Harry sat on his bed, curtains drawn and left folded beneath him. His head was resting lightly in his hands and his eyes were staring unblinkingly before him, the events that had transpired fresh on his mind. He let his eyelids droop and forcefully sunk back into the memories of the night.

The concentrated levels of magic had been a wonder to behold, yet at the same time, the golden light had brought upon him a deep sense of unease. A pressure began to build within his mind, only worsening when the black sparks appeared.

During those moments, his scar had erupted with agonizing pain. It seared into his very core, threatening to fry his every nerve and bring his blood to a boil.

Morbidly, he had wondered if that was what the Cruciatus curse felt like.

The magic from the wards had latched onto him, or at least, onto something buried deep within him.

It was some foreign entity whose existence Harry had never even known of until the wards dragged it to the forefront of his consciousness. It felt alien and familiar all at once, as if it had sunk so deep into him that it had become an ingrained part of his being. It was a splinter of ice caught in his mind, leaving behind a jagged wound as the ward forcibly dragged it forth.

But just before the pain became too much to bear, a wave of warmth had washed over him.

It was a gentle caress, a soft breath of sorts. It pulsated through his veins, washing away the prickling jolts and leaving behind a trail of pleasant numbness. The warmth momentarily clashed with the coldness and the two forces warred within him, one bright and all-encompassing, the other frosting and angry.

Harry had felt the tingles over the surface of the skin as the Greengrass magic desperately thought out that sliver of icy sharpness within him.

But the other sensation, an emotion so strong and radiant that it just about manifested as a pale glow around him, held back the wards, causing their hooks to slip helplessly from his person. It was an emotion that Harry had no name for, that he had never felt himself. It was a mix of acceptance, protectiveness, and burning warmth.

Harry could already tell that it was a lost battle for the wards before they snapped. The Greengrass magic was an unrelenting, rigid force. But the force that protected him was soft and fluid and immensely powerful.

All at once, the ironclad clutch of the wards loosened.

He could pinpoint it down to the exact second that they gave way, crumbling from the built-up tension that could find no release. The moment the thick magic dissipated, his keen awareness of the two opposing magics also faded.

They reverted to a dormant state within him, existing at a delicate equilibrium where neither could overpower the other.

Harry's curiosity had been ignited, but he didn't have time to do much else other than to drag his small group of shell-shocked fellow Slytherins back to Hogwarts with him before the fallen wards could bring upon further mayhem.

He could have held his own and he was certain that no one would have dared to touch the other Pureblood heirs and heiresses. But he has never been one to take unnecessary risks, and so, at the moment, he was left to his thoughts in the relative safety of the Slytherin dorms.

He opened his eyes to darkness.

The room was completely silent but he knew that the others were all wide awake. The destruction of the previously impenetrable Greengrass wards would take the Pureblood ranks by storm, and the families of the other Slytherins would be left to deal with the fall-out.

Harry slid beneath the covers, the night hiding his smile. Daphne's ploy had caught him completely unaware, but ultimately it had backfired.

Still, it seemed that she was much more active in her resistance against him that he had originally thought.

Something had caused her to suspect him of having magic that was tainted enough to alert her family wards, and she had acted to expose that darkness before the entire higher echelon of Wizarding Britain.

Harry pondered as settled into the warmth of the bedsheets.

Was the Greengrass heiress an asset or a threat?

No, he decided. She was neither. Daphne Greengrass was a wildcard, unpredictable in her actions and naively reckless.

He pushed her out of his mind and closed his eyes. He would let her be, for now. She would have enough to deal with after that night even without his interference, anyway.

As for the following days…

Harry readied himself for a busy month in the library.

Albus Dumbledore prided himself in his immaculate plans and their flawless executions. He had a knack for knowing certain things, for envisioning events before they play out.

No, he wasn't a Seer-not by a long stretch. But he liked to think that he was close as any normal wizard could get to being one sans the visions.

