HP: Fragments Of A Legacy

The Slytherin common room had returned to its usual calm, though a perceptible shift lingered in the atmosphere. The tension that had arisen after the night of the duel had somewhat dissipated but not entirely. In the days that followed, students openly avoided discussing recent events. Fleeting glances, hushed whispers, and an air of caution became part of the routine.

However, everyone could sense that the long-established hierarchies, built over years, had started to crack. While most students pretended everything was normal, an underlying caution pervaded the environment.

Beneath the surface calm, whispers had not ceased since that night. Some wondered whether Lucian had acted on impulse or meticulously calculated every detail of his victory. Regardless, they all concluded that he had navigated Slytherin's internal politics with ruthless precision.

Lucian had become the focal point of silent attention, even more so than before. He had made no grand gestures since that night, but his presence, reinforced by his calm and assured demeanor, had begun to subtly attract followers.

Sitting in his usual armchair by the fireplace, Lucian leafed through a book with a serene expression, his eyes scanning the pages while occasionally observing others from the corner of his eye. Over the past few days, a small group of supporters had formed around him. Younger students, particularly those dissatisfied with the traditional authority figures, gravitated toward him.

Even the fifth-year student who had been humiliated by Flint and Rosier had started sitting regularly near Lucian. A reserved young man, he had earned Lucian's respect for being the first of his year to take a stand.

Lucian's thoughts were interrupted when he noticed two familiar figures approaching. Cassandra walked with her characteristic restrained grace, while Helena, more relaxed, cast curious glances around the room. It had become an unspoken routine for the three of them to meet in the common room before heading to the Great Hall.

"It's a pleasure to see you both this morning," Lucian said, closing his book and standing with a deliberate yet natural gesture.

"Always so theatrical," Cassandra commented. Though her words could have sounded critical, her tone was neutral, almost complicit.

"Someone has to uphold traditions," Lucian replied with a hint of sarcasm and a shrug that earned a wider smile from Helena.

As they headed toward the exit, the whispers in the common room seemed to quiet. Helena, though growing accustomed to life at Hogwarts, couldn't help but feel uneasy about the constant attention their group attracted, even if it was directed primarily at Lucian.

"People are still watching you," she murmured, her tone tinged with concern.

Lucian barely nodded, not bothering to lower his voice when he responded.

"And they will continue to. Habits are hard to break. But it doesn't matter. Nor should it matter to you."

The simplicity of his words carried a certainty that Helena couldn't help but envy.

When they arrived at the Great Hall, the scene was much the same as in previous days. The usual clamor filled the air, but the glances directed at the Slytherin table persisted. Now, however, the divisions within the table were even more pronounced.

The once cohesive space was now distinctly divided into three zones. To the right sat mostly older students, sixth and seventh years. Many came from pure-blood families and had spent years under the old norms.

Flint and Rosier sat with downcast gazes and subdued attitudes. Their failure on that fateful night had significantly diminished their prestige, relegating them to a secondary position within the group. Despite their appearance of unity, the cohesion of their faction seemed more a result of habit than genuine loyalty.

At the center of the table sat a mix of students from all years, notably larger than the faction on the right. This group seemed to have adopted a neutral stance, observing the situation without taking sides. Arthur was among them, keeping to himself with a calculating look. For this group, it was evident that any misstep could have consequences, so they remained watchful, waiting to see which side would gain strength before committing.

Finally, on the left side, where the trio had taken their seats, a small group had formed. Lucian had established himself as the epicenter of what appeared to be an emerging new force within the house.

Helena let out a barely audible sigh as she observed the atmosphere around her. The change was palpable, and although she had learned to adapt since her arrival, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the tensions hanging in the air.

"This is... different," she murmured, speaking more to herself than anyone else.

Lucian offered a faint smile, setting his cup down on its saucer with the same measured calm with which he had been observing everything. He didn't look directly at Helena as he responded, as though his words were more a personal reflection than an explanation for her.

"It's natural," he commented in a tranquil voice, as if the chaos around him didn't affect him. "Changes, however small, always bring uncertainty. And uncertainty divides. Some cling to the past, afraid to lose what they know and the power they hold, while others move toward the future, seeking something better—even if there are no guarantees they'll find it."

Lucian paused, his gaze still fixed on his cup as though his words were meant to float in the air, ready to be absorbed by those who wished to hear them. Then he raised his eyes slightly to meet Helena's, a spark of interest in them that seemed almost challenging.

"The interesting part, of course, is seeing who has the courage to cross the bridge before knowing if it will hold."

The conversations in the Great Hall carried on until a jet-black owl soared majestically through the open windows. Its imposing wings glistened under the light of the floating candles, and its presence didn't go unnoticed. The bird seemed to have a clear purpose, descending with precision to land in front of Lucian at the Slytherin table.

Helena, seated nearby, watched the owl with a mix of fascination and curiosity.

"It's beautiful," she remarked, as Lucian deftly untied the parchment from its leg with the ease of someone accustomed to receiving such correspondence.

