Harry Potter: Forging the Flame

"What do we even need formal robes for?" Ron's voice broke through the gentle rhythm of the train's clatter.

Harry looked up from the book resting on his lap. He, Hermione, and Ron were seated in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. They had bid farewell to the Weasleys at the platform; Ginny had gone to sit with her friends, while Fred and George had disappeared to join their usual crowd.

"I think there's going to be some kind of event at Hogwarts this year," Harry replied, closing the heavy tome with a quiet thud. The title on the spine read Permanent Spells and Their Irreversible Effects. He'd found it in the Black family library and had hoped it might offer some insight into Tracey's condition. But the dense, archaic language was like wading through a bog in the dark. He'd wanted answers, something to spark hope, but the book was far beyond his understanding.

"An event?" Ron asked, flipping through The Daily Prophet.

"Sirius mentioned something about it while we were in Latvia," Harry said.

Hermione glanced up from stroking Crookshanks. "I wonder what it could be. My parents didn't say anything."

Ron muttered something under his breath, but Harry's eyes were drawn to the bold headline on the front page of Ron's newspaper.

"Wait, what's that?" Harry leaned forward, gesturing to the paper.

Hermione glanced at Harry. "Oh, right—you missed all this while you were at St. Mungo's. They've been talking about it for days now. While you were… well, fighting Selwyn, there was another disturbance. A Dark Mark appeared. The Ministry tried to cover it up, but word got out. Now The Prophet is running it everywhere. It's the sign… You-Know-Who's sign. The one Death Eaters used whenever they killed."

Harry frowned, his stomach twisting as he stared out the window. The countryside blurred past, the green fields and open skies doing little to calm his unease. The Dark Mark. Tracey. What the hell is going on?

Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely noticed Hermione watching him closely.

"So," she asked suddenly, "how was Latvia? Did you have fun?"

Harry blinked, shaken out of his reverie. A small smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his seat. "Yeah. It was… different."

He launched into a few safe stories: their wild attempts at dancing, the treacherous climb up a cliff, and Sirius' unending enthusiasm for local foods. But the challenge from Merlin? That stayed locked away. He and Sirius had agreed not to mention it, not yet.

Harry was mid-sentence when something happened that he had, by now, become rather used to. Their compartment door slid open without so much as a knock, and in walked Draco Malfoy, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle. His usual smirk of superiority was firmly in place as he looked at Harry.

"Well, if it isn't Potty and his mismatched tagalongs" Draco drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I heard you had some sort of… accident even before the school year started."

Harry stood, stepping closer to him. Draco hadn't changed much over the summer. He was still short, his face perhaps a touch sharper, but he was undeniably still a boy.

"It's true," Harry replied evenly.

Draco's smirk twisted further as he shifted his attention to Ron and Hermione. "Still hanging around with the lesser sort, I see. A Mudblood and a pauper? And what's with the clothes, Weasley? Don't tell me your dad finally got more overtime at the Ministry?"

Ron, Hermione, and Harry were all wearing the new outfits delivered to the Burrow the night before. Ron, in particular, had wasted no time replacing his old wardrobe, and the difference was undeniable.

Harry sighed, stepping forward again to interrupt Malfoy before his tirade gained any more steam. "You know," Harry began casually, his voice light, "I'm pretty sure even your mum doesn't complain as much as you do. And she was at my place last night. Are you sure you're not gay, Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes widened in shock, his pale cheeks flushing pink. Hermione gasped audibly, covering her mouth with her hand, while Ron burst into raucous laughter. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged confused glances, clearly unsure how to react.

"What did you just say, Potter?" Draco spluttered.

"I asked if you were a bit of a faggot,"

"How dare you!" Draco hissed, his hand darting to his wand. Harry was faster.

In one swift motion, Harry had his wand pressed to Draco's throat, stopping him cold.

"Walk away Malfoy, before an accident happens to you too,"

Draco muttered something under his breath, his face a storm of humiliation and anger as he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the compartment door behind him.

"Mate, that was brilliant!" Ron cackled, wiping at his eyes.

"Blame Sirius," Harry said, his mouth twitching in a grin. "You pick up a few lines when you spend enough time around him."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the compartment door slid open once more. Ginny Weasley stepped inside, a wide grin stretched across her freckled face.

"You're not going to believe who I just saw sulking down the corridor," she said, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Malfoy himself, with a face redder than the Quaffle!"