He had seen Grindelwald's potential when he was still a child, then he had similarly seen his demise when all others believed him to be at the height of his power. He had known what Tom would become minutes into their conversation at the orphanage, and when the Prophecy child was born, he knew exactly what had to be done in order to draw the Dark Lord out of seclusion.

He has a gift of foresight.

But when it came to Harry Potter, all bets were off.

When he had awoken in the early hours to dawn to sharp knocks on his door, he just knew that it would concern the Boy-Who-Lived.

Only that it didn't.

"Albus," Severus Snape stood as stiffly as ever in the doorway, but there was a panicked glint to his eyes. Dumbledore felt a growing sense of worry. He had not seen that look on the surly man's face since the night of Lily's passing.

"What is it, Severus?" He questioned, stepping aside to allow the Potions Master entrance into his office.

"The Greengrass wards have fallen," Snape breathed, not moving from where he stood.

For a long moment, Dumbledore couldn't fully comprehend the words.

The impenetrable Greengrass wards?

It was an impossibility-one that he never wanted to even consider. The wards had held against Grindelwald's forces and even against Tom's advance. They were the one saving grace in the last two wizarding wars, the only thing that kept the Greengrass family neutral.

He knew that if cornered, the Greengrass's would choose to align themselves with the Dark over the Light. The family was one that has upheld traditional Pureblood customs for centuries, and they would sooner follow a Dark Lord than give it all up.

While less powerful than the Blacks, the Greengrass's were still a powerhouse in their own right. And so, Dumbledore thanked the heavens for their non-participation in the previous war.

But now, that tentative balance of power had tipped all in the course of one night. With the wards gone, they would finally have to choose their allegiances.

"Was it an attack?" Dumbledore finally spoke, an underlying tremor to his voice. "Has he returned?"

Snape's jaw clenched. "No one knows for certain."

Somehow, that made it all the worse. Voldemort was a known enemy, but if another entity powerful enough to shatter the wards had arisen, then Dumbledore needed to be made aware.

"Was there anything else? Anyone hurt?"

"I don't know," Snape repeated bitingly. "I've only just heard the news from Lucious," the man continued. "He was there tonight, but according to him, there was no direct confrontation. The wards reacted to something during the Closing Ceremony, but before it could eject the intruder, it fell."

Dumbledore backed away slowly, slumping into his chair. Possibilities were running through his mind, each less likely than the prior.

He himself had tried his hands at the Greengrass wards decades past when he had been in his prime.

He hadn't even gotten close.

The thought that there was someone-or something-out there that could so easily accomplish what he could not was, frankly, quite terrifying.

"What will you do now?" Dumbledore's head snapped up.

A pregnant silence followed the question. His Potions Master was regarding him with a look that verged on desperation, as if he has all the answers. And most of the time, he did. Just not at the present.

"…Nothing," Dumbledore finally said.

All that he could do was bide his time and wait. He was facing an unknown for the first time in his long, wizened life, and he wasn't sure quite how he felt about it.

"What about the Dark Lord?" Snape asked, voice stilted.

Dumbledore turned his back, tiredly glancing to the bright form of his familiar on his perch.

"We do nothing," he decided. When it appeared that the other man was about to protest, he raised a hand. "No…tonight…what happened tonight wasn't Voldemort's doing. He's arrogant, outrageously so. If he's finally managed to dismantle the Greengrass wards, he would flaunt it to the masses. This…this was done by someone else."

Someone dangerous.

"We must wait this out," he continued.

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became in his own analysis. He recalled the lonely boy he had met at the orphanage, simmering with anger and yearning for acknowledgment. For validation.

If Tom had been the one to bring down the wards, he would not be lurking in the shadows. Underhanded scheming has never been his style.

Dumbledore allowed himself a long exhale.

As long as Tom still hasn't recovered his powers, then Dark has no leverage.

There was still time.

