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Harry Potter
Harry slipped through the corridors at half-past five in the morning, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. The castle felt different at this hour—it felt like it belonged to him. No sneering Slytherins, no whispered accusations, no pointing fingers. Just him and the sleeping portraits, most of whom were too drowsy to do more than mumble complaints about "youth these days with their early morning shenanigans."
At least someone's getting proper sleep, Harry thought bitterly as he rubbed his eyes. He'd been up until nearly midnight in the Restricted Section with Hermione, and his body was starting to protest the lack of rest. But he couldn't afford to be tired. Not when everyone expected him to fail spectacularly in front of the entire wizarding world.
The hidden classroom on the third floor had become his sanctuary over the past week. Tonks had done something clever to the door—it looked like any other unused classroom from the outside, complete with cobwebs and that musty smell of neglect. But inside, she'd transformed it into a proper training space, with the desks vanished and protective charms humming along the walls.
Harry pushed open the door to find Tonks already there, her hair a vibrant purple today and tied back in a messy ponytail. She was examining what looked like a collection of wooden practice dummies, muttering under her breath as she positioned them around the room.
"Morning, sunshine," she called without turning around. "You look like you've been dragged through a Whomping Willow backwards."
"Charming," Harry replied, but he found himself almost smiling. Tonks had this way of making him feel normal, like he wasn't the tragic Boy Who Lived or the cheating Tournament champion. Just Harry. "What's all this then?"
"Your education in creative spell application," Tonks said, finally turning to face him with that grin that made something warm flutter in his chest—though he tried to ignore that particular development. "Tell me, Harry, what's the point of a Shield Charm?"
Harry frowned, wondering if this was a trick question. "To block spells?"
"Right. And what's the point of a Disarming Charm?"
"To... disarm someone?" Harry felt like he was missing something obvious, and it irritated him. He was tired of feeling stupid, tired of being behind everyone else.
"Exactly. Now, what if I told you that you could do both at the same time?"
Harry's irritation gave way to curiosity. "Is that even possible?"
Tonks' grin widened. "Magic isn't just about power, Harry. It's about intent and creativity. A weak spell used cleverly beats a strong spell used poorly every single time."
She demonstrated, raising her wand toward one of the practice dummies. "Protego!" The familiar golden shield appeared, but instead of simply blocking, she twisted her wand in a complex motion. "Expelliarmus!"
The shield didn't just absorb the imaginary spell—it seemed to compress and then explode outward in a burst of golden light that would have sent any wand flying from an opponent's grip.
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, staring at the display. "How did you—?"
"Intent," Tonks said simply. "I didn't just want to block an attack. I wanted to turn defense into offense. The magic responded to what I actually wanted to achieve, not just the words I was saying."
Harry felt something shift in his understanding, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. "So I don't need to learn the dangerous stuff to be dangerous?"
"Exactly. You're getting it."
Maybe he didn't need to match Krum's raw power or Fleur's elegance or even Cedric's well-rounded skill. Maybe he could find his own way.
"Right then," Harry said, rolling up his sleeves. "Show me."
The next hour passed in a blur of casting and recasting, of failed attempts and small victories. Harry's first tries at chaining the spells together resulted in nothing more than a weak shield that flickered and died before he could manage the second incantation. His wand work felt clumsy, uncoordinated, and he could feel frustration building in his chest like steam in a kettle.
"I can't get the timing right," he said through gritted teeth after his seventh failed attempt. "The shield falls apart before I can cast the Disarming Charm."
"You're trying too hard," Tonks observed, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "You're thinking of them as two separate spells instead of one continuous action. What are you feeling when you cast Protego?"
Harry paused, considering. "I don't know. Defensive, I suppose. Like I need to block something."
"And when you cast Expelliarmus?"
"Aggressive. Like I want to take something away from my opponent."
"There's your problem," Tonks said, pushing off from the wall. "You're switching mindsets halfway through. But what if instead of thinking 'defend then attack,' you thought 'turn their attack against them'? What if the whole thing was one idea instead of two?"
