A few days had passed since they caught Lockhart and spoke with Dumbledore.
Life went on, Harry supposed.
Lockhart had been sent to St. Mungo's - Dumbledore claimed there wasn't enough solid proof to convict him without Veritaserum, memories or other irrefutable evidence. Neither he nor Ginny were satisfied with that outcome, but what could they do? Harry still burned with anger over Lockhart's actions, but he supposed confinement in a mental ward would have to count as justice for Hermione.
Harry's mind churned as he sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at his breakfast.
Not just Lockhart, but also Dumbledore gnawed at his thoughts - he couldn't forget what Ginny had said about the headmaster being his magical guardian. The revelation left him with too many questions. Had Dumbledore placed him with the Dursleys? If so, did he know how they had treated him? And why had he never told Harry about any of this?
In hindsight, things made more sense now - why Dumbledore had the key to his Gringotts vault or why he had his father's Invisibility Cloak. Harry wasn't naive and trust had never come easily to him - the Dursleys had beaten that out of him long ago. The more he thought about it, the more he suspected that behind Dumbledore's benevolent mask, something far more calculating lurked.
"Come on, Harry, we're almost late for DADA," Ron interrupted his thoughts.
With a sigh, he pushed himself up, trailing behind Ron, Seamus and Dean. Where was Neville? Whatever…
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. He wished he could spend more time with Ginny instead. His gaze drifted to the end of the table, where she sat with her roommates. She looked so beautiful…
He sighed again and turned away, following Ron. They had officially made up, but some part of him still hadn't forgiven Ron for not believing him and Ginny about Hermione's murder.
No one else knew what had really happened with Lockhart.
Rumours swirled about his disappearance. Dumbledore had only announced that Lockhart had suffered an accident and had been sent to St. Mungo's. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was Saul Croaker, a Ministry researcher who had been pulled from his work to temporarily fill the position.
Harry felt like he was sleepwalking, barely listening as Dean, Ron and Seamus chatted. He trudged into the classroom, exhaustion weighing on him.
Well, he thought bitterly, at least this professor couldn't be worse than the first one, who had been possessed by Voldemort or the second, who had killed Hermione… hopefully.
"Good morning and welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts," Professor Croaker said, his gaze sweeping across the room. "For the duration of my time here, you will address me as Professor Croaker, sir or an acceptable variation of the two. Understood?"
A chorus of murmured agreement followed.
"Good. First, we won't be using Lockhart's books," he continued, ignoring the offended looks from a few witches. "Instead, I will provide you with scripts created using the Doubling Charm - Geminio - after each class. Keep in mind, however, that duplicated copies degrade over time. I suggest you copy them by hand if you wish to keep them for future reference."
With that, he turned to the blackboard and flicked his wand. The words 'The Dark Arts' appeared in sharp, precise script.
"Now, let's start with the basics," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Before we can defend ourselves, we must understand what we are defending against. So, tell me - what are the Dark Arts?"
A heavy silence settled over the room. Students hesitated, uncertain. Harry frowned, considering the question himself.
"Mr. Macmillan," Croaker said, turning to one of the Hufflepuffs. "Your thoughts?"
Harry recognized him - Ernie, wasn't it - one of the first to gossip about him after the Duelling Club incident.
"Er… magic that hurts people?" Ernie ventured, his words more question than statement.
"Not quite." Croaker's tone remained even. "Tell me, Mr. Macmillan, you learned the Knockback Jinx in your first year, yes? Is that dark magic?"
"No, Professor."
"Correct." With a flick of his wand, he summoned a training dummy to the centre of the room. "And yet… Flipendo!"
The jinx struck with startling force, sending the dummy crashing into the wall, where it shattered into splinters. A human in its place, Harry thought, would be seriously injured.
A hush fell over the room.
"Miss Abbott," Croaker said, turning to another Hufflepuff. "What does my demonstration tell you?"
Hannah Abbott swallowed before speaking. "Well, the spell isn't dark magic, but it could still hurt someone badly. So… Ernie's definition doesn't quite hold up."
"Correct. Five points to Hufflepuff." Croaker's voice remained even, almost clinical. "The Dark Arts aren't just about harm. Flipendo can shatter bones - or worse - in the wrong hands, yet it's not dark. Why? Because dark magic hinges on intent. It's magic designed to control, harm or kill as its core purpose, fuelled by the caster's desire to dominate or destroy. Dark potions, rituals and creatures add further complexities to the definition, but we'll discuss those later."
