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The fire in Hagrid's secret cottage had burned down to glowing embers, casting long, dancing shadows that Harry found himself instinctively tracking. He wasn't controlling them, not right now, but ever since the Awakening, he couldn't help but feel where they pooled, like a second sense he hadn't asked for but couldn't turn off.
Across the battered table, Sirius was leaning back in his chair, a mug of half-drunk tea dangling dangerously from his fingers. The tension from the Peverell conversation had bled away. Eventually, Sirius started talking about the good old day as he had decided to name them, and he was in the middle of telling Harry about how James found out about Lupin's wolf problem.
"It was a complete accident, honestly," Sirius was saying, a bark of laughter escaping him. "James had been obsessed with figuring out where Remus went every month. We had a map, rudimentary version of the one we made eventually and James, being James, decided to follow him under the Cloak. He didn't expect to see Madam Pomfrey leading Remus to the Whomping Willow."
"So he just... saw him transform?" Harry asked. He tried to imagine his father, roughly his own age, hiding under the same silvery fabric Harry kept at the bottom of his trunk, watching his best friend turn into a monster.
"Not quite. He saw Pomfrey freezing the tree. James, brilliant idiot that he was, waited for Pomfrey to leave and then tried to follow." Sirius shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nearly got his head taken off by a branch. But he heard the howling. The next morning, Remus looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a mountain troll. James just sat down next to him, handed him a piece of chocolate, and said, 'So, fuzzy little problem, eh?'"
Harry smiled into his tea. It was strange to think of them like that, just boys.
"We didn't let him live it down," Sirius continued, a wicked glint entering his grey eyes. "But we stuck by him. That's what matters. Though, speaking of not living things down..." He paused, running a hand through his matted hair, looking suddenly sheepish. "Did I ever tell you about the time McGonagall gave me six months of detention?"
"Six months?" Harry choked on his tea. Beside him, Hermione's eyes went wide. Even Ginny stopped swinging her legs against the chair rung. "What on earth did you do? Blow up a tower?"
"Nothing so pedestrian," Sirius sniffed, though the tips of his ears were turning a suspicious shade of pink. "It was... fourth year. A confusing time for a young wizard."
"Confusing how?" Ginny asked, leaning forward, sensing blood in the water.
"Hormones, mostly," Sirius mumbled into his mug. "Look, you have to understand. McGonagall wasn't always... well, she was always fierce. But back then? She was terrifying. And brilliant. And when she yelled at you, her eyes did this flashing thing..."
He trailed off, looking at the ceiling.
Harry stared at his godfather. Then he looked at Ginny. Then back at Sirius. The realization hit him like a Bludger to the stomach.
"No," Harry whispered, horrified. "You didn't."
"She was a very striking woman!" Sirius defended himself, his voice pitching up an octave. "And she didn't wear those tartan hats back then!"
"You had a crush on Professor McGonagall," Ginny stated flatly, a delighted grin spreading across her face. "You. Sirius Black. The rebel. You were pining after the Head of Gryffindor."
"I was not pining," Sirius scoffed, though his entire face was now the color of a tomato. "It was... an appreciation of authority. And she was only thirty-one! That's barely older than I am now! She's sixty-two these days, sure, but back then? I wasn't the only one, let me tell you. Half the Quidditch team was trying to impress her."
Harry tried to scrub the mental image from his brain, Sirius, young and arrogant, making eyes at Professor McGonagall while she tried to teach Transfiguration. It was disturbing on a level Harry hadn't prepared for. He glanced at Hermione, expecting her to look scandalized, but she just looked amused, which was a very surprising thing to see since she is all about respecting the professors and all that shit.
He almost brought up Gilderoy Lockhart, remembering vividly how Hermione had drawn little hearts around the man's schedule in their second year, but a sharp look from her suggested she knew exactly what he was thinking. Best not, Harry decided. Sirius looked embarrassed enough without Harry adding Hermione's history with incompetent celebrities to the mix.
"So," Harry said, desperate to move past the image of McGonagall as a heartthrob. "Six months detention. Was that for... ogling?"