Harry closed his eyes, trying to imagine facing an opponent. Not just blocking their spell, but catching it, twisting it, sending their own magic back at them along with his. When he opened his eyes, his grip on his wand felt more natural.
"Protego Expelliarmus!" he called out, his wand moving in one fluid motion.
The golden shield that appeared was different this time—still protective, but with an aggressive edge that seemed to reach outward. As Harry completed the wand movement, the shield burst forward in a wave that would have knocked any opponent flat and sent their wand spinning away.
"Brilliant!" Tonks exclaimed, and Harry felt heat rise in his cheeks at her praise. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry. You're a natural at this."
A natural. When was the last time anyone had called him a natural at anything? Quidditch, maybe, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Everything else in his life seemed to happen by accident, by luck like how he defeated the Basilisk back in the second year. But this felt different. This felt like something that was actually his.
"What else can you teach me?" Harry asked eagerly.
Tonks laughed, a sound that was quickly becoming one of Harry's favorites, though he tried not to examine that too closely. "Slow down there, eager beaver. Let's master a few more basics before we get too fancy."
She introduced him to variations of the Stunning Spell—how to cast it as a wide burst instead of a focused beam, how to make it ricochet off surfaces, how to charge it with just enough power to disorient instead of incapacitate. The Body-Bind Curse came next, and Harry discovered he could modify its intensity based on how much anger he channeled into the spell.
"Emotion affects magic more than most people realize," Tonks explained as Harry successfully cast a mild version that would slow an opponent rather than freeze them completely. "The stronger your emotional connection to your intent, the more responsive your magic becomes."
That gave Harry pause. His magic had always been at its strongest when he was feeling something intensely—fury at Aunt Marge, desperate protectiveness of his friends. But he'd never thought to harness those emotions deliberately.
"Is that why my Patronus works so well?" he asked. "Because I put everything I have into the memory?"
"Exactly," Tonks said, her eyes lighting up with approval that made Harry's chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with magic. "Most wizards try to separate emotion from spellcasting, treat magic like it's just wand movements and incantations. But the best magic, the most powerful magic, comes from the heart."
As if summoned by their conversation, Harry felt that strange tingling sensation he'd been experiencing during their training sessions. He glanced down at his wand, half-expecting to see that mysterious silver light again, but his wand looked perfectly normal.
What is that? he wondered, but before he could dwell on it, Tonks was calling for his attention again.
"Let's try something more advanced," she said, conjuring a series of floating cushions around the room. "I want you to use Wingardium Leviosa to control all of them at once, but not as separate spells. Think of it as conducting an orchestra—one conductor, multiple instruments, but they're all playing the same piece of music."
Harry had never been particularly good at Charms—that was Hermione's area—but something about Tonks' teaching style made it click for him. Maybe it was the way she explained things in terms of intent rather than technique, or maybe it was how she made him feel like his instincts were worth trusting instead of something to be corrected.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said, sweeping his wand in a broad arc.
Five cushions rose into the air, wobbling slightly but staying aloft. Harry concentrated on the feeling of control, of having multiple objects responding to his will, and gradually the wobbling stopped. With careful movements of his wand, he sent the cushions spinning around the room in a complex pattern that would create a moving barrier between him and any opponent.
"Outstanding," Tonks breathed, causing Harry to smile as well.
"You're not the same boy who walked into this room a week ago," Tonks continued, and there was something in her voice that made Harry look at her more closely. Her purple hair was escaping its ponytail, framing her face in a way that made her look younger, and her eyes were bright with what might have been pride or might have been something else entirely.
"Good different or bad different?" Harry asked, his voice coming out rougher than he'd intended.
"Definitely good," she said softly. "You're becoming someone who fights smart, not just hard. Someone who uses his head instead of just his heart."