This set off another peal of laughter from Ron, Harry, and even Hermione, whose giggles she tried unsuccessfully to stifle behind her hand. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing Malfoy's arrogant sneer wiped away by humiliation.

As the laughter subsided to occasional snickers, Harry noticed the odd blonde girl lingering behind Ginny in the doorway. She was petite, with a sweet, pixie-like face - but her wide, silvery-grey eyes seemed to pin Harry with an unsettling, all-seeing gaze.

"Who's your friend?" Harry asked, straightening up and scooting over on the bench to make room.

"This is Luna Lovegood," Ginny replied. "She's in Ravenclaw. Luna, come on in…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Ron said at last, breaking the comfortable silence, "any idea what this big 'event' at Hogwarts is supposed to be? Seems an odd reason to require dress robes."

Hermione straightened up, always eager to share her theories and knowledge. "Well, it could be any number of things really. Perhaps some sort of international magical conference or an exchange program with students from other wizarding schools."

Ron made a sour face. "A conference? Held at Hogwarts?" He shook his head. "Doesn't seem like the safest place for that sort of thing, does it? I mean, with our track record…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione chided. "Hogwarts has played host to all sorts of important events over the centuries. It would probably be considered a great honor."

From her spot by the window, Luna spoke up in her vague, dreamy voice. "Or perhaps it's a commemorative ballet - celebrating the annual migration patterns of the Snozzleflit Snorkacks."

The others blinked at her, bewildered. Ron opened his mouth, closed it again, then shook his head slowly as if thinking better of asking her to explain.

"Yeah, well…my money's on some sort of Quidditch tournament between the houses," he declared with finality. "Now that I could get behind!"

"Of course you could," Ginny teased, giving his arm a playful poke.

Further debate was cut off as the train began slowing, the wheels letting out a screech of protest against the tracks. They had arrived at the Hogsmeade station at last.

Harry felt a surge of eagerness as the familiar sights and sounds washed over him - the rumblings of hundreds of students disembarking, the creak of trunks and cages being collected, and then that booming, welcome voice that made his grin widen:

"Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" Hagrid's unmistakable bellow echoed across the platform.

"There's Hagrid!" Harry said, spotting him in the crowd. He raised a hand to wave, but the half-giant was already swamped with nervous first-years.

"He's too busy," Hermione said, tugging Harry gently. "We'll talk to him later."

Harry noticed Luna drifting closer. The strange girl fell into step beside him and Ginny as they made their way toward the queue of horseless carriages waiting to pull them up to the castle.

Those silvery eyes fixed on Harry again, seeming to stare not just at him but through him in a way that made him shift self-consciously.

"Your aura," Luna said in that singsong lilt. "It's very bright, but quite tangled too. Like a snarl of sunbeams."

Harry blinked, perplexed, and glanced at Hermione for assistance in deciphering the odd statement. But the brilliant witch just frowned, leaning in with frank curiosity.

"Aura?" she asked Luna directly. "What precisely do you mean by that?"

"An aura is like…the song a person sings without opening their mouth. Yours," she tilted her head, considering Hermione for a moment, "is full of sunshine, but there are brambles woven through the melody."

Hermione, never one to shy away from a puzzle, even one presented as cryptically as this, pursued the topic. "Brambles? Does that mean something bad?"

Luna hummed, a noncommittal sound that might have been agreement or simply appreciation for the cacophony of the station. "Not bad, necessarily. Just…thorny. Like a bird with clipped wings, trying to fly through a tangled garden."

Harry, despite his confusion, felt an odd resonance with Luna's words. A bird with clipped wings. It echoed a feeling he'd been carrying within him, a sensation of being held back, restrained. He glanced at her, a question forming on his lips, but the bustling platform and the press of students around them made conversation difficult.

Ron, predictably, rolled his eyes. "Right," he muttered, already scanning the platform for a likely carriage. "Because that clears everything up."

Ginny elbowed him lightly. "Leave her alone, Ron. It's just Luna being Luna." She turned to Harry, her expression curious. "What do you reckon she means, Harry?"

He shrugged, still pondering the image. "No idea. Maybe she just likes weird metaphors."

The conversation shifted abruptly as Ron pointed ahead. "There's a free one! Come on!" He broke into a jog, Hermione and Ginny hot on his heels. Harry, still slightly preoccupied by Luna's words, followed at a slower pace, the strange girl drifting along beside him.