He launched into a lecture on intent, then dissected the differences between jinxes, hexes and curses. It was, without a doubt, the most interesting Defence lesson Harry had ever had.
Of course, nothing ever went well for him.
A hand shot up.
"Yes, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?"
"Professor, what about Parseltongue?" Justin asked, his tone carefully neutral. "That's considered dark, isn't it?"
Murmurs rippled through the room. A few Hufflepuff girls shot Harry wary glances, while some of the boys smirked. Harry clenched his jaw. So, this is what I get for saving him from a snake?
But what hurt more was the silence from his own house.
No one in Gryffindor spoke up for him. Not even Ron.
Oblivious to the tension, Croaker answered matter-of-factly. "There are certain wizards born with unique magical abilities, but there is no such thing as an inherently dark trait. Some abilities may have originated through dark rituals in the distant past, but an inborn skill is neither good nor evil - only how one chooses to use it defines that. Now, let's continue…"
The lesson moved on, but Harry barely heard the rest. His blood roared in his ears.
After class, he turned to Ron. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Ron shifted uncomfortably, "Look, mate, Justin's not wrong - it's dark, even if you're not."
Harry stared at him. A leaden weight settled in his chest.
Ron wasn't on his side. Seamus and Dean had never been particularly close. Neville - though friendly - was more of an acquaintance. The Hufflepuffs still whispered behind his back. The Slytherins hated him outright. He didn't know a single Ravenclaw well enough to guess their opinion, but he doubted it was favourable.
The realization hit him like a blow. There's no one in my year who actually supports me. Or other years.
Except… Ginny.
She was the only one he felt truly safe with. The only one who understood him.
He wanted to be with her. Right now!
Instead, he trudged to Transfiguration, sat through McGonagall's lecture, then faced lunch with Ron.
He picked at his food, his gaze drifting to Ginny at the first-year end of the table again, laughing with her year-mates. Who were those annoying first-year boys hovering around her? His stomach twisted again, though he couldn't name why.
And, as if the day couldn't get any worse, he had Double Potions next. Of course…
On his way back to the Gryffindor common room after his favourite lesson, Harry gazed out of a window, lost in thought. Most students had finished their last class of the day - aside from those with Astronomy - so the school grounds should have been mostly empty, with only a few stragglers returning from Herbology.
But what he saw made him freeze.
Ginny - alone - stood facing a group of Slytherins.
Before he even had time to think, Harry was moving, storming down the corridor. As he drew closer, their voices carried to him, along with the scene unfolding before his eyes.
"Oh no! I'm out of fucks to give!" Ginny exclaimed in mock despair, melodramatically clutching her chest as if her heart had been broken by a revelation.
"Shut up, you blood-traitor!" the Slytherin boy spat out, his face turning red with humiliation, especially as his housemates sniggered around him, clearly enjoying Ginny's theatrics.
"Don't worry, Harper! I'll go check in my trunk if there's anything that looks like I care," Ginny retorted, turning away with a dismissive wave. One of the Slytherins couldn't help but stifle a laugh behind his hand, while Harper's face flushed even more with rage and embarrassment.
"Don't run away, Weasley filth!" he yelled, his wand pointed at Ginny's retreating back. "Slugulus Eructo!"
A green light shot from his wand, aimed at Ginny's head. But before Harry could even think to intervene or shout a warning, Ginny simply tilted her head, letting the spell harmlessly pass her by.
Harry had to admit, despite his concern, that the move was incredibly cool. He was clueless, though, about how she managed it - she was looking away after all.
"Stupefy," Ginny said with a bored tone, halfway through turning around and Harper crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
'Damn, Ginny can be badass if she wants to...' Harry thought to himself, impressed.
As the Slytherins dragged their stunned housemate away, Harry realized - somewhat belatedly - that the whole confrontation had resolved itself without his intervention. Ginny had already turned and continued toward the Forbidden Forest.
The Forbidden Forest.
The Acromantulas might have been culled, but there were still plenty of dangerous creatures lurking in the shadows. A flicker of a memory rose unbidden - an Acromantula clutching Hermione's severed head between its fangs. Harry forced it down, swallowing against the sudden nausea.
He couldn't lose Ginny too.
She might be fearless when hexing some first-year Slytherins, but if she ran into a troll… or worse… He didn't think. He just ran after her.
He had no plan. No real idea what he was even going to say.
Then he found her.
His breath caught.
Ginny stood in a clearing at the edge of the forest, surrounded by skeletal, reptilian winged horses. Harry had never seen anything like them. Their hollow eyes gleamed in the dim light, their leathery wings tucked against their bony frames.
