The Tenth Weasley - CH - 71

The day had started like any other.

Grey skies hung above the Hogwarts towers, mist coiled at the edges of the Black Lake, and frost clung to the windows. But Harry Weasley felt warmth bubbling within his chest — not from the weather, nor from any comforting words. It came from triumph. A triumph he had worked towards for weeks in secret.

He stood in the far corner of a forgotten classroom in the dungeon level, wand in hand, chest heaving from effort. The air was thick with a shimmering residue of magic. He could still hear the echo of his own voice, trembling slightly as he cast the spell that few students his age would dare attempt.

"Expecto Patronum."

And from the tip of his wand had burst a radiant stream of silver light — it shimmered, snaked, and then twisted into form. A creature of power, sleek and coiling. A serpent, but not just any serpent. It was massive, its body gliding gracefully through the air like a ribbon of moonlight. Its head was proud, crowned with a majestic frill — the hood of a cobra — and its eyes glowed with calm strength.

Harry had stared at it, breath caught in his throat, mesmerized.

"The King of Serpents," he had whispered. "A Patronus... mine."

He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face now as he walked the corridors of Hogwarts. Students passed by with guarded expressions, some flinching as they recognized him — the boy they whispered might be the Heir of Slytherin. But Harry didn’t care. Not today.

For once, the weight that had settled on his shoulders since the beginning of the year seemed a little lighter.

He made his way to the Slytherin common room, where Blaise and Daphne were seated on the green velvet sofa, books open between them.

“You look like you’ve swallowed a sunrise,” Blaise said, smirking.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally hexed that fourth-year Ravenclaw who called you ‘Snakeface’?”

Harry chuckled. “Better. I did it.”

Blaise blinked. “Did what?”

“The Patronus Charm.”

Both of them stared.

“You’re joking,” Daphne said.

“I’m not.”

“You mean… Expecto Patronum?” Blaise asked, voice suddenly hushed.

Harry nodded, and leaned in. “It worked.”

Daphne dropped her book. “You’re in second year.”

“You’re twelve,” Blaise added.

“I’ve been practicing,” Harry said, still smiling. “Took me three months. But today… it happened.”

Daphne leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “What was it? What form did it take?”

Harry hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “A serpent.”

The room was silent for a beat.

“A serpent?” Blaise repeated. “You sure that wasn’t the spell backfiring?”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “It was majestic. Silver, elegant. A true guardian. It didn’t hiss or strike. It just… watched. Protected.”

Daphne looked conflicted. “You know what they’ll say, right?”

Harry’s expression darkened slightly. “That even my Patronus is proof that I’m a Dark Wizard.”

“But that’s stupid,” Blaise snapped. “Dark wizards can’t produce Patronuses. That’s the whole point. You managed it. You should get an award.”

“I’m not after awards,” Harry muttered. “I just wanted to prove it — to myself. That no matter what they say, no matter what snake I speak to or what magic I practice, I still have light inside me.”

Daphne softened. “You do.”

There was a pause.

Blaise cleared his throat. “You should keep it quiet though. About the Patronus form.”

“Yeah,” Daphne agreed. “For now. Until people stop being idiots.”

Harry gave a small nod. “Alright. It’s our secret.”

A sudden wave of warmth filled him again — not just from his victory, but from the fact that despite everything, he still had people who believed in him.

People who saw the Patronus not for its form, but for what it meant.

Hope. Light. Protection.

He wasn’t the Heir of Slytherin.

He was Harry Weasley — and he would carve his own legend, one spell at a time.


Blaise and Daphne insistent that Harry couldn’t just tell them he had cast a Patronus without showing it — he gave in with a playful sigh.

“Fine. But only in our practice room,” Harry said, grabbing his wand and cloak. “It’s not something I want floating around the common room.”

The trio made their way quietly down to the dungeons, through winding corridors and hidden corners. The entrance to the old dueling chamber — once used under Sophia Bennett’s tutelage — had been magically sealed since the term began. Only Harry’s wards could open it now.

When the thick stone door slid aside with a muted hum, Daphne stepped in first, looking around the dimly lit chamber. The smooth floor still bore scuff marks from countless spell duels, and the shelves along the wall held dusty tomes and magical relics they’d all collected.

Blaise stepped in after her. “You better not be messing with us, Weasley. I skipped a perfectly good nap for this.”

Harry smirked, drawing his wand. “Just watch.”

He took a breath, closing his eyes briefly. The memory — the one he’d chosen to power the Patronus — had to be strong. Not just happy… pure.

He thought of the day he was officially adopted by the Weasleys. Molly’s arms around him. Arthur’s quiet smile. Fred and George joking that he was now ‘certifiably insane’ for joining the madhouse.

He opened his eyes and whispered, “Expecto Patronum.”

Silver mist exploded from the tip of his wand. It shimmered and twisted, rising with grace and coiling around itself. And then it solidified — gleaming, proud, majestic. A massive serpent, its body long and fluid, its head high and fanged, looked around the chamber with piercing, ghostly eyes.

Daphne gasped. Blaise’s jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered. “You actually did it.”

Daphne’s eyes were wide with awe. “It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying, but… beautiful.”

The Patronus slithered in the air, brushing the floor with the tip of its tail before dissolving into mist, and then vanishing entirely.

Harry lowered his wand, his face flushed slightly from the effort.

“I’ve been working on it since long time,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Thought maybe… it’d be good to have something like that. Something no dark wizard can fake.”

Blaise stepped forward, expression serious now. “A second-year conjuring a full Patronus… That’s not just talent, Harry. That’s raw power.”

“And it’s a serpent,” Daphne said softly, her eyes still fixed on where the silver snake had been. “That’ll only make the rumors worse, you know.”

Harry nodded. “I know. But I don’t care.”