He glanced at Luna, who was gazing up at the sky with an almost vacant expression, a wisp of blonde hair escaping her haphazard braid.

"So," he began, hesitant to pry but drawn to her peculiar brand of wisdom, "about my aura…what did you see, exactly?"

Luna lowered her gaze, those silvery eyes locking onto his with unsettling intensity. "Wraiths," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the din of the platform. "Whispering secrets in the shadows of your light. But they are fading, Harry Potter. Or perhaps…being consumed."

Before Harry could ask her to clarify, Ron called impatiently from the carriage. "Oi, Harry! Are you coming or what?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall was alive with the hum of returning students, its enchanted ceiling reflecting the last rays of a dusky sky. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, flanked by Ron and Hermione, the chatter and laughter of his housemates swirling around him. Plates were already filling with food as the Sorting Hat finished its song and the first-years nervously awaited their turn.

Dean and Seamus were arguing good-naturedly about the chances of West Ham in the upcoming football season, a conversation that Ron dismissed with a bewildered wave of his fork. "Honestly, how can you even care about Muggle sports with Quidditch starting soon?"

Harry had barely begun to help himself to a generous serving of shepherd's pie when the familiar clinking of a goblet echoed across the Great Hall. The sound hushed the chatter instantly, and every head turned toward the staff table. Professor Dumbledore had risen, his arms spread in a welcoming gesture, the twinkle in his eyes bright even in the golden glow of the enchanted ceiling.

"Welcome," he began, his voice warm and carrying easily over the silent room, "to another year at Hogwarts! It is always a pleasure to see our halls filled with such lively faces."

"This year," Dumbledore continued, "promises to be one of excitement and perhaps a little mystery, as we will be hosting an event that has not graced our walls for over a century." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Whispers erupted across the Hall and Harry glanced at Ron, who wiggled his eyebrows in response. Hermione let out a sigh and facepalmed, muttering something under her breath.

Dumbledore raised a hand, and silence fell again. "It is my great pleasure to announce that Hogwarts has been chosen to host the Triwizard Tournament."

Gasps rippled through the students, followed by a flurry of eager whispers. Ron's fork clattered to his plate, his face alight with wonder. "The Triwizard Tournament? That's massive!"

"It hasn't been held in ages," Hermione whispered, her brows knitting together in concern. "It was banned because of how dangerous it was."

Harry's eyes darted back to Dumbledore, who seemed unfazed by the reaction.

"For those unfamiliar, the Triwizard Tournament is a magical competition that will bring together three schools—Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school will be represented by a single champion, chosen by an impartial judge, to compete in three tasks designed to test their magical prowess, courage, and ingenuity. The winner will receive eternal glory—and a reward of one thousand Galleons."

"I must impress upon you all," Dumbledore said, as he looked over the Hall, "that the Tournament is not for the faint of heart. It is a competition with inherent risks. To ensure the safety of our students, only those of age—seventeen or older—will be allowed to put forth their name for consideration."

Ron groaned audibly. "Of course. Typical. We're just too young to have any fun."

Harry grinned faintly but kept his focus on Dumbledore, who was now smiling gently. "But I encourage you all to embrace the unique opportunity this event represents. It is a chance to learn not just from the tasks themselves, but from the friendships we form with our guests. "

As Dumbledore concluded his announcement and the students burst into animated conversation, the Gryffindor table came alive with excitement. Fred and George were the loudest, naturally, practically vibrating with energy.

"Did you hear that?" Fred said, slapping George on the back. "One thousand Galleons! Eternal glory! That's not just pocket change, my dear brother."

George nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. "And Dumbledore didn't say anything about a Weasley age-enhancement potion being against the rules."

"Absolutely genius!" Fred declared. "We're practically guaranteed to get in."

Hermione groaned from across the table. "You do realize that the age restriction is there for a reason? The tournament is dangerous. People have died."

"Danger is our middle name," George said, waving her off with mock bravado.

Ron, who had been sitting quietly for once, leaned over to Harry with a gleam in his eye. "Eternal glory, Harry. Can you imagine? Everyone knowing your name, singing your praises…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Ron, everyone already knows my name. And trust me, it's not as fun as it sounds."

Seamus, sitting a few seats down, was practically bouncing in his chair. "Can you believe it? Beauxbatons and Durmstrang here at Hogwarts. I've heard their champions are always top-notch."