With the wards gone, the Greengrass Family was fair game to either side. They would never be Light, but if he could help it, they would never have to be pressured into aligning with the Dark, either.

"How goes the preparations for the stone?" He asked.

Snape gave a stiff nod. "We've all done as you've asked. Each layer of protection is already up, except for the last."

The last-the Mirror of the Erised.

Unwittingly, his eyes strayed to the corner of his office, where a white cloth was draped over a long, rectangular form. The time was nearing and he knew that he would have to secure the stone within the next few months. Tom would make his move soon, and he would ensure that he would be prepared for when it comes.

Still, there was still one last ritual to be done before it could be sequestered away in the Third Floor Corridor. Before then, it would have to be left somewhere where stray students wouldn't chance upon it. It held too great of an allure, even for him. The reminder alone was enough to invoke the memory of icy blue eyes, windswept blonde hair, and a wicked smile.

No, the mirror can no longer remain within his office. Greater men than he have fallen before it, and he didn't trust himself to not do the same.

"Good," he told the Potions Master, voice solemn.

Snape turned towards the door, but something seemed to hold him back. "Albus…" He reluctantly voiced. "This…will the stone truly be safe? Should he choose to make a move…"

"Then he will be making a grave mistake," Dumbledore finished. Snape still looked unconvinced, but gave a curt nod and left the office.

Dumbledore sat back, suddenly exhausted. The blue-eyed boy of his memories morphed into one with dark hair and hungry eyes, equally ambitious and equally cruel.

It seemed that history was doomed to repeat itself, regardless of what he did.

Egotism will be Tom's downfall, just as it had been Gellert's. In some ways, Dumbledore had known since he had first met the boy that it would one day come down to something like this. Now, the bait was cast and the trap was set. All that was left was for the fallen Dark Lord to be lured out of hiding.

The week directly following Samhain had been hectic. The tension was strung high and conversations have been had in hushed, conspiring tones. Daphne didn't return to Hogwarts and the other Slytherin Purebloods had gotten increasingly anxious.

However, once the month passed and the Greengrass family remained untouched, the excitement over the event began to dwindle. Soon enough, it was half buried in favour of other news.

Theodore Nott had been just as apprehensive as the others at the start. After all, what power would it take to demolish one of the most powerful barriers ever erected, and within a Pureblood Ancestral home, at that? Yet, nothing really changed. Life went on as usual and no more Blood Wards were collapsed, to the collective relief of the other Pureblood families.

Throughout the whole affair, the only one to not react in some degree was Harry James Potter. He had just shrugged and moved on, as if the event was entirely inconsequential. For all Theodore knew, it might have been to the Potter heir.

Now, almost a month has gone by and the Greengrass Affair-as certain prominent newspapers has taken to calling it-was rarely being mentioned amongst the students. It was exam season and a certain restlessness energy saturated the castle. That naturally meant that the students have more immediate worries to deal with-namely, their grades.

Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for Pureblood Lords and Ladies. Many of the neutral families have gone suspiciously silent, as if afraid that whatever-or whoever-had taken care of the Greengrass wards would go after them next. It was a naive fear, but not an entirely unwarranted one.

On either ends of the spectrum, both the Dark and the Light were growing increasingly anxious with each day that passed. The threat remained an unknown variable and neither would lower their guard until they knew exactly which side it was on. There were whispers of the return of the Dark Lord, of vengeance, and of retribution.

Theodore tried to banish the distracting thought, but with little success. He was currently sat in his seat, staring at the locked crate on the table with an apt intensity. Charms was one of his best classes and he was sure that he could at least get an O, if not the highest mark in the class. The test itself was rather straightforward, though by no means easy.

They were each given a box, and they have to get through layers of protection using first year Charms in order to advance to the final stage. Everything they tried would be recorded by a magic detector at the very centre and if they managed to pass the last level, their exam would be considered as finished.

But at the moment, his attention kept drifting from his task, no matter how hard he willed himself to concentrate.

