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Hermione slipped through the portrait hole well after curfew, her heart still racing. The Fat Lady had given her a disapproving look but mercifully refrained from comment. The common room was nearly empty save for a few seventh years hunched over their NEWT studies, too absorbed to notice her flushed cheeks and tousled hair.
Her thighs rubbed together as she walked, a delicious soreness reminding her with each step what had transpired in that abandoned classroom. Harry's touch lingered on her skin like ghost imprints, and she could still taste him on her lips. Unconsciously, her tongue darted out to savor the remnants of their passion.
As she pushed open the door to the girls' dormitory for the Fourth Years, Hermione froze. Rather than finding her roommates asleep, Lavender and Parvati sat cross-legged on Lavender's bed, still fully dressed and wide awake. They turned toward her with identical expressions of predatory interest.
"Well, well, well," Lavender drawled, her glossed lips curving into a knowing smile. "Look what the kneazle dragged in."
Hermione's hand flew to her hair, attempting to smooth the wild curls that Harry had thoroughly tangled with his eager fingers. "I was studying," she said, wincing at how unconvincing she sounded.
Parvati snorted. "Unless you were studying human anatomy, I don't think books leave those kinds of marks." She pointed directly at Hermione's neck.
Hermione's hand shot up to cover the spot, but it was too late. She turned to the mirror and gasped at the purplish bruise just above her collarbone—evidence of Harry's enthusiasm when she'd whispered how much she wanted him.
"That's not..." she stammered, tugging her collar higher.
Lavender bounced off the bed, her nightgown fluttering as she circled Hermione like a shark. "Your skirt's wrinkled to oblivion, your blouse is buttoned wrong, and—" she leaned closer, sniffing dramatically, "—is that boy's cologne?"
Heat rushed to Hermione's cheeks. Harry had held her so tightly against his chest afterward, his scent had indeed transferred to her body and some on her clothes.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione muttered, turning away to hide her face as she rummaged in her trunk for her nightclothes.
Parvati joined Lavender, both girls now blocking Hermione's path to the bathroom. "Come on, Hermione," Parvati coaxed, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "We're not McGonagall. We just want the juicy details."
"There are no juicy details," Hermione insisted, but the memory of Harry's fingers sliding inside her made her squeeze her thighs together involuntarily, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed.
Lavender gasped dramatically. "You didn't! Hermione Granger, did you let a boy go all the way?"
Hermione clutched her nightgown to her chest like a shield. "That's private."
"It was definitely a boy," Parvati declared to Lavender, as if Hermione wasn't standing right there. "Look at how she's walking. That's the stride of a girl who's been properly shagged."
"Not just any boy," Lavender mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Someone who surprised her. A boy from Drumstrang. Not McLaggen—she'd be annoyed, not glowing."
Parvati's eyes widened suddenly. "Wait. It's not... it couldn't be..."
Hermione's heartbeat quickened. Had they somehow guessed? She tried to keep her expression neutral, but felt her blush deepen traitorously.
"Is it Ron?" Lavender asked.
The tension in Hermione's shoulders eased slightly. "Definitely not Ron," she replied truthfully, perhaps too quickly.
The girls exchanged glances. "Interesting," Parvati murmured. "Very interesting."
Lavender stepped closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Whoever he is, he must be good. You look... different."
Hermione couldn't help the small smile that curved her lips as she remembered Harry's reverent words as he'd explored her body, how he'd gasped her name when he'd finally entered her.
"I'm going to shower," Hermione announced, slipping past them toward the bathroom.
"We'll figure it out eventually!" Lavender called after her.
"Good luck with that," Hermione replied, finally letting a full smile break through as she closed the bathroom door behind her.
Later, tucked into bed with her curtains drawn, Hermione cast a silencing charm around her four-poster. Her hand slid beneath her nightgown, finding the wetness that had returned at the memory of Harry's eager tongue between her legs. As she touched herself, she replayed every moment—his emerald eyes darkening with desire, his surprisingly confident hands, the delicious weight of him pressing her against the desk.
