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The Stormborn - Chapter - 55
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 18:18:11 +0000 UTCThe Whomping Willow loomed over them, branches lashing whenever Draco darted too close. He moved like a dancer, weaving in and out of reach, the ground exploding with splinters and leaves where the branches struck.
“Draco, stop it!” Hermione shouted, her heart in her throat.
But Draco only grinned, ducking under another whip of wood. “What’s the fun if you don’t test its limits?”
He provoked it again and again, each time narrowly escaping with a laugh that made Hermione want to strangle him. At last, panting and flushed, he stepped back.
“Enough,” he said, brushing dirt from his robes. “Clearly, someone’s pranked us. No note, no secret—just a murderous tree.”
Hermione let out a sharp sigh of relief. “Honestly, Malfoy, you’ll be the death of me.”
He smirked. “Probably.”
Draco turned toward his broom, which he had wisely left beyond the tree’s range. He stooped to pick it up, but before he could mount, a strange shudder rippled through the Willow.
Both of them froze.
The branches, which had been thrashing violently moments before, suddenly stilled. The tree seemed to sink into silence, its whiplike arms drooping as if in slumber.
Hermione and Draco exchanged bewildered glances.
“What in Merlin’s name—” Draco began.
But then, at the base of the massive trunk, the ground shifted. A small trapdoor creaked open, and a figure rose out of the shadowed passage below.
The moment the light touched his face, Hermione’s eyes widened. Recognition slammed into her like a jolt of lightning.
“Harry!” she screamed.
Without hesitation—without even caring that the tree might awaken again—Hermione ran straight toward him. The Willow stayed perfectly still as she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
Harry hugged her back just as fiercely, his voice low but warm. “Miss me already?”
Hermione’s voice wavered, muffled against his shoulder. “Of course I did.”
Draco approached more cautiously, eyes sharp as he studied the now-still Willow and the shadowed passage. “You… you came out of the tree?”
Harry smirked faintly. “Not out of the tree. From under it. There’s a passageway hidden beneath. I thought it was time you knew.”
Draco arched a brow. “And you didn’t think to tell us without letting this homicidal tree try to crush me first?”
Harry chuckled. “Consider it a test. You passed.”
Hermione pulled back, still clutching his sleeve as if afraid he might vanish. “Harry… what is this place?”
Harry glanced at the dark opening beneath the Willow, his eyes gleaming with secrets. “A link between Hogwarts and me. A way to see each other, whenever we want.”
Hermione gasped softly, realization dawning. Draco’s smirk faltered into awe.
The world had split when Harry chose not to attend Hogwarts. But here, in the shadow of the Whomping Willow, it seemed the paths were not so separate after all.
The trapdoor shut above them with a dull thud, sealing out the light of the grounds. The air in the tunnel was cool and damp, the walls rough-hewn stone that stretched into darkness. Hermione clutched Crookshanks tighter, her eyes adjusting slowly.
“Harry,” she whispered, “where are we?”
Harry only smiled. “You’ll see. But first, we won’t be walking.”
He stepped forward and with a snap of his fingers, light flickered into being—soft blue orbs floating above their heads. And there, suspended a foot off the ground, hovered a narrow cart. Its body was smooth iron, faint runes glowing faintly along the sides.
Hermione blinked. “What… is that?”
Draco’s eyes gleamed. “It’s brilliant, that’s what.”
Harry climbed onto the cart with practiced ease, settling into the front seat. “It’s mine. I built it myself. Walking this tunnel takes far too long—you’d lose half the day. So I made a cart. Inspired by the ones at Gringotts.”
Hermione’s jaw fell open. “You… built a Gringotts-style cart in a school passageway? Harry, that’s insane! Do you even know if it’s safe?”
Harry smirked. “Well, I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
Draco barked a laugh and swung himself onto the seat behind Harry. “If it works anything like the vault carts, I’m in.”
Hermione hesitated, glaring at the two of them. “Honestly, you’re both impossible.” But when Harry offered his hand, she sighed and climbed aboard, Crookshanks digging his claws into her robes.
