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Harry awoke with a start, the pre-dawn stillness of the Burrow broken only by a cacophony of sounds his enhanced hearing couldn't quite ignore. Five floors below, Mrs. Weasley was already up, the soft clink of her spoon against a mixing bowl as rhythmic as a metronome. Outside, gnomes chittered as they reclaimed territory in the garden. Three rooms away, Percy turned a page in what was likely another report on cauldron bottoms.
Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. Two months since Lupin's claws had torn through his chest, and he was still adjusting. At least he'd mastered dampening the worst of his sensory overload. The smells no longer overwhelmed him completely—though he could still detect the lingering scent of Hermione's vanilla shampoo.
Hermione.
The memory of their kitchen conversation just hours ago flooded back, warming him from the inside. The relief when he'd realized she didn't regret their night together. The softness of her lips when they'd kissed. The way her eyes had lit up when they'd finally cleared the air between them.
' "We do tend to overthink things," he'd admitted.
"Speak for yourself," she'd replied before pulling him back for another kiss. '
Harry smiled at the ceiling, luxuriating in the memory. For once in his life, something good was happening—something that wasn't immediately followed by disaster. He had Hermione. She wanted him, with all his scars and complications. It felt too good to be true.
Reaching absently for his glasses on the nightstand, Harry frowned when his fingers met only wood. He turned his head, squinting at the blurry surface. Not there. Must have knocked them off in his sleep.
Accio glasses, he thought automatically, not really expecting anything to happen.
A soft whoosh of displaced air, and the familiar weight of his glasses landed directly in his outstretched palm.
Harry froze, heart suddenly pounding. He hadn't used his wand. He hadn't even spoken aloud. Yet his glasses had obeyed a silent, wandless summoning charm as effortlessly as if he'd used his phoenix-feather wand.
"Bloody hell," he whispered, sitting up and placing the glasses on his nose with slightly trembling fingers.
This was new. Yes, he'd been practicing wandless magic using the books Sirius had sent—simple spells like Lumos and Alohomora that he could now manage with concentration. But a silent, wandless Accio? That was advanced magic, well beyond what he'd achieved in his private practice sessions.
Harry glanced at his hands, turning them over as if expecting to see some visible change. The partial lycanthropy had already transformed him physically—his lanky teenaged frame had filled out with lean muscle, his reflexes had sharpened to preternatural levels, and his senses had heightened beyond normal human capacity. But this felt like something else.
He closed his eyes, reaching inward to examine the wellspring of his magic. It felt different somehow—wilder, less contained, flowing through him rather than simply residing within him. The scratch that had changed his body had changed his magic too, it seemed.
Experimentally, Harry held out his palm and thought, Lumos.
Light bloomed instantly, bright enough to illuminate the entire room. Usually, his wandless Lumos created only a modest glow that required significant concentration to maintain. This was effortless and powerful.
"Nox," he whispered, extinguishing the light before it could wake Ron.
Too late.
"Wuzzappenin?" Ron mumbled from the other bed, his hair a flame-red disaster against the pillow. "S'time for breakfast?"
"No, just... morning," Harry replied, quickly dropping his hand. "Sorry if I woke you."
Ron yawned expansively, stretching like a gangly cat. "S'alright. Probably should get up anyway. Dad says the Ministry's sending someone over today about the World Cup tickets." His sleepy expression transformed into one of pure excitement. "Can you believe it, Harry? The Quidditch World Cup! Bulgaria versus Ireland!"
Harry nodded, grateful for Ron's predictable enthusiasm—and his complete obliviousness. "It'll be brilliant," he agreed, tucking away his concerns about his evolving magic for later.
"Viktor Krum is playing!" Ron continued, now fully awake and sitting up. "Best Seeker in the world right now. His Wronski Feint is legendary. Reckon you could learn it? With your new... you know." He gestured vaguely at Harry's body, tactfully avoiding the word 'lycanthropy.'
"Maybe," Harry said, genuinely considering it. His enhanced reflexes and strength would certainly help with advanced flying maneuvers. "Though I'd probably break my neck trying."
