred declared proudly. "It shows everyone—students, teachers, even ghosts. There's no fooling it."
Harry watched the names shift: Dumbledore in his office, Snape in the dungeons, Filch lurking near the library. It was precisely what he needed.
Hermione gasped when she saw it. "Do you two even realize how dangerous—"
But Harry interrupted, his voice low and menacing. "This is exactly what I need. With this, no one can sneak up on me again."
From that moment on, Harry navigated Hogwarts with heightened caution. He referenced the map before traversing any corridors or entering classrooms. Any time he spotted a dubious dot—like someone lingering too long in a deserted hallway—he would wait, concealed beneath his invisibility cloak, until they moved along.
Hermione sighed one afternoon when she caught him fixated on the map again. "Harry, this isn't healthy. You can't just assume everyone's out to get you."
His gaze remained on the parchment. "Maybe not everyone. But one person is. And I'm going to find them."
"Who do you suspect?" Neville asked, shifting uncomfortably beside him.
"I don't know. But they'll regret ever trying," Harry replied, clenching his fist as faint sparks of black lightning flickered across his knuckles before disappearing.
Later that evening, Harry withdrew to the Gryffindor dormitory, drawing the curtains of his four-poster bed and pulling out the communication mirror Sirius had sent.
He whispered, "Sirius Black," causing the surface to ripple.
Sirius's grinning face appeared, framed by long, dark hair that appeared healthier than it had in previous months. Behind him stretched a grand room with tall windows, white stone walls, and chandeliers adorned with floating candles.
"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed. "There you are. Check out the new place in Sweden. Our own mansion! What do you think?"
"It's beautiful," Harry replied, eyes wide with amazement.
Sirius chuckled. "Not quite Hogwarts, but close. It's got safe wards all over. You'd love it here."
Harry's expression darkened. "Sirius, someone tried to curse me at Hogwarts. From behind."
Sirius's demeanor shifted instantly. "What? Are you hurt?"
"No," Harry said, pulling back his cloak slightly to reveal the scorched patch on his basilisk-hide armor. "The armor saved me, but the curse was powerful enough to leave a mark. Without it, I'd be dead."
Sirius swore vehemently. "I'm coming to Hogwarts. Tonight. We'll pack your things and leave for Sweden. You shouldn't stay in that death trap."
Harry firmly shook his head. "No. I'm staying here."
Sirius looked incredulous. "Harry, you could transfer schools—Beauxbatons, Durmstrang—anywhere safer. You don't need to prove anything."
Harry's calm voice carried a steely edge. "I'm not running away, Sirius. I can take care of myself. You've taught me well. Plus, I have a map that shows everyone in the castle."
At the mention of the map, Sirius brightened. "The map! You have it?"
Harry pulled it from his robes. "The twins gave it to me. I've been using it since the attack."
Sirius's eyes sparkled with mischief and nostalgia. "Do you know who created that map? Me, your father James, Remus, and even Peter when we thought he was our friend. We were the Marauders. We mapped every secret passage and moving staircase."
Harry felt a lump in his throat at the mention of his father. "So, it's not just a map. It's my inheritance."
"Exactly," Sirius said proudly. "It's your father's legacy—ours. We used it to sneak into Hogsmeade, spy on Filch, and explore the castle like kings. Now it's yours. Use it wisely."
Since the attack, Harry had grown sharper. Every step felt like moving through enemy territory. His trust was fragile—Hermione, Neville, Dobby… everyone else was suspect.
That evening, wrapped in his invisibility cloak, he crouched on the moving staircase with the Marauder's Map faintly glowing in his hand. Names shifted lazily across the parchment. "Snape—dungeons. Malfoy—Slytherin common room. Nott—wandering alone."
A thin smile crept across his lips. Just suspicious enough.
He descended the stairs, his cloak brushing against the floor, and tracked Theodore Nott's name on the map.
Nott strolled the dungeon corridor as if he had all the time in the world, twirling his wand between his fingers. He paused by the Potions classroom, murmured something, and tapped the wall with his wand. Nothing happened.
Harry narrowed his eyes from the shadows. Is he practicing? Signaling? Waiting?
"Come out, whoever you are," Nott muttered suddenly, turning his head.
Harry's heart raced, but his cloak held. He pressed against the cold stone wall, suppressing a laugh. Feeling paranoid, are we? Good. Stay alert.
The following night, Harry decided to observe Snape more closely. He shadowed the Potions Master through the castle, moving quietly behind him as Snape stalked with his usual frown.
Snape abruptly stopped near the staff room, muttering to himself. Harry strained to listen.
"...reckless boy...too much power...must be controlled..."
Harry clenched his fists beneath the cloak. Is he talking about me?
Snape glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes, and for a second, Harry felt the man might sense him. But Snape turned away and entered the staff room.