"It was for being an idiot," Sirius sighed. "Truth or Dare in the dormitory. It was a Saturday night, we'd had a bit of firewhisky that James had nicked... Peter dared me to go to her office and ask her out."
Hermione gasped. "You didn't."
"I was a Gryffindor," Sirius said miserably. "We don't back down from dares. I marched right down there, knocked on her door at ten o'clock at night. She opened it, wearing this emerald green dressing gown, looking like she was ready to transfigure me into a pincushion."
"And?" Ginny prompted.
"I panicked. I forgot every charming line I'd rehearsed on the way down. I think I just blurted out, 'Minnie, are you an angel? Because you've got nice robes.'" Sirius buried his face in his hands. "I have never seen a woman look more disappointed in the evolutionary progress of the male species. She called me a 'witless, hormone-addled boy,' gave me six months of detention for 'wasting faculty time and supreme foolishness,' and slammed the door."
Harry burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The image of the grim, haunted man in front of him stammering pick-up lines at McGonagall was too much. "Did you have to take all six months?"
"Every Saturday," Sirius groaned, peering through his fingers. "Polishing the trophy room without magic. Though, honestly? It wasn't as bad as her usual detentions. She brought me biscuits once. I think she might have actually been flattered, deep, deep down. Or maybe she just pitied me."
The laughter in the room was light, easy. But the light outside the cottage window was fading, turning the grey forest into a wall of black, and Sirius seemed to notice it too.
"You should get going," Sirius said softly. "The village will be clearing out soon. Don't want you caught out after curfew."
Harry nodded, standing up. His legs felt a bit stiff from sitting so long. "Right. Thanks for the tea, Sirius. And... for the talk."
"Wait." Sirius stood up too, moving around the table to grip Harry's shoulder. "Before you go. There's something else. We talked about the shadow magic and keeping it quiet."
"Yeah?"
"Are you any good at Occlumency?"
Harry blinked. "Occlu-what?"
Sirius's expression tightened. "Occlumency. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. It's obscure, but if you have secrets, real secrets, Harry, like the Peverell magic, you need to know it."
"You mean... mind reading?" Harry asked, feeling a cold prickle on the back of his neck.
"Legilimency is the art of navigating through the many layers of a person's mind," Sirius corrected, sounding uncharacteristically academic. "It's not just reading thoughts like a book. It's interpreting feelings, memories, suppressing them or pulling them out. If a skilled Legilimens looks you in the eye, and use Legilimency and you haven't got your shields up, they can see everything. Your fear. Your plans. Your memories of this cottage."
Harry felt a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety.
"Do you think..." Harry started, glancing at Hermione and Ginny. "Do you think Dumbledore would do that? Read my mind?"
"He's the Headmaster," Hermione said immediately. "It's illegal to use Legilimency on a student without authorization. Professor Dumbledore respects privacy."
"Dumbledore respects the 'Greater Good,'" Ginny countered, her voice having a hard edge to it. "He's old and wise, well, he is old at least, sure. But he's also the man who hasn't done a thing to get Harry out of this tournament. If he thought Harry was hiding something dangerous? He might look."
"I don't think Professor Dumbledore would do it maliciously," Sirius said, playing the mediator. "But he is... thorough. If he suspects the shadow magic is influencing you, or coming from a dark source, he might feel justified in checking."
Hermione gave Ginny a look of triumph, earning an annoyed look from the latter.
Sirius leaned closer, his grey eyes serious. "But it's not just Dumbledore I'm worried about. Severus Snape is a master Legilimens."
Harry felt his blood run cold. "Snape?"
"He hates you, Harry," Sirius said bluntly. "He hated your father, and he sees James every time he looks at you. He's petty, vindictive, and he's almost certainly trying to figure out how you cheated to get past the Age Line. If he catches you looking him in the eye... he won't hesitate to rifle through your head."
"He doesn't know about the shadows," Harry said quickly.
"Keep it that way," Sirius said grimly. "When you get back, go to the library. Look for basic meditation techniques. Clearing your mind. It's the first step. I can't teach you properly from this place, but you need to start building walls. Imaginary barriers. Anything to keep them out."