"Yeah, but it's the tasks that'll be insane," Dean added,"Giants, maybe? Or treasure hunts through forbidden forests?"

"Or trolls," Seamus said with a grin. "Loads of trolls."

Neville, sitting quietly next to them, paled slightly. "I hope it's nothing like that. It sounds terrifying."

Fred leaned in conspiratorially. "Ah, come on, Neville. If it's trolls, just let Harry handle them. He's got a bit of experience, hasn't he?"

The table erupted in laughter, but Harry couldn't help but smirk. "I think I've had enough adventures for a lifetime, thanks."

"Speak for yourself!" Ron said, eyes shining. "If I was old enough, I'd toss my name in the Goblet without thinking twice."

"Eternal glory, eh?" Harry muttered, half to himself. Champions? Dangerous tasks? Meh. No, thank you. I'd rather go on vacation with Sirius.

Hermione glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "You wouldn't, would you?"

"Not a chance," Harry said firmly, stabbing a piece of shepherd's pie with his fork.

Fred and George exchanged mischievous grins. "Well, someone's got to represent Gryffindor," Fred said, nudging George. "Might as well be us."

"As long as you don't blow up half the castle trying to cheat," Hermione muttered, earning laughs from the rest of the table.

As the noise in the hall began to die down, Professor McGonagall stood up from her seat at the staff table, a stack of parchment in her hands.

"Schedules for this year will be distributed shortly," she announced crisply. "Prefects, please see to your respective houses."

She handed off the parchments to the Gryffindor Prefects, who began moving up and down the table, distributing the neatly rolled timetables. Hermione accepted theirs and handed Harry and Ron their schedules.

"Let's see," Ron said, unrolling his parchment with little enthusiasm. "Double Potions with the Slytherins first thing tomorrow. That's a cruel way to start the year."

"It's called challenging your mind," Hermione said, scanning her own schedule with the air of someone already planning her academic domination.

Harry, half-listening, glanced across the hall toward the Slytherin table. His eyes settled on a girl sitting near the middle, her blonde hair catching the flickering candlelight. She seemed detached from the conversation around her, calmly sipping from her goblet while others around her laughed or gestured animatedly.

"Who's that?" Harry asked, leaning slightly toward Ron.

Ron followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Don't know her name, but she's hot. Surprising for a Slytherin."

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Just saying," Ron muttered defensively.

"That's Daphne Greengrass," Hermione interjected, her tone more measured. "She's nearly top of our year in most subjects."

Harry blinked, surprised by the revelation. "Nearly?"

Hermione's lips twitched ever so slightly, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction crossing her face before she answered. "Yes, nearly."

Ron turned back to Harry, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Why are you interested in her, mate?"

Harry hesitated for a moment before answering. "I saw her at St. Mungo's," he said, "She was visiting Tracey."

Ron looked curious for a moment but shrugged, turning his attention back to his food.

Hermione tilted her head, studying Daphne again. "Visiting Tracey, you say? I wonder how they're connected. They're both in Slytherin, but I don't recall seeing them interact much at school."

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't mean anything. Slytherins are a sneaky bunch. Probably keep their friendships quiet so they can backstab each other later."

"Ron," Hermione said sharply, but Harry waved her off.

"It's fine," Harry said, his eyes still fixed on Daphne. Something about the calm way she carried herself seemed at odds with the cold, competitive demeanor he associated with most Slytherins. "She didn't seem…sneaky. Just quiet."

"Quiet like a snake," Ron muttered, jabbing a sausage with his fork.

Across the table, Seamus leaned forward, breaking Harry's train of thought. "Oi, Harry, did you hear? I bet Durmstrang will send that Viktor Krum bloke as their champion."

"Krum?" Ron's attention snapped back to the conversation. "The Viktor Krum? The one who plays for Bulgaria?"

"Who else?" Seamus said with a grin. "I heard he's still at Durmstrang. Imagine seeing him here!"

Ron looked like he'd just won the Quidditch World Cup himself. "If Krum's here, I'll die happy. Maybe he'll give me an autograph."

"You do realize that to get an autograph, you'll have to survive Snape's class first," Harry quipped, picking up his goblet of pumpkin juice.

Ron groaned, his excitement deflating instantly. "Right. Double Potions with Snape. "

"Maybe you should try being extra polite," Hermione suggested with a sly look. "It might stop him from docking points within the first five minutes."