Ron laughed, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. "Nah, you'd be brilliant. Besides, Madam Pomfrey can fix broken necks, right?" He paused, his expression sobering slightly. "Speaking of... how are you feeling? You know, with the... moon and all that."
Harry appreciated the concern, even if Ron's attempt at delicacy was somewhat lacking. "I'm fine. Next full moon's not for three weeks." He didn't mention the strange development with his magic. There would be time for that later, preferably when Hermione was around to help make sense of it.
"Good, good," Ron nodded, obviously relieved to move past the awkward moment. "Race you to breakfast? Mum's making bacon—I can smell it from here."
Harry grinned. "You can smell it because she always makes bacon on Thursdays. I can smell it because, well..." He tapped his nose meaningfully.
"Right, super-senses and all that," Ron rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Still jealous about that bit, if I'm honest. Must be brilliant during Quidditch—you'll know where the Snitch is before anyone else even sees it!"
"Let's hope McGonagall doesn't consider it cheating," Harry replied, only half-joking. He'd been worried about exactly that.
Ron was already pulling on a maroon jumper. "Nah, it's a natural ability now, innit? Like how Charlie's got those quick reflexes. Besides," he added fgrrt u with a grin, "about time we had an advantage over those cheating Slytherins."
.
.
The kitchen was already alive with activity. Mrs. Weasley orchestrated breakfast, her wand directing multiple cooking implements simultaneously. Mr. Weasley sat at the head of the table, hidden behind the Daily Prophet. Fred and George huddled together at one end, whispering conspiratorially, while Percy meticulously buttered his toast at the other, a thick Ministry report open beside his plate.
"Good morning, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley greeted warmly. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, thanks," Harry replied with an innocent grin.
"Sit down, plenty of food coming," Mrs. Weasley said, directing a platter of eggs to land in the center of the table.
Harry slid into a seat just as Hermione entered the kitchen. Their eyes met briefly, and Harry felt a familiar flutter in his chest. He quickly looked away, busying himself with pouring a glass of pumpkin juice, very aware of the slight acceleration in his heartbeat. Would the others notice? Could they somehow tell that hours ago, he'd been kissing Hermione?
"Morning," Hermione said, a slight flush coloring her cheeks as she took the seat opposite him.
"Sleep well?" Harry asked, aiming for casual and suspecting he'd missed by a mile.
"Well enough," she replied, carefully not looking at him as she reached for the toast.
Fred glanced between them, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You two are awfully polite this morning."
"Just being civilized," Harry said, perhaps too quickly. "Something you might try sometime."
George snorted into his tea. "He's got you there, Fred."
"Civilized is boring," Fred declared, reaching across the table to snag the last piece of bacon from under Percy's nose.
"Excuse me!" Percy protested, lowering his report with an indignant expression. "I was about to take that!"
"Too slow, Perce," Fred grinned, taking an exaggerated bite. "Gotta keep those reflexes sharp if you want to survive breakfast in this house."
"Some of us have important work to attend to," Percy sniffed, returning to his report. "Mr. Crouch specifically requested—"
"If you mention Mr. Crouch's name before I've finished my breakfast, I may be forced to hex you," George interrupted cheerfully.
"Boys," Mrs. Weasley warned, sending another platter of bacon to the table with a flick of her wand. "Percy, there's more bacon. Fred, George, leave your brother alone."
Harry gratefully piled food onto his plate, relieved that the twins' bickering had diverted attention from him and Hermione. He risked another glance at her and found her already looking at him. She quickly dropped her gaze, but not before Harry caught the small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Ginny entered the kitchen then, yawning widely. "Morning," she mumbled, sliding into the seat beside Hermione. Her eyes flicked between Harry and Hermione, lingering just a fraction too long.
Harry's fork paused halfway to his mouth. Was it his imagination, or was there something knowing in that look? He shook off the paranoia. There was no way Ginny could know. They'd been careful.
"Sleep alright, Gin?" Fred asked, reaching over to tug one of her braids.
She batted his hand away. "Fine until someone started making explosion noises at five in the morning."
