For three nights, Harry stayed in the hospital wing, returning to the Gryffindor common room during the day. The Dreamless Sleep Potion gave him the rest he desperately needed, silencing the nightmares and granting him a few nights of undisturbed sleep. Madame Pomfrey watched over him with a vigilant eye, making sure he adhered to his regimen and remained free from nightmares. Despite her attentive care, Harry couldn't shake off the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over Hogwarts.
For the past nine days, students were confined to the castle, as Aurors patrolled the school grounds and blocked all exits – even the secret ones according to the Weasley twins. The usual hum of Hogwarts life was replaced by whispers and speculation, all centred on Hermione's death and the attack of the Acromantulas. Answers were scarce and the unease grew with each passing day.
One afternoon, as Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room after yet another sombre meal in the Great Hall, Ginny caught his arm and tugged him into an empty corridor.
Before Harry could ask what was going on, she pulled out her wand, muttering a string of incantations that Harry didn't recognize. A faint shimmer surrounded them, almost like a bubble, before fading into invisibility.
"What… what was that?" Harry asked, startled.
"Privacy wards," Ginny explained matter-of-factly. "They'll make sure no one hears us and that anyone who sees us ignores us."
Harry blinked, taken aback. "How do you know how to cast those?"
Ginny shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I've read a lot. It's not that hard if you practice."
Harry didn't entirely believe her - it was advanced magic, far beyond anything he'd seen from other students their age - but he couldn't help being impressed. Before he could press further, Ginny's expression turned serious.
"Harry, there's something I need to tell you - something you can't repeat to anyone," she said, her voice low but steady. She glanced down the corridor as if ensuring they were alone before continuing.
Harry crossed his arms, his gaze sharpening. "Why can't I tell anyone?"
"Because I was told not to tell anyone." Ginny took a deep breath, as if steadying herself. "But you deserve to know."
His expression softened slightly, though his posture stayed guarded. "Alright. What is it?"
Ginny hesitated, her fingers twisting around her wand. "An Auror came to see me. Professor McGonagall called me to her office and he was waiting there. He wanted to ask me about Hermione, about the last time I saw her."
Harry's jaw tightened. "Why?"
"Because I was with her on Hallowe'en," Ginny explained. "In the library. He asked what we were doing, what she said, if I noticed anything strange."
"And did you?" Harry asked, his tone careful, measured.
"No," Ginny said quickly, shaking her head. "But that wasn't what stood out." She lowered her voice even further, as though someone might still overhear despite the wards. "The Auror said something else - something I don't think they want people to know yet."
His pulse quickened.
"He said the Acromantulas didn't just leave the forest on their own," Ginny continued, her voice trembling now. "Someone lured them into the castle."
Harry's heart pounded, but his expression stayed stony. "Someone brought them in?" he asked, his voice unnervingly calm.
Ginny nodded. "That's what he said. And he made it clear I wasn't supposed to repeat it."
For a moment, Harry didn't speak, his mind churning. Someone had planned this. Someone had orchestrated the attack that killed Hermione. His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "Why would anyone do that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know," Ginny said. "But if the Auror's right, this wasn't some accident. Someone made it happen."
Harry's gaze darkened. Whoever was behind this had torn apart the only real family he had. They'd pay. They had to pay.
Ginny's hand brushed his arm, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Harry, please," she said softly. "You can't tell anyone I told you this. If they find out, I'll be in trouble."
He looked at her, his expression softening just enough to reassure her. "I won't," he said. "I promise."
Her shoulders relaxed, though the tension in her eyes remained. "Thank you," she murmured. "I just… thought you should know."
"Thank you, Ginny, for telling me."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of her words pressing down on them both. As they turned back toward the common room, Harry's mind churned with a single, unshakable thought: Someone had to answer for what they'd done to Hermione. And if no one else would find them, he would. No matter the cost.
The next morning, the Daily Prophet celebrated the Aurors' decisive eradication of the Acromantula colony with bold, triumphant headlines. The article detailed their efforts in dramatic, almost theatrical prose, hailing their courage and dedication in safeguarding Hogwarts. Alongside this, Gilderoy Lockhart received glowing acclaim, painted as the fearless architect of the operation. A flattering interview highlighted his 'daring leadership', further inflating his already bloated reputation.