Tonks was looking at him like she was seeing him properly for the first time, and Harry found himself noticing things he'd somehow missed before: the way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking, the small scar just above her left eyebrow, the fact that she was actually quite pretty when she wasn't morphing her features or tripping over her own feet.
She's five years older than you, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione whispered in the back of his mind. She's an Auror. She's your teacher.
But another voice, one that sounded more like his own, whispered back: So what?
"We should probably call it a morning," Tonks said, breaking the moment and making Harry wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing. "You still need to read more, and I've got reports to file with Amelia about my completely legitimate security duties at Hogwarts."
Harry grinned at that. "Right. Your completely legitimate security duties that happen to involve teaching me how to turn basic spells into weapons."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tonks said with exaggerated innocence. "I'm simply ensuring the safety and well-being of a Hogwarts champion. Very above-board. Very official."
As Harry gathered his things and prepared to sneak back to Gryffindor Tower for a quick shower before breakfast, he found himself looking forward to their next session in a way that had less to do with learning magic and more to do with spending time with the woman who looked at him like he was worth believing in.
This is getting complicated, he thought as he slipped out of the classroom.
Night
The Restricted Section felt different at half-past ten in the evening. During the day, it was just another part of the library—forbidden, yes, but still within the safe boundaries of Hogwarts. At night, with shadows pooling between the towering shelves and the ancient books seeming to whisper secrets in languages Harry couldn't understand, it felt like stepping into another world entirely.
Harry settled into one of the heavy wooden chairs beside Hermione. She'd already claimed half the table with her characteristic efficiency, spreading out parchments covered in her neat handwriting and building small towers of books that looked ready to topple at any moment.
"Any luck?" Harry asked quietly, though he wasn't sure why he was whispering. Madam Pince had long since gone to bed, and they had Dumbledore's permission to be here. Still, something about the Restricted Section demanded hushed voices and careful movements.
"Actually, yes," Hermione said, her eyes bright with the particular excitement she got when she'd discovered something useful. "Look at this—Cornelius Blackwood won the 1747 tournament using only first and second-year spells, but he combined them in ways no one expected."
She pushed a leather-bound tome toward him, its pages yellow with age and smelling of dust and old parchment. Harry squinted at the faded text, trying to make sense of the archaic spelling and formal language.
"He used Lumos as a blinding flash?" Harry read aloud, surprised. "And Aguamenti to create ice patches on the ground?"
"Exactly," Hermione said, leaning forward with enthusiasm. "He didn't try to overpower whatever he was facing with advanced magic. He used simple spells in creative ways that caught them completely off guard."
The sound of footsteps made them both look up as Neville appeared at the end of their row, looking unusually determined despite the late hour. He'd been joining them more often lately, and Harry was glad for it. While it wasn't the same as it was once when it was Ron. Neville was good at his own things, and Harry sometimes enjoyed his company.
"Sorry I'm late," Neville said quietly, sliding into the chair across from them. "Had to wait for Dean and Seamus to fall asleep. They've been asking too many questions about where I keep disappearing to."
"Find anything useful today?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. Neville had proven surprisingly good at this research business, approaching it with the same methodical patience he showed in Herbology.
"Actually, yes," Neville said, and there was a confidence in his voice that Harry rarely heard during classes. "I was reading about defensive strategies, and I found something my gran always used to say: 'The best defense is one your opponent doesn't see coming.'"
Hermione looked up from her notes, interested. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Neville said, settling more comfortably in his chair, "most people think of defense as blocking or dodging attacks. But what if you defended by making your opponent's attack impossible in the first place? Like using Devil's Snare to trap their feet, or Venomous Tentacula to create barriers they can't cross?"
Harry felt something click in his mind, the same sensation he'd been experiencing during his training sessions with Tonks. "So we don't try to match their power. We outsmart them."
"Exactly," Neville said, and his face lit up with the kind of genuine smile Harry wished he saw more often. "I mean, I'll never be as powerful as those seven years from Drumstrang. But I know things about magical plants that they probably don't, and that might be enough."