Lucian didn't respond immediately. He carefully unrolled the parchment and read the words within, his expression initially impassive. However, by the end, a slight frown appeared on his face—barely perceptible, but enough for Helena to notice.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, leaning slightly toward him as if trying to decipher the message from his expression.

Lucian calmly rolled up the parchment and tucked it into the inner pocket of his robe. Then, he extended a hand to stroke the owl, which accepted the gesture with dignity before taking flight, disappearing through the same windows it had entered.

"Nothing important," he replied, his tone casual but deliberately evasive.

Helena raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

"Nothing important? Then why the face?"

Lucian let out a quiet sigh, allowing himself a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"It's nothing, really. Just a trivial matter someone has chosen to dramatize."

Helena seemed ready to press him further, but something about Lucian's posture—relaxed yet firm—indicated she wouldn't get any more answers. She decided to let it go, though the doubt lingered in the air.

"If you say so…" she murmured at last, though her gaze remained fixed on him with a hint of distrust.

Lucian simply returned to his cup, drinking with a tranquility that contrasted with the slight frown he had shown moments earlier. However, anyone paying close attention would have noticed that, while his posture remained impeccable, his fingers subtly toyed with the edge of the cup, as though his mind was occupied with something far deeper than he let on.

…

Lucian walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, accompanied by Cassandra and Helena, who were speaking in hushed tones about the upcoming flying lesson. It was a joint session with Gryffindor, something that seemed to excite Helena in particular. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she discussed the possibilities of flying for the first time.

"It'll be amazing to feel the wind on my face," Helena said, her smile revealing her enthusiasm.

"Or to end up with your nose full of dirt if you don't know how to land," Cassandra replied in her characteristically dry tone, though a faint glint in her eyes suggested she was enjoying the conversation.

Lucian, quieter, listened as he kept pace with them. He couldn't help but think that flying on a broomstick seemed like an unnecessary, almost primitive activity compared to other magical possibilities.

Just as they approached the courtyard leading to the flying grounds, a firm, authoritative voice sounded behind them.

"Mr. Grindelwald, a word."

Lucian stopped calmly, turning slightly to see Professor Snape. Cassandra and Helena exchanged glances, also halting but keeping a respectful distance.

"Is something wrong, Professor?" Lucian asked in a neutral tone.

Snape didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gestured slightly with his hand, indicating that Lucian should follow him.

"Come with me. Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you."

Lucian showed no sign of surprise. He shared a brief glance with his companions, as if to signal them to continue without him. Then, he complied, falling into step behind the professor.

As they walked toward the headmaster's office, a heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of their footsteps echoing off the stone floors. Eventually, Snape spoke, his voice low but weighted with intent.

"It's unusual for a first-year to cause such a stir in their house so soon."

Lucian, maintaining his unhurried stride, glanced at the professor before replying, his tone carefully measured.

"I don't believe it's worth mentioning. I've merely employed the same strategies that others before me have used."

Snape let out an ambiguous sound, something between a scoff and a restrained chuckle, but he kept his gaze fixed ahead.

"Do you truly think this all boils down to simple strategies, Grindelwald?" he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. "The difference between a successful strategist and one who's forgotten lies not in the tools they use, but in how they wield them—and, more importantly, how they face the consequences."

Lucian maintained his composed demeanor, though the calculating gleam in his eyes sharpened.

"Every action carries risks, Professor, but also opportunities. I've done nothing more than explore the options available. If that generates reactions… it's not entirely within my control."

Snape stopped abruptly at a crossroads in the corridor, turning to face him. The dim torchlight cast sharp shadows across his severe features.

"Reactions, Mr. Grindelwald, are precisely what you should concern yourself with. Slytherin thrives in the margins of alliances and secrets. Disrupting that balance can be both an achievement and a sentence."

Lucian didn't flinch under the professor's intense gaze. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as though carefully considering his words.

"I understand your point, Professor. But stability doesn't always mean progress. Sometimes, a small shift is necessary to uncover new opportunities."

"Your confidence is remarkable, though it seems to verge on recklessness. Let me tell you this, Mr. Grindelwald: Do not let the security you feel in your perceived control blind your judgment. That very confidence has been the downfall of many wizards before you."

"I appreciate your advice, Professor," Lucian replied finally, his voice calm and reflective.

The silence returned between them, though it was not uncomfortable. Lucian followed the professor, pondering the words he had just heard. He couldn't deny there was truth in Snape's warnings, but he also knew that change always came at a price. The question was whether he was willing to pay it.

When they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office, Snape muttered the password in a barely audible whisper. The statue shifted slowly, revealing the staircase leading upward.

"Go on," Snape instructed, his voice reverting to its usual cold and distant tone. "Do not keep Professor Dumbledore waiting."

Lucian gave a brief nod before beginning his ascent.

…

As Lucian entered the headmaster's office, he immediately noticed something different: Fawkes, the phoenix, was absent from his perch. The room seemed quieter than usual, though it still radiated the solemn and enigmatic atmosphere that had characterized it during his previous visits. Dumbledore was bent over a parchment, his attention fully focused on the lines written in black ink. The candlelight flickered gently, casting shadows that appeared to come alive on the walls, lined with magical artifacts.