He looked between his two best friends.

“Let them whisper all they want. That —” he gestured to the place the serpent had vanished — “proves I’m not some dark wizard bent on blood. A Patronus doesn’t lie.”

Blaise gave a crooked smile. “That’s the most Slytherin thing you’ve said in a while.”

Harry chuckled. “Guess I have been rubbing off on you two.”

The three sat for a while on the edge of the dueling platform, the silence between them comfortable. The room glowed faintly from a few enchanted torches, and for the first time in weeks, Harry felt something like peace.

Here, in the heart of the dungeons — hidden from the rumors, the curses, and the fear — he could just be himself.

And for a boy accused of being a monster, there was nothing more powerful than proving he carried light inside him.


Inside their private dormitory Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass were finishing their heated debate.

“You are coming, Harry,” Daphne said sternly, her arms crossed, one foot tapping the floor. “You’ve missed too many matches already.”

Harry, who sat by the far wall flipping through Advanced Warding Through Arithmantic Principles, didn’t even look up. “I really don’t care about watching people fly around chasing a ball. Besides, I’m using this time to improve—”

“Improve your public image,” Blaise cut in, grinning. “Because last time you skipped a match, the entire school was whispering that you were performing blood rituals in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry closed his book with a sigh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Daphne said dryly. “Logic isn’t a requirement for rumor.”

Harry stood slowly, brushing the dust off his robes. “Fine. But if I hear one more person call me ‘Dark Lord Weasley’ under their breath…”

“Then you’ll hex them?” Blaise offered helpfully.

“No,” Harry muttered. “Then I’ll write a scathing essay about Hogwarts mob psychology.”

Daphne snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

Half an hour later, they arrived at the Quidditch stands. The match hadn’t started yet, but the seats were already filling up. Students huddled together in scarves and cloaks, waving their house banners, the noise growing with every minute.

As they climbed up into the stands, Harry caught sight of Fred and George warming up on their brooms in Gryffindor red. Charlie, despite his usual nerves, looked confident today. Fred spun midair and waved toward the crowd—his broom trailing gold sparks.

“No cheering for Gryffindor,” Blaise reminded Harry sternly as they took their seats near the Slytherin section.

“Why not?” Harry asked, smirking.

“Because Hufflepuff needs to win this,” Daphne said, scanning the pitch. “If Gryffindor wins by too much, it’ll be hard for Slytherin to catch up in points.”

“I didn’t realize you two were such strategic supporters.”

“We’re Slytherins,” Blaise said. “Even our sports loyalty is tactical.”

The announcement rang through the enchanted mic of Quidditch stadium like a cold wind blowing through an open grave.

"Today’s Quidditch match has been canceled," echoed the voice of Professor McGonagall, magically amplified and grim. “All students are to return to their Houses immediately.”

On the bench Blaise had just tied his Slytherin scarf, and Daphne was applying a silver shimmer charm to her cheekbones—one of the House pride fads she never quite grew out of.

Harry, leaning against the corner with a transfiguration tome in his hand, narrowed his eyes.

“That’s not normal,” he said, his voice low.

Daphne frowned. “They’ve never canceled a game before. Even in blizzards.”

Before Blaise could offer one of his quips, someone cleared their throat from behind. Standing there was Professor Snape, pale as ash and tenser than Harry had ever seen him.

“Miss Greengrass,” Snape said sharply, “you need to come with me. Now.”

Harry instinctively stepped forward. “She’s not going anywhere alone.”

Snape didn’t argue. He simply turned and walked, his robes billowing behind him like storm clouds. Daphne, looking pale, followed. Harry and Blaise exchanged glances and fell into step beside her.

They made their way through the dim halls, every step echoing ominously off the stone. The tension thickened the closer they got to the Hospital Wing.

The door was already open when they arrived.

Inside, Harry’s stomach turned.

On one bed lay Hermione Granger, her eyes wide open and unseeing. Her arm was frozen in place, clutching a small, broken hand mirror. Her features locked in a mask of surprise and terror.

On the bed next to her lay Astoria Greengrass.

Daphne gasped. “No. No, no, no—”

Her knees gave out, and Blaise just managed to catch her before she collapsed entirely. Harry guided her to the seat next to Astoria’s bed. She reached for her sister’s hand and recoiled at how cold it was.

Professor McGonagall stood near the foot of the bed, her lips thin and her eyes red-rimmed, as if she'd been crying but refused to allow herself the luxury of falling apart.

“We found them near the fourth-floor corridor,” she said gently. “They were together. Hermione must have figured something out. She was holding a mirror—perhaps to look around corners, we believe.”

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Hermoine was investigating something,” Charlie said quietly, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “Hermione had been reading obsessively about magical creatures. Said she thought she knew what was in the Chamber.”

“She never told me,” Charlie muttered.

Ron looked away. “She didn’t tell anyone. Just... left a note. We were trying to catch up to her when we heard the scream.”

“Scream?” Daphne rasped, eyes locked on her sister. “Did Astoria scream?”

“No,” said Professor McGonagall. “ Likely Miss Granger.”

“They’re not... dead?” Blaze asked cautiously.

“No,” McGonagall said. “They’re petrified. Just like the others. But they can be revived—once we find the source.”

Snape had remained silent the entire time, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He looked at Harry now, and something in his expression was almost... weary.

Harry stepped back and leaned against the wall, jaw clenched tight.

It was getting worse. Too many had fallen now. And the monster hadn’t been caught. Hermione had tried to figure it out on her own, and now she was lying frozen in a hospital bed.

Astoria had followed Hermione. Brave and reckless.

And now Daphne was sobbing softly beside her, clutching her sister’s petrified hand.

Harry made a silent promise.

He was going to find the monster. And he was going to end this.

No matter what it took.