She bit her lip to stifle a moan as she came, Harry's name a whispered prayer on her lips. Sleep claimed her soon after, her dreams filled with shadow magic and the boy who was rapidly becoming so much more than just her best friend.
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Harry woke with the dawn, his body humming with energy despite having returned to the dormitory well past midnight. His mind replayed flashes of Hermione—her soft gasps, the arch of her back, the way she'd whispered his name. He grinned into his pillow before forcing himself to get up.
The dormitory was silent except for Neville's gentle snoring and Seamus' occasional mumble. Ron's bed was conspicuously quiet; Harry avoided looking at it as he dressed quickly, grabbing his wand and the ancient spellbook he'd hidden beneath his mattress.
The castle corridors were mostly empty this early, though Harry had to duck into an alcove to avoid Filch muttering darkly about students and their "tournament nonsense." As he neared the Great Hall, he spotted a group of Hufflepuffs wearing the luminous green badges Malfoy had created. The message "POTTER STINKS" flashed obnoxiously as he approached.
"Morning, cheat," one of them called.
Harry clenched his jaw, noticing how the shadows in the corridor seemed to deepen and stir in response to his anger. Fascinating. Disturbing. He filed the observation away and hurried past without engaging.
The abandoned classroom on the third floor welcomed him with dusty silence. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor—perfect for what he intended to practice. Harry placed the ancient book on a desk and opened it to the page he'd marked: "Umbra Vincula."
"Right then," he murmured to himself, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's see what else you can do."
The incantation felt natural on his tongue now, almost as if he'd been born knowing it. What had once been difficult now flowed from him with ease. Shadows peeled themselves from the corners of the room, gathering around his outstretched hand like obedient pets.
"Umbra Vincula," Harry commanded, directing the shadows toward an old chair.
The darkness responded, wrapping around the chair legs in tight coils. But this time, Harry didn't stop there. He visualized the shadows climbing higher, completely encasing the chair.
To his surprise, the shadows responded to his mental command without additional incantation. They slithered upward, enveloping the entire chair until it disappeared within a cocoon of darkness.
"Bloody hell," Harry whispered, lowering his wand.
The shadows remained, holding their form without his active direction. Harry approached carefully, reaching out to touch the dark mass. His fingers met resistance—not solid like wood or stone, but something between liquid and fabric, cool and slightly yielding.
"This is new," he muttered, pressing harder.
Suddenly, as if responding to his increased pressure, a section of the shadow mass shot outward, forming a jagged spike that pierced the nearest desk with a solid thunk.
Harry jumped back, heart pounding. "Merlin's saggy—"
The spike had embedded itself a full inch into the solid oak. It wasn't just shadow anymore; it had become something physical, something that could cause real damage. Harry cautiously touched the spike. It felt cold and solid, like obsidian glass.
"Did I do that?" he asked the empty room.
As if in answer, the shadows around the chair rippled, waiting for instruction. Harry swallowed hard, then made a deliberate slashing motion with his hand. The shadows responded instantly, forming a wicked-looking blade that sliced through another desk's leg, sending it crashing to the floor.
"Bloody brilliant," Harry breathed, excitement overriding his initial unease.
He spent the next hour experimenting, discovering he could form various constructs with increasing precision. Sharp spears, undulating whips, shields that absorbed the impact of books he hurled at them—the shadows obeyed his every command, becoming more solid and substantial with each attempt.
"Wonder if I can..." Harry murmured, focusing intently on the shadows pooled at his feet.
He envisioned them rising, forming armor around his body. The darkness responded sluggishly at first, then with growing confidence, climbing his legs, torso, and finally his arms. Within moments, Harry stood encased in a second skin of shadow material—lightweight yet somehow protective.
