The Tenth Weasley - CH - 72

The Great Hall was unusually quiet that morning. The clatter of cutlery and low murmur of student chatter seemed to echo louder than normal across the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the gray, cloud-heavy sky above. Harry entered with Blaise and Daphne by his side, their usual corner of the Slytherin table feeling colder, more distant than ever before. All around him, conversations slowed. Forks stopped midway to mouths. Whispers surged like wind through a wheat field, and though no one said it outright to his face, Harry could feel it in every turned glance and hushed voice: they were talking about him.

Daphne kept her eyes on her plate, lips pressed tightly together. Blaise narrowed his gaze at a fourth-year who dared to glance too long.

Across the hall, the Gryffindor table had formed a protective shell around Ron and Charlie Potter. Both boys looked exhausted and angry, but not as angry as the crowd growing around them. And in the hospital wing, Astoria Greengrass and Hermione Granger still lay frozen, their bodies stiff as stone, hands clasped tightly around shards of a broken mirror.

The rumor mill of Hogwarts had worked faster than fire through dry parchment.

“They’re saying you and Granger fought in the library,” Daphne muttered, stabbing a sausage with more force than necessary.

“They think I did it?” Harry’s voice came out low, almost hollow. “They think I attacked Astoria too?”

“People don’t care about facts,” Blaise whispered. His voice trembled. “Astoria was a Greengrass. A pure-blood. It changed everything.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, eyes scanning the hall. He could feel it—the shift. The way the Ravenclaws didn’t even try to hide their judgmental glares. How the Hufflepuffs leaned in together and murmured, eyes darting to Harry every few seconds. Even some of the Slytherins who once praised his dueling skills now gave him a wide berth.

One second-year sneered as he walked past their table. “Hope the next mirror that girl holds shows her the monster she trusted.”

Harry’s fist clenched under the table.

“I could hex him right now,” Blaise hissed.

“No,” Harry said, his voice tight. “That’s what they want. They’re scared. And scared people lash out.”

But it wasn’t just students. The professors had changed too. Professor Flitwick’s cheerful tone had dulled when he greeted Harry during Charms. Professor Sprout no longer gave him warm smiles in Herbology. And worst of all was Professor McGonagall, whose stare had gone from calculating to suspicious. Even Madam Pomfrey looked hesitant when Harry stepped into the infirmary to visit the petrified victims.

It was like the school itself had turned against him.

“I’m going to see Astoria after dinner,” Daphne said suddenly.

Harry nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not today. Not with the way everyone’s looking at you.”

The words stung more than he expected.

In the corridors, students shrank from Harry’s shadow. Younger years scampered out of his way, eyes wide with fear. Even Peeves the Poltergeist had taken to singing mocking rhymes whenever Harry walked by:

“Weasley’s gone dark, they all say so,—
Watch your back, or turn to stone,
Heir of Slytherin sits on his throne!”

By evening, Harry sat alone in the Room of Shadows—the name they’d given to their private training chamber. He stood in the center, his wand in hand, eyes closed. Not to train. Not to fight. Just to breathe.

Then the door creaked open. Blaise entered and sat against the wall. “They're starting to talk about sending letters to the Board of Governors,” he said. “They want you expelled. Some say arrested.”

Harry didn’t flinch. “Let them.”

Blaise watched him closely. “You can’t fight all of Hogwarts, Harry.”

“I don’t need to,” Harry whispered. “I just need to find the real heir. Before someone else ends up petrified. Or dead.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and bitter.

Daphne entered shortly after. Her eyes were red, her voice hollow. “She still looks afraid,” she said. “Like whatever she saw before she turned to stone… it terrified her.”

Harry’s expression didn’t change, but inside his heart ached.

“I will find whoever did this,” he said at last, voice quiet and resolute. “They’re trying to make me the villain. Fine. Let them. But I won’t let them win.”

Blaise nodded once. “Then we start tomorrow. We work from the shadows. Just like a true Slytherin.”

And in the silence that followed, the three of them understood: they were alone now, surrounded by suspicion and fear. But they would not back down.

Not until the truth was uncovered.


The Slytherin common room had never been silent. It always buzzed with murmurs, clever whispers, and smug laughter. But now, as Harry entered from the dim corridor, it felt like every voice paused just long enough to judge him. Eyes tracked his movement. Some glared openly. Others turned away quickly, pretending he no longer existed. He walked past the fire where a few fifth-years huddled, only to hear the low hiss of a whispered conversation cut off mid-sentence.

He ignored them. He had been ignoring them for days now.

But the blow that followed wasn’t one he could deflect.

Daphne was gone.

Her belongings had vanished from the shared private chamber, the shelves she used left bare, her wand rack cleared. The soft scent of her lavender perfume no longer lingered in the room. Harry stood in the middle of the chamber in stunned silence, staring at the empty space.

Then, the knock came.

It was Blaise.

“Hey,” Blaise said quietly, not stepping in. He looked uncomfortable, hands tucked into the pockets of his school robes.

“She’s gone,” Harry said flatly.

Blaise nodded. “Her parents came.”

Harry blinked. “I figured. Didn’t expect you to tell me, though.”

Blaise shifted his weight. “They were… serious. Lord and Lady Greengrass don’t want her anywhere near you.”

“I didn’t hurt Astoria,” Harry said, more to himself than Blaise. “I didn’t hurt Hermione either.”

“I know that,” Blaise replied. “But people don’t care about the truth. They care about fear.”