Harry nodded, his mind racing. He'd have to be careful. No eye contact with Snape. That shouldn't be too hard; he usually tried to avoid looking at the greasy git anyway.
"One more thing," Harry said, hesitating at the door. "Do you... do you have any idea who put my name in? The Goblet?"
Sirius leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I've been thinking about it. There aren't many people inside Hogwarts with the skill to hoodwink an artifact that old."
"Karkaroff?" Harry suggested. "He looked ready to kill me when my name came out."
"Igor Karkaroff," Sirius spat the name like it was poison. "It's possible. He's a former Death Eater."
Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all froze.
"He... what?" Hermione asked, her voice high. "A Headmaster? A Death Eater?"
"Former, supposedly," Sirius said darkly. "He was in the inner circle with my dear cousin Bellatrix and the Lestrange. But when Voldemort fell, Karkaroff was captured by the Aurors. He didn't have the stomach for Azkaban. He started singing like a bird."
"He ratted them out?" Harry asked.
"Gave up names to save his own skin," Sirius confirmed. "Sent quite a few of his old friends to the Dementors to bargain for his freedom. That's how he got off. It's why he's alive and free. But he's not a fanatic, Harry. He's a coward. Putting your name in the Goblet... that draws attention. It risks the tournament, risks Dumbledore's wrath. It doesn't feel like Karkaroff's style unless he's being forced."
"So watch my back," Harry summarized.
"Constantly," Sirius agreed. "And keep the shadow magic hidden. The wizarding world is fickle. Right now, they're cheering because you faced a dragon. But if they see you manipulating darkness? If they hear the name Peverell? They'll turn. They'll call you the next Dark Lord before you can blink."
"I'm used to it," Harry said casually. "Second year, everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin setting a basilisk on muggleborns. This year, they wore badges calling me a cheat. I don't care what they think anymore. I know who I am."
Sirius looked at him for a long moment, a fierce pride burning in his eyes. "You're a stronger man than I was at your age, Harry. James would be... he'd be over the moon."
Sirius pulled him into one last, bone-crushing hug. He said goodnight to Hermione and Ginny, without hugging them.
The walk back to Hogsmeade was quieter than the walk up. The cold November wind bit at their cheeks, and the shadows of the Forbidden Forest seemed to stretch out to meet Harry's feet, welcoming him back. He resisted the urge to command them, to pull them up around him like a cloak. Occlumency, he thought. Walls. Shields.
They reached the edge of the village.
"Well," Ginny said, breaking the silence as they reached the main road, joining a few other students. She linked her arm through Harry's, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. "That went well. Sirius didn't even hex us for corrupting his godson."
"He took the 'throuple' thing better than I expected," Hermione admitted, adjusting her scarf. "Though I think the McGonagall story broke his brain a little."
"I will never be able to look at Professor McGonagall the same way again," Harry shuddered. "Never."
"Speaking of looking at things," Ginny said, her tone shifting into that dangerous, teasing register she used when she was up to something. She squeezed Harry's arm. "So... Susan Bones."
Harry groaned. "Ginny, please."
"I'm just saying!" Ginny laughed. "Did you see how she was looking at you? And Hermione? She was practically ready to sign the contract right there in the pub."
"She was very... forward," Hermione allowed.
"Forward?" Ginny snorted. "She was on a mission. And honestly, Harry, when are we going to shag her? Because I don't know if you noticed while you were busy panicking, but did you see her tits? They were amazing. Truly spectacular."
Hermione made a choking sound that was definitely not a cough. "Ginny!"
"What?" Ginny grinned, unrepentant. "I have eyes! You saw them too, Hermione. Don't pretend you didn't check out the competition. Or... the potential addition."
Harry felt his face heating up, and for once, it wasn't from anger or embarrassment, but from a confused mix of desire and incredulity. "You are impossible," he muttered, though he didn't pull his arm away.
"I'm practical," Ginny corrected. "And observant. Just think about it, Harry. Five is a lucky number, after all."
"I need to study Occlumency," Harry muttered to himself. "If only to stop Snape from seeing this conversation."
