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The Stormborn - Chapter - 56
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 16:20:12 +0000 UTCThe following Sunday arrived crisp and bright, the air humming with the excitement of a secret.
Hermione and Draco slipped away from the Ravenclaw tower after breakfast, careful to avoid watchful prefects. Their robes fluttered in the autumn breeze as they made their way across the grounds. The Whomping Willow loomed ahead, its gnarled branches already twitching in warning.
Hermione’s heart thumped nervously. “What if someone sees us?”
Draco smirked, twirling his wand. “Then we give them something to talk about.” He pointed at a nearby stick and flicked his wand. “Wingardium Leviosa.”
The stick rose, bobbing in the air like a puppet. Draco guided it forward, weaving past the Willow’s snapping branches until it tapped the exact knot Harry had shown them.
At once, the tree shuddered. Its limbs froze mid-whip, sagging into unnatural stillness.
Hermione exhaled. “That… still terrifies me.”
Draco grinned. “You’ve just got to respect the genius of Potter. Who else would think to use the very tree that could kill you as the gateway to a secret?”
They hurried to the base of the trunk, where the concealed trapdoor waited. It opened with a creak, and the cool air of the tunnel washed over them.
Inside, the magical cart hovered, faint runes glowing along its iron sides. Hermione eyed it warily, clutching Crookshanks in her arms. “I still don’t trust this thing.”
Draco swung himself on with practiced ease, tapping the side with his wand. “And yet, you’ll still get on.”
Hermione muttered something under her breath but climbed in beside him.
The runes flared to life, and with a sudden whoosh, the cart shot forward.
“Ahhh!” Hermione yelped, gripping the side. Crookshanks dug his claws into her lap, tail bristling.
Draco only laughed, hair whipping back in the rushing wind. “Merlin, this is incredible!”
The cart sped through the darkness, smooth and fast, the tunnel walls flashing by in a blur. Runes carved into the stone lit up as they passed, marking their way like stars.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, muttering, “If I die, I’m haunting Harry for the rest of his life.”
“Relax,” Draco shouted over the roar of air. “He said it’s safe!”
“That’s what worries me!” she shot back.
At last, the cart slowed, gliding to a stop before the stone steps that led upward. Both stumbled out—Draco exhilarated, Hermione wobbly on her feet.
“Someday,” she said breathlessly, “that thing is going to throw us into a wall.”
Draco smirked. “And you’ll thank it for the ride.”
Together, they climbed the stairway and pushed open the door. Warm light spilled out to greet them. The Shrieking Shack, once a ruin, now looked like a secret haven—its hearth already lit, the scent of woodsmoke curling through the air.
And waiting at the table, quill in hand, was Harry.
He looked up, smiling. “You’re late.”
Hermione forgot her fear of the cart and hurried forward. “We nearly died getting here!”
Draco flopped into a chair with a satisfied grin. “Worth it. Now let’s get to work. The wizarding world isn’t going to change itself.”
Harry chuckled, setting aside his parchment. “Good. Because today, I’ve got something new to show you.”
And just like that, their second Sunday meeting began—three friends, bound by secrets, ready to build something the wizarding world had never seen.
Harry led them deeper into the Shack, past creaking staircases and shadowed rooms. At first, Draco and Hermione were puzzled—until Harry opened a door at the far end.
The moment they stepped inside, Hermione gasped.
The room was nothing like the rest of the Shack. Smooth walls glowed faintly with rune-etched light. Tables lined the space, stacked with computers, televisions, old radios, even dismantled circuit boards. Some devices were clearly second-hand, worn with scratches and dust; others gleamed brand-new, humming softly as their lights blinked.
“Harry…” Hermione whispered. “You… you turned this into a laboratory?”
Harry grinned. “Sirius helped me haul most of it in. Some from Muggle pawn shops, some from electronics stores. Expensive stuff, too—but it’s worth it. We’ll need to understand how everything works before we can build our magical versions.”
Draco’s eyes widened as he ran his hands over the cool plastic of a computer monitor. “You are a genius Potter.”
Hermione nodded eagerly. “Yes! But to see all of it here, in one place—it’s incredible!”