When did Neville become so bloody wise? Harry wondered, feeling a surge of affection for his dormmate. It was easy to underestimate Neville—Harry had done it himself for years—but lately, he'd been seeing glimpses of the person Neville could become when he wasn't terrified of disappointing everyone.
Harry turned back to his own research.
He was flipping through a particularly dense tome on historical dueling techniques when a page caught his attention. The spell description was written in the formal Latin that indicated advanced magic, but something about it made him pause.
"Terra Frangens," he read quietly, tracing the words with his finger. "Earth Shatter. Crystalline shards erupt beneath an opponent, slowing or immobilizing them."
"That sounds promising," he said, louder now. "Listen to this—it creates crystal formations that can trap or slow down opponents. Could be useful for controlling the battlefield."
Hermione looked up from her own book, frowning slightly. "Harry, that's a seventh-year spell. The theoretical knowledge alone is incredibly complex, not to mention the practical applications—"
"I'll be fighting seventh years in this Duelling Race," Harry interrupted, feeling a familiar frustration building in his chest. Why did everyone always assume he couldn't handle advanced magic? He'd produced a corporeal Patronus at thirteen, for Merlin's sake. "And who knows what I'll face in the first task? This spell might be exactly what I need."
Hermione's frown deepened. "Harry, I understand why you're feeling pressured, but attempting magic that advanced could be dangerous. If the spell backfires—"
"Everything I do is dangerous," Harry snapped at her. "Standing in this library is dangerous for me. Eating breakfast is dangerous. At least this way, I'm choosing the danger instead of having it chosen for me."
Harry immediately felt guilty for snapping at Hermione. She was only trying to help, trying to keep him safe, and here he was taking his frustration out on her like some kind of ungrateful git.
But before he could apologize, Neville spoke up quietly. "Maybe there's a middle ground?"
Both Harry and Hermione turned to look at him, and Neville seemed to gather courage from their attention.
"I mean," Neville continued, "what if Harry learns the theory behind the spell first? Understanding how it works, what makes it effective, that sort of thing. Then, if he decides he wants to attempt it, at least he'll know what he's doing."
Trust Neville to find the reasonable solution, Harry thought, feeling his irritation ebb away. "That's a good idea."
Hermione was quiet for a moment, clearly wrestling with her protective instincts and her natural love of learning. Finally, she sighed. "I suppose understanding the theory couldn't hurt. But Harry, promise me you won't attempt to cast it without proper supervision."
"I promise," Harry said, and he meant it. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally shatter the floor of Hogwarts and bring the whole castle down around their ears.
They spent the next hour poring over the spell description and related techniques. The magic was indeed complex—requiring precise wand movements and a deep understanding of earth-based transfiguration—but Harry found himself genuinely fascinated by the mechanics of it. The spell didn't just create random destruction; it required the caster to visualize the exact formation they wanted to create, to understand how crystalline structures grew and where they would be most effective.
"It's like... magical engineering," Harry said eventually, looking up from a diagram that showed various crystal formations and their tactical applications. "You're not just throwing power at a problem. You're building a solution."
"That's a very sophisticated way to think about it," Hermione said, and there was approval in her voice that made Harry sit a little straighter. "Most wizards do approach magic as if it's all about raw power, but the truly advanced practitioners understand that it's about precision and control."
"My gran always said that too," Neville added quietly. "She used to tell me that magic was like gardening—you can't just force things to grow. You have to understand what they need and create the right conditions, like a plant, every plant needs a certain amount of water in order to grow, you can't just throw water at it and expect it to grow."
"We should probably call it a night," Hermione said eventually, glancing at the ornate clock on the far wall. "It's almost midnight, and we all have classes tomorrow."
"Right," Harry said, though he was reluctant to leave. The Restricted Section had become a refuge of sorts, a place where he could focus on solutions instead of problems, where he felt like he was actually preparing for what was coming instead of just waiting for it to happen.