The sound of the door closing behind Lucian broke the headmaster's apparent concentration. He looked up, and for a brief moment, Lucian caught a glimmer in his half-moon glasses. Was it curiosity? Caution? Whatever it was, Dumbledore quickly concealed it behind a warm smile.

"Lucian, how good to see you. Please, have a seat," he said, his tone perfectly balanced between warmth and authority.

Lucian inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. With measured steps, he approached the desk and took the offered seat. His eyes discreetly roamed the room, a habit deeply ingrained. It didn't matter how many times he had been in a particular place; he always tried to notice something new about it.

"Professor Snape mentioned you wanted to see me," he said, his voice steady, devoid of any hint of curiosity or unease.

Dumbledore nodded calmly, intertwining his fingers on the desk as if carefully weighing his words.

"That is correct. Sometimes I find it better to address certain matters personally. Ah, and you needn't worry about your class with Madam Hooch; she has already been informed about our conversation."

Lucian didn't respond immediately. He simply nodded and waited. He had learned that, with people like Dumbledore, silence could be just as effective as words.

"I must tell you," Dumbledore continued, his tone remaining gentle, though tinged with seriousness, "that, as in any institution, Hogwarts is not exempt from differing opinions. The Board of Governors has received a few letters from parents… concerned about your presence here."

He paused, observing Lucian carefully, searching for any sign of emotion on his face. But the young man revealed nothing, his composure unbroken.

"It was to be expected," Lucian replied neutrally, his gaze fixed on the headmaster.

Dumbledore's smile took on a faint trace of sadness.

"Regrettably, prejudice and fear are persistent companions of ignorance. Names and histories often carry shadows that some prefer not to leave behind."

Lucian held his gaze, showing no trace of surprise or indignation.

"So, what will happen?" he asked, his tone impeccable.

"There is nothing to worry about—for now," Dumbledore replied, his tone light, almost nonchalant, though his eyes remained fixed on Lucian, evaluating him. "Most of the Board considers these concerns unfounded. However, as a precaution, attention will be paid to how events unfold."

Lucian didn't react immediately. The phrase "as a precaution" was enough for him to draw his own conclusions. After a brief silence, he raised his chin slightly.

"I suppose that, too, was to be expected," he finally murmured, granting it no further importance.

The room fell silent for a moment, though not uncomfortably so. Dumbledore, ever observant, seemed to weigh his next words carefully. At last, he spoke in his characteristic warm tone, though this time with an interest he made no effort to hide.

"I hope I'm not being too forward, Lucian, but it's impossible not to notice certain changes that have occurred in your house since your arrival."

Lucian met Dumbledore's gaze with calculated calm. He didn't respond immediately, allowing the weight of the headmaster's words to hang in the air before replying.

"Well, I suppose it was inevitable. Even if it hadn't been because of me, I'm certain others would have stepped forward to try to change things," he said, pausing briefly before adding, "I only sped up the process a little."

Dumbledore offered a small smile, light but meaningful, inclining his head as though he appreciated Lucian's reflection.

"Very possible. I have no doubt that Slytherin has young people of great talent and good character, though their gifts are often expressed in ways the rest of the school doesn't always fully understand."

Lucian maintained the headmaster's gaze, attempting to decipher the subtext of his words, but his expression remained unreadable. After a moment of silence, he decided to press on.

"Time often reveals the true nature of things, Professor. Actions, in the end, speak louder than words."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes shining with a mix of interest and approval.

"That's true, Lucian. Yet, there are moments when even our actions can be misunderstood, regardless of the purity of our intentions. Sometimes, the right path isn't the easiest, especially when circumstances are unfair."

Lucian tilted his head slightly, showing he was listening attentively but did not interrupt.

"It is in those moments," Dumbledore continued, his tone growing more reflective, "that our true character is tested. Doing what is right, even in the face of misunderstanding or rejection, is one of the greatest challenges we face."

There was a subtle shift in Lucian's expression, a flicker of what might have been curiosity or skepticism.

"And what defines what is right, Professor?" he finally asked, his voice calm but with an edge that betrayed his hunger for an answer.

Dumbledore smiled softly, as though he had been expecting the question.

"Ah, that is a question many great witches and wizards have sought to answer throughout the centuries. For me, doing what is right often means protecting the dignity and well-being of others, even when it requires personal sacrifice. A simple concept in appearance, but challenging in execution."

Lucian considered the headmaster's words, letting their weight settle in his mind before responding.

"That's quite a burden, Professor. One, I believe, no one should have to bear."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his expression touched with a trace of melancholy.

"I agree with you, Lucian. None of us should have to carry so much. Yet, fate often seems to have other plans. Even so, I've learned that those who come to shoulder that burden often find, in time, that they also possess the strength to bear it—even if they are not aware of it at first."

Lucian kept his gaze on the headmaster, processing the words carefully. Finally, he nodded, allowing a hint of consideration to cross his face.