It was a timed exam, for the love of Merlin. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of worry for his absentee friend.

They were already fifteen minutes into the hour-long exam and Potter was still nowhere in sight.

From what he has heard, it usually took even the brightest of students the entire hour to complete. Harry may practically be the second coming of Ravenclaw herself, but even he was only human.

Anyhow, the boy didn't seem like the type of miss out on such an important exam.

Has something happened?

"Alohomora," Theodore waved his wand forlornly, easily getting past the third part of the test.

His box glowed with a light green hue before the lid creaked open. Before he could go any further, however, the doors to the classroom flew open with a loud bang.

"Professor Flitwick!" Potter greeted breathily as he burst in, hair in disarray and familiar grin in place. "Sorry I'm late!" He was properly apologetic, flashing an embarrassed smile at the Charms professor. "It's the stairs, you see. Tricky and spiteful when it matters the most." He came to an unsteady stop, still lightly panting. "I had to take a detour."

A few of the other students scoffed good-naturedly, shaking their heads. Others cast him amused looks or smirks. Theodore marvelled in the miraculousness of it all.

Only Potter could tactlessly disrupt the silence of a timed test and not incite the annoyance of all of the exam-takers.

In fact, very few students seemed irritated with the Potter heir at all. Most of those who were knew better than to outwardly show it.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick scuttled over, a long parchment drifting behind him. "Glad you could finally join us. Why don't you take a seat at the back? The instructions are all written out on the board."

Theodore heard an affirming hum followed by a brief rustling before all was quiet once more. He huffed, partially exasperated but mostly relieved at his housemate's presence, before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

"Aparecium," he murmured, trailing his wand over the bottom of the box. He allowed himself a small smile when glamours fell away to reveal a few lines of writing.

It proceeded in the same fashion until Professor Flitwick called the last minute of the exam. Theodore finished the last of his incantations just as the time was called and let out a long-held breath.

He had cut it much closer than he originally intended, but at least the last of his exams was finally finished. A drawn-out groan caught his attention and he turned just in time to witness Finnegan slump down into his desk.

"Oh, bugger off," the Gryffindor glared at a laughing Harry Potter. "That's impossible. You were late-there's no way in hell you could've finished early. If you're joking, I swear to god-"

Theodore's nose wrinkled at the distinctively muggle phrase.

"I barely had enough time to remember the spells. I got stuck on the third to last level," Dean Thomas, the muggleborn, said as he joined in.

"At least you're almost done. I skipped out on a page of my notes by accident," the other boy groaned. "How do they expect us to know every first year charm? It's unfair."

Potter paused for a moment. "Oh. We were supposed to use the Charms taught in class?"

Theodore didn't have to turn to see the incredulous expressions on the Gryffindor's faces. The stunned hush that followed his housemate's revelation was telling enough. He smiled to himself, tucking his wand into his holster.

"What do you mean!?" Finnegan finally exploded. "How else were you supposed to do it!?"

Theodore slipped out the class with Potter's cackling following him out into the halls.

He sighed.

Draco would probably be moaning all throughout dinner again. Whenever Potter mingled with students from any of the other houses, especially Gryffindor, the blonde's mood would worsen. But in the end, all the Malfoy could do, really, was complain.

Normally the Slytherin hierarchy was clearly defined, with the heirs and heiresses from important Pureblood families situated at the top and those who have yet to prove themselves at the bottom.

But Harry Potter was neither here nor there. He was an outlier, content enough with his standing to not actively reinforce his dominance over anyone else, yet never lowering his head to those stupid enough to openly challenge him. The other first year Slytherins all respected him to a degree, and should he want, he could easily topple the current leadership.

Yet, he never acted on that potential. That left him in a peculiar sort of limbo where the other students simply let him do as he pleased as long as he helped keep up appearances when it mattered.

As things stood, there wasn't anyone in all of Slytherin who could make Potter do anything. Hopeless naivety aside, even Draco seemed to understand that particular point.