Harry flexed his shadow-covered hands, marveling at how they moved naturally with him. He caught his reflection in a dusty window—a dark figure with only his green eyes visible, glowing eerily from within the shadow helm.
"Godric's sword, I look terrifying," he said, his voice echoing strangely within the helm.
With a thought, he dispelled the shadow armor, watching as it melted away like mist.
These shadow constructs could protect him, could fight for him, could help him survive what was coming. For the first time since his name had emerged from the Goblet, Harry felt something beyond dread about the tournament—he felt a flicker of confidence.
He picked up the ancient book, thumbing through its pages for additional shadow spells. One caught his eye: "Umbra Viatorem" (Shadow Traveler). The description suggested it allowed the caster to step into shadows and emerge from others within sight.
"Now that would be useful," Harry murmured.
He was about to attempt it when the classroom door creaked. Harry spun around, instinctively gathering shadows around his hand like a dark gauntlet.
"Who's there?" he called.
The door opened further to reveal Mrs. Norris, Filch's dust-colored cat, her lamp-like eyes fixed accusingly on Harry.
"Just looking for mice," Harry told her with forced casualness, dissipating the shadows with a flick of his wrist. "Plenty in here. Good hunting."
Mrs. Norris meowed suspiciously.
"Filch is probably right behind you, isn't he?" Harry sighed, gathering his book. The cat's appearance meant his practice session was over—for now. Besides, he was eager to show Hermione what he'd discovered.
As he slipped past Mrs. Norris, Harry couldn't help but feel a thrill at his newfound abilities. The shadows had responded to his emotions, his thoughts, his very will. It felt natural, as though awakening this power had simply returned something that had always been rightfully his.
The Heir of Peverell, the Goblet had called him. But which family was House Peverell? Harry had never heard of them.
Harry smiled to himself as he headed toward the Great Hall for breakfast. He couldn't wait to see the look on Hermione's face when he showed her what he could do. And Fleur Delacour would soon regret dismissing him as a "little boy."
The Great Hall hummed with morning activity as Harry entered, his eyes immediately searching for a familiar head of bushy brown hair. He spotted Hermione halfway down the Gryffindor table, already surrounded by books despite it being breakfast. The sight brought an involuntary smile to his face.
He made his way toward her, nodding at a few friendly faces and ignoring the glares from students sporting those ridiculous "Potter Stinks" badges. As he approached, Hermione looked up, her eyes brightening in a way that made his heart skip. She quickly schooled her expression into something more casual, but not before Harry caught the flash of affection.
"Morning," he said, sliding onto the bench beside her—closer than he would have sat a week ago, but not so close as to raise eyebrows.
"Good morning," she replied, her voice carefully measured even as her pinky finger brushed against his on the table. "You're up early. I knocked on your dormitory door, but Neville said you'd already left."
Harry served himself eggs and toast, using the movement to lean slightly closer. "Had some things to try out," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "The shadow spell. You won't believe what I discovered."
Hermione's eyes widened with interest, though she kept her face turned toward her porridge. "Something good, I hope?"
"Better than good. Revolutionary." Harry took a bite of toast to hide his excitement. "I can shape them now. Into actual objects. Solid ones."
Hermione nearly dropped her spoon. "You can—" She caught herself, lowering her voice. "That's not in any of the books I've read about elemental manipulation."
"I know." Harry couldn't keep the pride from his voice. "I need to show you. After classes? Our classroom?"
Her cheeks flushed slightly at the mention of "their" classroom, no doubt remembering their activities from the night before. "Yes," she agreed, her voice slightly breathless. "I'll be there."
Their conversation shifted to safer topics—Transfiguration homework, the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend—but they remained hyperaware of each other. Harry's hand occasionally brushed against hers while reaching for the marmalade. Hermione leaned close to point out a passage in her textbook, her hair tickling his cheek.
Further down the table, Ron sat with Dean and Seamus, stabbing at his sausages with unnecessary force. Harry caught him looking their way several times, his expression a complex mixture of anger, confusion, and something that might have been regret. Each time, Ron quickly averted his gaze when caught.