"I'll have to think about what you've said, Professor," he replied, his tone calm but respectful, as he rose from his seat with measured movements. "Thank you for your advice."

Dumbledore observed him closely, as if assessing every word and gesture. He seemed to deliberate whether to add something further but ultimately chose to remain silent.

"It's always a pleasure to talk with you, Lucian. If you ever feel the need for guidance, my door will be open."

Lucian inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment and, without another word, made his way to the door.

As he descended the spiral staircase, he couldn't help but replay the conversation in his mind. Dumbledore's words, though spoken with the headmaster's characteristic gentleness, carried a profound weight and a wisdom that was difficult to ignore. Lucian realized that, behind that kind facade, there was a wizard who truly understood the complexity of the world and the decisions it demanded.

Truly worthy of being considered one of the greatest wizards of this age, he thought to himself as he disappeared into the corridors of Hogwarts.

…

At half past three in the afternoon, Helena, along with Cassandra, stood in the field where their first flying lesson was about to take place. It was a shame that Lucian had been called by the headmaster; perhaps she could ask him later about what they had discussed.

The day was clear and windy. The grass swayed under their feet as they walked down the sloping terrain toward a meadow on the far side of the Forbidden Forest, whose trees swayed ominously in the distance.

When the Gryffindors finally reached the field, the Slytherins were already there. Shortly afterward, the instructor, Madam Hooch, arrived. She was short, with graying hair and yellow eyes like a hawk's. Helena thought all the professors at Hogwarts seemed to have some distinctive peculiarity, and Hooch was no exception.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" barked Madam Hooch. "Everyone beside a broomstick. Quickly now!"

Helena glanced at her broom. It was old, with a few twigs sticking out at odd angles.

"Wow, is this class really that underfunded?" Cassandra whispered, grimacing in disdain.

Helena stifled a smile as she extended her right hand over the broom, following the instructor's directions.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch said firmly, "and say 'Up!'"

"Up!" everyone shouted.

Helena's broom leapt immediately into her hand, as did Harry's. Cassandra managed it just as easily, but Daphne Greengrass, one of her dormmates, only succeeded in making her broom roll over on the ground. Tracey Davis wasn't so lucky—her broom remained stubbornly still.

Madam Hooch went on to teach them how to mount their brooms, correcting each student's posture with patience. Helena felt a small sense of satisfaction when she saw Malfoy scowl as Madam Hooch pointed out he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground hard," Madam Hooch explained. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a meter or two, and then lean forward slightly to come back down. Ready? Three... two..."

But before she could reach one, Neville, visibly nervous, kicked off too soon.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted, but it was too late.

Neville shot upward like a cork from a bottle, climbing four, six meters in mere seconds. His face was pale with terror as he looked down at the rapidly shrinking ground. Barely a moment later, he lost his balance and slipped off the broom.

Thud!

The impact echoed across the field. Neville lay motionless on the grass for a few seconds while his broom continued ascending, disappearing toward the Forbidden Forest.

Madam Hooch rushed to him, her face nearly as pale as the boy's.

"Broken wrist," she murmured while inspecting him. "Come on, lad, you'll be fine. Up you go."

Neville, tears streaming down his face, clutched his wrist as Madam Hooch helped him to his feet.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing," Madam Hooch warned, casting a sharp glance at the group. "Leave your brooms where they are, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'"

With Neville limping beside her, Madam Hooch disappeared toward the castle.

As soon as they were out of sight, Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see the look on that idiot's face?"

A couple of other Slytherins joined in his laughter, but most remained silent, looking uncomfortable.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" one of Harry's classmates snapped.

"Oh, what's this? Are you in love with Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson chimed in, smirking. "Never thought you'd fancy crying little fatties, Parvati."

"Look at this!" Malfoy suddenly exclaimed, bending down to pick something up from the grass. It was Neville's Remembrall, glinting in the sunlight. "That silly thing his granny sent him."

"Give it back, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, though Helena, observing from a distance, could tell his anger was about to boil over. She tried to stop him with her gaze, silently pleading with him not to do anything reckless. But she knew her brother too well—it was futile.

Malfoy grinned smugly, holding the Remembrall like a trophy. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find. How about… the top of a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry roared, but Malfoy had already mounted his broom and taken off.

From above, nestled among the branches of an oak tree, Malfoy taunted him. "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom with determination.

"Don't you dare!" Hermione shouted, alarmed. "Harry, you heard Madam Hooch! She said not to move. You'll get into trouble!"

Helena nodded vigorously, echoing Hermione's concern. But she didn't move to stop him; she knew it would be a waste of effort. A second later, Harry ignored their protests, pushed off hard, and shot into the sky.

The wind tousled his hair, and a daring grin spread across his face as he ascended. Helena felt her heart skip a beat. Images of Neville falling from his broom replayed in her mind.

"Give it back!" Harry yelled as he sped toward Malfoy. "Or I'll make you!"

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy replied, trying to sound defiant, though Helena noticed a slight tremor in his voice.