"Polite?" Ron huffed. "I'd have better luck showing up with a peace offering. What do you reckon? A cauldron-sized mug of tea and some biscuits?"

"His undying love for you would definitely grow," Harry said, deadpan. "You might even get house points for effort."

As the final bites of pudding disappeared from the gleaming plates, the chatter in the Great Hall began to quiet, students settling back into their seats as the food vanished from the long tables. The golden glow of the enchanted ceiling reflected the deepening night outside, stars twinkling faintly against the dark velvet sky.

Professor Dumbledore rose from his chair, the movement enough to command attention. The soft hum of voices faded entirely, replaced by an expectant silence.

The Great Hall buzzed with the last whispers of dinner, the enchanted ceiling a shimmering reflection of the star-dusted night outside. Dumbledore rose, a familiar twinkle in his eye, and the chatter died down like a snuffed candle.

"Well now," he began, his voice warm and comforting, "I trust you all enjoyed the feast. A few announcements before we retire for the evening." He paused, the silence stretching just long enough to build anticipation. "Firstly, and I'm afraid this will disappoint some of you, there will be no Quidditch this year."

A collective groan rippled through the Hall, hitting the Gryffindor table like a tidal wave. Ron's face crumpled. "No Quidditch?!" he moaned, the words laced with despair. "But… but what about the Cup? What about…everything?"

Fred, ever the opportunist, leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Don't worry, Ronnie. We'll just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves. Breaking into the Triwizard Tournament, perhaps?"

Hermione shot him a withering look, but before she could unleash a verbal barrage, Dumbledore continued.

"I'm sure," he said, raising a hand to quell the burgeoning unrest, "that you will all channel your enthusiasm into supporting our school champion, whoever they may be."

Suddenly the heavy oak doors at the side of the Hall creaked open, drawing every eye. A figure limped into the room, his patched cloak swirling around him like a storm cloud. His face, weathered and scarred, was partially obscured by the flickering torchlight, but one feature immediately stood out: a vibrant, electric-blue magical eye that swiveled restlessly, taking in every detail of the assembled students.

Dumbledore's face broke into a welcoming smile. "Ah, speak of the devil! May I present our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Alastor Moody."

Whispers erupted like fizzing Whizbangs. Some stared at Moody with open curiosity, others exchanged nervous glances. Harry leaned towards Hermione, a question in his eyes. "That's him? Mad-Eye Moody?"

Hermione nodded, her voice hushed with awe. "He's legendary. One of the best Aurors the Ministry ever had. But… he does seem a bit…"

"Unhinged?" Ron offered, still mesmerized by the rotating eye.

Moody reached the staff table and settled into a chair with a grunt. Dumbledore turned back to the students. "Professor Moody has graciously agreed to share his considerable expertise with us this year. I expect you will all treat him with the respect he deserves."

Moody gave a sharp nod, his magical eye momentarily fixing on Harry, sending a shiver of unease down his spine.

"Finally," Dumbledore said, his voice regaining its usual warmth, "in two months' time, we will be welcoming students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for the Tournament. I trust you will all extend the hand of friendship and show them the best of Hogwarts hospitality."

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the Hall, a flicker of something serious beneath his twinkling eyes. "And now, off to bed with you all. Sleep well. For tomorrow," he added with a subtle smile, "begins a year unlike any other."

With a flourish of his wand, the plates and goblets vanished, and the students began to file out of the Hall.

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the throng of Gryffindors heading for the staircase, Ron muttered, "No Quidditch and we start tommorow with double Potions with Snape. This year better be bloody brilliant to make up for it."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The corridors of Hogwarts were alive with the murmurs and footfalls of students making their way to their respective dormitories. Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed the spiraling staircase leading to the Gryffindor common room, their conversation drifting between excitement for the upcoming year and Ron's complaints about the lack of Quidditch.

"I mean, what are we supposed to do with all our free time?" Ron grumbled. "Play Gobstones? Join a knitting circle?"

Hermione huffed. "You could always spend it studying. Merlin knows you could use the extra time to prepare for your O.W.L.s."

Ron groaned, shaking his head. "I knew you'd say that."

Harry let their bickering wash over him, his own thoughts preoccupied with the Triwizard Tournament. But as they reached the second landing, Neville Longbottom hurried up behind them, slightly out of breath.

"Harry," Neville called, his voice hesitant but urgent.

Harry turned, eyebrows rising in mild surprise. "Neville? Everything all right?"