By mid-morning, a notice from Professor McGonagall confirmed that classes would resume as normal a few days later and students were once again free to roam the school grounds during their free time. After ten days confined to the castle, the news brought a collective sense of relief, though whispers of lingering unease still filled the air. Meanwhile, Lockhart basked in the spotlight. His embellished accounts of the Acromantula attack won him a growing audience of adoring fans, particularly younger students eager for reassurance. Even those who doubted his heroic tales found it hard to disagree with Lockhart's and the Prophet's version of events.
That same morning, Ron returned to the Gryffindor common room, his face pale but set in a determined expression. He was greeted with a subdued cheer, though Harry noticed the shadow of grief that hadn't left his friend's eyes. When Harry cautiously broached the subject of Hermione's death, mentioning what Ginny had told him, Ron cut him off sharply.
"Just drop it, Harry." The sharpness of Ron's voice startled him. Harry blinked, watching as Ron's expression hardened, his jaw tightening like a trap.
"It was an accident," Ron said, his tone cold and flat. "A horrible, bloody accident. That's all it was."
"But…"
"Talking about it like it was anything else won't bring her back," Ron snapped, cutting him off. His voice wavered, just for a moment, before he looked away. "So just… leave it, alright?"
The finality of Ron's words hit Harry like a wall. He opened his mouth, but no response came. The air between them felt heavy, suffocating.
"Alright," Harry muttered, backing down. But the words didn't feel true.
As Ron turned away, Harry's gaze lingered, his thoughts swirling. He didn't want to fight Ron, not now… Not ever, really. But the way Ron shut him down so quickly left a sour taste in his mouth.
Harry slumped back into his seat, staring at the place where Ron had stood moments before. A sharp pang of loneliness hit him, deeper than he'd expected. Ron's words felt like a slap, but it wasn't just the harshness that stung. It was the distance between them. They'd always faced everything together - how could Ron not see how important this was? Harry glanced around the common room, the cheerful murmurs of other Gryffindors feeling like a world away. For a moment, he thought of following Ron, but what would he even say? The weight of being alone in this fight settled heavily on his shoulders.
Lockhart wasted no time seizing the spotlight, parading his alleged role in the Acromantula operation with grandiose flair. His tales grew wilder with each retelling, filled with improbable feats of bravery that left even the most gullible students questioning his truthfulness. When asked about the Aurors' suggestion that a wizard might have been involved in Hermione's death, Lockhart dismissed it outright, waving it off as 'sensationalist nonsense' meant to undermine his accomplishments. To Harry, Lockhart's insistence felt like a deliberate deflection, as if he were concealing something crucial. Ginny agreed with his observation and they grew more suspicious of Lockhart.
The sun was low in the sky when Harry and Ginny made their way to Hagrid's hut, the air crisp with the lingering chill of November. Harry hesitated at the door, exchanging a glance with Ginny before knocking. From within, they could hear the shuffling of heavy feet and a low, muttered grumble.
The door creaked open, revealing Hagrid, his face gaunt and his eyes bloodshot. A thick stench of firewhisky wafted out and Harry's heart sank. Hagrid, usually so full of life, looked like a shadow of himself, his shoulders hunched as if carrying an unbearable weight.
"Harry an' a Weasley, right - know yer brothers, I do." Hagrid slurred, stepping aside to let them in. "Didn't expect visitors."
The room was dim, the usual cozy warmth replaced by an oppressive gloom. A half-empty bottle of firewhisky sat on the table and Fang lay curled in the corner, whining softly.
"Hagrid," Harry began carefully, "we wanted to talk to you… about the Acromantulas."
At the mention of the spiders, Hagrid stiffened. He lowered himself heavily into a chair, avoiding their eyes. "What's there to talk about?" he muttered. "They're gone now, aren't they?"
Ginny stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. "The Aurors said the Acromantulas couldn't have left the forest on their own. Did… did you know anything about it? Or maybe someone…?"
Hagrid slammed his fist on the table, making the bottle jump. "I'd never let 'em loose!" he roared, his voice cracking with emotion. "Yeh think I'd do somethin' like that? After Aragog… after what happened to Hermione…"
"No!" Harry said quickly, his voice steady. "We're not accusing you, Hagrid. We just… we thought you might know if someone else had done it. Someone who could control them."
Hagrid's face crumpled and he buried it in his massive hands. "I failed her," he choked out. "I failed Hermione. If I'd known… if I'd thought fer a second…" His words dissolved into incoherent sobs.
