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In the dim corridor of the eighth floor, a meager moonlight fought to pierce the narrow windows, scattering a few pale beams that barely managed to break the gloom of the dust-covered flagstones.
The true, though flickering, light came from the torches lining the walls. Their flames seemed unnaturally eternal, yet they cast a strangely soft, hazy illumination in the surroundings, making it bright enough to see the area but never with perfect clarity.
The whole passage was steeped in a thick, half-dark twilight. Along the walls, the old portraits whispered to one another before falling silent again, as if a quiet, enchanted veil had fallen over the entire world.
"Hermione! Trust me! Potter's been acting really strange lately! Something's definitely wrong! Maybe… and I'm just saying maybe… he's not the same Harry Potter we know anymore!"
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Who knows, Neville, but you've got to believe me, my intuition is never wrong! And I have got a really strong felling that I am right this time."
...
Ian followed the sound of the familiar voices and found Hermione, Ron, and Neville huddled together in a shadowy corner with their heads close, deep in a hushed conference.
'Typical Gryffindors. Unable to sit still for more than a few weeks into the new term, and already they were back to their old habit of sneaking out after hours.' That, Ian mused, perfectly explained why, even in the original timeline, two members of this trio were so prone to late-night wanderings. It wasn't always about a crisis; it was simply in their nature.
The courage to break rules and a love for adventure, those were classic Gryffindor traits. And apparently, even Neville, when spurred on by his friends, could embrace his inner rogue. Setting aside the title of "Sword Saint of Hogwarts," Neville was, in every way that mattered, a genuine Gryffindor.
"Ron, your intuition or whatever it it might be misleading you. We can't just rely on feelings, we need to trust sci--, uh, I mean, more precise magic." Hermione Granger leaned against the cold stone wall, clutching a heavy textbook to her chest, her brown curls looking extra voluminous in the weak light.
She still sounded a bit awkward in her role as a witch, nearly slipping back into Muggle habits of speech before correcting herself at the last second. "For example, Divination."
"Divination? None of us knows how to do that!" Ron immediately shot back. "And besides, intuition is connected to Divination, that's what Mum always told me!"
"You both make good points," Neville said hesitantly, stuck awkwardly between his two arguing companions, unwilling to offend either side.
"Just give me one week, no, five days! I'll definitely learn Divination magic by then!" Hermione's fierce competitiveness blazed out.
"Five days? You think Divination's easy? You need talent for that, you know! Being a top student doesn't mean you can learn every kind of magic! And besides, a lot can happen in five days." Ron's voice wavered. "You know… those kinds of terrible things. Something's definitely happened to Harry! We need to find out what's going on!"
Ron, for all his flaws, was as stubbornly resolute as ever, his face etched with concern and confusion.
"Uh… I didn't really notice anything." Neville Longbottom stood frozen between them, his round face fixed in that polite, awkward smile, the standard expression of a boy caught in the middle.
In the pocket of his robe, his toad Trevor squirmed uneasily, letting out a faint "ribbit." Clearly, the notorious escape artist had noticed the figure standing nearby, listening, though Ian was making no effort to hide his presence. The three of them, however, were far too wrapped up in their secret conference to notice.
At the corridor corner, Ian Prince leaned casually against a stone pillar, his slender fingers tapping a rhythm on his wand. He'd only been passing by, but the conversation had instantly captured his attention. Moonlight filtered through the high window, casting a faint silver halo across his handsome profile.
'Ahem. Ahem.'
He cleared his throat softly, but it made no difference. The trio was utterly engrossed.
"Ron, you've said that three times already. Harry's just been a little quieter lately, hasn't he?" Hermione furrowed her brows, clutching her thick spellbook. She thought for a moment, then lowered her voice. "Of course, there were a few times when I greeted him and he glared at me… pretty fiercely, actually. That was a bit strange."
"But I think he's just in a bad mood. You both know the kind of fame he carries, yet his grades have never matched up. He's probably under a lot of psychological pressure." Although Hermione was still trying to defend Harry, a faint flicker of doubt had entered her eyes, and her usual confidence seemed to falter.
"See? You've noticed it too, haven't you?" Ron scratched his messy red hair, his face scrunching up as he recalled something. "I've thought it was weird for a while now. Not long ago, I saw him look at me, cold, distant… and I swear his eyes glowed green! Like a snake's eyes!"
He lowered his voice to a terrified whisper. "I'm sure of it. He's definitely been influenced by Dark Magic."
Fear flashed across Ron's eyes; his body trembled slightly. For wizards their age, even mentioning Dark Magic was enough to make them uneasy, especially for those from old pure-blood families like the Weasleys.
In these families, stories of Dark Magic and its horrors were often deliberately exaggerated by parents to scare their children away from ever touching it. Even outside of that custom, the general attitude of the wizarding world meant most students instinctively treated it with deep fear and respect.
After all, not everyone was a Tom Riddle. And even fewer had the ability or resources to study Dark Magic safely, as Ian and Aurora did.
"Dark Magic? I know about that." Hermione adjusted her glasses, suspicion flashing in her eyes. "But what kind of Dark Magic could have that much influence? Harry's always been strong, he wouldn't be corrupted that easily. And besides, how could Dark Magic even appear in Hogwarts?"
Her voice was steady, but a subtle tremor lay beneath it, a faint trace of unease that hinted at her growing dread. The more she thought about it, the more terrifying the possibility felt.
(To Be Continued…)