Helena clutched her chest, a knot of fear tightening in her stomach. Everything happened too fast: Harry launched himself at Malfoy like a missile, and without realizing it, Helena gripped Cassandra's arm beside her. Cassandra's eyes widened slightly in surprise but remained fixed on the scene.

Malfoy veered sharply, barely dodging Harry. He let out a startled yelp as several students clapped and cheered, but Helena couldn't share their enthusiasm. She felt sick, her chest burning with a mix of fear and frustration.

"No Crabbe and Goyle to save you now, Malfoy!" Harry called, diving at him again with the ferocity of a bird of prey.

Visibly shaken, Malfoy changed tactics. "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, throwing the Remembrall as hard as he could before plummeting toward the ground.

Helena's stomach twisted as she watched the small sphere arc through the air, but it was Harry's immediate movement that truly filled her with dread. He dove after the Remembrall without hesitation, hurtling toward what seemed like an inevitable crash with the ground.

Unable to bear it, Helena squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands trembled as she clung to her robes, her mind flooded with terrible images: Harry falling, lying broken and motionless on the grass. Her chest tightened painfully at the thought.

A sharp crack broke through the air, followed by a loud thud and the alarmed cries of several students. The sounds seemed to confirm her worst fears, but then the murmurs around her shifted. Gasps of amazement and applause filled the field.

Slowly, Helena opened her eyes, her heart pounding. In the distance, Harry was descending with perfect control of his broom, a look of pride and relief on his face. His raised hand held the Remembrall, its glass faintly glinting in the sunlight.

Her relief was immediate and overwhelming. She was about to rush to him to check for injuries when a shrill voice cut through the clearing.

"HARRY POTTER!" Professor McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip. Helena turned just in time to see the professor striding toward him, her face pale and visibly trembling.

"Never… in all my years at Hogwarts…" McGonagall was nearly speechless, her glasses flashing with fury. "How dare you…? You could have broken your neck!"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor," Helena tried to say, desperate to defend her brother.

"Quiet, Miss Potter," McGonagall interrupted without even looking at her.

"But Malfoy—" a red-haired boy from the crowd began.

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall snapped sharply. "Harry Potter, come with me."

Helena could do nothing but watch helplessly as the professor marched her brother away, praying he wouldn't be expelled. Uncertainty gnawed at her chest, but soon her attention was drawn by a growing commotion.

Near the edge of the field, a group of students had gathered in a circle. As she approached, she saw Malfoy sitting on the ground, clutching his forehead with a pained expression. Not far from him, the shattered remains of his broom lay scattered on the grass.

Before she could ask anything, a second authoritative voice rang out:

"What happened here? What's the matter, boy?" Madam Hooch appeared on the scene, her voice sharp as she pushed through the students.

A dozen voices spoke at once, explaining what had happened. The Gryffindors were the loudest, clamoring for justice.

"Silence!" Madam Hooch ordered, raising a hand. Her sharp gaze landed on Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy, your actions will cost your house twenty points."

"Twenty?" Malfoy exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Do you disagree?" Madam Hooch retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Considering you disobeyed my orders, damaged school property, and caused conflicts with your peers, I'd say I've been quite lenient."

"But I didn't break the broom! It snapped on its own!" protested Malfoy, pointing at the pieces.

"I'm not interested in your excuses to save face, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Hooch said sharply. "Now, everyone, back to the castle. We've had enough incidents for today."

Under any other circumstances, Helena would have rejoiced in this sort of poetic justice. However, she couldn't feel any satisfaction—not while she didn't know what would happen to Harry for his disobedience. Anxiety still churned in her stomach as she reluctantly followed the rest of the students back to the castle, casting one last glance at the remains of Malfoy's broom.

…

"She did what?" Helena asked incredulously, narrowing her eyes at her brother as if trying to figure out whether he was joking.

It was dinnertime. Originally, she'd planned to head to her table alongside Lucian and Cassandra, but before she could even enter the Great Hall, Harry had completely caught her off guard. With a firm tug, he'd pulled her into a side corridor, leaving her no time to react. She barely managed to cast an apologetic glance at her friends, who looked just as bewildered as she felt by the sudden interruption.

Her surprise, however, wasn't just because of Harry's actions but because of what he had just told her.

"The Seeker. Apparently, it's one of the positions on the Quidditch teams. Wood's going to train me—he's the captain of the Gryffindor team," Harry explained breathlessly, his eyes shining with excitement.

For a moment, Helena simply stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Then her expression transformed into a mixture of astonishment and delight.

"That's incredible!" she exclaimed, matching her brother's enthusiasm. A wide smile lit up her face, contagious as Harry's excitement spread. After all, it was fantastic that he hadn't been expelled.

But then, her mind drifted back to the moment on the flying field. The sharp crack, the impact, the shouting... Her smile faltered.

"Even so, Harry, you really shouldn't be doing such dangerous things," she added, her tone turning more serious—almost motherly.

Her warning seemed to temper her brother's euphoria slightly. Harry looked down, his expression growing more thoughtful. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Finally, Harry raised his eyes, a spark of defiance flickering in them.

"I know, but I couldn't just stand there while Malfoy strutted around. And… I don't know, Helena, it was like—I just knew I could do it. That I wouldn't fall."