All eyes turned to the twins, who adopted identical expressions of exaggerated innocence.
"Don't look at us," George said.
"Probably the ghoul," Fred added.
"If I find out you two have been experimenting with those Wheezes again—" Mrs. Weasley began, brandishing a wooden spoon threateningly.
"Yeah about that?" Harry asked, seizing the opportunity to further divert attention. "How are your experiments going?"
The twins exchanged quick glances.
"Progressing brilliantly," Fred said under his breath.
"We've nearly perfected the Canary Creams," George added, leaning across the table.
"Canary Creams?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Temporarily transforms the unsuspecting consumer into a large canary," Fred explained proudly.
"Complete with feathers," George added.
"Brilliant," Ron said, appearing suddenly in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions. "Can I watch next time you test them?"
"Ronald Weasley," Mrs. Weasley said sharply, "don't encourage them."
"Sorry, Mum," Ron mumbled, not looking sorry at all as he dropped into the seat beside Harry and immediately began loading his plate.
Mr. Weasley lowered his newspaper, revealing a somewhat harried expression. "I'd best be off," he said, standing and kissing Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. "Big day at the office. We're still sorting out that incident with the regurgitating toilets in Wimbledon."
"Regurgitating toilets?" Harry repeated, unable to help himself.
"Some joker's idea of Muggle-baiting," Mr. Weasley said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Nasty business, but not to worry—we'll sort it." He patted Harry on the shoulder as he passed. "Good to see you looking well, Harry. Those extra exercises seem to be paying off."
Harry nodded, grateful that Mr. Weasley attributed his improved physique to a training regimen rather than questioning the real cause.
As Mr. Weasley departed for work, the conversation around the table drifted to the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Harry found himself relaxing, content to listen to Ron's passionate predictions about Ireland's chances against Bulgaria.
Across the table, Hermione was engaged in conversation with Ginny, who kept shooting furtive glances in Harry's direction. Again, that prickle of unease. Did Ginny suspect something? Or was he being paranoid?
"Harry, pass the marmalade, would you?" Hermione asked, breaking into his thoughts.
He handed her the jar, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. A jolt of electricity shot up his arm, and he quickly pulled back, knocking over his pumpkin juice in the process.
"Smooth, Harry," Fred snickered as Harry hastily mopped up the spill.
"Sorry," he muttered, avoiding Hermione's eye.
"No harm done," Mrs. Weasley said kindly, vanishing the remaining liquid with a wave of her wand.
As breakfast continued around him, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that maintaining this secret was going to be more challenging than he'd anticipated. But when he caught Hermione's eye again and saw the warmth there, he knew it was worth whatever complications might come.
Ginny, meanwhile, buttered her toast with unusual concentration, a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
.
.
Harry's fingers drummed restlessly against his thigh as he watched the Weasleys disperse after lunch. Mrs. Weasley was overseeing dish-washing charms in the kitchen. The twins had disappeared upstairs, likely to work on their latest invention. Ron was challenging Percy to a game of chess, which Percy had reluctantly accepted after considerable needling. And Ginny had mentioned something about writing a letter to a friend.
Which left Hermione, who had casually mentioned needing a book from her trunk.
Their eyes met across the living room, a silent message passing between them. Harry waited three minutes—he counted—before stretching and announcing to no one in particular, "Think I'll go for a walk. Clear my head a bit."
Ron, already deep in concentration over the chessboard, merely grunted in acknowledgment.
Harry stepped outside into the warm August air, circling around to the small apple orchard behind the Burrow. The trees provided welcome shade from the afternoon sun, and more importantly, privacy from the house's many windows. He and Hermione had discovered this spot two days ago—far enough from the house to avoid being overheard, but not so far that their absence would raise suspicion.
His enhanced hearing picked up the soft footsteps approaching before he saw her. Hermione appeared between the trees, glancing over her shoulder once before breaking into a smile at the sight of him.
"Did anyone see you?" Harry asked as she reached him.
"I don't think so," she replied, settling beside him against the trunk of a particularly gnarled apple tree. "I told Ron I was going to read by the pond."