"He's watching us again," Harry said quietly.
Hermione sighed. "He's probably wondering why we're suddenly so... comfortable with each other."
"Let him wonder," Harry replied, though there was little heat in his words. Despite everything, he missed his friend. But the memory of Ron's accusations still stung too much for reconciliation.
'The Orphan Card' How could someone ever say that, especially someone who was supposed to be his friend?
On Ron's other side, Ginny Weasley observed them with much more deliberate attention. Unlike her brother, she didn't look away when Harry met her gaze. Instead, she offered a small, enigmatic smile that left him puzzled. He'd always gotten along well with Ginny, but they'd never been particularly close. So why was she watching him and Hermione with such studied interest?
"Ginny's staring too," he murmured.
Hermione glanced up quickly, then back down at her book. "She's quite perceptive," she said carefully. "More than most give her credit for."
Before Harry could ask what she meant by that, a drawling voice interrupted their quiet moment.
"Well, if it isn't Hogwarts' most unwanted champion and Granger."
Malfoy stood behind them, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. All three wore oversized "Potter Stinks" badges, charmed to flash particularly brightly. Several nearby Slytherins snickered, watching eagerly for Harry's reaction.
A week ago, Harry might have risen to the bait, letting his temper get the better of him. But something had changed since his encounter with the Goblet—a newfound confidence, a sense of perspective that made Malfoy seem... insignificant.
Harry turned slowly, regarding Malfoy with the mild interest one might show a moderately unusual insect. "You know, Malfoy," he said conversationally, "I've been wondering something."
Malfoy's smirk faltered slightly at Harry's unexpected calm. "What's that, Potter?"
"Is your fixation on me actually a cry for attention?" Harry asked, his tone genuinely curious. "Because I can't help noticing you've spent more time and energy on these badges than on your actual schoolwork. It's almost as if you're desperate for me to notice you."
The Gryffindors within earshot erupted into laughter. Malfoy's pale cheeks flushed pink.
"That's not—I don't—" he spluttered.
"And the way you always seek me out," Harry continued, warming to his theme. "At meals, between classes, even during Quidditch matches. It's flattering, really, but I should tell you—" he leaned forward as if sharing a confidence, "—I don't think of you that way, Draco. You're just not my type."
The Great Hall exploded with laughter, including from some Slytherins who couldn't help themselves. Malfoy's face now resembled a ripe tomato.
"My father will hear about this!" he managed to choke out.
Harry sighed dramatically. "Yes, I imagine he will. 'Dear Father, Potter rejected my advances again today. Please send more hair gel to console me.'"
Even the teachers at the high table seemed to be suppressing smiles. Professor Flitwick had suddenly become very interested in his napkin, his tiny shoulders shaking suspiciously.
Malfoy opened and closed his mouth several times, resembling a pale, angry goldfish. Finding no adequate comeback, he finally turned on his heel and stormed away, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him.
Hermione was trying and failing to keep a straight face. "That was brilliant," she whispered, her eyes shining with admiration. "Where did that come from?"
Harry shrugged, surprised himself by his own composure. "I guess I've just realized there are more important things than Malfoy's opinion of me."
Across the table, Fred and George were slow-clapping. "Masterful takedown, Harry," Fred approved.
"Positively devastating," George agreed. "We give it ten out of ten concealed Stinging Hexes."
As breakfast wound down, Harry and Hermione gathered their things, preparing to head to their first classes of the day. Harry had Divination, while Hermione was due in Arithmancy.
"See you at lunch?" Harry asked, allowing himself to brush a strand of hair from her face in a gesture that could pass as friendly but felt intimate.
"Actually," a voice interrupted, "I was hoping to borrow Hermione for a moment before class."
They turned to find Ginny standing behind them, her book bag slung over one shoulder, that same enigmatic smile playing on her lips.
