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Harry was deep in concentration, his fifth shadow blade echoing with dark energy as he practiced maintaining its form while moving through complex attack patterns. The abandoned classroom had become his personal training ground, and tonight he was determined to extend how long he could keep the Tenebris Gladius manifested without wavering.
The door creaked open just as Harry executed a particularly elaborate thrust-and-parry combination against one of the practice dummies.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice called out uncertainly. "Are you—oh!"
Harry spun toward the sound, his concentration shattered. The shadow blade dissolved instantly, leaving him holding empty air as Hermione stepped into the room, her wand lit with a soft Lumos.
"Sorry," she said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I thought I saw you by the window, but you're obviously here by the dummies. The shadows must have been playing tricks on me."
Harry followed her gaze to where she'd been looking and felt his brain practically spark with inspiration. In the dim light cast by her wand, the practice mannequin near the window did indeed look remarkably like a person—like him, in fact, if you squinted and used your imagination.
"Hermione," Harry said slowly, his mind racing, "you're brilliant."
"I am?" She blinked, clearly confused. "I mean, yes, obviously, but what did I do this time?"
"You just gave me the most incredible idea." Harry moved toward the mannequin she'd mistaken for him, studying how the shadows fell across its crude features. "You thought that was me, didn't you? In the dark, from across the room?"
"Well, yes, for a moment. The height was about right, and the way the shadows fell..." Hermione trailed off, her quick mind already beginning to follow his train of thought. "Harry, you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"
"I'm thinking," Harry said with growing excitement, "that if shadows and shapes can fool you—the brightest witch of our age—then maybe I can use that. Maybe I can create shadow duplicates of myself."
Hermione's eyes widened. "That's... actually rather brilliant. And terrifying. But mostly brilliant."
"Think about it," Harry continued, gesturing enthusiastically. "In the tournament, if I could create decoys, I could confuse whatever I'm facing. Make them attack the wrong target while I position myself for a real strike."
"Or escape entirely while they're distracted," Hermione added, warming to the idea. "It would be like having multiple lives in a video game."
"Like the ones Dudley used to play with the one jumping around?"
"Exactly, kind of. But Harry, this can more than just the Tournament. For general protection. If someone's trying to curse you, they'd have to guess which one is real."
Harry was already extending his hand toward the shadows, feeling that familiar eager response. "Let's see if it's even possible first."
"What would you call it?" Hermione asked, settling onto a conjured chair to watch his experimentation.
"Umbral Mirror, maybe? Since it's creating a reflection of sorts, but made of shadows instead of light."
"That's appropriately dramatic. Very you."
Harry shot her a mock glare. "I'll have you know my spell names are perfectly reasonable."
"'Tenebris Gladius' is reasonable?"
"It's Latin! Latin makes everything sound more impressive!"
"If you say so," Hermione said with amusement. "Now stop stalling and try to make your shadow twin."
Harry focused on the darkness pooling near the far wall, trying to visualize exactly what he wanted. Not just a vague human shape, but himself—his height, his build, his messy hair. He reached out with his magic, coaxing the shadows to rise and take form.
The result was... disappointing.
A roughly human-shaped blob of darkness rose from the floor, swaying uncertainly like a drunk person trying to stand. It had the approximate proportions of a scarecrow built by someone who'd never actually seen a human being.
"Well," Hermione said diplomatically, "it's definitely... humanoid."
"It looks like a melted chocolate frog," Harry said with disgust, dismissing the pathetic attempt.
"Try again. Maybe you need to be more specific about the details?"
Harry's second attempt produced something that was arguably closer to human proportions, but still looked more like a shadow puppet made by an enthusiastic five-year-old than a convincing duplicate.
"This is harder than I thought," Harry muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "The blade was easy because I knew what a sword should look like. But creating a duplicate of myself?"
"Think about it logically," Hermione suggested. "When you look in a mirror, what do you see? What are the key features that make you recognizably you?"
"My devastating good looks and natural charm?"
"Harry. Well, still yes, but you need more..."
"Right, sorry. Um... my height, I suppose. My hair—Merlin knows it's distinctive enough. My scar. My build, my posture..."
"Exactly. But you're trying to create all of that at once. What if you built it piece by piece? Start with the basic shape, then add details?"
Harry nodded, seeing the wisdom in her approach. His third attempt began with a simple shadow outline—just a basic human silhouette. Then he tried to add depth, making it three-dimensional rather than flat.
"Better!" Hermione said encouragingly. "It actually looks like a person now, even if it's not specifically you."
"The problem is," Harry said, maintaining his concentration on the shadow figure, "I can't exactly stare at myself while I'm casting the spell. I don't know what I look like from the outside."
"That's easy enough to solve," Hermione said, pulling out a small mirror from her bag. "Here, practice looking at yourself while you cast. Get used to seeing your own features."
Harry glanced at his reflection and immediately grimaced. "Do I always look this disheveled?"
"Only when you've been practicing shadow magic for two hours straight. Now concentrate—try to match what you're seeing in the mirror."
The fourth attempt was markedly better. The shadow figure had recognizable human proportions and even a suggestion of Harry's lean build. But it still looked more like a shadow person wearing Harry's general shape than an actual duplicate.