As they gathered their notes and returned the books to their proper shelves, Harry found himself thinking about everything they'd discovered. Unconventional tactics, creative spell usage, advanced magic that required understanding rather than power—it was starting to feel like a real strategy instead of just desperate scrambling.
Maybe I can actually do this, he thought as they made their way quietly through the castle corridors. Maybe I don't have to just survive. Maybe I can actually win.
Two Days Later
"Right then," Tonks said, settling cross-legged on the floor of their hidden classroom with an enthusiasm that made Harry wonder if she'd had too much coffee that morning. "Today we're going to completely ruin your understanding of basic spells."
Harry raised an eyebrow as he sat down across from her, noting that her hair was a vivid electric blue today—almost the same shade as the sparks that sometimes flew from his wand when he was particularly frustrated. "That's either the best teaching philosophy I've ever heard or the worst."
"Definitely the best," Tonks said with a grin that was becoming dangerously familiar to Harry. "Tell me, what's Lumos for?"
"Creating light," Harry said slowly, wondering where this was going. "Pretty straightforward, really."
"Boring," Tonks declared, making an exaggerated yawn. "Absolutely boring. Do you know what Lumos really is?"
"...Light?" Harry tried again.
"It's concentrated magical energy manifested as photons," Tonks said, her eyes lighting up with the particular gleam she got when she was about to turn his world upside down. "Which means it's not just light—it's magical light. And magical light can do all sorts of interesting things that regular light can't."
She pulled out her wand and cast a casual Lumos, creating the familiar warm glow at the tip. "This is what everyone learns. Gentle, controlled, useful for reading in dark corners." Then she flicked her wand sharply, and the light exploded outward in a brilliant flash that had Harry blinking spots from his vision.
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes. "That was like looking directly at the sun."
"Exactly," Tonks said, sounding pleased. "Same spell, different intent. Instead of 'create gentle light,' I thought 'create blinding flash.' The magic responded accordingly."
"So instead of just lighting my way, I could blind an opponent?"
"Now you're getting it. Give it a try."
Harry raised his wand, concentrating on the idea of creating not just light, but aggressive light—light that would hurt to look at, light that would give him an advantage. "Lumos!"
The result was... well, it was definitely brighter than usual, but nowhere near the solar flare that Tonks had produced. It was more like someone had turned up the brightness on a torch.
"Not quite," Tonks said diplomatically. "You're still thinking too gently. This isn't about being polite to the light, Harry. You want to weaponize it. Channel some of that Gryffindor stubbornness into your spellwork."
Gryffindor stubbornness. Harry almost smiled at that. If there was one thing he had in abundance, it was stubbornness. He thought about every time someone had underestimated him, every sneer from Snape, every whisper that he was just a famous name with no real talent.
"Lumos!" he said again, and this time the light that erupted from his wand was sharp and fierce, bright enough to make Tonks wince and look away.
"Much better," she said, blinking rapidly. "Though next time, warn me before you try to permanently damage my retinas."
"Sorry," Harry said, but he was grinning. "What else can we break?"
"I like your attitude," Tonks said. "Let's try something with a bit more substance. Aguamenti—what's it for?"
"Creating water," Harry said promptly.
"Right. And water can become...?"
"Ice," Harry said, understanding dawning. "You want me to combine Aguamenti with Glacius."
"Not combine," Tonks corrected. "Transform. Think of it as one continuous process—create water, freeze it instantly, and direct it toward your target. But here's the trick: don't just make ice. Make ice that does something."
Harry nodded, raising his wand again. He visualized the process Tonks had described—water flowing from his wand, freezing mid-air, shaping itself into something sharp and fast. "Aguamenti Glacius!"
Water spurted from his wand, and about half of it managed to freeze before hitting the floor in a disappointing slush.
"Again," Tonks said.