"It's important," she added, her eyes flicking meaningfully between them.
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "Of course. Harry, I'll catch up with you later?"
"Sure," he agreed, curiosity piqued. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," Hermione assured him. "Just girl talk."
As Harry headed for the North Tower, he couldn't help glancing back to see Ginny leading Hermione into a side corridor, their heads already bent close in conversation. Whatever Ginny wanted to discuss, it clearly wasn't casual chatter.
Ginny led Hermione down a seldom-used corridor on the third floor. Checking that they were truly alone, she pulled Hermione into a windowed alcove behind a dusty suit of armor.
"Alright, Gin, what's this about?" Hermione asked, nervously adjusting her book bag. "I really can't be late for Arithmancy."
Ginny crossed her arms, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You and Harry."
Hermione's breath caught. "What about me and Harry?"
"Oh please," Ginny rolled her eyes. "I have six brothers. I know what it looks like when two people have crossed the line from friends to... something else."
Heat rushed to Hermione's cheeks. "I don't know what you're—"
"The way you were sitting at breakfast? Those secret little touches? The fact that you practically glowed when he walked in?" Ginny counted off on her fingers. "Not to mention Harry looking at you like you're a Firebolt he can't wait to ride."
"Ginny!" Hermione gasped, scandalized by the analogy but unable to suppress a small smile.
"So I'm right," Ginny stated rather than asked. "You and Harry are together now."
Hermione's shoulders slumped in defeat. "It just happened," she admitted. "Yesterday, after we were practicing some spells and..." She trailed off, unwilling to share the intimate details.
Ginny's expression softened. "I've always known you had feelings for him, you know."
"That's what worries me," said Hermione quietly. "I know how you feel about Harry. I don't want to hurt you, Ginny. You're my friend."
To Hermione's surprise, Ginny laughed—a bright, genuine sound. "That's what you're worried about? Hermione, I'm not some fragile flower. Yes, I still find Harry attractive—who wouldn't? He's brave, loyal, handsome and apparently getting better with his wand."
Hermione wasn't sure if she was talking about his wand or the other wand, but she preferred not to ask. "Then I don't understand," Hermione frowned. "Aren't you upset?"
Ginny leaned against the stone wall, sunlight from the window setting her red hair ablaze. "Here's the thing about growing up in a magical family," she began. "You learn that magical relationships aren't always... conventional."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you know that in certain pureblood circles, particularly among the most magically powerful families, it wasn't unusual for a wizard to have more than one witch?"
Hermione's eyes widened. "You can't be suggesting—"
"Why not?" Ginny challenged. "Harry's clearly coming into serious power. He's the last of the Potter line—one of the oldest magical bloodlines."
"This isn't medieval times, Ginny," Hermione protested.
"No, but magic is ancient, and it follows older patterns than we sometimes want to admit." Ginny stepped closer. "Look, I'm not suggesting anything sordid. I'm just saying there might be room for both of us in Harry's life."
Hermione stared at her, trying to process the unexpected proposition. "You want to... share him?"
"I want to explore the possibility," Ginny corrected. "If he's amenable. If you're amenable."
"I've never even considered something like this," Hermione admitted. She just got with Harry last night after all; they had barely spent any time as a couple.
"Neither had I," Ginny said with a laugh. "But then I saw you two at breakfast, and instead of feeling jealous, I felt... curious. Intrigued." She tilted her head. "How did this start? I can see something has changed in Harry, but I'm not quite sure." Ginny asked with a little giggle.
Hermione rolled her eyes, she knew she could tell Ginny about the voice Harry supposedly heard from the Goblet of Fire, his Shadow Magic, but Hermione wanted Harry to be the one to tell Ginny about it if he wanted to. "Harry has grown stronger." Hermione finally said and Ginny must have realised that Hermione was not going to share much else, she pouted cutely, but Hermione kept her lips sealed.