The moment all three were seated, the runes along the sides of the cart flared. With a jolt, it shot forward.
Hermione shrieked, clinging to Harry’s sleeve. “Too fast, Harry, it’s too fast!”
Draco whooped, his hair whipping in the wind. “Faster! This is amazing!”
The tunnel blurred past them, the cart rattling and swooping along invisible tracks of magic. The blue lights streaked like comets overhead, guiding their way.
“See?” Harry called over the rush of air. “No wasted time. Straight through, with energy to spare!”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, muttering, “I’m going to regret this…”
But the ride was smoother than it looked. Harry had etched stabilizing runes along the cart’s belly, and though it swayed and jolted, it never once threatened to tip.
After what felt like minutes, the tunnel widened. The cart slowed, the runes dimming until it hovered gently to a stop before a stone stairway.
Harry hopped off, landing lightly. “We’re here.”
Hermione staggered off, her knees wobbly. “I… I can’t believe you.”
Draco leapt down, his eyes shining. “Potter, that was genius. A magical transport system inside a secret passageway? Hogwarts has never seen anything like this.”
Hermione opened her mouth to scold Harry again, but stopped as she realized where they stood. A heavy wooden door loomed before them, carved with protective wards. The air beyond smelled faintly of dust, age, and something else—something wild.
Harry looked back at them, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Welcome to Shrieking Shack.”
And with that, he pushed the door open.
The heavy door creaked open under Harry’s hand, revealing a dim interior thick with dust. The boards groaned under their weight as the three of them stepped inside. Crooked beams, peeling wallpaper, shattered furniture—the Shrieking Shack looked every bit the haunted ruin the Hogwarts students whispered about.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. “This place looks dreadful.”
Draco sneered faintly, though his eyes flickered with interest. “So this is where Hogwarts students dare each other to spend the night? It looks like it could collapse at any moment.”
Harry only smiled, walking further in. “That’s what they want you to think. But the truth is different.”
He raised his hand. A pulse of magic shimmered out, and suddenly the air changed. The dust vanished, the broken beams repaired themselves, and the ragged wallpaper smoothed into warm, polished wood. Lamps glowed to life, casting golden light across the room. It was no haunted ruin—it was a home, fortified with powerful wards.
Hermione gasped. “You… you did this?”
Harry shook his head. “Not me. Sirius. He bought this place. Restored it. And then he gave it to me.”
Draco’s eyes widened. “To you?”
Harry nodded. “This is mine now. The Floo is active. Wards are in place—no one comes in unless I allow it. And…” He walked to a panel in the wall and pressed his hand against it. A passage lit up, glowing faintly with runes. “This connects straight back to the Whomping Willow. Which means whenever we want to meet, we can. You don’t have to wait until holidays.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were bright as she whispered, “Harry… this means…”
“That I didn’t lose you,” Harry finished softly.
She hugged him again, Crookshanks squirming between them. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Draco circled the room slowly, running a hand along the walls. “Well… this is impressive. Not bad for a so-called haunted shack. A secret meeting place right under Dumbledore’s nose. You realize what this means for our project, don’t you?”
Harry smirked. “Exactly. We have a base. A place of our own.”
For the first time since the Sorting, the three of them felt whole again—no longer divided by castle walls and choices, but united in a secret the rest of Hogwarts could only dream of.
Harry sat with Hermione and Draco, and for a long time, they just talked.
Hermione leaned forward eagerly. “So this was really where Mr. Lupin was brought as a boy? To… transform?”
Harry nodded. “Yes. Every full moon, he’d come through that passage from the Willow. The walls are scarred because he fought himself here. Hogwarts spread the story that it was haunted to keep people away. No one ever knew the truth, except my dad, Sirius, and the rest of their group.”
Draco’s usual smirk faded into thoughtfulness. “A werewolf’s prison, now our workshop. Fitting.”
Harry gave him a look, but Draco only shrugged. “Well, we’ll be making history here too. People will talk about this Shack for centuries, just not for the reason they think.”
