After all this time—nearly a month and a half since the events at the Ministry—he hadn't dreamt those dreams even once. No, of course, it would be strange if that cursed corridor from the Department of Mysteries kept haunting him in his sleep. Voldemort had already achieved his goal; there was no need to repeat the same thing. But since then, not even once had his scar hurt...
And that was unusual. The scar used to torment him nearly all year round—he felt like an antenna tuned to Voldemort's moods. But now—nothing. Not even on the day of the attack... You'd think his enemy would be livid after another failure, and Harry's head would be splitting from the pain and borrowed fury—but there was nothing. Harry hadn't felt a thing.
Why?
A memory rose before his eyes: standing in the atrium, something massive, like a snake, seemed to coil around him... and then, suddenly, it let go, as if in pain, as if unable to touch him any longer... "The power he never understood..." Love.
That day, he had cast Voldemort out of his mind—and he hadn't returned since. Voldemort probably didn't enjoy having someone invade his thoughts either. Maybe he took precautions. Snape had said he was powerful in both Legilimency and Occlumency...
In that regard, strangely enough, their interests aligned. Harry admitted to himself that life had become easier since he no longer woke up screaming in the middle of the night. It made sense, it explained everything—or did it? The real question was: did he still need Occlumency?
"Yes," Harry answered himself firmly. Not only could he be wrong, and Voldemort might change his mind at any moment, but there were also others who might want to dig through his memories...
When Flamia entered the room a few minutes later, she found Harry deeply immersed in his reading. She somehow immediately sensed it was best not to interrupt him.
Another week passed, then a second. September was approaching. Harry had read the book cover to cover, but reading theory was one thing—applying it in practice was another. Yet he had achieved something important, something Snape had never managed to get from him—probably because he'd never bothered to explain it properly. Harry finally understood how—and why—to clear his mind.
It turned out to be a basic but fairly difficult step. Still, he'd grown used to it. Now he could empty his mind simply by willing it. It required focusing on a single thought or object and pushing everything else aside—then letting go of that, too.
But the hardest part came after. Emptying the mind was just the beginning, the foundation upon which to build a strong wall. A cleared mind held no surface thoughts that could be read, but any strong mental assault would still shatter the void. The real challenge was creating reliable mental blocks.
Harry didn't really know how—not in practice. The book had two hundred pages on the subject, but reading wasn't the same as understanding. He tried long and hard to do what was described, but with little success. Once, he almost managed something. But repeating it proved impossible—for now. Still, Harry didn't give up.
Meanwhile, he and Flamia continued working on other things. Harry learned to cast Shield Charms, disarm, stun, and more—all without speaking. The only spell that stubbornly refused to work silently was the Patronus. Which wasn't surprising: it was advanced magic, and even Dumbledore might not be able to cast it nonverbally.
Thanks to books from the Room of Requirement, they also discovered and practiced several new spells—mostly modified or enhanced versions of familiar ones. Liberoarmus was a stronger Disarming Spell that required a shield tougher than Protego. They practiced altered Stunning and Freezing Charms, along with various classic and unconventional spells—and counterspells.
Harry realized most of these weren't taught at school—not because they were too hard, but because they weren't standard curriculum. He couldn't help but picture Malfoy's face when he next picked a fight and got hit with something unexpected. That alone was enough motivation to keep practicing.
Some spells came easily, others required great effort and focus, and many didn't work at all...
With just a week left before September 1st, Harry waited for it with anticipation—and a bit of dread. He'd see Hermione again… and they'd need to make peace. At the same time, he feared the consequences. What if the secret got out? If anyone found out even a fraction of the truth, the rumors would be unbearable...
A few days ago, Albus Dumbledore invited them for another meeting. The Headmaster looked less drained, but still serious. His hand was just as black as the day they first saw it. They went over the details for the coming year—everything seemed ready.
Dumbledore also mentioned he'd like to work with them personally. Harry couldn't resist asking questions, but got no clear answers. "Well, we'll see..." he told himself.
Later, they ran into Professor McGonagall in the corridor. She looked pleased to see Harry and handed him something.
"Mr. Potter, I completely forgot to inform you—our dear former Headmistress's decrees have all been overturned. You're back on the team. Here's your captain's badge." She smiled warmly, clearly expecting Harry to be thrilled.
But Harry just stared silently at the badge. He was back on the team. He'd been made captain again...
Last year, he'd jumped for joy—and panicked at the same time, worried he might fail. Now, he still felt a flicker of joy somewhere deep inside, but it didn't rise to the surface. Something held it back. Unexpectedly, he thought about how being banned had made it easier to run the D.A., how it freed him up to handle schoolwork. If he wanted to keep training on the side, he wouldn't have much time...
