Chapter 603: A Place to Stay
Chapter 603: A Place to Stay
In the Potions Professor's office, Harry gasped awake, breathing greedily like a drowning man.
Shadows loomed around him. Harry thought he saw a hooked nose, but when Hermione helped him put his glasses on, Snape stood not far away. Before he could see the expression on Snape’s face, Ron and Hermione lunged at him, hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe.
“I’m—cough—fine,” Harry struggled to say, trying not to be suffocated by their embrace.
“Mate, you nearly gave us a heart attack,” Ron said, patting his shoulder. Hermione covered her mouth and sobbed softly.
“I’m fine,” Harry repeated, looking at their worried faces. In a short moment, all the emotions came flooding back. He said flatly, “The duel is over.”
“What’s the result? Did Dumbledore win? Did we win?” Ron asked loudly, while Hermione looked at him with hopeful eyes.
Harry didn’t know how to answer. He had witnessed Dumbledore’s comeback, but he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘we’ right now. “Yes, Dumbledore won. The war—the war is over.”
“Awesome!” Ron exclaimed, shaking Harry vigorously. “Awesome!” Hermione’s pent-up tears flowed freely, and she sobbed uncontrollably.
“Potter—” Snape rasped.
“Dumbledore is still alive. Professor Hup went over and mentioned Kreacher—though I don’t know why, no one told me. And Voldemort, he was swallowed by a snake. He might not be dead yet,” Harry said in a rush, looking away. “Sorry, my head is a mess right now. I need to get out, get some air...”
He wriggled free from Ron’s grip and dashed out of the office.
Harry walked quickly through the underground corridor, his expression blank as he climbed the stairs. In the entrance hall, groups of excited fifth-year students stood around, some members of the Rune Club and the Frontline Watch greeted Harry, and he nodded stiffly in response. A few unfamiliar students pointed and whispered, probably discussing his ‘nightmare’ during the final exam.
“What did he dream about, to hope Dumbledore would die...”
The whispers from the corner reached his ears, but Harry had no intention of defending himself. He walked straight through the hall, still hearing Neville’s loud voice defending him. He quickened his pace, stepped through the oak doors, and watched the sun set over the Forbidden Forest, casting a golden-red glow along its edge.
He walked aimlessly, stepping on stone steps. He had no particular destination in mind, just something to do, and he wanted to be as far from everyone else as possible. He first went to the Black Lake, but it was crowded with fifth and seventh-year students celebrating the end of their exams. So he changed direction, pausing briefly in front of Hagrid’s Hut. He didn’t knock on the door but turned and entered the Forbidden Forest.
As his figure was swallowed by the dark and dense shadows of the forest, he felt a sense of relief.
There was no one around here. He walked deeper into the forest, the tall, dense trees blocking out most of the fading light of dusk. He lay down on a dark, flat stone, looking up at the specks of light filtering through the thick leaves. At this moment, Harry began to seriously think. He temporarily put Snape aside and realized his task. His purpose was to willingly face death at the right moment, severing Voldemort’s last connection to the world.
There was a prophecy. Harry pondered. It likely predicted his and Voldemort’s fates. He could guess the content; it probably said they would both die, or more euphemistically, perish together. He couldn’t help but think of Snape again. It was Snape who had betrayed the secret, telling Voldemort the contents of the prophecy. Back then, he was a Death Eater, probably kissing Voldemort’s robes enthusiastically at every meeting...
He must have been extremely pleased, imagining the prophecy would help him achieve his goals, never expecting it would lead to the death of the person he loved.
The whole situation was far more complex than Harry had initially thought. The thought of death made his heart pound and his stomach clench as if filled with ice. His mouth was dry, and his throat felt blocked. Harry knew fear had enveloped him. What would it feel like to die? He had narrowly escaped death many times, often thinking he was done for, but death had never claimed him.
He was agile and incredibly lucky, as if some unseen hand was guiding his fate (Harry thought of Dumbledore flipping through a book). It was telling him it wasn’t his time...
But now it was.
Harry suddenly had an urge to turn and run. He was in the Forbidden Forest, where he could Apparate, destroy his wand, and hide in a place no one would find him. He pulled out his wand and looked at it. Time passed, and the Forbidden Forest grew darker, as if it were already night. Harry became more and more anxious, urging himself to make a decision. At the very least, he should go to Godric’s Hollow one last time to place a flower on his parents’ tombstone.
Otherwise, when he returned—Harry thought pessimistically—Dumbledore might grab him, sneer, and tell him he needed to go somewhere to meet Voldemort. He imagined the scene: the Headmaster’s hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him (for some reason, he thought of Ron shaking him), with Professor Hup and Snape on either side (acting as henchmen, like Crabbe and Goyle)...