So, Potter fraternized with the Gryffindors, conversed with the Ravenclaws, and acted as a confidant to the Hufflepuffs. Despite the majority of his time being spent in the Slytherin dorms, it was an undisputed fact that Potter was equally liked by all the houses.

That in itself was nothing short of a miracle.

Furthermore, the professors all sang his praises. More unbelievable was the fact that Dumbledore, who was notorious for his distrust of Slytherins, seemed to favour the young Potter heir as well.

What he has at his fingertips was unprecedented, yet Potter didn't seem to notice at all. He went about his business as usual and treated everyone with the same distant cheeriness.

Theodore wasn't foolish enough to think that Harry Potter considered him, nor any of the other Slytherins, his friends. Potter, interestingly enough, didn't seem to have any true friends at all. He has acquaintances, yes. He has fans, admirers, and even the beginning of a large following, but there was no single person with who could boast of being closer to him than anyone else.

It was certainly unexpected, but on some level, Theodore understood why.

Potter has secrets-that was clear enough-and Theodore wasn't sure that there was anyone who could bear the full brunt of their weight.

Theodore was much more observant than his other friends. He noticed when the other boy would disappear for hours at a time. When Potter finally returned, his magic would be abuzz with suppressed excitement and his eyes would shine gleefully with knowledge only he himself was privy to.

Naturally, he was curious as to what Potter got up to in his spare time. But he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

When it concerned Potter, ignorance seemed much safer an option than knowledge.

Rosier, Granger, and Daphne were all perfect examples of that. One was hospitalized for an indeterminate amount of time and the other was dead. While physically unharmed, Daphne was suffering the consequences for her pushiness just as the other two had. Theodore has an inkling suspicion that the fall of her family's wards had to do with Harry Potter, though he wasn't sure how.

All in all, he has long since decided that he would leave Potter to his games and keep to himself as much as possible.

While he admired the other boy, it was a far cry from the admiration he has for his parents and grandparents. What he felt for Potter was much more similar to the fascination he held for lethifolds, certain banned potions, and the Unforgivables.

He knew that Potter was awfully dangerous, but at the same time, the boy was also accepting and unprejudiced and, might he even add, kind. But not in the traditional sense.

Theodore, hailing from an undeniably Dark family and whose father sat in Azkaban for openly admitting his loyalty to the Dark Lord, expected scorn, hatred, and disgust from the Boy-Who-Lived. Instead, he was met with the same crooked smile and buoyant attitude with which Potter treated the Gryffindors.

In all honesty, it came as quite a shock.

The other students looked at him with distrust and suspicion. Most of the teachers tried to be partial, but he could tell that they weren't capable of seeing him separate from his family name. Even Draco and Daphne and Blaise sometimes gazed upon him with pitying eyes. They have all the reason to, when he had lost a mother to war and a father to prison.

The Nott family has fallen quite a way in the last century all as a result of siding with the Dark Lord. But he himself felt no resentment. His grandparents took care of him, and he was proud of his parents for upholding their loyalties.

Of everyone he knew, only Harry Potter saw him as just another kid. Not the son of Thelonius Nott, infamous Death Eater convicted of over two dozen murders. Not the lone heir to the declining Nott family. Not a slimy Slytherin and Death Eater in the making.

To Potter, he has always been Theodore.

But personality aside, Harry Potter was still dangerous. More terrifying was that Potter wasn't intentionally trying to be. Trouble followed him like a plague and sucked in all those around him as well, spitting them out on the other side and leaving everyone, except for Potter himself, worse for wear.

So, yes. Theodore feared him. He feared him almost as much as he respected him.

Theodore Nott's admiration was hard to win and, once won, hard to lose. He's never felt as much awe for anyone as he did for Potter. Perhaps that was why he was so easily angered on behalf of the boy.

His thoughts dwindled when a familiar wave of dark hair caught his eye. Pausing mid-stride of the corridor, he blinked.