"I think," Hermione said thoughtfully, "the problem might be that you're trying to create too much detail. Real shadows don't have facial features or specific clothing. Maybe the illusion works better if it's less precise?"
"You mean make it obviously a shadow, but one that's clearly meant to be me?"
"Exactly. Something that would fool someone in combat or from a distance, but doesn't try to be a perfect copy."
Harry's fifth attempt followed this philosophy, and the result was considerably more successful. The shadow duplicate stood roughly his height and had his general build, with enough suggestion of his characteristic messy hair to be recognizable. It moved when he willed it to, though the motions were somewhat jerky and unnatural.
"Now that," Hermione said with satisfaction, "looks like it could actually be useful."
"It's exhausting though," Harry admitted, letting the duplicate dissolve. "Even more than the shadow blade. I can feel it pulling at my magic constantly."
"Well, you're essentially maintaining a complex illusion while also controlling shadow magic. It's bound to be draining." Hermione stood and moved closer to examine where the duplicate had been standing. "But Harry, if you can master this... you can be at an advantage every time you fight with someone."
"Assuming I can figure out how to control it properly. Right now it moves like a puppet with tangled strings."
"That will come with practice. Everything does." Hermione smiled at him warmly. "Besides, you've gone from complete failure to functional prototype in twenty minutes. That's rather impressive, even for you."
Harry felt a surge of pride at her praise. "Think it'll be ready for whatever the second task throws at us?"
"With the rate you're developing these abilities? I'd be surprised if it wasn't."
As Harry began cleaning up their makeshift training area, he couldn't help but grin. Another spell added to his growing arsenal, another tool in his expanding repertoire.
The real question was how many more applications he could discover before he needed them.
❾¾
❾¾
Harry was making his way back from the abandoned classroom, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of shadow duplicates and enhanced spellwork, when a voice called out behind him.
"Harry Potter."
The voice was distinctly feminine, confident, and carried just the slightest hint of what might have been nervousness. Harry turned around, expecting to see Hermione or Ginny catching up with him, but instead found himself face-to-face with someone he'd seen countless times but never actually spoken to.
Susan Bones stood about ten feet away in the corridor, her long auburn hair catching the torchlight in a way that made it look almost copper. She was... well, Harry's brain took a moment to catch up to what his eyes were seeing. He'd noticed Susan before, of course—it would have been impossible not to, really—but seeing her up close like this was rather different from glimpsing her across the Great Hall.
Bloody hell, Harry thought, trying not to stare too obviously. When did Susan Bones get so... developed?
She was undeniably beautiful, with the kind of figure that made fourth-year boys walk into walls and older students do double-takes in the corridors. Her Hufflepuff robes couldn't quite hide the curves beneath, and Harry found himself momentarily grateful for his years of living with the Dursleys—at least their constant criticism had taught him not to gawk openly at people.
"Er, hello," Harry managed, proud of himself for forming actual words. "Susan, right? Susan Bones?"
"That's me," she said, taking a few steps closer. There was something in her posture that suggested she was deliberately presenting herself—shoulders back, chin up, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Though I'm a bit surprised you know my name. We've never actually talked before."
"Well, we're in the same year. And you're kind of hard to miss."
The moment the words left his mouth, Harry felt his face heat up. That had come out far more suggestive than he'd intended.
Susan's smile widened into something that was definitely amused. "Hard to miss? My, my, Potter. And here I thought you only had eyes for Granger and the youngest Weasley."
Harry's embarrassment deepened. Was it that obvious? "I don't know what you—"
"Oh, please," Susan interrupted with a laugh that was surprisingly melodic. "Half the school's figured out that particular triangle. Though I have to say, most of us are impressed rather than scandalized. Takes a special kind of wizard to manage that situation."
"Right," Harry said weakly, not sure whether he should deny it or just change the subject entirely. "Was there... did you need something?"
Susan's expression grew more serious, though the hint of amusement never quite left her eyes. "Actually, yes. I owe you an apology."
That was not what Harry had been expecting. "An apology? For what?"
"For my house," Susan said simply. "For the way most of the Hufflepuffs have been treating you since the tournament started. The badges, the nasty comments, the general hostility. It's been appalling, frankly."
Harry blinked. "You don't need to apologize for other people's actions."
"Maybe not, but I feel like I should. Especially since I knew you were innocent the whole time."
"You did?" Harry asked, genuinely curious now. "How?"
Susan tilted her head slightly, studying him with an expression that was almost analytical. "I'm good at reading people's temperatures," she said matter-of-factly. "Always have been. And you, Harry Potter, run far too hot with genuine emotion to be the kind of cold, calculating schemer who could fool the Goblet of Fire."
Reading temperatures? Harry thought. That's an odd way to put it. But he was too focused on the rest of what she'd said to dwell on her phrasing. "And you believed that even when everyone else in your house was convinced I was cheating?"
"Especially then," Susan said. "Honestly, the way some of them were carrying on, you'd think you'd personally insulted their ancestors. All because they thought you were trying to steal Cedric's spotlight."