"Alright, still you are saying that Harry has grown stronger, image what he will be like after a year. The old magical families understood that exceptional power sometimes requires exceptional arrangements," Ginny continued. "My great-grandmother's sister was the second wife to Thaddeus Fawley. It wasn't considered scandalous—it was seen as strengthening the bloodline."
"This isn't about bloodlines for me," Hermione said firmly.
"Of course not," Ginny agreed. "It's about Harry. Who he is, what he needs—and what we might both be able to give him."
Hermione bit her lip, considering. "Even if I were open to the idea—and I'm not saying I am—what makes you think Harry would want this?"
Ginny smirked. "Hermione, what teenage boy wouldn't fantasize about having two witches? Especially two who actually get along and aren't competing?"
Despite herself, Hermione laughed. "When you put it that way..."
"Just think about it," Ginny said, squeezing Hermione's arm. "I'm not trying to intrude on what you have. I'm suggesting we could create something... extraordinary."
"And if it doesn't work?" Hermione asked. "If it ruins our friendship?"
"Then we'll deal with that if it happens." Ginny's expression turned serious. "But with everything that's happening—the tournament, the whispers about darkness returning—don't we owe it to ourselves to explore every possible source of strength and joy?"
Hermione couldn't argue with that logic, unexpected as it was.
"I should get to class," she said finally. "But... I'll think about what you've said."
"That's all I ask," Ginny replied with a smile. "Oh, and Hermione? When you do tell Harry about our conversation—because I know you will—I'd love to be there to see his face."
As they parted ways at the end of the corridor, Hermione's mind raced with possibilities she'd never before considered. The practical, logical part of her brain catalogued all the reasons this was a terrible idea—but another part, a part awakened by Harry's touch and transformed by recent events, couldn't help but wonder.
What if Ginny was right?
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The abandoned classroom had become their sanctuary—a place where Harry and Hermione could escape prying eyes and "Potter Stinks" badges. Hermione arrived first, arranging several reference books she'd smuggled from the Restricted Section. When Harry slipped in, closing the door behind him, her heart quickened at the memory of what they'd done against that same door yesterday.
"Sorry I'm late," Harry said, his voice low. "Snape kept us overtime because Seamus melted another cauldron."
"It's fine," Hermione replied, suddenly awkward as she remembered her conversation with Ginny. "I've been doing some preliminary research on shadow magic."
Harry nodded, removing his school robe and rolling up his sleeves. "Ready to see what I discovered this morning?"
Hermione nodded eagerly, academic curiosity temporarily overriding her romantic distraction. She moved to sit on one of the desks, legs dangling as she watched Harry take position in the center of the room.
"So the basic Umbra Vincula was just the beginning," Harry explained, raising his wand. "Watch this."
He cast the now-familiar spell, but this time, instead of simply binding shadows around objects, Harry made a pulling motion with his free hand. The shadows responded, gathering in his palm like swirling dark liquid.
"Impressive," Hermione murmured, leaning forward.
"That's not the impressive part," Harry replied with a grin.
With a flick of his wrist, the shadow mass elongated and hardened, forming a gleaming black blade approximately two feet long. It wasn't quite solid—darkness still swirled within its form—but when Harry swung it against a desk, it left a deep gouge in the wood.
"Merlin's beard!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up to examine the damage. "It's actually physical!"
"Completely solid," Harry confirmed, letting her inspect the shadow construct. "I can make all sorts of things."
To demonstrate, he dissolved the blade and reformed the shadows into various shapes: a shield, a spear, even a set of dark manacles that snapped around the leg of a chair.
"This is extraordinary magic, Harry," said Hermione, running her fingers cautiously over the shadow shield. "But I'm concerned about its origins. Dark magic often exacts a price."
Harry frowned. "It doesn't feel dark when I use it. It feels... right. Like something that's always been a part of me."
Hermione bit her lip, turning to the largest tome she'd brought. "That's what made me curious. I found this in a section on lost magical bloodlines."