"…Daphne?"

"Theodore," the Greengrass heiress turned.

"Where have you been?" Theodore questioned, falling into step beside his childhood friend.

The Greengrass family has remained tight-tipped after their Samhain party, making no move to either verify to deny the rumours that have been spreading around. They've put up anti-owl wards as well and letters that the Slytherins have tried to send to their friend all have been returned unopened.

It was unexpected for Daphne to return just before the end of the term, half a week from Christmas break.

"Home," Daphne rolled her eyes. "It's such a bore. Mother didn't want either Astoria or me to wander outside of our Ancestral Home before she and father are sure that it's safe." Seeing Theodore's expectant stare, she sighed and continued. "I'm here to take the exams."

"Exams?" He studied the girl, taking in her immaculately styled hair and relaxed expression. The tenseness drained from his shoulders once he was certain that his friend, for the most part, was unaffected by the recent events.

"I know you've already finished yours. Dumbledore's allowing me to get tested individually by the professors instead of having to sit through the exams due to extenuating circumstances," she smiled drily. "Mother's delighted, of course. But we all know he's just kissing up to us."

"Ah," Theodore huffed. "Afraid your family would go Dark?"

The irony wasn't lost on him.

The Greengrasses were as Dark as they came. They were a part of Sacred Twenty-Eight and followed the same Pureblood Traditions that the Notts, Rosiers, and Malfoys did. The only difference was that they were also cowards. They sided with neither the Light nor the Dark, choosing instead to claim neutrality and watch from the sidelines as the two clashed.

"He's wasting his time," Daphne shook her head. "The war's already over. There's hardly a need for us to align ourselves at all. We've always been neutral-it's not going to change now."

Theodore kept silent. Daphne may be the most observant one in their group, but she was still overly optimistic at times. The end of one war hardly meant anything at all. Barely two decades passed between Lord Grindlewald's fall and Lord Voldemort's rise. For all he knew, the next war could very well break out before they graduate.

"Haven't you heard what they're saying?" He prodded, tone deceptively nonchalant.

The slight tightening at the corner of her lips was the only sign of her displeasure. "You mean the tasteless gossip that half the Ministry is hung up over?"

"You think it's just a rumour."

"No," she droned. "I think it's complete hearsay. A stupid one, at that."

Theodore scanned the empty stretch of the hall, relaxing slightly upon confirming that they were truly alone. "That was carelessly done."

The Greengrass heiress heaved unconcerned. "What? It's not like I'm stating anything but the truth. People are letting their fear cloud their judgment."

"It's still a possibility," he pressed. "Even you have to admit that."

Daphne wound a long lock of dark hair around her finger, a subconscious habit of hers when she was aggravated. "It's an improbability," she corrected. "It's been a decade. I'm not worried, and you shouldn't be either."

They passed through the courtyard, conversation dwindling when groups of students passed them. Once they were in the foyers, Theodore tilted his head curiously. "How are you so sure that the Dark Lord is truly gone?"

"Because Potter is still alive, alright?" Daphne snapped. "Because I'm still alive. Because Draco still has a father, and yours is still in Azkaban." Her frame tensed in guilt the moment she spoke. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. It's just…" She sagged wearily, appearing less like a Pureblood heiress and more like the eleven-years-old that she was. "It's just been a tiring month."

Theodore blinked with dawning realization.

Daphne wasn't being dismissive, or close-minded, or optimistic. She was afraid. It made sense, for with her family wards down, they would make an easy target for the Dark Lord should he return. The air of indifference she emitted and her disdainful words-both were to hide the fear she actually felt.

He should have noticed sooner, since of all their acquaintances, Daphne was the most intuitive one. He hadn't understood until that moment since his own circumstances were vastly different.

Unlike the Malfoys who gave up fellow Death Eater names to ensure their own survival and the Greengrass's who wormed their way out of having to participate entirely, his own family has practically given up everything for the war. So while he himself wouldn't face the Dark Lord's wrath, it was still a very real danger for his friends and their families.