Helena sighed. On one hand, she understood how he felt; Harry had always been impulsive, always ready to throw himself into danger without much thought for the consequences. But that didn't make it any less terrifying for her.

"While I'm glad you didn't get expelled, I don't understand how you weren't punished," she said, crossing her arms and frowning, her expression clearly disapproving. "It's like instead of that, you were rewarded."

Harry blinked at her, confused by her tone, and then smiled with a hint of mischief.

"I suppose McGonagall saw my natural talent," he replied, shrugging as if the answer was obvious.

Helena shot him a withering glare.

"Harry, this isn't a game. What you did was reckless and dangerous. Just because it turned out all right this time doesn't mean it always will," she countered, her tone growing sharper.

Harry sighed, dropping his gaze again like a child caught doing something wrong.

"I know, I know," he said, his voice less defiant this time. "But Malfoy was provoking me, and I couldn't just let him get away with it."

"And you think that stopped him?" Helena arched a skeptical eyebrow. "He's probably angrier than ever now and has even more reason to come after you."

Harry stayed silent, unable to refute her words.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't stand up for what's right," Helena continued, her voice softer but no less firm, "but there are ways to do that without putting yourself in harm's way. Someone has to make sure you remember that, and if the professors didn't, then it's my job as your older sister." She placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture both firm and affectionate.

For a moment, Harry didn't say anything. Then, slowly, he nodded, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed that he was still too thrilled by what had happened to take her words completely seriously.

"All right, I'll try," he said at last.

Helena sighed, knowing she would probably have to repeat this conversation more than once in the future. But for now, it would have to do.

"Come on, let's get to the Great Hall before all the food's gone," she said, turning to head toward the dining hall doors.

Harry followed, his excitement slightly tempered but still evident in his bright eyes. Helena couldn't help but smile with a touch of resignation. Despite everything, she was proud of her brother—even if it meant constantly worrying about him.

As they entered the Great Hall, the Potters parted ways to join their respective tables. Harry, brimming with his usual enthusiasm, quickly joined the Gryffindors, while Helena crossed the space toward the Slytherin table. It didn't take her long to spot Lucian and Cassandra already seated at their end. She quickened her pace to reach them, conscious that she owed an explanation for the scene Harry had caused.

"Sorry about Harry—he can be a bit… clumsy at times," Helena said with a small smile as she sat down beside them. Her tone was meant to be lighthearted, though there was a trace of embarrassment in her words.

Lucian shook his head, clearly unbothered.

"Don't worry. It's good to see you get along with your brother," he remarked kindly, taking a sip of his drink. Then, with a faint touch of wistfulness, he added, "I always wanted a younger sister, though it's a bit late for that now. Cassandra is the closest I've got."

Cassandra, who had remained silent until then, raised an eyebrow and shot Lucian a sarcastic look.

"You? A brother?" she said aloud, her tone heavy with skepticism. Then, with a wry smile, she added, "I'm perfectly fine being an only child, thank you very much."

Helena chuckled softly at their dynamic, but before she could say anything, Lucian tilted his head slightly, regarding her with a curiosity that seemed genuine.

"And how are the Muggles you live with?" he asked with apparent innocence, though his gaze suggested he expected more than a surface-level answer.

Helena felt her smile falter for just an instant but quickly recovered. Talking about the Dursleys wasn't something she enjoyed, especially not with Lucian. Not because she disliked him but because she had the unsettling feeling that, with one wrong word, he might uncover more than she wanted to reveal.

It was odd, she thought. Before coming to Hogwarts, very few people had bothered to ask what her life at home was like. Not that it would have mattered; Uncle Vernon had always been very clear: what happened at home stayed at home. No one else needed to know.

Though Helena didn't entirely agree with that rule, she'd come to accept it. Now more than ever, she hoped her new friends would never learn that side of her life. Neither she nor Harry needed that part of their past to tarnish the opportunities the magical world was offering them.

"Oh, they're… normal, I suppose. As normal as any Muggle can be, really," Helena finally replied in a light, almost absent tone, as she poured herself some pumpkin juice. She avoided meeting his gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on her goblet as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the world.

Lucian narrowed his eyes slightly, as though he were dissecting her words with more scrutiny than Helena would have liked.

"Normal?" he repeated, drawing out the word as if testing its flavor. "Well, I suppose I couldn't expect anything else."

His tone was neutral, but Helena couldn't shake the faint prickling of unease. She wasn't sure if she'd satisfied his curiosity or merely piqued it further.

"Yes, normal," she insisted, forcing a casual smile despite the tightness in her chest. Quickly, she shifted the subject, cutting off any opportunity for Lucian to dig deeper. "But tell me, why so much interest in Muggles? Don't you think they're far too dull for someone like you?"

The question seemed to catch Lucian off guard, but a small smile crept across his face.

"On the contrary, I find them absolutely fascinating" he admitted, his tone thoughtful, his eyes reflecting a blend of admiration and curiosity. "Even without magic, they've managed to create marvels that are entirely unique. Their ingenuity is extraordinary, and their progress has been astonishingly swift compared to ours."