Hermione smiled faintly, though her eyes softened. “Then let’s make it official. Every Sunday, we meet here. No excuses. Even if it’s only for a few hours.”
Draco straightened. “Agreed. Sundays, every week.”
Harry extended his hand. “Deal?”
Hermione placed hers on his, followed by Draco’s. Their fingers closed together, a silent vow binding them more strongly than any school house or professor could.
“This is ours,” Harry said firmly. “Our place, our project.”
When the fire burned low, it was time to part ways.
Harry stood before the fireplace, tossing in a pinch of green powder from a small pouch. “This Floo is connected to Highlands Manor. I’ll go back through here.” He glanced at them. “You two use the cart—it’ll take you back to the Willow. Just remember what I told you.”
Hermione nodded. “Touch the knot on the trunk. It freezes the tree.”
“Exactly.” Harry smiled. “Don’t forget it. Or else the Willow will smash you flat.”
Draco grimaced. “Comforting, Potter.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, hugging Harry quickly. “See you next Sunday.”
Harry stepped into the emerald flames and vanished.
Draco and Hermione made their way back down the hidden tunnel. The cart waited, runes glowing softly. They climbed aboard, and with a rush of wind, sped through the darkness once more.
When they emerged at the base of the Whomping Willow, Draco immediately pressed his hand against the knot in the bark, just as Harry had shown them. The massive branches froze mid-whip, shuddering before falling completely still.
“Unbelievable,” Draco murmured.
Hermione exhaled, relief washing over her. Together, they slipped away toward the castle.
And behind them, the Willow stood silent, guarding the secret that bound three friends across worlds.
By the time Hermione and Draco slipped back into the Ravenclaw common room, it was already well into the evening. The lamps glowed, parchments littered the desks, and students looked up as the pair entered. A few curious stares followed Draco—not for Hermione at his side, but for the gleaming broomstick he carried openly in his hand.
Hermione whispered urgently, “People are staring.”
Draco only smirked. “Let them.”
But it was no surprise when, not long after, a fifth-year prefect approached. “Malfoy, Professor Flitwick wants to see you. Now.”
Draco’s smirk faltered. Still, he adjusted his robes and followed, broom in hand.
Flitwick’s office was small but crammed with books, scrolls, and curious magical trinkets. The Charms Master himself sat behind his desk, barely visible above the piles of parchment.
“Mr. Malfoy,” he squeaked, adjusting his spectacles. “I’ve had no less than seven complaints today regarding a first year carrying a Nimbus broomstick through the grounds.”
Draco clasped the broom tighter. “With respect, Professor, I haven’t broken any rules.”
Flitwick raised a brow. “Haven’t you?”
“No, sir. The rules state that first years are not allowed to bring their own broomsticks to Hogwarts. But this broom isn’t mine. It belongs to Cho Chang, a second-year. I’m only borrowing it. The regulation doesn’t say anything about borrowing.”
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then Flitwick’s mustache twitched.
“Well,” he said at last, “that is… a very precise interpretation of the rules.” He tapped his quill against his desk. “In fact, it’s perfectly accurate.”
Draco’s heart skipped. “So I’m not in trouble?”
“On the contrary,” Flitwick said with a little smile. “I’ll award Ravenclaw ten points. Not just for your reasoning, but for showing that you read carefully and think creatively. That, Mr. Malfoy, is the Ravenclaw way.”
Draco blinked. “Ten… points?”
“Yes indeed and just so you know I am very friendly with Miss Chang's parents.” Flitwick’s eyes twinkled. “Now, remember: cleverness is best used responsibly. Don’t push your luck too far, hm?”
“Yes, sir,” Draco said quickly, bowing his head.
As he left the office, broom still in hand, he couldn’t help but smirk. Points for a loophole—only in Ravenclaw.
But in the back of his mind, Draco knew he didn’t deserve the full credit. The clever idea hadn’t been his in the first place. It had been Harry’s.