"How is Astoria handling it all?" He asked instead, changing their topic of conversation. Daphne must already be bending under the stress; he didn't want to further upset her right before her exams.

Besides, Astoria was always a safe topic with Daphne. The insistence with which other Pureblood families probed the Greengrass's after the Greengrass Affair couldn't have boded well for the ten-year-old girl. If there was one thing he was certain of when it concerned Daphne, it was that she cared deeply for her sister.

Daphne's eye ticked. Theodore blinked in bemusement at the frustrated sound that the heiress made. "Fine," she ground out, "Perfectly fine."

It was uncommon to see Daphne's mask of indifference slip in public, and more so to hear her speak of Astoria with anything beyond mild disgruntlement. Theodore's curiosity stirred. "But?" He prompted. The other threw him a scathing glance, lips pressed together into a thin line.

Just when he thought that Daphne would leave his enquiry unanswered, the heiress turned to him, mask dropping to reveal frustrated annoyance.

"Ever since that night, all she ever talks about is Harry bloody Potter," she grumbled. Her graceful steps devolved into near stomps as she continued. "It's always Harry this or Harry that. She made Mother hire her a DADA tutor all because of Potter's interest in the subject." Daphne seethed. "She used to hate DADA!" She rubbed at her eyes tiredly. "To make things worse, Mother encourages her. It's awful."

Theodore raised a brow at his friend's rare outburst.

A moment of silence later, she huffed. "She's doing fine. Brilliant, actually. She's too busy being smitten with Potter and gushing over how consuming his eyes are to worry about politics." She visibly withheld a gag. "Her words, not mine."

He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips at Daphne's ire. He didn't envy her position. Potter was positively addictive, and Astoria, from what he's known of her, was quick to fall into spiralling obsessions over anything that held her interest.

"I'm sorry," he told her sincerely. "She'll get over it."

"I am, too," Daphne droned, but refrained from commenting on the second half of his words. They both knew it for the lie it was. No one got over Potter.

They fell into a companionable quietness after that brief interlude.

Theodore was content to let his thoughts drift, comforted by Daphne's presence by his side. Briefly, he thought that it was these moments of their friendship that he has missed the most during the weeks of her absence. She was one of the few people he knew who wasn't discomfited by silence.

However, their stroll was soon interrupted by an echoing laugh and hurried steps.

Daphne tensed. "Listen, I've got to go, alright?" She shifted, nervousness evident in the hard lines of her body. "The professors are already waiting for me in the Headmaster's Office." She turned but faltered just before taking off down the halls. "Theodore, about Potter…be careful, okay?"

He stared unblinkingly back at his friend. Their eyes met for the fraction of a second. "Good luck, Daphne."

A curt nod was all he got in return before the darker hair girl skulked up the stairwell, robes sweeping out behind her.

The day of Christmas was a quiet affair.

Harry awoke to an empty dormitory and a peaceful quietude. The rest of the Slytherin House had all gone home over the holidays, and only a few of the seventh years who were busy preparing for NEWTS lingered in the Common Room.

The rest of Hogwarts was the same. The difference became most apparent during meals. The previously bustling Great Hall was now verging on deserted. Each of the long tables was only occupied by a handful of students and all conversations were had in whispers.

Harry didn't mind the change in the least. Truthfully, he has been much too preoccupied to let the sudden emptiness of the castle bother him at all. The last few weeks had been spent exchanging letters with those he's met at the Greengrass gathering and in various corners of the library.

He's been making steady progress with his research and he has already determined that it was none other than the philosopher's stone secreted away in the forbidden corridor. But identification had ben the easy part. He soon discovered that there were only frustratingly sparse tidbits of information on the wondrous creation. It seemed that he had already reached a dead end with the resources he has.

Which brought him to the question-what to do next?