Harry tried again, focusing on the end result rather than the process. This time, crystalline shards of ice shot from his wand like frozen arrows, embedding themselves in the practice dummy with satisfying thunks.
"Brilliant!" Tonks exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Absolutely brilliant. You're a natural at this creative application stuff."
The praise sent warmth flooding through Harry's chest, and he found himself standing a little straighter.
"What about Wingardium Leviosa?" Harry asked eagerly. "You taught me how to move more than one object. I think I can do something better than just make them hover over me."
"Ohh, the little lion has teeth, okay, Harry, let's see what your evil mind can conquer." Tonks teased him with a wink, and Harry found himself getting all red all over again.
Stop it you stupid heart, is just Tonks, why are you beating so fast? Harry thought to himself, and decided that focusing on his spell would be a better distraction than talking to himself.
"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry said, sweeping his wand in a broad arc and trying to encompass all the cushions in his intent.
Three of them rose into the air.
"Good start," Tonks said encouragingly. "Now, what are you going to do with them?"
Harry grinned, guiding the floating cushions into a slow orbit around himself. "Create a moving shield?"
"Exactly. But think bigger. What if they weren't cushions? What if they were rocks, or shields, or even weapons? What if you could control the entire battlefield?"
Harry imagined facing an opponent while surrounded by a constantly shifting barrier of objects, never knowing which direction an attack might come from, never able to predict what Harry might use next.
"This is incredible," he said, adding a fourth cushion to his orbit. "Why don't they teach this stuff in Defense class?"
"Because most Defense professors are more concerned with following the curriculum than actually preparing students for real combat," Tonks said with a slight edge to her voice. "Present company excluded, obviously. Moody's been doing good work this year."
Harry nodded absently, too focused on his levitation to notice the way Tonks' expression had shifted slightly when she mentioned Moody. He was up to five objects now, and they were moving in a complex pattern that would make it nearly impossible for an opponent to target him directly.
"What if I could make them move faster?" he asked. "Use them as actual projectiles instead of just shields?"
"Now you're thinking like an Auror," Tonks said, and her voice and smile, and eyes, and even pink hair made his heart beat even faster.
Don't be ridiculous, Harry told himself firmly. She's your teacher. She's five years older than you. She's just proud of a student who's finally getting it.
But when Tonks smiled at him, that warm, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, Harry found his concentration slipping just enough that two of his levitated cushions dropped to the floor.
"Let's try something else," Harry said quickly, hoping to cover his momentary lapse. "What about creating that delayed light burst we talked about?"
"Ah yes," Tonks said, her eyes lighting up again. "The magical flash-bang. That's some truly advanced thinking."
Harry raised his wand, trying to visualize what he wanted—not just light, but light with a timer, light that would travel and then explode. "Lumos Temporis," he said.
A small white orb shot from his wand, sailing across the room in a gentle arc. For a moment, nothing happened, and Harry thought he'd failed entirely. Then the orb burst like a miniature star, filling the room with brilliant white light.
"Harry, that was—" Tonks began, but she stopped, staring at him with an expression Harry couldn't quite read. "That was seventh-year level magic. At least."
"Really?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too pleased with himself and failing miserably.
"Really," Tonks confirmed. "Most Aurors would struggle with delayed-activation light charms. How did you—?"
"I just thought about what I wanted it to do," Harry said with a shrug. "Send light somewhere, wait a few seconds, then explode. The magic sort of... figured out the rest?"
Tonks was quiet for a moment, studying him with an intensity that made Harry's cheeks warm. "You're remarkable, you know that?"
"I'm really not," Harry said automatically, but Tonks shook her head.
"Yes, you are. You're taking magic that most people spend years learning and adapting it in minutes. You're thinking three steps ahead tactically. You're—"
She stopped herself, looking almost embarrassed, and Harry felt something flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way she was looking at him.
"We should probably practice a few more variations," Tonks said, her voice slightly rougher than usual. "Make sure you can replicate these effects consistently."