Ginny glanced at Harry, her expression tight with discomfort and pity. She stepped closer to Hagrid, placing a hand on his arm. "It wasn't your fault," she said softly. "But if there's anything you remember, anything unusual before that night, it could help us."
Hagrid shook his head miserably, tears streaking his face. "Nothin'. I didn't see nothin' or hear nothin'. Aragog's colony… they're gone now too." He took a long swig from the firewhisky bottle, his hands trembling.
Harry felt a pang of guilt for pressing Hagrid in his state. "We're sorry, Hagrid," he said quietly. "We just wanted to understand."
Hagrid looked at them, his eyes glistening with anguish. "Dunno who did it," he said hoarsely. "But whoever it was - they've got a darkness in 'em. More'n I've ever seen."
The words lingered heavily in the air as Harry and Ginny exchanged a sombre look. Whatever answers they had hoped to find here, it was clear Hagrid didn't have them.
The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning chatter when Gilderoy Lockhart rose to his feet at the staff table, beaming as if he had single-handedly won the war against Voldemort. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice ringing out, "I have a very special announcement! My next book, 'Struggles with Spiders', will be released next year and I am proud to dedicate it to the memory of the tragically departed Miss Hermione Granger." A murmur of approval spread among some of the students, but Harry felt his blood boil.
Hermione's death was no story for Lockhart to twist into his self-aggrandizing narrative!
As Harry sat stewing, Draco Malfoy sauntered over, his signature smirk firmly in place. Leaning against the Gryffindor table, he drawled, loud enough for others to hear, "Why would Professor Lockhart dedicate his book to a Mudblood? If you ask me, Hogwarts is much better off without the know-it-all."
Harry didn't even realize he had moved until his fist collided with Malfoy's face. The blond boy stumbled backward, shocked, but Harry wasn't done. He shoved Malfoy to the floor and rained punches down on him, weeks of pent-up anger and grief erupting all at once. Gasps and shouts filled the hall as students scrambled to intervene, but none were fast enough.
"Potter!" Professor McGonagall's sharp voice rang out across the Great Hall, silencing the commotion. Her wand was already raised as a jet of light struck Harry square in the chest, freezing him mid-punch. His body went rigid, arms still poised to strike again, while Malfoy lay sprawled on the ground, blood dripping from his nose and a stunned expression on his face. McGonagall's piercing gaze swept the hall, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Everything fell silent, save for the murmurs of students watching the spectacle. "This behaviour is utterly unacceptable," McGonagall declared, her voice cold and firm. "Mr. Potter, not only will you serve one week of detention, but I am also docking one hundred points from Gryffindor. Violence has no place at Hogwarts, no matter the provocation."
The Gryffindor table erupted into low murmurs of dismay. McGonagall turned her attention to Draco, who was being helped up by Crabbe and Goyle. "And you, Mr. Malfoy, will report to the hospital wing immediately."
Before McGonagall could say more, Lockhart stepped forward, his dazzling smile plastered across his face. "Now, now, Professor McGonagall," he said with an exaggerated wave of his hand. "Let's not be too harsh on the lad. Young Potter here was clearly overcome with emotion - perhaps a fan's enthusiasm gone astray!" His voice carried a performative cheerfulness that grated on Harry's nerves.
Placing a hand theatrically over his heart, Lockhart continued, "Violence in my name is unnecessary, of course, though a testament to the passion I inspire!" A ripple of laughter passed through the Slytherin table. "I'm sure we can handle this without resorting to overly harsh measures."
Lockhart turned to McGonagall with an ingratiating smile. "Might I suggest that I take Mr. Potter under my wing for this punishment? He benefited greatly from our earlier detention together and I'm certain I can guide him back to the right path."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed, her stern demeanour unwavering. After a moment's tense silence, she gave a curt nod. "Very well, Professor Lockhart. But I expect this to be handled appropriately."
Lockhart clapped his hands together triumphantly. "Handled? Oh, rest assured, Professor, I'll make a model student of him!" He turned to Harry, still frozen by the Stunning Spell. "Now, Mr. Potter, bright and early tomorrow evening in my office!"
With another wave of McGonagall's wand, Harry's body relaxed and he dropped his arms awkwardly, heat flushing his face as the Gryffindor table stared at him. Avoiding Lockhart's gaze, he muttered, "Yes, Professor," his tone tight with barely suppressed anger.