Harry crossed his arms, satisfied at their awe. “This will be our research center. We’ll study, test, break things apart if we have to, and rebuild them better. And when we’re ready—we’ll have our prototypes.”
Draco smirked. “Now this feels real.”
After a long time exploring the lab—Hermione scribbling frantic notes, Draco poking at keyboards, Harry explaining what he knew—the three decided to stretch their legs.
Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, the shimmering fabric swallowing him completely. “If anyone sees me, it’ll be chaos. But with you two… they’ll just think it’s normal first-years sneaking about.”
Hermione scowled but said nothing, pulling her cloak tighter as they stepped outside.
Hogsmeade on a Sunday afternoon was lively: shops bustling, the scent of butterbeer floating from the Three Broomsticks, laughter and chatter in the crisp air. It felt like stepping into another world compared to the stone corridors of Hogwarts.
Hermione and Draco walked side by side, Crookshanks tucked under Hermione’s arm. Hidden at their shoulder, Harry moved unseen, his voice whispering from under the cloak now and then.
They were examining Honeydukes’ window when a pair of identical voices rang out.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
“Two little Ravenclaws out for a stroll… in Hogsmeade.”
Hermione stiffened as Fred and George Weasley stepped into view, identical grins plastered across their faces.
“Second years aren’t allowed here,” Fred said cheerfully.
“First years even less so,” George added, crossing his arms. “So unless we’re seeing things…”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re not seeing things. But maybe you’re forgetting—you’re not supposed to be here either.”
The twins blinked. Then, slowly, identical grins spread across their faces again.
“He’s got us there, George.”
“Sharp tongue, that one, Fred.”
Hermione’s voice trembled. “We… we can’t tell anyone. Please. If a professor finds out—”
Fred held up his hand. “Relax. We won’t tell.”
George nodded. “On one condition.”
Hermione and Draco exchanged wary looks. “And that is?” Draco asked.
“That you don’t tell on us either,” the twins said together.
There was a pause, then Draco smirked. “Agreed.”
The four shook on it quickly, an unspoken truce sealed.
“See you around, little Ravenclaws,” Fred said with a wink.
“Stay out of trouble—well, as much as we do,” George added.
And with that, the twins vanished into the crowd, leaving Draco and Hermione both relieved and oddly amused.
From under the cloak, Harry’s voice whispered, warm with laughter. “Looks like you made friends with some interesting people.”
Hermione sighed. “I think we made an understanding.”
Draco smirked. “Or allies. You never know when Weasleys could be useful.”
And as the three of them slipped deeper into Hogsmeade’s streets, their secret adventure felt all the more alive.
When the three of them had finished sketching plans and Crookshanks had curled up by the hearth, Hermione leaned back in her chair. She looked around the room—the cracks patched by magic, the lamps glowing warmly, the faint smell of old wood that clung no matter how much they tried to change it.
Her brow furrowed. “Harry… I don’t understand something.”
Harry looked up from the parchment he was annotating. “What’s that?”
“If Sirius bought this place for you, and you’ve already set up wards and made it livable, why not… rebuild it? Tear it down and make it new? A proper house, or even just a better workspace?”
Draco tilted his head, intrigued. “She has a point. With your resources, you could easily replace this wreck with something grander. Why keep a shabby old building?”
Harry was silent for a moment, tracing a rune with his quill. Then he looked up, his green eyes steady.
“Because this place is a legend,” he said softly. “Not to the rest of the school—they only think it’s haunted—but to Sirius, to Remus, even to my dad. This was their refuge when they were young. Their memories are in these walls.”
Hermione blinked. “Memories?”
Harry nodded. “Every scar on the floor, every mark on the walls—it tells a story. Of Remus, alone and struggling, of the Marauders watching over him. If we tear it down, we erase those stories. Sirius doesn’t want that. And neither do I.”
Draco leaned back, surprisingly thoughtful. “So you’re keeping it… not for practicality, but for history.”
Harry smiled faintly. “For remembrance. For what it was. And for what it means. We already have homes—Highlands Manor, Black family properties. This place isn’t meant to be comfortable. It’s meant to be remembered. That’s why we keep it as it is.”
Hermione studied the walls again, softer now. “I never thought of it like that.”