"Clever," Harry said, smiling. "He'd never voluntarily follow you to do that."
"Precisely." Her fingers intertwined with his, and Harry marveled at how natural it felt.
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the rare solitude. Harry's thumb traced small circles on the back of her hand, savoring the softness of her skin.
"So," Hermione said finally, her voice thoughtful. "What happens when we go back to Hogwarts?"
The question had been hovering between them. Harry took a deep breath, considering.
"I suppose that depends on what you want," he said carefully. "We could keep this private for a while, or..."
"Or tell people," she finished. "Ron, specifically."
Ron, their best friend. Ron, who might not understand this shift in their friendship triangle.
"I'm not ashamed of this—of us," Harry said firmly. "But I don't want to hurt Ron either."
Hermione nodded, her expression softening. "That's one of the things I like most about you, Harry. You always consider others, even when it complicates things for yourself."
"I've been thinking," Hermione continued, "maybe we should wait until we're back at school. See how things... develop naturally. Then tell Ron together when the moment feels right."
"That sounds sensible," Harry agreed, relieved. "Though I warn you, my self-control around you is not exactly stellar."
She laughed, the sound sending a pleasant warmth through him. "I've noticed. But seriously, Harry—what is this to you? What are we doing?"
The directness of her question caught him off guard, but he appreciated it. Typical Hermione—no dancing around difficult topics.
"This isn't just... physical for me," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. "If that's what you're asking. You've been my best friend for years, Hermione. You know me better than anyone. You've stood by me when others haven't. And somewhere along the way, those feelings... changed. Grew."
Her eyes shone with something he couldn't quite name. "For me too," she whispered.
"I'm not good with words like you are," Harry continued, feeling his way carefully. "But I know that when I'm with you, I feel... whole. Like I don't have to be The Boy Who Lived, or even just Harry Potter. I can just be me."
Hermione's hand came up to cup his cheek, her touch gentle. "You've never needed to be anything else with me, Harry."
Harry leaned forward, drawn to her like a compass finding north. Their lips met in a kiss that started tender but quickly deepened. Hermione's fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled her closer, his enhanced senses heightening every aspect of the experience—the subtle vanilla scent of her shampoo, the softness of her lips, the small sound of pleasure she made as he traced her lower lip with his tongue.
"Harry," she moaned softly as his lips moved to her neck, the sound sending a jolt through him.
His hands slid down to her waist, holding her against him as their kisses grew more urgent.
A twig snapped nearby—a sound so faint that only Harry's enhanced hearing caught it. He broke away from Hermione, alert.
"What is it?" she whispered, noticing his sudden tension.
"I heard something," he murmured, scanning the trees around them. "Someone's there."
Hermione quickly straightened her clothes, her cheeks flushed. "Are you sure?"
Harry nodded, rising to his feet. "Hello?" he called out, keeping his voice casual. "Anyone there?"
Silence answered him. He took a few steps toward where he'd heard the sound, his eyes narrowing as he caught a glimpse of movement—a flash of red hair disappearing behind a distant tree.
Ginny.
Harry turned back to Hermione, keeping his voice low. "I think we might have been seen... Ginny."
Hermione was already smoothing her hair, her practical nature taking over despite the flush still coloring her cheeks. "We don't know for certain she saw anything," she said, though her tone lacked conviction.
"It was definitely Ginny," Harry insisted. "I caught a glimpse of her hair. And she wouldn't have run if she hadn't seen something."
Hermione sighed. "You're right. We need to address this before she tells anyone else."
"Should we talk to her together?" Harry suggested, already dreading the conversation. "Explain things?"
Hermione considered for a moment, then shook her head decisively. "No, I think it's better if I speak with her alone."
"Are you sure?" Harry frowned, not wanting Hermione to face this conversation by herself. "I should be there too. This involves both of us."
"Trust me, Harry," Hermione said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "This needs to be a girl's talk."
"A girl's talk?" Harry repeated, bemused. "What does that even mean?"
A small, knowing smile curved Hermione's lips. "It means there are certain conversations that go more smoothly without boys present. Ginny might be more open with just me."