But Harry didn’t do anything in the end. He felt like a student who, after an exam, suddenly decides to indulge in some mischief, sneaking into the Forbidden Forest for an adventure. Essentially, he wasn’t much different from those students who took naps under the willow trees by the Black Lake. He slowly got off the rock, his legs a bit wobbly. He looked down at the Phoenix Feather Holly Wand still clutched in his hand, seriously considering who he should leave it to as a memento.
But who would use a second-hand wand? Not necessarily, Harry countered himself. At least it would make a good backup wand.
It was an outstanding wand.
Harry had confidence that he could face Voldemort with it, perhaps even better to die fighting... but Voldemort had already been caught. Dumbledore and Professor Hup had taken care of everything, and there was little he could do.
He thought of Ron and Hermione, wondering what they would think if they knew. They would likely try to stop him. Harry could predict their reactions—first, shock, then Ron muttering, “There must be another way.” Hermione would recite a list of all the books she had read that might have something to do with it. If they ever found out, that is.
Harry slowly walked toward the castle, resolved that if he had the time, he would ask every ghost in the castle about their experiences of death. He knew at least two: Moaning Myrtle, who was killed by the Basilisk, and Nearly Headless Nick, who was nearly decapitated by a rusty axe. Their pains before death were incomparable, two extremes.
“Whoosh!”
Harry ducked suddenly, and a Shield Charm formed a barrier in front of him. He stared blankly at the arrow, which had landed a short distance away, its tail quivering. It seemed to be a warning. Then the forest rustled, and Harry squinted, hearing the sound of hooves.
“Bane, that seems to be a student.”
“Foal?” a rough voice called out.
A Centaur emerged from the bushes, with white-gold hair and a silver-maned body. Harry recognized this Centaur; his name was Firenze. Firenze glanced at Harry, surprised, and said, “Harry Potter?”
Another Centaur appeared, with black hair and a black body, looking stronger and more rugged than Firenze. He held a bow, and it was clear that the arrow in the ground was his.
“Foal, leave this place,” the black Centaur growled. “Centaur are not your babysitters. Don’t expect us to follow you like donkeys, providing protection.”
Harry didn’t speak, still fuming over the arrow. For some reason, he suddenly felt a strong urge to teach this defiant Centaur a lesson, perhaps influenced by Hagrid’s recent complaints, “Those stubborn mules... not all of them, a few are reasonable, but most...” he grumbled, poking a bone needle that looked like a wand into thick canvas as he sewed Grawp’s underpants.
Or maybe it was simply that the Centaur had interrupted his thoughts.
Harry walked back without a word. The sound of hooves followed him, and one of them caught up. Harry didn’t turn around; he wasn’t interested in their intentions. But the one called Bane shouted, “Remember, Firenze! I can overlook you befriending that young girl, but don’t say what shouldn’t be said! We’ve sworn never to get involved in Wizards’ messy affairs!”
“I hadn’t planned to,” Firenze’s voice seemed to come from above Harry, making his ears itch. “But now I do want to say something!”
Bane let out an angry shout—Harry felt a bit of satisfaction—but as they walked a distance, he started to worry about Firenze’s situation. Hagrid had mentioned that Centaurs were quite stubborn and temperamental.
“Um—well—the young girl you mentioned, is that Luna?” Harry asked, breaking the silence as they walked through the forest.
“Yes,” Firenze replied briefly, walking alongside him.
“They’re stopping you from seeing Luna? Can you not be friends with Wizards?”
“Not exactly,” Firenze explained. “Luna... being young has helped her. Centaurs don’t harm foals, and she...” Firenze thought for a moment, “gets along well with most Centaurs, especially the females. They like her boat-shaped earrings and cork necklaces.”
Harry was genuinely surprised by how ‘well-connected’ Luna was, finding kindred spirits in another group.
For some reason, he echoed, “She can also make flower wreaths.”
“Yes, some of those skills she learned from the Centaur females,” Firenze said. Harry’s eyes widened as he imagined Luna learning how to make flower baskets from the Centaur girls, and he didn’t find it out of place at all.
“What about Hagrid—”
“He’s one of the few we can deal with. We like those who are simple-minded and love nature. But it’s not the same now, you know. The elders of the tribe are unhappy with his decision to settle his brother in the Forbidden Forest,” Firenze explained.
Harry remembered Hagrid’s words: the Forbidden Forest wasn’t the Centaurs’; it was a designated area by the Ministry of Magic for them to live in. But he didn’t voice his thoughts.
They reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Hagrid’s Hut came into view, smoke rising from the chimney.
“Thank you, Firenze,” Harry said.
"Of course, I've seen many young wizards wander into the Forbidden Forest, though some weren't exactly 'wandering in,'" Firenze said. Harry nodded and took a few steps forward. "Oh, Potter", Firenze called out, and Harry turned to look at the centaur.
"Bane doesn't want us to have any contact with wizards. He's part of the radical faction, but I believe it's necessary to maintain some contact with wizards. In the grand era of great change, the strength of centaurs alone is weak, and we can't isolate ourselves. I believe you are a crucial part of this", Firenze said.
Harry's mood darkened instantly.
"Crucial part?" he said in a low, hoarse voice. "I might not be able to help... You could talk to Professor Hup."
"We don't trust him", Firenze said softly.
Harry raised his head in surprise. "To be precise, we don't trust any adult wizards", Firenze continued. Harry felt a strange sensation, thinking that Professor Hup and the centaurs might have had a conflict.
But considering the centaurs' criteria for friendship—pure hearts and a closeness to nature—Professor Hup didn't seem to fit any of those qualities.
With a heavy heart, Harry returned to the castle. He didn't understand why Firenze seemed to have such unrealistic expectations of him. It was almost dark, and he guessed the students would be in the Great Hall enjoying their meals. He entered the Great Hall, the laughter and chatter around him feeling distant. He sat at the edge of the Gryffindor table, avoiding familiar faces.
Next to him was a first-year student he didn't recognize, but the student clearly knew him. The young wizard called out softly and poked his friend's ribs.
Harry picked up a pie and stuffed it into his mouth without much thought.
A few seats were empty at the staff table; Dumbledore, Professor Hup, Sirius, and Snape were all absent. The students didn't notice anything unusual—professors didn't always show up for every meal—and they were enthusiastically discussing the Wizard Level Examination and the final exams, even mentioning the upcoming summer.
But today was different.
As Harry cut his pie in half with his fork, he thought about Voldemort's silent downfall. If people could see the future, they would be surprised at how calmly they had gone through the day.
He also thought about Firenze's words, the grand era of great change... Would he be fortunate enough to witness it? Or was the "crucial part" Firenze spoke of actually the beginning of his own death?
That would indeed be significant, as the wizarding world could finally be free from Voldemort's shadow and live in peace...
Harry glanced around again, but none of the four absent professors had arrived. He lowered his head and quietly left the Great Hall—Ron and Hermione were restless during meals, constantly looking around, and he didn't want to face them yet.
Where had those people gone? Harry wondered as he made his way back to the common room.
Could they be in a place he didn't know about—perhaps in the Headmaster's Office or on a desolate mountaintop—having a serious conversation? Dumbledore might be telling Sirius that Harry was a Horcrux...
If someone had to inform him, he hoped it would be Sirius.
Deep in Classroom Seven.
Felix handed the Hufflepuff Cup to Dumbledore, and they both watched the ouroboros circling in the air.
"...You combined a dozen Patronuses?" Dumbledore asked, slightly astonished. "How did you manage that?"
"It was indeed challenging, and it took a lot of time to truly achieve. But I took a shortcut", Felix said. "I found them a leader, a spiritual guide."
"You mean Harry's..."
"Exactly."
Dumbledore nodded slightly. "What about Kreacher?"
"I sent him to Sirius. He's bound by the magic of his kind and is extremely depressed after losing his master. Sirius is comforting him."
Behind them stood the memory forms of several professors: young Felix, young Dumbledore, young Mcgonagall, as well as Flitwick and Newt Scamander. They watched the emerald-green Patronus in the air with serious expressions.
"Inside it... is the Dark Lord? Goodness, that's too dangerous, you shouldn't have brought it to the school", young Mcgonagall said, clutching her chest and swaying.
"For a certain purpose, we need him to remain alive for now", Felix said. "Honestly, Minerva, you won't find a safer place than here: the vast magic flowing through Hogwarts' defense system, the massive amount of emotions gathered in Classroom Seven, and, most importantly, you."
"But this isn't a prison, Albus, and we aren't jailers. I hope you'll consider this carefully!" Mcgonagall said forcefully. "Students come and go every day. If something happens—"
"Then we'll temporarily close this room and not allow access", Dumbledore said firmly.
"Best not to, sir", Felix interjected. "I need it to gather enough emotions, which is a crucial step in suppressing Voldemort's will and forcing him into a dormant state. I can create a temporary passage in the adjacent room to separate them."
"The school will be on holiday in a few days. Optimistically, we might solve the problem during the break."
(End of Chapter)
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