He was so deep in thought that the significance of the day did not even occur to him until the evening when he, quite literally, tripped over the pile of wrapped parcels at the foot of his bed. He stared down at the wrapped packages for a long moment before his eyes widened in understanding.

Harry snorted, picking up a smaller box and dropping gracelessly onto his bed. It was almost humiliating how long it had taken him to make the connection.

Back in the adoption centre, they had celebrated Christmas, but much less extravagantly than what Hogwarts has done. If they were lucky, they were given small presents of second-hand toys or clothes. It was the other children's favourite time of the year, but Harry never cared for festivities. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to see what the other students have chosen to gift him.

The number of presents he has received was staggering, but only a few stood out amongst the rest.

The vast majority were Honeydukes sweets and stationery sets from students from other Houses who he only occasionally spoke to in classes who were probably attempting to get into his good graces. The Slytherins knew him much better, having all gotten him obscure books and magical objects, most of which were of questionable nature.

Draco's gift came in the form of three thick volumes baring the Malfoy family insignia. It seemed that the Malfoy heir has taken his comment at the party to heart, for all three were written on the subject of elixirs, the theory behind their creation, and their various uses.

Blaise sent a small chest filled with an assortment of glass vials. Harry's brow shot up upon discovering over two dozen flasks of powerful potions or lethal venoms, half of which bordered on the illegal.

Mother sends her regards, the Zabini heir's note read. Harry smirked at the words when he remembered who exactly Blaise's mother was and what she was famed for, before carefully closing the case and pushing it aside.

Theodore gave him two nondescript looking chests which he called "vanishing cabinets" in his letter alongside a novella that explained their proper uses.

Daphne had sent him a gift card to Flourish & Blotts worth 100 galleons. He hadn't even expected the Greengrass heiress to send anything at all.

Pansy Parkinson, as well, pleasantly surprised him with her gift of a "Hand of Glory". As her curt letter stated, it was given in hopes of lessening the chances of Harry getting caught in his nighttime escapades and Slytherin losing house points.

Miles Bletchley gave him the newest racing broom model, of all things. But he shrugged and placed it with the other gifts he was planning on keeping. Who knew when he would need a convenient and untraceable way of travel.

The final parcel was wrapped in a dull brown paper and only came with a short note that didn't name the sender.

Your father left this in my possession. Use it well.

Harry stared expressionlessly down at the note for a moment before closing his fist around it. He let his hand drop, flakes of ash drifting to the floorboards as his fingers loosened. Why did the Headmaster have something of his, and why did he only bother sending it now?

The older wizard's spidery handwriting was terribly conspicuous. If he thought that by leaving out his name, he was able to somehow remain behind a veil of anonymity, he was sorely mistaken.

However, Harry's displeasure siphoned off as soon as he draped the cloth over his shoulders.

Seeing his own body vanish from beneath him was one of the most peculiar experiences of his life.

An invisibility cloak, he breathed in awe.

He's read about them, naturally, but he never thought he would ever hold one in real life. Most of the ones in existence would barely last a few months before their effects faded. If Dumbledore was being truthful, then the cloak would have to be at least a decade old.

Harry stroked a hand along the silky material, revelling in the ancient magic that thrummed beneath his fingertips. It was a powerful magical artefact, without a doubt.

Possibilities flashed before his eyes, too many for him to count. If he could move undetected through Hogwart's halls…

A razor-edged smile split his lips and he headed for the stairs, piles of presents forgotten. Regardless of intentions, Dumbledore had just unknowingly done him an enormous favour.

Hogwarts has been more or less handed to him on a silver platter, and he wasn't about to let it go to waste.

Now, without risking being caught unprepared, he could fully traverse Hogwarts unseen. His first destination was already set before he even stepped beyond the Common Room doors. There was only one place where he could find the information he needed.

Harry pulled up the hood of the cloak as the Slytherin entrance pulled close behind him, shifting back into a bare wall. He was headed back to the restricted section.