Neville shifted nervously on the spot, glancing at Ron and Hermione. "Could I… um… could I have a word with you? Just us?"

Ron raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face, but Hermione gave Neville a gentle nod of encouragement before turning to Harry. "We'll save you a seat in the common room," she said, tugging Ron by the sleeve and guiding him up the stairs.

Harry watched them go, then turned back to Neville. "What's up?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

Neville glanced around the stairwell, as if ensuring no one else was within earshot. "It's about St. Mungo's," he said, his tone barely above a whisper. "I… I saw you there. At the Cruciatus ward."

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "You saw me?" he repeated. "When?"

"Just before term started," Neville said, his voice trembling slightly. "I was visiting. I didn't want to interrupt, but I saw you talking to someone. I just… I was curious why you were there."

Harry frowned, his thoughts momentarily tangled. Of all the things Neville could've wanted to discuss, this wasn't what he'd expected. "I was visiting someone," he said carefully, measuring his words. "Her name's Tracey. She's… she was tortured by a Death Eater. I found her and got her out, but she's still recovering. I wanted to check on her."

Neville's expression shifted, his eyes wide with surprise. "You… saved her?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I just got her out. The Healers are the ones helping her now."

Neville nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Thanks for telling me," he murmured. He made to turn away, but Harry stepped forward, his voice stopping him.

"Wait—Neville, why were you there?" Harry asked, his tone gentle but curious. "Are you okay?"

Neville froze, his shoulders stiffening. For a moment, he didn't answer. The silence stretched between them.

"You don't have to tell me," Harry added quickly. "I didn't mean to pry."

Neville let out a shaky breath. "It's my parents. They're… in the Cruciatus ward. I visit them every year before school starts."

The words hit Harry like a physical blow, his stomach twisting painfully. "Your parents?" he repeated, disbelief and sorrow mingling in his voice.

Neville nodded, his eyes still fixed on the stone floor. "They were Aurors. During the first war, Death Eaters tortured them… with the Cruciatus Curse. Over and over, until…" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. "Until their minds broke."

Harry stared at him, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on his chest. "Neville, I… I'm so sorry," he said earnestly. The words felt woefully inadequate.

Neville shook his head quickly, almost defensively. "It's fine," he said, though his tone betrayed the lie. "They're alive, at least. That's more than some people got."

"Mate," Harry said gently, taking a small step closer, "you wanna talk about it? We could… find a classroom or something. Somewhere quiet."

Neville hesitated, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear, even though most of the other students had already passed them by. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag, and for a moment, Harry thought he might decline. But then Neville nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alright."

Harry led the way down the hall, his mind racing. They turned a corner and ducked into a small, unused classroom. Dust motes swirled in the air, caught in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the tall windows.

Harry closed the door softly behind them, his hand lingering on the handle for a moment as he glanced at Neville. The other boy stood near the center of the room, his shoulders slightly hunched and his expression distant, as if he were steeling himself for something difficult.

Harry cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Right. Give me a second."

Without preamble, Harry simply said, "Dobby?"

There was a soft pop, and the house-elf appeared in the middle of the room, his large, bat-like ears twitching with excitement. "Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is here! What can Dobby do for you?"

Neville jumped slightly at Dobby's sudden appearance, his eyes wide, but Harry just gave the elf a small smile. "Dobby, could you bring us some dessert? Maybe some ice cream, and something like chocolate cake, with nuts if you can find it?"

Dobby's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, Harry Potter! Dobby will bring the best desserts Hogwarts has! Just wait here, sir!" With another pop, Dobby vanished.

Neville stared at Harry, his mouth slightly agape. "You just… called for dessert?"

Harry shrugged, leaning against the edge of a desk. "Not that long ago, someone smart told me that difficult conversations are easier when you're full of sweets. Figured we'd give it a try."

Neville blinked at him, his disbelief slowly giving way to a faint smile. "You're… different, you know that?"

"Yeah, well," Harry said, grinning, "I get that a lot."

Before Neville could respond, Dobby reappeared, balancing a large tray piled high with desserts. With a snap of his fingers, the classroom transformed. A small round table materialized in the center, draped with a clean white cloth. Two plush chairs appeared on either side, and the desserts were laid out with care: a bowl of ice cream with every topping imaginable, a rich-looking chocolate cake with hazelnuts, and even a treacle tart.