"Right," Harry said, though he found himself more interested in the slight flush on Tonks' cheeks than in practicing magic. "Consistency. Very important."
Tomorrow
The Gryffindor common room buzzed with the particular energy that always preceded a Hogsmeade weekend—excited chatter about which shops to visit, debates over whether Zonko's had restocked their Dungbombs, and the eternal question of whether the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head served better butterbeer. Harry slouched deeper into his favorite armchair by the fire, watching his housemates pack bags and count pocket money.
Like watching people prepare for a party you're not invited to, he thought, his fingers unconsciously finding the letter in his robes pocket. Sirius's familiar handwriting crinkled under his touch, and Harry's stomach clenched with fresh worry.
Padfoot, the letter had read, heard about the Tournament mess through my usual channels. Bad enough they've got you in that death trap, but now a Duelling Race too? I'm moving closer to the school. Don't worry about me—I know how to stay hidden. But I need to be near enough to help if things go sideways. Stay safe, and remember what I taught you about watching your back. -Snuffles
Moving closer to the school. With Amelia Bones still prowling the corridors, conducting her investigation into how Harry's name had emerged from the Goblet, and more Aurors stationed around Hogwarts than Harry had ever seen, Sirius was walking straight into the lion's den. The man had the survival instincts of a particularly suicidal Gryffindor. Harry had already sent a letter, warning him about the many, many Aurors crawling around the place.
Hermione appeared beside his chair, already dressed for the outing with her warm cloak and a small bag slung over her shoulder. Her expression was torn between excitement and guilt.
"Are you absolutely sure you'll be all right here by yourself?" she asked for what had to be the third time in ten minutes. "Because I could easily tell Parvati and Lavender that something came up—"
"Hermione," Harry interrupted firmly, looking up at her with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "We've been through this. Go. Have fun. Buy some books, gossip about whatever it is you gossip about, and stop worrying about me for one afternoon."
She bit her lip, clearly still wrestling with leaving him behind. "I just feel terrible about—"
"Don't," Harry said, cutting her off again. "You deserve a normal Saturday with friends. Besides, I've got training to catch up on, and you know Tonks works me harder when there aren't any distractions around."
That's not entirely true, Harry admitted to himself. But Hermione doesn't need to know that I'm actually looking forward to spending time with Tonks for reasons that have nothing to do with magic.
"I'll bring you back some Honeydukes chocolate," Hermione promised, leaning down to give him a quick hug. "The good stuff, not those awful Bertie Bott's beans."
Harry watched her join Parvati and Lavender by the portrait hole, the three girls immediately launching into animated discussion about which shops to visit first. Around the common room, other groups were forming—second years clustering together for safety, older students pairing off or gathering in established friend groups, everyone united by the simple pleasure of an afternoon of freedom.
Everyone except me, Harry thought, pulling Sirius's letter from his pocket and reading it again. The parchment was already showing wear marks from his repeated handling, but he couldn't help himself. Every time he read those words—moving closer to the school—his anxiety ratcheted up another notch.
"Blimey, Potter, you look like someone's cursed your favorite broom."
Harry startled, looking up to find Tonks perched on the arm of the chair opposite him, her hair a vibrant purple today and her Auror robes replaced by casual Muggle clothes that made her look younger, more approachable. She was studying him with those sharp eyes that saw far too much, and Harry quickly folded Sirius's letter back into his pocket.
"Just thinking," he said, which was true enough. "Shouldn't you be off doing important Auror things?"
"My important Auror things can wait," Tonks said with a grin that transformed her entire face. "Besides, I was thinking of heading into Hogsmeade myself. Fancy some company?"
Harry blinked, certain he'd misheard. "What?"
"Hogsmeade," Tonks repeated patiently, as if explaining something obvious to a particularly slow child. "You know, that little village where they sell sweets and butterbeer and overpriced joke items? I thought we could go together."