"Professor, I didn't think Ministry decisions could be reversed like that," he said flatly, causing her eyebrows to rise. "Maybe I should step down from the team."
Even Harry could hardly believe he'd said it, but somehow he knew it was the right decision.
"Mr. Potter, but how..." For once, the Transfiguration professor was at a loss for words.
"Professor, you know who's after me. Remember three years ago, when everyone thought Sirius was a threat? You said I shouldn't attend practices or even leave the castle. Back then, I didn't agree with you…" Harry suddenly recalled something Lupin had said. "My parents died for me. I don't think I have the right to risk myself for a game."
"Very well, Mr. Potter..." she whispered after a ten-second pause. "I understand. You may go."
Still a bit shaken, Harry followed Flamia. He could've sworn he heard a quiet sob behind him.
Later, Harry sat by the fireplace, rereading The Powers of the Mind yet again. Maybe he'd missed something—that would explain why nothing worked.
He did everything right, supposedly: clearing his mind, then imagining a wall, or glass, or something—anything that would serve as a barrier. But all he managed were a couple of mental bricks before losing focus. At that point, his imagination would explode with bizarre and random thoughts. He had to start all over again. It was maddening.
"You know, Harry, I think we're being stupid," said a voice beside him.
He had been so lost in thought, he hadn't even noticed Flamia return. She must've spent her solo time already.
"What? Sorry?" Harry stammered, startled to find her sitting on the armrest—right next to him. Ever since that night, they had unconsciously avoided getting this close.
"Harry, it's been almost a month. How long are we going to keep avoiding this?"
"But—" Of course he knew what she meant, but...
"But what? Are you scared? Embarrassed? I am too—it's not surprising. But pretending it never happened, as if there was something wrong with it... that's what's really foolish."
"So what do you want—"
"I don't know what to say. I don't know any more than you do about this... I'd rather do something instead."
"F—"
Harry didn't get the chance to finish. Her lips sealed his words.
What happened next he barely remembered. They kissed in the chair, then somehow ended up on the bed—he didn't recall how. Soon, they were undressed. When he felt her silky skin again, her warm, yielding body, her soft breasts against him, Harry realized what a fool he'd been. He had missed her desperately all month, trying to push away even the memory of her.
This time, there was no awkwardness like before. This time, Harry had some idea of what to do.
In the morning, they woke up at the same time—and missed breakfast.
The last days of summer passed quickly, like a dream. That second night shattered the awkwardness between them. They spent the following night together—and the next, and the one after that...
Harry felt almost happy. His worries about school faded into the background—until the morning of September 1st. Starting that evening, and for the whole year ahead, he would have to play a role before the entire school. Only the Headmaster knew their secret. And his friends? They liked to know everything about him. Then again—so did he, when it came to them.
He remembered how angry he'd been in third year when Hermione kept a secret from them. Now, he'd be the one hiding things—and the Prophecy...
Harry didn't know whether he should tell them. It was an ugly, dangerous truth. He had even asked Dumbledore for advice, but the Headmaster hadn't answered directly—though he hinted he wouldn't object if Harry chose to confide in close friends.
But for now, Harry hadn't made up his mind. Time would tell.
They stood at the top of the North Tower, watching as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. Students poured out. First-years clustered around Hagrid—he looked huge even from here. The rest climbed into carriages.
For a moment, Harry caught a flash of fiery red hair—maybe Ron? Ginny? It was too far to tell. Then someone else caught his attention: a figure in a bright green cloak. Definitely not a student—likely the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But from a distance, they looked clumsy, hunched. Maybe a little overweight? Probably a trick of perspective...
They descended together and hid in a nook where they could hear the students but wouldn't be seen. According to their plan, Harry was to enter the Great Hall just before the Sorting began. They had considered seating Flamia with the Gryffindors straight away, but that would've broken tradition. So she would enter with the first-years—minimizing the time they had to be apart.
The student crowd passed them, filing into the Hall. Judging by the noise, they'd already taken their seats. Harry heard his name mentioned more than once—his absence had not gone unnoticed, unsurprisingly.
They waited the planned ten minutes. Then, suddenly, Flamia kissed his cheek and slipped away toward the room where the first-years gathered. McGonagall would surely give her a little lecture...
Harry approached the Great Hall doors. At the threshold, he paused. Once again, he was about to become the center of attention...
How tired he was of this.
But he had to agree with the Headmaster—by drawing attention now, people would be less suspicious later.
Harry took a deep breath—and pushed open the doors.
___
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