Ginny's laughter followed them all the way up the stone steps, echoing in the darkness.
The Next Day
Harry stood in the center of the room, sweat plastering his fringe to his forehead, his wand discarded on a nearby desk, the abandoned classroom felt like a second common room for him. He didn't need wood and phoenix feather for this. He needed will.
"Again," he muttered, staring at his own shadow stretched out by the afternoon sun hitting the floorboards. "Come on. Don't be lazy."
He visualized the darkness not as a flat projection, but as a limb. A muscle he had forgotten how to flex. He breathed out, pushing his magic downwards, commanding the shadow to fracture.
It rippled. Like oil on water, the darkness behind him shuddered and then split. One tendril rose, snake-like and wavering. Then a second. Harry gritted his teeth, sweat stinging his eyes. He wanted nine. Nine independent limbs. Total defense.
A third tendril tried to peel away from the floor, but the effort felt like trying to lift a boulder with his eyelashes. His concentration snapped. The two risen shadows collapsed back into two-dimensional flatness with an almost audible slap.
"Bollocks," Harry exhaled, hands on his knees.
"You're trying to force it," Hermione said from her perch on the teacher's desk. She hadn't looked up from her Arithmancy text, yet she somehow knew exactly what his shadows were doing. "You're treating them like separate entities. They're all you, Harry. You don't have to concentrate on moving your pinky finger separately from your ring finger, do you?"
"My fingers don't usually try to strangle me if I lose focus," Harry retorted, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Here." Hermione set her book down, marking the page with a strip of parchment. She hopped off the desk, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "You're too tense. Your magic is knotted up."
"I need to get this," Harry said, frustration leaking into his voice. "If I can hold multiple weapons, or grab multiple opponents..."
"And you will," she said softly, stepping forward right in front of him. Her hands slid up his chest, resting on his shoulders. "But right now, your brain is overheating. Let me help."
She kissed him, tasting of peppermint tea. Harry felt the rigid tension in his shoulders begin to melt. It was unfair, really, how easily she could dismantle his bad moods. He responded, his hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against him.
She broke the kiss but didn't pull away, dropping to her knees right away.
"Hermione?"
"Just relax," she murmured, her eyes looking up at him. "Focus on the sensation. Let the magic flow naturally."
Her hands went to his belt. Harry groaned, his head falling back as she freed him. The cool air of the classroom was instantly replaced by the wet, hot warmth of her mouth.
It was maddening. It was perfect.
"Focus," she hummed against him, the vibration sending a jolt straight down his spine.
Harry tried. He really tried. He looked over her head at his shadow on the wall. He tried to separate the pleasure wrecking his concentration from the intent needed to command the darkness.
Split, he ordered the shadow.
One tendril rose, curling lazily in the air. Hermione bobbed her head, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock, and Harry's knees nearly buckled. The shadow wavered.
Two.
A second tendril peeled off the floor. It was easier this time, fueled by the rush of adrenaline and pleasure. The magic didn't feel like a heavy weight anymore; it felt like a surge.
Three.
The third shadow snapped up, solid and sharp.
"Grab them," Harry gasped out, gesturing vaguely at the stack of cushions they'd pilfered from the common room.
The shadow-tails lashed out. One wrapped around a blue cushion. The second snagged a red one. The third... the third flailed a bit, like a confused tentacle, before managing to spear a discarded textbook.
Harry held them there, three physical objects suspended by his own shadow, while Hermione worked him toward the edge. The sensation of the magic holding the weight and the physical pleasure overwhelmed him.
"I'm—Hermione, I can't hold—"
He came with a shout, his focus shattering. The shadows dissolved instantly, dropping the cushions and the book with a chaotic thud as he emptied himself inside her mouth, and she swallowed greedily, letting out a loud moan.
Hermione pulled back a moment later, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, looking entirely too smug for someone who had just sabotaged his training session.
"Three," she noted, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "That's a new record. See? Positive reinforcement."
Harry slumped into a chair, trying to regulate his breathing and failing to wipe the dopey grin off his face. "If that's the training method, I expect to be a master by Tuesday."