Dobby beamed at his work. "Is this good, Harry Potter, sir? Anything else Dobby can do?"

"This is perfect, Dobby. Thanks a lot." Harry gestured to the spread, glancing at Neville. "See? Told you it'd help."

Dobby bowed deeply. "Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter and his friend!" With another pop, he was gone.

Neville hesitated for a moment before sinking into one of the chairs. He reached for a slice of chocolate cake, his fingers trembling slightly. Harry sat across from him, loading his ice cream bowl with toppings.

For a few moments, the room was filled only with the clinking of forks against plates and the occasional rustle of the tablecloth. Neville took a cautious bite of cake, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

Harry broke the silence gently. "So… you were saying. About your parents?"

"My parents," Neville began, "were Aurors. Brave, people said." He stared at the table, knuckles bone-white against the wood.

Harry waited.

"They defied the Death Eaters. Fought… survived so much." Neville swallowed, his voice quieter, but with a steel core Harry hadn't heard before. "Until the Lestranges. They wanted to know where… where he was. My parents didn't know. But they…" He inhaled sharply. "Crucio. Over and over."

The words hung in the air, sharp and brittle. Neville's breath hitched, a shuddering gasp, but he forced himself to continue. "It shattered them. Not their bodies… their minds. They're… there. But they're not. I visit, every year, and…" His eyes drifted, unfocused. "I'm a stranger to them. Just another visitor."

He'd seen glimpses of this vulnerability in Neville before, flashes of raw pain quickly masked. Now, it was laid bare, and the sheer weight of it was staggering.

"Neville," Harry said, "it wasn't your fault. Not any of it." He leaned forward, needing to bridge the distance between them.

Neville flinched. He looked up, his eyes filled with a sorrow so profound it made Harry's chest tighten. "How… how can you say that?" he whispered, desperation clinging to the question. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I've seen what that curse does," Harry said, the memory of Tracey Davis's contorted face flashing behind his eyelids. "She was just a kid, Neville. And what they did…" He paused, the image too vivid, too raw. "It leaves scars, even on those who witness it. I can't begin to fathom what your parents went through."

Neville's rigid posture eased fractionally. "You… you really think it's not my fault?"

"I don't think it," Harry said locking his eyes with Neville's. "I know it. And your parents, they wouldn't blame you either. They'd be proud of the man you've become."

Neville let out a long, shaky breath, the tension seeming to seep out of him with it. Harry watched him, a quiet respect blooming in his chest. Neville's resilience, the silent strength he carried, was something truly remarkable.

After a long moment, Neville reached for his fork, a faint, hesitant smile touching his lips. "You were right about the treacle tart, though. It does help."

Harry felt a genuine smile pull at his own lips. "Told you. Sugar fixes everything."

A few minutes later, Harry and Neville finally reached the Gryffindor Tower. Neville gave Harry a small smile before heading silently into the boys' dormitory. Harry lingered in the common room, his eyes scanning the familiar space until he spotted Ron and Hermione sitting together, their expressions marked with curiosity and impatience.

Harry walked over and dropped heavily onto the sofa beside them.

"What took you so long?" Ron asked, leaning forward.

Harry hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the staircase leading to the dormitories. Then, after a deep breath, he said, "Neville told me I could share this with you. Otherwise, I wouldn't."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance. "What's going on?" Hermione asked gently.

Harry leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Neville visits St. Mungo's every year before school starts," he began, "His parents are in the Cruciatus ward. They were Aurors during the first war, and… Death Eaters tortured them until their minds broke."

Ron froze, his mouth slightly open in shock. Hermione's hand flew to her chest, her face pale with disbelief.

"Blimey," Ron whispered after a moment, his voice tinged with both horror and sadness. "I had no idea…"

"Neither did I," Harry admitted.

Hermione blinked rapidly, her voice trembling as she asked, "How does he… how does he manage? That's so much to carry."

Harry shook his head, his expression somber. "I don't know. But it explains a lot, doesn't it? He's stronger than any of us have given him credit for."

The three of them sat in stunned silence for a moment, the weight of Neville's story hanging heavily in the air. Finally, Ron broke it, his voice quiet. "I reckon I'll think twice before calling him clumsy or daft ever again."

"Me too," Hermione said softly, her eyes glistening. She looked at Harry. "Thank you for telling us. He's lucky to have a friend like you."

Harry leaned back, his eyes looking through window. "No," he said after a moment, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "We're lucky to have him."