Harry wasn't entirely convinced, but he trusted Hermione's judgment. "If you think that's best," he conceded. "But what will you tell her?"
"The truth," Hermione said simply. "Or at least, enough of it. That we care about each other, that this is new for both of us, and that we'd appreciate her discretion until we've had a chance to tell Ron ourselves."
Harry nodded, relieved by her straightforward approach. "When will you talk to her?"
"Right now," Hermione decided. "I'll ask to speak with her privately. The sooner we address this, the better."
"And if she's already told someone?"
Hermione's expression turned determined. "Then we'll deal with that too. Together."
.
.
Hermione's heart pounded as she climbed the stairs to Ginny's bedroom.
She paused outside Ginny's door, gathering her courage before knocking softly.
"Come in," Ginny called.
Hermione entered to find the younger girl sitting cross-legged on her bed, a copy of Witch Weekly open before her. Ginny looked up, her expression shifting from casual interest to something more guarded when she saw who it was.
"Oh, hello," Ginny said, her tone deliberately light. "Need something?"
Hermione closed the door behind her and cast a quick glance at the camp bed where she'd been sleeping. "Do you have a moment to talk?"
Ginny set aside her magazine, her brown eyes watchful. "Sure. What about?"
Taking a deep breath, Hermione perched on the edge of her camp bed. There was no point in dancing around the subject. "I think you saw Harry and me in the orchard today."
A flash of something—surprise, perhaps, that Hermione had addressed it so directly—crossed Ginny's face before her expression settled into a knowing smirk.
"So you finally figured it out," Ginny said. It wasn't a question.
Hermione blinked, caught off guard. This wasn't the reaction she'd anticipated. "Figured what out?"
"That you and Harry are perfect for each other," Ginny replied matter-of-factly. "Honestly, it's about time. The way you two orbit around each other has been painfully obvious to everyone except you two... and my oblivious brother, of course."
Hermione felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. This was going better than she'd feared. "So... you're not upset?"
Ginny's eyebrows rose. "Why would I be upset?"
"Well..." Hermione hesitated, unsure how to delicately reference Ginny's well-known crush on Harry. "I know you've always had feelings for Harry."
"Had being the operative word," Ginny said, though something flickered in her eyes that made Hermione wonder if that was entirely true. "I'm not eleven anymore, Hermione. I've grown up a bit since the whole Chamber of Secrets disaster."
"Right, of course," Hermione said, relief flooding through her. "So, you won't tell anyone? About Harry and me? It's just that we're still figuring things out ourselves, and with Ron..." She trailed off, the potential complication of Ron's reaction hanging in the air between them.
"Ron will be a prat about it initially," Ginny said bluntly. "But he'll come around. He always does."
Hermione nodded, grateful for Ginny's understanding. "Thank you. We're planning to tell him ourselves, when the moment seems right."
Ginny studied her for a long moment, her head tilted slightly to one side. Then, without warning, she asked, "Is there room for one more?"
"One more what?" Hermione asked, confused by the sudden change in topic.
A slow smile spread across Ginny's face. "In your relationship with Harry."
Hermione stared at her, certain she'd misheard. "I... what?"
"You heard me," Ginny said, her voice steady despite the faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I'm asking if there's room for me too."
"You're joking," Hermione said flatly, waiting for Ginny to laugh and say it was all a prank. When no such retraction came, she added incredulously, "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious," Ginny replied, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward. "Think about it, Hermione. You're the logical one—consider the possibilities."
Hermione felt as if she'd somehow stumbled into an alternate dimension where nothing made sense. "Possibilities? Ginny, relationships don't work that way. People don't just... share partners."
"Some do," Ginny countered. "It's not common, but it happens. Especially in the wizarding world, where certain old families have... different traditions."
"Old families like the Weasleys?" Hermione asked skeptically.
Ginny laughed. "No, not the Weasleys specifically. But I've read enough history to know it's not unheard of." Her expression grew more serious. "Look, I know this sounds mad, but hear me out. Harry's different now, isn't he? Since the... incident with Professor Lupin?"