"I don't need your pity, Tonks," Harry said, his pride flaring like a struck match. "I'm fine staying here."
Fine staying here and wallowing in self-pity while worrying myself sick about Sirius, his honest inner voice added unhelpfully.
"Pity?" Tonks repeated, raising one eyebrow in a way that made Harry suddenly aware of how the afternoon light from the windows caught the purple highlights in her hair. "Who said anything about pity? I enjoy your company, and I have some personal business in Hogsmeade."
She paused, tilting her head with theatrical consideration. "Though I suppose if you'd rather spend your Saturday brooding by the fire like some tragic romantic hero..."
"I don't brood," Harry protested automatically.
"Right," Tonks said solemnly. "You pensively contemplate. Very different thing."
Despite himself, Harry felt his lips twitch toward a smile. There was something about Tonks that made it impossible to maintain a properly dramatic sulk—she had this way of deflating his more melodramatic moments without making him feel foolish for having them.
"What kind of personal business?" he heard himself ask.
Tonks's expression shifted, her eyes going wide and pleading in a way that was so obviously exaggerated it circled back around to being genuinely endearing. "You wouldn't leave a lady to handle her business all alone, would you?"
The puppy-dog eyes she was making were absolutely ridiculous—the kind of expression that would have looked absurd on anyone else but somehow suited Tonks perfectly. Harry found himself chuckling despite his lingering worry about Sirius, despite his disappointment about being left behind, despite everything.
"Maybe is better if I train some more." Harry pointed out.
"Sure, but I can see it in your eyes, Harry. You are not in a good mood, you can try to train, but trust me, everything would go over your head like a golden snitch and before you realise it, you wasted the entire afternoon doing nothing." Tonks with a sharp look, her puppy eyes no long there.
"When you put it like that..." he said, standing up and reaching for his cloak. "Alright."
"Excellent," Tonks said, bouncing to her feet with an energy that reminded Harry why he'd started looking forward to their training sessions. "Though you might want to change out of those robes. You'll stick out like a Niffler in a jewelry shop dressed like that."
Harry looked down at his school robes, then at Tonks's casual Muggle attire. "Right. Give me five minutes?"
"Take ten," Tonks said generously. "I'll wait here and terrorize your housemates with stories about proper Auror training."
As Harry headed toward the dormitory stairs, he could already hear Tonks launching into what sounded like a highly embellished tale about tracking Dark wizards through the London sewers. Colin Creevey was hanging on every word, his eyes wide with hero worship, while the Weasley twins were exchanging glances that suggested they were already plotting ways to incorporate Auror tactics into their latest pranks.
She fits here, Harry realized as he climbed the stairs. In a way that most adults never do. She doesn't talk down to us or treat us like children who couldn't possibly understand the complexities of the adult world.
Ten minutes later, dressed in his best attempt at Muggle casual wear—jeans that were only slightly too big and a jumper that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him last Christmas—Harry found Tonks exactly where he'd left her, now demonstrating what appeared to be a defensive stance to an audience of fascinated second years.
"Ready?" she asked, straightening up and grinning at him making his chest tighten.
"Ready," Harry confirmed, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was agreeing to.
As they made their way through the portrait hole and down the corridors toward the main entrance, Harry found himself stealing glances at Tonks. In casual clothes, with her hair loose around her shoulders and that easy, confident way she moved, she looked less like his instructor and more like... well, like someone he might actually have a chance with if circumstances were different.
If you were older, his practical inner voice reminded him. If she wasn't an Auror. If you weren't Harry bloody Potter with a target painted on your back.
But for once, Harry decided to ignore his practical inner voice. For one afternoon, he was just going to be a fourteen-year-old boy spending time with a girl he liked, and if that girl happened to be five years older and capable of hexing Dark wizards into next week, well... stranger things had happened in his life.
Much stranger things, Harry thought as they stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Sirius's letter a reassuring weight in his pocket and Tonks's laughter bright as sunlight beside him.
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