"Which brings up an interesting point," Harry said, glancing around the corridor to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Your fellow Hufflepuffs aren't going to be happy about you talking to me like this. Apologizing to the enemy and all that."
Susan's response was to toss her hair over her shoulder with a gesture that somehow managed to be both dismissive and elegant. "They'll survive. Besides, it's not like I'm planning to announce it in the Great Hall. Though honestly, some of them could use a good shake-up in their thinking."
She's got a point there, Harry mused. And that hair-toss thing should not be as attractive as it is.
"Has it been difficult?" Harry asked, surprising himself with the question. "Being one of the few in your house who believed I was innocent?"
"Oh, I wasn't the only one," Susan corrected, unconsciously adjusting the neckline of her robes as she spoke. The movement was subtle, but it drew Harry's attention exactly where she probably intended. "Hannah's always thought the whole thing was ridiculous—she's got a crush on you the size of the Great Lake, by the way, so she was hardly going to join the 'Potter is evil' brigade. And a few others were skeptical. But yes, it's been... tense at times."
Harry filed away the information about Hannah Abbott for later consideration—or perhaps for immediate forgetting, given his current romantic complications. "That must have been uncomfortable."
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Susan said with a slight shrug that did interesting things to her silhouette. "Though I will say, Cedric's been pushing very hard since the first task to convince everyone that you didn't put your name in that stupid Goblet."
"He has?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised and grateful for the distraction from Susan's rather effective... presentation.
"Oh yes. Been quite insistent about it, actually." Susan stepped even closer now, close enough that Harry could feel the warmth radiating from her. "Keeps going on about your warning before the dragon task, how you could have let him walk in blind but chose to help instead. 'That's not the behavior of someone who put himself in the tournament for glory,' he keeps saying."
Is she always this... forward? Harry wondered, very aware of how close she was standing. Or is this specifically for my benefit?
"That's... really decent of him," Harry managed.
"Cedric's a good sort," Susan agreed, her voice taking on a slightly lower, more intimate tone. "Bit too noble for his own good sometimes, but his heart's in the right place. Rather like someone else I could mention."
The way she said it, combined with the meaningful look she gave him, made it clear she wasn't just talking about Cedric anymore.
"So," Harry said, trying to regain some composure and definitely trying not to think about how her proximity was affecting his ability to think clearly, "what changed your mind about talking to me? I mean, you said you've believed I was innocent all along, but you haven't exactly sought me out before now."
Susan's cheeks colored slightly, the first sign of genuine nervousness she'd shown, though she didn't step back. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I've been wanting to talk to you for a while. But between your rather intimidating reputation and the fact that you've seemed somewhat... occupied with other relationships, I wasn't sure my attention would be welcome."
As she spoke, she placed a hand on his arm—ostensibly for emphasis, but the touch was warm and lingered just a moment longer.
Intimidating reputation? Harry wondered, very aware of where her hand was resting. What intimidating reputation?
"And what changed?" he asked, his voice coming out slightly rougher than intended.
"The first task," Susan said simply, her hand still on his arm. "Watching you face that dragon, seeing how you handled yourself... it was impressive. Really impressive. Made a girl wonder what other hidden talents you might have."
"Even if some people might wonder what you're really after?" Harry asked, not unkindly but definitely trying to understand her motivations.
Susan's laugh was rich and unashamed, and she finally stepped back, though not very far. "Oh, Potter. I think we both know I'm not exactly subtle about what I find attractive. But that doesn't mean I can't also genuinely respect your abilities and want to clear the air between our houses."
She paused, then added with a smile that was positively wicked, "Though I won't pretend I'm not hoping for some... additional benefits to our newfound friendship."
Well, that's refreshingly honest, Harry thought. Though also slightly terrifying.
"I appreciate the apology," Harry said aloud, trying to ignore the way his pulse had quickened. "Really. It means more than you might think to know that not everyone has already decided I'm guilty."
"Good," Susan said, looking pleased and taking half a step closer again. "Because I'd hate to think I'd worked up the courage to approach the famous Harry Potter for nothing. It took quite a bit of... nerve to come find you like this."
As she said 'nerve,' she glanced down at herself meaningfully, then back up at Harry with a look that was pure mischief.
No wonder half the boys in our year stare at her during meals.
"Well," Harry said, trying to regain some composure, "I should probably get going. Long day tomorrow with classes and all."
"Of course," Susan said, though she made no immediate move to leave. Instead, she reached out and straightened his tie—a gesture that brought her close enough that Harry could feel her breath on his cheek. "Though Harry? If you ever want to talk again—about the tournament, or house politics, or anything really—you know where to find me."
"The Hufflepuff table?"
"Among other places," Susan said with another one of those smiles that seemed to contain several layers of meaning. "I'm sure a resourceful wizard like yourself could figure it out. And who knows? You might find the... conversation quite rewarding."
With that, she turned and walked away, her robes swishing in a way that Harry definitely did not watch. Much.
Bloody hell, Harry thought as he stood alone in the corridor. What just happened?
Whatever it was, he had the distinct feeling that his already complicated social life had just gotten significantly more interesting.
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