Draco shrugged, though there was a flicker of respect in his eyes. “Trust Potter to turn a haunted shack into something meaningful.”
Harry chuckled. “Thank you for watching.”
And in the quiet that followed, the old Shack seemed to breathe with them—alive with the weight of old memories, and now with the promise of new ones.
The Shrieking Shack was quiet again after Draco and Hermione left. The fire burned low, casting long shadows against the wooden beams. Harry sat alone, one leg pulled up on the chair, his chin resting on his knee, staring at the flickering flames.
He should have felt lonely. The Shack, after all, was empty without his friends. But instead, he was buzzing with energy—his mind spinning around what Hermione had let slip in her rush of chatter about school life.
A Cerberus. A three-headed dog, lurking inside the castle itself.
Harry grinned, eyes alight. “Only Hogwarts would keep something like that behind a locked door.”
Hermione’s words echoed in his mind: Dumbledore announced publicly that the corridor on the third floor is forbidden to enter—unless you want a gruesome death.
The Headmaster’s dramatic warning should have frightened him. Instead, it thrilled him.
Harry leaned back, laughing quietly to himself. “A gruesome death… or an adventure.”
He remembered the way Hermione had looked at him when she told the story—stern, worried, trying to dissuade him before he could even think about it. But Harry couldn’t help it. The thought of seeing a living Cerberus was irresistible.
Already, ideas began to form.
He would need Hermione’s knowledge of the castle and her meticulous planning. Draco’s cunning and willingness to bend rules would be essential. And of course, his own tricks—his invisibility cloak, his mastery of wards, his knack for getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be.
It would take begging, convincing, and perhaps bribery. Hermione would never agree easily. But Harry was determined.
“I’ll get them to do it,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But when the time is right—we’ll sneak in. We’ll see the Cerberus with our own eyes.”
The fire popped in the grate, as if in agreement.
Harry leaned forward, his grin widening. “Hogwarts isn’t as boring as I thought. Not at all.”
And with that thought, he settled back, waiting for the opportunity—an opportunity that would test their courage and wits.
The portal swirled open in a shimmer of stars, and Harry stepped through, leaving the quiet Shack behind. Highlands Manor welcomed him with its warm, familiar air. The faint scent of fresh earth drifted in from the greenhouse, where America was humming to herself while trimming a strange, glowing vine that writhed playfully around her wrists.
But tonight, the manor felt quieter.
Sirius lounged in the sitting room, a half-empty butterbeer bottle in one hand, his legs kicked lazily over the arm of the sofa. The firelight danced across his sharp features, softening the lines of mischief and weariness that lived side by side in his face.
When Harry entered, Sirius tilted his head. “Well, look who’s back from his haunted clubhouse.”
Harry smirked. “It’s still haunted. But it’s brilliant.”
“Mm, you sound just like James,” Sirius chuckled, patting the seat beside him. “Come on, pup. Sit. I’ve been meaning to tell you a few things. You want to hear some stories about the Marauders?”
Harry’s eyes lit up immediately, and he dropped into the seat eagerly. “Yes!. I need to know everything about Hogwarts. The passages, the tricks, the secrets… everything you and Dad knew.”
Sirius raised a brow, amused. “So that’s the angle, is it? You don’t just want to hear about your old man pulling pranks on Slytherins. You want a blueprint for sneaking into the castle.”
Harry grinned, unashamed. “Exactly.”
Sirius laughed—a loud, unrestrained bark of laughter that echoed through the manor. “Merlin, James would’ve been proud. Alright then. Where should I begin? With the time we nearly got expelled for turning the Great Hall ceiling into a thunderstorm, or when we found the passage that led straight to Honeydukes?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “There’s a passage to Honeydukes?!”
“Oh, there are seven passages we discovered,” Sirius said smugly, leaning back. “Some are still open, some might’ve caved in by now. But the best ones… well, they’ll get you in and out of Hogwarts without anyone the wiser.”
Harry leaned forward, hanging on every word. “Tell me all of them. Every single one.”
Sirius grinned, his gray eyes gleaming. “Then settle in, little prince. Tonight, you’re getting the Marauder’s Map… without the map.”