"Don't get used to it," she teased, picking up her book again. "I'm not a vending machine for blowjobs, Harry Potter."
"Could've fooled me," he muttered, dodging the stinging hex she lazily flicked his way.
He fixed his clothes, feeling lighter, though the magical exhaustion was still humming in his veins. "So," he said, shifting gears as he watched her pack her bag. "Any luck with the research?"
"On Occlumency? No," Hermione sighed, the playful mood dampening slightly. "The standard library has nothing beyond definitions. It's considered 'obscure branch magic.' I'll need to check the Restricted Section."
"Think you can get a pass?"
"Please," Hermione scoffed. "I'm the top student in the year. I'll tell McGonagall I want to research the history of mental defense spells for a theoretical essay on countering the Imperius Curse. She won't blink."
Harry shook his head. "You're scary when you scheme."
"I'm efficient. Oh, speaking of important things," she added. "I was in the library earlier, looking out toward the grounds. Viktor Krum was swimming in the Black Lake."
Harry blinked. "Swimming? In December? Is he mad?"
"He's Durmstrang," Hermione said, as if that explained everything. "But it got me thinking. Why swim in a freezing lake unless you're preparing for something? Maybe the Second Task is underwater."
Harry felt a prickle of annoyance, though he wasn't sure if it was about the task or the person. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, trying to sound casual and failing. "I hear he's got quite the fan club."
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "Oh, stop it. It wasn't like that. I just noticed him. He was out there for an hour, Harry. Without magic to keep him warm, as far as I could tell. It's... impressive stamina."
"Right. Stamina." Harry grabbed his wand, shoving it into his pocket. "Maybe I should go for a dip. See if I can freeze my bollocks off too. Might win me points for 'artistic suffering.'"
"It's a valid theory, Harry," Hermione said, ignoring his tone. "If the task is underwater, your Firebolt won't help you. You need to know if your... other talents work submerged."
Harry paused. That was actually a good point. He knew his shadow magic reacted poorly to bright light (Lumos made it slippery), but he hadn't tested it in different mediums.
"I'm going down there," Harry decided, rolling his shoulders. "I'm tired of being cooped up in here anyway. I want to see how the shadows react to the water."
"I'd come," Hermione said, checking her watch, "but I have Ancient Runes homework that needs to be handed in tomorrow, and I haven't even started the translation."
"Go," Harry said, kissing her cheek. "I'll be careful. No fighting giant squids."
"And no fighting Bulgarians," she called after him.
The air by the Black Lake was sharp enough to cut glass. The sky was a bruised purple, the sun dipping below the horizon and leaving the grounds in a grey twilight. It was perfect for him. The shadows were long and deep here.
Harry walked along the pebbled shoreline, the water lapping gently at the mud. He scanned the surface. No sign of Krum. The Durmstrang champion had probably gone back to his ship to thaw out.
Harry found a secluded spot near a cluster of large boulders. He didn't want to get wet—he wasn't insane—but he needed to see the interaction.
He extended his hand, calling on the shadow of a large rock. It obeyed instantly, rising like black smoke to coil around his wrist. Easy. The air offered no resistance.
"Right," Harry whispered. "Now the water part."
He focused on a shadow being cast into the water by a hanging tree branch. It was distorted by the ripples, broken up by the refraction of the remaining light.
Rise, he commanded.
Nothing happened.
Harry frowned, stepping closer to the water's edge, his trainers sinking into the freezing mud. He pushed his magic harder, trying to grip the underwater shadow. It felt... slippery.
In the air, shadows were like smoke or cloth—he could grab them, solidify them. But underwater, the light was constantly bending. The shadow wasn't a fixed thing; it was moving with the water, breaking apart and reforming a thousand times a second.
He managed to snag a piece of it, pulling upward. A small blob of darkness breached the surface, but it instantly lost cohesion, dissolving like ink dropped in a glass.
"Dammit," Harry hissed.
Physics. It was bloody physics. Shadows were just the absence of light, and water bent light. To control a shadow underwater, he wouldn't just be controlling darkness; he'd have to account for the refraction of the water itself. It was like trying to grab a reflection in a mirror.