Hermione hesitated, unsure where Ginny was going with this. "Yes, he's changed somewhat."
"His senses are heightened, his strength, his stamina," Ginny continued. "Even his magical abilities are growing. I've watched him practicing wandless magic when he thinks no one is looking."
Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't realized Harry's secret training sessions had been observed.
"My point is," Ginny went on, "Harry isn't entirely human anymore, is he? He's got werewolf traits now. And werewolves, even partial ones, don't always follow human relationship patterns."
"That's ridiculous," Hermione protested, though a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her of the books she'd been studying on lycanthropy. Some of the texts had indeed mentioned altered social behaviors, including different mating patterns. "Harry is still Harry."
"Of course he is," Ginny agreed. "But he's also more. And what if his new condition means he needs... more? Have you considered that?"
Hermione hadn't, and the thought unsettled her. "You're making quite a leap from partial lycanthropy to... whatever you're suggesting."
Ginny shrugged. "Maybe. But here's something else to consider: Harry's never had a proper family. He's been starved for love and affection his entire life. Why should he have to choose between us if he doesn't have to?"
Despite herself, Hermione felt a flicker of doubt. She'd never considered the possibility that Harry's emotional needs might be different because of his upbringing.
"And if we're being completely honest," Ginny added, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone, "aren't you at least a little curious about what it might be like? The three of us?"
Heat rushed to Hermione's face. "Ginny!"
"Just saying what we're both thinking," Ginny said with a mischievous smile. "You're blushing, not running from the room in horror. That tells me something."
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "This conversation has taken a very unexpected turn."
"Life often does," Ginny replied philosophically. "Look, I'm not asking for an answer right now. Just... think about it. Talk to Harry if you want. I bet his reaction will surprise you."
"You're suggesting I ask Harry if he wants to... to be with both of us?" Hermione couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth.
"Why not?" Ginny challenged. "The worst that happens is he says no, and we all pretend this conversation never happened. But if he says yes..." She let the implication hang in the air.
Hermione stood up abruptly, needing physical movement to process the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind. "This is mad. Completely mad."
"Most of the best ideas start out that way," Ginny said, watching her pace. "Remember, I've grown up with Fred and George. They've taught me that sometimes the craziest ideas turn out to be brilliant."
Despite her confusion and shock, Hermione found herself considering Ginny's words more seriously than she would have thought possible. Was there something to what she was saying? Harry had indeed changed since the incident with Lupin. His needs, both physical and emotional, might be different now. And if both she and Ginny cared for him...
"I need to think," Hermione said finally, stopping her pacing. "And I'd need to talk to Harry. I won't make any decisions about this without him."
Ginny nodded, apparently satisfied. "That's all I'm asking. Consider the possibilities, Hermione. We could make this work, the three of us. Different, yes, but potentially wonderful."
"I'll think about it," Hermione promised, still not entirely believing she was having this conversation. "But no promises beyond that."
"Fair enough," Ginny agreed. She picked up her magazine again, as if they'd just been discussing the weather. "Oh, and Hermione? Regardless of what you and Harry decide, your secret is safe with me. I won't tell Ron or anyone else until you're ready."
"Thank you," Hermione said, genuinely grateful despite her lingering shock.
As she left Ginny's room, Hermione's mind was spinning. The rational part of her insisted this was absurd, unworkable, potentially disastrous. But another part—a part she rarely acknowledged—wondered what if.
What if Ginny was right? What if this unconventional arrangement was exactly what Harry needed? What if it could work?
She would need to talk to Harry—though how exactly to broach such a subject, she had no idea. For once in her life, Hermione Granger found herself completely without a plan.
Harry Potter
Harry slipped away from the Burrow as the afternoon sun began its descent toward the horizon. After the encounter with Hermione in the orchard—and the unsettling realization that Ginny had seen them—he needed space to think, to breathe. And to practice.
He made his way to the small clearing he'd discovered a week into his stay with the Weasleys. It was perfect for his purposes: far enough from the house that no one would stumble upon him accidentally, yet close enough that he could claim to have been taking a walk if anyone questioned his absence.