Helena raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She hadn't expected someone like Lucian to hold such a perspective on Muggles.

"Swift?" she asked, genuinely curious. "What do you mean?"

Lucian folded his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly.

"Think about it: while the wizarding world seems stagnant, showing little tangible progress, Muggles never stop innovating. From the machines they use to make transportation easier to their methods of communication, they advance at a pace that, in some ways, surpasses ours. They may not have magic, but they've created their own kind of power."

Helena nodded slowly, turning his words over in her mind. Having spent her entire life among Muggles, many of their achievements seemed ordinary to her—things she'd never paused to consider. Since her arrival in the magical world, she had thought its wonder and brilliance made it inherently superior. Yet Lucian's observations were undeniable: at least the parts of the wizarding world she had seen seemed rooted in the past.

"Of course, there are more factors behind this… 'lag,' such as the curious and rather dubious incompatibility between magic and technology," Lucian added in a reflective tone.

Helena raised an eyebrow. She hadn't heard of that before, but the idea sparked something in her, a flicker of curiosity. Perhaps, when she knew more, she could revisit this topic with Lucian.

Seemingly pleased with the direction of their conversation, Lucian carried on, unaware of Helena's momentary silence.

"Although, if you think about it, I believe the real reason is magic itself. It offers us so much convenience that it removes the need for innovation. Instead of seeking new solutions, we simply rely on what we already have—on what makes life easier."

Helena sat quietly for a moment, reflecting. What Lucian said made sense. The wizarding world had advanced in ways Muggles couldn't imagine, but that didn't mean there was a genuine drive for change or progress. Charms and magical objects offered so much ease that there was often no reason to seek alternatives or improve upon what already existed.

Cassandra, who had been listening silently until now, finally chimed in, cutting through the growing seriousness of the discussion.

"If you two want to keep philosophizing about life, do it later. For now, can we focus on something far more important? Like, whether tonight's dessert will be better than pumpkin tart?"

Her comment drew light laughter from all three, dissolving the tension. Though their discussion of Muggles was left unfinished, the atmosphere became lighter, less burdened by heavy thoughts.

So absorbed were they in their conversation that none of them noticed Draco Malfoy approaching the Gryffindor table. A brief argument erupted with Harry, drawing curious glances from the nearby students.

…

Inside, Harry couldn't stop berating himself for falling into Malfoy's trap. How had he been foolish enough to believe Malfoy would be honest or fair? His sister had been right: all his performance during flying class had accomplished was giving Malfoy more reason to hate him.

And now, because of his recklessness, he was running from Filch alongside Hermione, while Ron and Neville had been left behind somewhere. Their original group of four had split up in a desperate attempt to escape. Peeves, as usual, had been no help—choosing instead to follow Ron and Neville, creating a racket that revealed their position. Meanwhile, Filch focused his pursuit on Harry and Hermione, with Mrs. Norris trailing close behind.

The sound of Filch's hurried footsteps echoed through the air, growing closer with each passing second.

"Quick!" Harry exclaimed, glancing frantically around for an escape.

They rounded a corner and spotted a door at the end of the corridor. Harry dashed toward it and tugged at the handle with all his strength.

"It's locked!" he said, panic rising in his voice as he yanked uselessly at the door.

"Let me try," Hermione said decisively, pushing him aside. She pulled out her wand, aimed it at the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora!"

With a soft click, the latch gave way. They slipped inside, shutting the door behind them as quietly as they could. Both held their breath, listening intently. Filch's footsteps paused for a moment outside, then retreated in the opposite direction.

Harry exhaled in relief and turned to Hermione.

"We did it."

But Hermione wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on something else inside the room. Harry followed her line of sight, and the breath froze in his lungs.

In the middle of the room stood an enormous three-headed dog, snoring peacefully. Its heavy breaths rose and fell rhythmically, each exhale sounding like a distant growl. One of its massive front paws twitched slightly, as though it were dreaming.

"What is that?" Harry whispered, horrified.

"A three-headed dog. What does it look like?" Hermione replied, her voice low, as if afraid to wake it.

Harry swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the gaping jaws of one of the heads. The enormous teeth glinted faintly in the dim light, moving slightly with each breath.

"We need to get out of here—carefully," Hermione whispered, grabbing Harry's arm.

They took a step back, then another, making sure to move as quietly as possible. Harry felt like every creak of the floorboards under their feet was an alarm ready to rouse the creature. Hermione's lips were pressed tightly together, and she barely seemed to be breathing.

With hearts pounding, they reached the door. Hermione eased it open with slow, deliberate movements, and the two of them slipped out into the corridor, shutting it gently behind them.

"That was…" Harry began, but Hermione cut him off with an urgent gesture, signaling that it was best to head back to the common room as quickly as possible.

They moved cautiously through the darkened halls, trying to navigate their way back. Their steps were light, but the tension in the air was almost suffocating. Every shadow seemed to hide Filch—or worse, Peeves—and Harry couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something, or someone, was watching them.