Harry turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “So what? You’re leaving too?”

Blaise’s silence was answer enough.

“You're scared,” Harry muttered, his voice low.

Blaise frowned. “No. I’m not scared of you, Harry. I’m scared of what the others are going to do because of you. You know how it works. We’re Slytherins. We watch our backs.”

“You’re leaving me alone in this dorm,” Harry said, his voice shaking—not with fear, but with restrained fury. “You used to joke that we were the last sane ones in this madhouse.”

Blaise didn’t respond right away. Then he said softly, “We were friends because it made sense. Because you were strong, and I wanted to survive this school. But now... being near you? It’s making survival harder.”

Harry let out a cold laugh. “And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to stand with their own.”

“They do,” Blaise replied, backing away. “When it benefits them.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

The fire in the hearth cracked quietly. Harry stood there in the emptiness of the room that once buzzed with quiet study sessions, laughter between friends, and late-night whispering about magical theory and forbidden spells. Now it echoed with the sound of betrayal.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, staring into the flames. The same fire that now warmed only him.

Daphne gone. Blaise gone. The whispers had become shouts in corridors. Professors eyed him as if he might use an unforgivable at any moment. Even Dumbledore had kept a steely, unreadable gaze the last time they crossed paths.

And now he was alone.

Truly, utterly alone.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just sat there, allowing the silence to settle like dust around him. Because what was the point of mourning something that had never been real to begin with?



Harry's days at Hogwarts had turned into a blur of whispered rumors, stares, and the occasional hex thrown his way. It was as if the entire school had collectively decided that he was the heir of Slytherin, and that his bloodline was the reason for the attacks. As a Parseltongue, Harry knew that no amount of denial would change their minds. The more he tried to stay away from the chaos, the more it found him.

When the Aurors had come, Harry knew that his situation had reached a breaking point. Their presence only solidified the growing fear and paranoia surrounding him. Even though they had no evidence, the rumors were enough to warrant their visit. And yet, Harry had escaped questioning—barely. He had hidden in the shadows, avoiding their gaze as best as he could.

But escaping the Aurors had done little to quell the storm swirling around him. The attacks on his person became more frequent. It wasn't just the casual insults or slurs anymore; it was curses—actual, dangerous curses—hurled his way during classes and in the corridors. The students who had once been his classmates now avoided him, either too scared to confront him directly or too convinced of the rumors to care. The entire school seemed to be against him.

In retaliation, Harry found himself striking back. A retaliatory curse here, a shield spell there, and students who once jeered him were now nursing wounds in the hospital wing. The professors, especially Professor McGonagall, were growing concerned, but Harry didn't care anymore. He was tired of being the target, tired of being blamed for something he didn't do. And so, he fought back without remorse.

His actions earned him multiple detentions, though he refused to attend most of them. He wasn't about to sit through hours of lecturing when the entire school—staff included—was turning a blind eye to the real issue. It wasn’t about his temper or the damage he caused—it was about the unjust treatment he was receiving, and no one seemed willing to stand up for him.

In the midst of this turmoil, Harry's thoughts turned to a vow he had made in the quiet of his own mind. He would make those who targeted him pay, and he would make them regret it. He didn’t care about the consequences anymore. It wasn’t about defending his reputation—it was about survival. And anyone who wanted to make him the villain would soon learn that he could be far worse than they imagined.

But just as Harry was sinking further into his frustrations, a familiar face appeared. Tracy Davis, a fellow Slytherin, had been lingering around him more and more lately. She wasn’t one to involve herself in the drama of house rivalries, preferring solitude over companionship. But now, she seemed intent on speaking to Harry.

Harry didn’t know what to make of it at first. Tracy had always kept to herself, not someone who went out of her way to make friends or engage in the gossip that surrounded the house. But now, there she was, walking alongside him after classes, casting glances his way as if she had something to say.

"Potter," she said cautiously, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Harry stopped walking, his eyes narrowing. He was in no mood for conversations, especially with someone who might just be another student trying to figure out if the rumors about him were true.

"What do you want, Davis?" Harry asked, his voice colder than he intended.

Tracy flinched slightly at his tone, but she pressed on. "I know what's going on," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know what people are saying about you."

Harry crossed his arms, bracing himself for the worst. He didn’t want to hear another accusation, another rumor. But something in Tracy’s expression made him pause.

"I don’t think you’re the heir of Slytherin," she continued, her words slow but firm. "I don’t know why everyone else does. But... I don’t buy it. And I don’t think you’re as bad as everyone says you are."

Harry stared at her, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t used to anyone standing up for him, especially not now. With the entire school convinced he was a threat, with friends distancing themselves, Tracy’s words felt like a lifeline.

"Why do you care?" Harry asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Tracy shrugged. "I don’t know. I just don’t like seeing someone get the blame for something they didn’t do. And... I think you’re right. People need to be careful who they judge."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. A part of him wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that maybe not everyone had turned against him. But another part of him—one that had been hardened by the endless accusations and hostility—was skeptical.

"Just be careful," Tracy said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "People are watching you. And if they see you with me... well, it could be worse."

Harry didn't respond right away. Instead, he turned and started walking away, his mind racing. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought. Maybe, just maybe, there were people out there who still believed in him. But that didn’t change the fact that he was still being hunted, still being blamed for something he didn’t do.

And as Harry made his way back to the Slytherin common room, he knew one thing for sure—he would never let his guard down. Not now. Not ever again.

The battle had only just begun.