The clearing was ringed by ancient oak trees, their canopies filtering the sunlight into dappled patterns across the grass. Harry settled cross-legged in the center, placing his wand on the ground beside him—a reminder that he was trying to work without it.
From the edge of the clearing, a small grass snake watched him curiously. Harry had noticed it during previous sessions—the same distinctive marking on its head made it recognizable. It seemed oddly drawn to him, appearing whenever he practiced.
"Still here, are you?" Harry murmured to the snake, not in Parseltongue, just casual conversation. "Come to see the show?"
The snake flicked its tongue, its beady eyes unblinking.
Harry closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing the way Sirius's book had instructed. The wandless magic of our ancestors did not come from incantations or movements, but from intent and the raw magical core within... The words from "Primordial Magic: The Forgotten Arts" floated through his mind.
As his breathing steadied, Harry began to feel that now-familiar hum beneath his skin—his magic responding to his call. It had been getting easier to access it without a wand, especially since the incident with Lupin. It was as if the partial lycanthropy had somehow amplified his magical sensitivity, making him more aware of the power coursing through him.
"Lumos," he whispered, focusing on the sensation of light rather than the word itself.
A glow appeared in his palm, wavering like a candle flame before steadying. Harry smiled—this spell had become almost easy now. He let the light fade and tried something more challenging.
"Accio stone," he said, picturing a small rock at the edge of the clearing flying to his hand.
Nothing happened.
Harry frowned. He tried again, focusing harder, channeling his intent through his outstretched hand.
The stone trembled, rose an inch from the ground, then dropped again.
"Come on," Harry muttered, frustration creeping in.
He pushed harder, reaching deep within himself for that wellspring of magic he knew existed. As he did, an unbidden image rose in his mind: his parents, James and Lily, as he'd seen them in the Mirror of Erised during his first year. What would they think of him now, part-werewolf, struggling with powers he barely understood?
The thought sent a pang of grief and anger through him. They should be here, teaching him, guiding him. Instead, he had fragments—a book from Sirius, vague memories, and a legacy of loss.
And it was all because of Voldemort.
The familiar hatred flared, white-hot and consuming. Harry's hands began to tremble as rage coursed through him—at Voldemort, at Wormtail, at the unfairness of it all. His parents had been ripped away, leaving him with the Dursleys, leaving him to face Voldemort alone, again and again.
"It's not fair," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion.
And then something strange happened. His anger, instead of clouding his mind, seemed to crystallize his focus. He felt something stirring deep within his magical core—something wild and untamed that hadn't been there before Lupin's attack.
Harry looked down at his hands and was startled to see them glowing—not the controlled light of a Lumos charm, but something brighter. The light spread up his arms, engulfing them entirely in a golden-white radiance that made the air around him hum with energy.
"What the—" he gasped, alarmed yet fascinated.
The light continued to build, growing more intense until it felt like his skin could barely contain it. Power thrummed through him, raw and unstable.
Then, almost instinctively, he thrust his hands forward, releasing the built-up energy with a wordless cry.
A burst of golden light exploded from his palms, shooting across the clearing like a concentrated sunbeam. It struck an old, half-dead tree at the edge of the clearing, and for a moment, the entire trunk glowed with the same golden light. When the light faded, Harry stared in astonishment—the tree, which had been gray and lifeless, now showed tiny green buds sprouting from its branches.
"Bloody hell," Harry whispered, looking down at his hands, which had returned to normal.
His heart was racing, but curiously, the anger that had triggered the phenomenon had vanished, replaced by a deep sense of calm. It was as if the release of magic had purged the negative emotions from his system.
Harry slowly got to his feet, still staring at the rejuvenated tree. What had just happened? It wasn't any spell he recognized. It hadn't even felt like regular magic—it was wilder, more connected to his emotions.
He looked around, trying to understand what he'd done, and noticed something odd. The grass in the clearing, particularly in a circle around where he'd been sitting, seemed taller than before—as if it had grown several inches in minutes. And the small snake that had been watching him now appeared longer and slightly thicker, slithering with new vigor along the edge of the newly lush grass.