"Why did we leave the common room in the first place?" Harry muttered, more to himself than to Hermione.

"Because you decided to take on Malfoy, that's why," she hissed back, her voice low but sharp, her eyes fixed ahead.

"Well, you didn't have to come along…" Harry replied defensively, though the guilt in his tone betrayed that he knew she had a point.

"I wasn't about to let you get into trouble on your own. Though, frankly, we should be thankful Ron and Neville managed to distract Peeves…"

Harry pressed his lips together, but before he could respond, they rounded a corner—and nearly ran straight into a tall figure moving with uncanny stealth. Without thinking, Harry raised his wand, ready to defend himself. But the figure lifted a hand in a calming gesture, signaling them to stop.

"Shh!" the figure hissed authoritatively.

Harry belatedly recognized Lucian, but before he could say anything, the older boy swiftly pulled them toward him and moved his wand in a fluid motion. A silvery shimmer spilled from its tip, and Harry felt an odd chill spread over his skin. Instinctively, he glanced down at his robes and nearly gasped when he realized what had happened: his clothes, even his hands, had taken on the exact texture and color of the stone wall behind him. It was as if he and Hermione had become chameleons, perfectly camouflaged.

"What did you do?" Hermione whispered, barely moving her lips.

"Disillusionment Charm," Lucian replied softly, his tone calm yet firm. He gestured toward the end of the corridor. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."

An instant later, the hurried footsteps of Filch echoed down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable meow of the caretaker's cat. Harry held his breath as Filch appeared at the far end of the corridor, his lantern casting dancing beams of light across the stone walls.

"I know you're here!" Filch growled, his voice rough with frustration as he scanned the corridor. "I can smell your fear…"

The lantern's light passed dangerously close to them, but Lucian's spell held. The cat let out another inquisitive meow, and Harry's heart thundered in his chest, so loud he was certain it would give them away.

After a few tense moments, Filch muttered something under his breath. When his search revealed nothing, he stomped off down another corridor, the cat following at his heels.

Lucian waited a few seconds longer before waving his wand again. The strange chill dissipated, and Harry and Hermione reappeared before each other's eyes.

"Thanks…" Harry murmured, still trying to process what had just happened.

"You're lucky I found you. Otherwise, you'd have walked straight into your punishment," Lucian remarked, his tone casual as he tucked his wand back into his robes with an elegant motion.

His nonchalant attitude seemed almost at odds with the tension lingering in the air. Harry frowned, words forming on his lips, but he thought better of it and stayed silent. Hermione, however, let out a soft sigh, as if weighing the events in her mind.

"Make sure Filch doesn't find you again," Lucian said, gesturing vaguely toward the way they had come. "You should be able to return to your common room without further trouble… if you're careful."

The slight emphasis on the last word made Harry feel childish, like a scolded first-year.

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Harry asked quickly, a trace of urgency in his voice.

Lucian raised an eyebrow, an almost amused glint in his eye.

"I'd prefer not to. But wasn't it Helena who told you to stay out of trouble?" he asked with casual precision, the pointed remark enough to make Harry squirm.

"I was trying to!" Harry shot back defensively, only to be silenced by a sharp elbow from Hermione, a wordless warning not to elaborate.

"Well, you're out of bed too," Harry quickly pointed out, his tone slightly defiant.

Lucian chuckled lightly, shrugging. "Very observant, Potter. But my case is different. I was merely in search of a midnight snack. A far cry from seeking out trouble."

Hermione studied him closely, as though trying to see through his words, but before she could say anything, Lucian stepped back and offered them a small, theatrical bow.

"Take care. And remember, if you cross paths with Filch again, no more Disillusionment Charms will save you." His tone was light, almost mocking, as he turned and walked away.

"Wait!" Harry called out just as Lucian began to vanish into the shadows.

Lucian stopped, half-turning, his expression curious.

"What now?"

Harry lowered his voice slightly, feeling a bit sheepish. "Could you… not tell Helena I was out of bed? I don't need… well, you know, another lecture."

Lucian smiled, and there was something both conspiratorial and enigmatic in the gesture.

"Your secret is safe with me, Potter." He gave Harry a sly wink before disappearing into the dark corridor, his steps so quiet they barely registered on the stone floor.

For a moment, Harry felt relieved, but the feeling didn't last long.

"I wonder what he was really up to," Hermione said abruptly, breaking the silence with a note of determination.

Harry blinked, puzzled. "What? Why do you say that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in a way that conveyed her typical exasperated logic.

"Oh, come on, Harry. No one roams the halls at night, wand at the ready to cast a perfect Disillusionment Charm, just because they're hungry."

Harry opened his mouth to argue but found he had nothing convincing to say.

"Well… he seemed sincere…"

"That doesn't make it true." Hermione sighed, gesturing toward the corridor they needed to take. "Let's go before Filch or Peeves decides to come back."

With one last glance toward the direction Lucian had disappeared, Harry nodded. But as they carefully made their way through the darkened hallways, he couldn't shake the unsettling question: what was Lucian really doing that night?