She opened the book to a marked page, revealing illustrations of wizards manipulating shadows in ways similar to Harry's demonstrations.
"Umbra Manifestus," she read. "The materialization of shadow into substance, believed to be unique to descendants of Ignotus Peverell. The last recorded practitioner was Iolanthe Peverell in the thirteenth century. Many scholars consider accounts of this ability to be mythical rather than historical."
Harry stared at the illustration. "But the Goblet called me the Heir of Peverell, but I'm a Potter, and my mother was a muggleborn."
"Maybe a Pevelle married a Potter in the past, and the bloodline of Pevelle became part of the Potters," Hermione said, excitement coloring her voice. "Harry, you're manifesting abilities that haven't been seen for seven centuries. Abilities some scholars don't even believe existed!"
Harry absently formed a small shadow dagger, twirling it between his fingers. "Could this be why Voldemort came after my family? Because of this bloodline?"
"It's possible," Hermione admitted. "But there's something else interesting here. The text mentions that Umbra Manifestus grows stronger with the practitioner's emotional and magical maturity. It's described as 'awakening fully when the heir comes of age.'"
"But I'm only fourteen," Harry pointed out.
"The Goblet of Fire recognized you as an adult when it accepted your name," Hermione reasoned. "Magically speaking, you might well be 'of age' now."
Harry's eyes lit with understanding. "That's why everything changed when I touched the Goblet's flame."
Hermione nodded. "We need to see what else you can do with this magic. The book mentions shadow walking—the ability to step into shadows and emerge elsewhere."
"I saw that spell this morning," Harry said eagerly. "Umbra Viatorem."
He moved to the center of the room again, concentrating on the deep shadow cast by a bookshelf. "Umbra Viatorem," he intoned, making a circular motion with his wand.
The shadows rippled but nothing more happened.
"Maybe it requires more power," Hermione suggested. "The book says Umbra Manifestus draws on both magical ability and emotional intensity."
Harry nodded, closing his eyes. He thought of people understimating him, people calling him a cheater, Fleur Delacour calling him a 'little boy', of Ron's betrayal—and beneath it all, the memory of Hermione's body yielding to his touch.
"Umbra Viatorem!" he called, with greater force.
The shadow at his feet surged upward, enveloping him completely. For a brief, disorienting moment, Harry felt weightless, cold—then he was stumbling forward, emerging from the shadow of the bookshelf across the room.
"Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing to steady him. "You did it!"
Harry blinked, dizzy but exhilarated. "That was... incredible."
"Try again," Hermione urged. "See if you can control the destination better."
For the next hour, Harry practiced shadow walking across the classroom, each attempt becoming more controlled. By the end, he could step into one shadow and emerge from another with precision, though the effort left him sweating.
"This could be crucial for the tournament," Hermione said, helping Harry to a chair.
Harry wiped his brow, looking up at her with shining eyes. "I couldn't have figured this out without you."
"That's what partners are for," Hermione replied softly.
"Partners," Harry echoed, rising to his feet. The word held new meaning between them now.
Without warning, he gathered shadows around his hand and sent them snaking gently around Hermione's wrist—not binding, but caressing.
"Harry," she gasped, shivering as the cool darkness slid against her skin.
"Does it scare you?" he asked quietly.
"No," she whispered. "It's... intriguing."
The shadow tendrils dissolved as Harry stepped closer, his magic pulsing visibly around him.
"You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Hermione's breath caught as Harry's hand cupped her cheek. All thoughts of research fled as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started gentle but quickly blazed into something more desperate.
Harry backed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers as their kisses deepened. His hands found her waist, then slid lower to lift her slightly.
"Wait," Hermione gasped, reluctantly breaking the kiss. Harry's eyes were glazed with desire, a hint of purple rimming the familiar green. "There's something I need to tell you."
Harry paused, still holding her close. "What is it?"
Hermione took a deep breath. "It's about Ginny. We had the most extraordinary conversation today..."
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