"Did I do that to you too?" Harry asked the snake, which paused as if considering his question.
The creature's tongue flicked out rapidly, and it seemed to nod before continuing on its way.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. This was beyond wandless magic—this was something else entirely. Something tied to his partial lycanthropy, perhaps? Or was it something that had always been within him, now awakened by the changes in his magical core?
He needed to tell Hermione about this. She'd have theories, ideas about what was happening to him. But as he thought about Hermione, he remembered that she was likely having her "girl talk" with Ginny right now. That conversation suddenly seemed trivial compared to what he'd just experienced.
Harry looked once more at the revitalized tree, the taller grass, the larger snake. Whatever he'd done, it hadn't destroyed—it had nurtured, strengthened, enhanced.
"Life magic," he murmured, the term coming to him from somewhere deep in his memory. Had he read it in one of Sirius's books? Or was it something else, some knowledge that had been awakened along with this new power?
Either way, Harry knew one thing for certain: he was changing in ways he couldn't have imagined. And somehow, he sensed these changes were just the beginning.
Later
Harry paced the small confines of Ron's bedroom, grateful that his friend had been roped into helping the twins degnome the garden. Hermione sat on the edge of Ron's bed, her eyes wide as Harry recounted what had happened in the clearing.
"And then this light just... burst out of my hands," Harry explained, gesturing to demonstrate. "It hit this dead tree, and suddenly it was sprouting new leaves. The grass grew taller, and even the snake seemed bigger."
"Fascinating," Hermione breathed, her analytical mind visibly working through the implications. "It sounds like some form of vitality magic. I've read about it in ancient magical traditions, but it's not taught at Hogwarts."
"Vitality magic?" Harry repeated.
"Magic that enhances life force," Hermione clarified. "It's considered highly advanced because it works with existing life energy rather than imposing a specific transformation." She tilted her head, studying him. "Your lycanthropy must be altering your magical core."
Harry sat down beside her, the excitement of his discovery tempered by concern. "Is that... dangerous, do you think?"
"Not necessarily," Hermione said carefully. "But we should monitor it closely. This could actually be quite remarkable, Harry. The ability to heal or strengthen living things..." Her voice trailed off, clearly contemplating the possibilities.
"There's something else," Harry admitted, remembering how the magic had felt. "It was triggered by anger—thinking about Voldemort, my parents—but afterward, the anger was just... gone. Like the magic had transformed it somehow."
Hermione reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "We'll figure this out together."
Harry smiled, grateful for her steadfast support. "So, how did your talk with Ginny go?"
At this, Hermione's expression shifted to one of distinct discomfort. She withdrew her hand and began fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
"That's... actually something I need to discuss with you," she said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Ginny knows about us, as we suspected."
"And?" Harry prompted, sensing there was more.
Hermione took a deep breath. "And she's not upset, exactly. In fact, she's very... understanding. But she did make a rather unexpected suggestion."
Harry waited, watching Hermione struggle to find the right words.
"She suggested that perhaps, given your partial lycanthropy and the changes you're experiencing, you might have... different needs." Hermione was now staring fixedly at the floor. "Emotional needs, physical needs..."
"Meaning?" Harry asked, completely lost.
"She wants to be included," Hermione blurted out. "In our relationship. The three of us. Together."
Harry's jaw dropped. "She wants to... you mean she wants... with both of us?"
Hermione nodded, her face now bright red.
Harry stared at her for a long moment, then his expression cycled rapidly through shock, confusion, and something that might have been intrigue before settling on stunned disbelief.
"Bloody hell," he finally managed, his voice cracking. "Ron would actually murder me."
A laugh bubbled up from Hermione, partly from nerves, partly from the absurdity of Harry focusing on Ron's reaction.
"That's your first concern?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, that and wondering if this is some bizarre side effect of the life magic," Harry replied weakly. "What exactly does one say to your girlfriend's roommate proposing a... a..."
"Threesome?" Hermione supplied, finding her composure.
Harry made a strangled noise and fell backward onto the bed, covering his face with his hands. "My life is so weird."
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