"Impossible," he muttered, kicking a pebble into the lake. "Or at least, really bloody difficult."
If the Second Task was underwater, his biggest advantage, the Tenebris Gladius, the shadow walking, and the duplicates might be useless. He'd be defenseless. Just a fourth-year wizard with a stick and a lungful of air.
"Unless..." Harry stared at the choppy grey surface. "Unless I'm looking at it from the wrong angle. Maybe I can't control it from the outside looking in. Maybe I need to be in the refraction."
It was a stupid idea. It was freezing, dangerous, and he was alone.
Naturally, Harry began stripping off his robes immediately.
He shivered as the biting wind hit his skin, quickly casting a potent Warming Charm on himself before kicking off his trainers. Down to his boxers, he looked at the dark water, took a deep breath, and waded in.
The cold water was like knives digging into his skin despite the charm, pressing against his chest. Harry gritted his teeth and dove under.
The world turned silent and murky. The water of the Black Lake wasn't clear like a swimming pool; it was a soup of dark greens and browns. Harry opened his eyes, stinging slightly, and looked for shadows.
They were there, cast by swaying weeds, by rocks, by the drop-off of the lake bed. Harry reached out with his mind, trying to grasp a particularly dark patch beneath a submerged log.
Move, he commanded.
The shadow twitched. It was like trying to grab a wet bar of soap. Every time he thought he had a grip, the water shifted, the light bent, and the shadow slipped through his mental fingers.
He swam deeper, his lungs starting to burn. He tried again, focusing on the shadow of a large boulder. He managed to pull a tendril of darkness loose, but it dissolved into inky smoke almost immediately, unable to hold its form against the pressure and the shifting light.
Harry kicked his legs, frustration mounting. He tried again. And again. Spinning in the water, trying to find an angle that worked, losing all sense of direction in the murky gloom.
Finally, his lungs screaming for air, Harry kicked upward toward the light.
He broke the surface with a gasp, hair plastered to his face, treading water as he wiped his eyes.
"Useless," he spat, coughing out a mouthful of lake water. "Completely use—"
He froze.
He wasn't where he had started. The current, or his own disorientation, had drifted him significantly. He was on the far side of the lake, near a cove protected by jagged rocks. A thick, unnatural fog hung over the water here, dampening sound and obscuring the castle.
Harry turned to swim back toward the shore, intending to climb out and walk back to his clothes, when movement caught his eye.
About six meters away, emerging from the water like Aphrodite rising from the sea, was Fleur Delacour.
And she wasn't wearing a powder-blue cloak. She wasn't wearing anything at all.
Harry's brain simply stopped working. It didn't just pause; it crashed, displayed a fatal error message, and rebooted in safe mode.
Water cascaded down her pale skin, shimmering like diamonds in the gloom. She was breathtaking, Harry knew that, but this was visceral. His eyes locked onto her curves, unable to look away. The swell of her breasts, heavy and perfect with droplets racing down them; the curve of her waist; the long, sculpted lines of her legs as she waded toward the pebbled bank, her amazing looking ass, he was sure it could clap with every step she took.
Holy...
Harry's thought process failed to complete the sentence. He was just a teenager, and she was a Veela, and she was naked.
Then the reboot finished, and panic set in.
If she sees me, Harry thought, a cold spike of fear piercing through the arousal, she's going to kill me. She won't think it's an accident. She'll think I'm a pervert spying on her.
He looked around frantically. He couldn't swim away; the splash would give him away instantly.
Fleur stopped. She turned her head, her wet hair whipping around, her blue eyes narrowing as she scanned the fog.
"Who is zere?" she called out, her voice sharp and dangerous. "I can sense you. How did you pass my Veela Wards? Show yourself!"
Veela Ward, Harry realized with horror.
He was trapped. He was in the open water, six meters from a naked, angry champion who could probably roast him alive.
Harry spotted a large, jagged rock protruding from the water about three feet to his left, with it's own tiny shore around it. It cast a deep, long shadow against the surface of this tiny shore, but at least it was solid shadow, not water shadow.