Harry exhaled slowly, his tension easing. If he had the courage, he'd have cursed me to my face. But no… Snape hides his malice in whispers.
It wasn't just Slytherins he watched. He tracked Ravenclaws who lingered too long in the library, Hufflepuffs with twitchy fingers on their wands, and even fellow Gryffindors who seemed to laugh a bit too hard when he entered the room.
One afternoon, he told Hermione, "Even Gryffindors can turn bad. Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, wasn't he?"
Hermione tried to protest. "That doesn't mean everyone is a threat, Harry. You can't—"
But Harry cut her off, resolute. "I can and I will. I won't end up dead because I trusted the wrong person."
Neville, observing him, swallowed hard but stayed silent.
While Harry had never particularly liked Percy, suspicion was a new emotion. The Weasleys were good people; Harry had lived in the Burrow and experienced warmth he'd never known from the Dursleys. But Percy was different. Always pompous and self-important, he now seemed to take it to an exaggerated level.
Every encounter with Percy revealed him wearing brand-new, trendy cloaks that seemed out of place for someone from such a modest family. Percy strutted through the halls like a peacock, chin held high, boasting about ministry reforms and reciting the latest directives from Cornelius Fudge.
Harry thought bitterly, He's making me look worse with every passing day. Always praising the ministry while they drag my name through the mud.
Harry observed more closely. When he thought no one could see him, Percy often gathered with small groups of students or junior ministry clerks, whispering about "Potter's arrogance" or "how shameful it was for a boy to defy the ministry's authority."
It irritated him more than Harry wanted to admit. Unlike Malfoy's insults, which he could ignore, this was a Weasley—someone connected to the only family he had ever considered his own.
Why is he doing this? Harry clenched his fists one evening after overhearing Percy ridicule him in the Entrance Hall. The ministry loathed me for refusing to play their games, for exposing their incompetence at Rita's trial. Is Percy intentionally fanning the flames?
When he quietly mentioned it to Hermione and Neville in the library, Hermione frowned.
"Percy has always been ambitious, Harry. But badmouthing you like that? It's disgraceful."
Neville added cautiously, "Maybe... maybe he's jealous. You've always been in the spotlight, Harry. Percy's the type who'd do anything to get noticed."
Harry's jaw tightened. "Jealousy doesn't justify the new robes or his newfound obsession with defending the ministry. He's playing a dangerous game, and I don't like it."
Hermione looked uneasy but refrained from arguing, understanding that Harry's instincts were usually accurate.
From that point on, Harry kept track of Percy on his mental list of watchful eyes. Alongside the shadowy Slytherins, careless Hufflepuffs, and the professors he no longer trusted blindly, Percy's name burned in his mind.
Every time Percy strutted by in his glossy robes, smiling ingratiatingly at ministry officials and gossiping about Harry's "arrogance," the seed of distrust took root deeper.
And Harry vowed to himself: If Percy is working against me, if he's feeding the ministry lies, I will uncover it. And when I do… he'll pay dearly.
Harry didn't need to ask. The moment Fred and George noticed him closely monitoring Percy, they confronted him one evening near the library.
"Got something for you, Harry," Fred said, twirling a roll of parchment.
"Something juicy," George added, grinning. "You're not the only one who can track people with a map."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What did you find?"
Fred spoke seriously. "Percy isn't just flaunting his new robes because he's proud. He's acting as Barty Crouch's stand-in. Crouch is very ill, and Percy's been receiving instructions by letter."
George leaned closer. "For all intents and purposes, Percy holds Crouch's authority right now. He's signing documents, attending meetings, even giving orders. And—" George's grin widened—"he's been bragging about it every chance he gets."
Harry processed this information quietly, but the twins weren't finished.
"Here's the worst part," Fred said grimly. "He told Ron that severing ties with you was the best decision he ever made."
Harry's jaw tensed. "What?"
George mimicked Percy's pompous voice. "'Being friends with Potter will destroy your reputation with the elites, Ronald. It's better to stand with the Ministry, better to stand with me.'"
Harry let out a bitter laugh. "So it's about reputation. Position. Power."
Fred's expression intensified. "Percy has an agenda, Harry. He's not just being conceited; he's climbing the ladder—potentially using you as a stepping stone."
Later that night, as Harry sat with Hermione and Neville, the twins' words troubled him.
Hermione attempted to reassure him. "Harry, Percy's always been ambitious. He probably doesn't realize how risky this sounds."
But Harry shook his head. "No, this isn't mere ambition. He's involved in a game with the Ministry, and I'm the pawn he's trying to remove."
Neville shifted uncomfortably. "Do you... think he could be the one who attacked you?"
Harry's gaze hardened. "I don't know yet. But Percy Weasley just moved up to the top of my list."