Later that evening in the common room, Harry recounted the incident in the Great Hall to Ginny, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface. As he finished, she leaned closer, her voice low so others couldn't overhear.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "this detention might actually be a good opportunity for us."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
Ginny glanced around, ensuring no one was listening, then turned back to him. "Think about it. You'll be in Lockhart's office, possibly around his things. Use this time to watch him, see if he slips up. If he really is hiding something, he might let his guard down while you're there."
Harry considered her words, his irritation giving way to reluctant curiosity. "You think I could catch him doing something suspicious?"
Ginny gave a small shrug. "It's worth a try. If he's lying about the Acromantulas or Hermione, maybe you'll find something to prove it."
Harry nodded slowly, the idea taking root in his mind. It wasn't how he'd wanted to spend his week, but if it brought them closer to answers, it was worth enduring Lockhart's smugness.
One evening, a few days after Harry's detentions with Lockhart had begun, he found himself once again seated in the professor's gaudy office. The walls were adorned with dozens of framed photographs of Lockhart grinning and winking at himself and Harry's task for the night was sorting through a stack of fan mail that seemed to grow larger every day.
"Now, Harry," Lockhart said, perched behind his desk and twirling a peacock-feather quill. "Remember to keep the tone warm and personal! My readers deserve nothing less than the full Lockhart charm."
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he opened the next envelope. Each letter seemed more ridiculous than the last - requests for signed photos, marriage proposals and flowery proclamations of adoration. He replied to each as instructed, though his irritation grew with every word.
As Lockhart continued humming to himself, Harry decided it was the right time to bring up Ginny's suggestion. He glanced up, folding the letter neatly. "Professor," he said casually, "I've been wondering about something."
Lockhart looked over, raising an expectant brow. "Yes, my boy? What is it?"
Harry set down the quill, leaning back in his chair. "The Acromantulas - they're not supposed to leave the Forbidden Forest, right? That's what the wards are for, isn't it? To keep dark creatures like them inside?"
Lockhart blinked, his ever-present smile faltering slightly. "The wards? Oh, well, yes, I suppose there are wards around the forest. Old magic, of course. Not my specialty, you understand."
"But they work, don't they?" Harry pressed. "The Acromantulas can't leave the forest on their own. Someone would have to bring them out. Don't you think?"
Lockhart's expression stiffened, his smile becoming a little too fixed. "That sounds like wild speculation to me, Mr. Potter. Wards, spiders… All very complicated and I wouldn't put much stock in it. The forest is unpredictable - creatures wander out now and then. Perfectly natural."
"But the wards are there to stop that," Harry persisted. "And if they failed, wouldn't it take a wizard to lure the spiders out? Maybe a dark wizard? You've fought loads of those before. Haven't you seen anything like that?"
Lockhart stood abruptly, smoothing his already immaculate robes. His voice was tight and tinged with nervousness. "Dark wizards using Acromantulas? Rubbish! Absolutely ridiculous! I can assure you, Mr. Potter, nothing like that happened here. Baseless rumours, I tell you."
His movements were jittery as he waved off the suggestion. "As for the wards, well… who knows how reliable they are after all these years? Old magic can be so… temperamental. Now, enough of this talk! Back to the fan mail. These good people are waiting for a personal touch from their hero!"
Harry clenched his jaw but didn't push further. Lockhart's reaction was strange - almost panicked - but it wasn't enough to prove anything. He picked up the next letter, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.
Later that night in the Gryffindor common room, Harry recounted the exchange to Ginny. She listened with her usual calm intelligence, her brow furrowed as he described Lockhart's evasiveness.
"He practically shut down the conversation," Harry said, leaning forward. "It was like he didn't want to talk about it at all."
Ginny nodded, her expression thoughtful. "That definitely sounds suspicious. He panicked, which means you might've hit a nerve."
"But it's not enough," Harry muttered, his frustration seeping into his voice. "It doesn't prove he's involved with Hermione or the attack."
Ginny leaned closer, her voice low. "No, it doesn't. But it means we're asking the right questions. If Lockhart's hiding something, we'll figure it out. We just have to be patient."
Harry sighed, nodding reluctantly. As much as he hated waiting, he knew Ginny was right. If Lockhart held any answers, they would have to find another way to uncover them.