Only one way out, Harry thought desperately.
"Come out!" Fleur shouted, and Harry heard the sound of footsteps, likely searching for her wand.
"Sorry, Fleur," Harry whispered.
He didn't wait. He lunged toward the rock, not climbing it, but diving into its shadow. He visualized the shore near the castle, his clothes, and the safety of the distance. He pushed his magic into the Umbra Viatorem, forcing the slippery, wet shadow to accept him.
He felt the cold embrace of the darkness swallow him, expecting the familiar squeeze-and-pop of shadow travel.
But he didn't pop.
Harry gasped, falling forward onto his hands and knees. The ground beneath him wasn't the pebbled shore of the Black Lake. It was smooth, cold, and felt like obsidian glass.
He scrambled up, his heart hammering against his ribs. "What the..."
He wasn't at Hogwarts.
Absolute darkness surrounded him, but it wasn't night. It was a heavy, suffocating gloom that pressed against his skin. He looked up and felt a scream die in his throat.
Above him, dominating the sky, was a sun. But it was not bright. It was a pitch-black sphere, surrounded by a corona of blinding, jagged white light. It cast no warmth, only a freezing, sterile illumination that made everything look like a photo negative.
"Where am I?" Harry whispered. His voice didn't echo. The air was thin, tasting of ozone and ash. He couldn't breathe properly.
He spun around. No lake. No Fleur. Just endless, flat plains of dark glass stretching into the horizon under that terrifying black sun.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his chest. Shadow Walk, he thought. I just need to Shadow Walk back.
He looked for a shadow to use, but under the black sun, everything was dark, and there was no shadow anywhere. Harry reached for his magic, trying to form a pool, to rip a hole back to his world.
Nothing.
It was like reaching for a limb that had been amputated. His connection to the shadows was dead silent.
"Lumos!" Harry shouted, snatching his wand from where he'd tucked it into his boxers, hoping the light would form the shadows he needed.
Nothing happened. The tip of his wand remained dark. It was as if magic itself had withered and died in this place.
He remembered the dream. Lady Peverell's voice. Sometimes something reaches back.
"Hello?" Harry yelled, his voice sounding thin and weak.
"Harry Potter."
The voice didn't come from behind him. It came from everywhere, from the ground, from the sky, from the black sun itself.
Harry whirled around.
A figure was approaching from the horizon. It was tall, draped in tatters that seemed to be made of the darkness itself. It had no face, just a hood filled with the same void as the sun, and two dark eyes staring back at him with the same silver line around its black eye like the sun above them.
"Stay back!" Harry shouted, backing away, brandishing his useless wand.
The figure stopped ten feet away.
"You are a fool," the figure rasped. "You knock on doors you cannot close."
"I didn't mean to—" Harry started, his chest heaving as he fought for oxygen. "I just want to go back."
The figure raised a hand, long, skeletal fingers that looked like burnt wood.
"Then fall," the figure said.
It didn't cast a spell. It simply shoved the air.
Harry felt a massive, invisible force slam into his chest. He flew backward, his feet leaving the obsidian ground.
He didn't land. The ground opened up beneath him, dissolving into mist, and he was falling. Falling into the void. The black sun shrank away, the white outline burning into his retinas. He screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the rushing wind.
He fell for hours. He fell for seconds.
THUD.
Harry hit wet gravel hard, the air exploding from his lungs.
He scrambled backward, crab-walking away from the water, gasping, coughing, his heart beating so fast he thought it might explode. He looked around wildly.
Grey sky. Grey water. The familiar silhouette of Hogwarts Castle in the distance.
Harry looked up. The sun was setting, a normal, orange, beautiful sun sinking behind the mountains.
He collapsed onto his back on the freezing pebbles, shivering violently, staring at the sky. He was back at the shore where he'd left his clothes.
"Safe," Harry wheezed, closing his eyes as the adrenaline crash hit him. "I'm safe."
But as he lay there, freezing in his boxers, Harry knew one thing for certain. He had gone somewhere he wasn't meant to go. And the shadows... they definitely knew his name now.
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