Panic surged through him.
"Ginny! Get away from them!" he shouted, yanking out his wand. "Stupefy!"
A streak of red shot toward the creature nearest to Ginny - only to fizzle uselessly against a shimmering shield.
What?
He blinked, realizing the shield had come from Ginny. Slowly, he looked in her direction to meet her gaze. She was furious.
Oh… Oh, no.
Somehow, he had messed up. Badly.
Ginny wasted no time tearing into him, her voice sharp and full of exasperation. He barely had a chance to apologize before she made him apologize again - this time to the creatures, which, as it turned out, were called Thestrals.
Even angry, she looked beautiful. Not that he was about to say that out loud.
She explained that she'd come to feed them. The Thestrals seemed to forgive him after he tossed them a few chunks of meat from her satchel, though they still clearly preferred her company.
"We haven't talked much these past few days, have we?" Ginny broke the silence between them.
They sat side by side, the cool evening air settling around them. Ginny occasionally tossed scraps of meat to the waiting Thestrals, her fingers idly stroking the bony head of a foal curled up in her lap. The scene was oddly peaceful. Despite their skeletal frames and empty eyes, Harry could almost understand why she liked them.
He ducked his head, a little sheepish. "Yeah… I missed spending time with you."
Ginny sighed, her gaze distant. "I'm sorry, Harry. After the talk with Dumbledore, I had a lot on my mind… I guess I feel a bit aimless after everything that happened." Her voice was quiet, like she was speaking more to herself than to him.
Harry knew exactly what she meant. After catching Lockhart, things had felt strangely hollow. Life at Hogwarts carried on as if nothing had changed, but the hole left by Hermione remained. Nothing would bring her back.
A comfortable silence stretched between them until Harry finally asked the question that had been nagging at him for days.
"Ginny," he hesitated, then pressed on. "What did Dumbledore talk to you about when he asked me to leave his office? Did it have something to do with that doll you touched?"
Ginny glanced at him before answering. "Yeah. It was called a Spirit-Seer Doll - it reveals if someone's possessed. Apparently, I'm not, in case you were wondering." Her tone was light, but it didn't explain why he had to leave. But what Ginny said next stopped Harry cold.
"Dumbledore put a Compulsion Charm on it to make me touch it."
"What!?"
"He figured out that Lucius Malfoy had slipped a dark artifact into my school supplies. A diary. Made by You-Know-Who. It was meant to possess me."
Harry's stomach twisted. "Are you okay?! Did it - did it hurt you?"
She shook her head. Then, piece by piece, she told him everything - how she found and used it, how the diary had tried to control her, how she'd learned Occlumency to protect her mind. How she'd tried to destroy it and failed. And how, in the end, she had given it to Dumbledore.
Harry's initial relief that she was safe was quickly overshadowed by something else. A slow, simmering anger.
Lucius Malfoy was already dead, but if he weren't… Harry clenched his fists. That bastard had tried to hurt Ginny. But somehow, his anger toward Malfoy wasn't as sharp as the anger curling inside him at Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who had violated Ginny's trust, who had forced her into his little test. Who'd have guessed the real Dumbledore, hidden behind that kindly mask, was so manipulative and calculating?
Ginny tried to explain, tried to justify Dumbledore's actions, but Harry barely heard her.
"It felt like I was pulled to the doll," Ginny had said. The words stirred an uneasy feeling in Harry as he reflected on his past interactions with Dumbledore. The Mirror of Erised flashed through his mind - hadn't he been drawn to that abandoned classroom night after night? Dumbledore had warned him the mirror was dangerous, so why had it been left there, waiting to be found? And why had he wandered into that particular room in the first place? He couldn't remember choosing to go there… Had he been under a Compulsion Charm back then, too?
"Harry?" Ginny's voice drew him back. "You look worried. What's wrong?"
He hesitated. Should he tell her? But if he couldn't trust her, who could he trust? She'd been so honest with him. He owed her the same.
"I think I was under a Compulsion Charm too - last year," Harry said slowly. "But why would Dumbledore want me to find the Mirror of Erised?"
Ginny's brows furrowed as he told her everything - his discovery of the mirror, his obsession with it, the way Dumbledore had just happened to show up when he did. And then, the Philosopher's Stone. The trials. The final confrontation with Voldemort.
Ginny was silent for a long time after he finished. Then she said, "Maybe he wanted you to know about the mirror so you'd understand how it worked when you faced You-Know-Who."
"He couldn't have predicted it," Harry insisted, voice edging up. "A bunch of first-years beating those challenges to get the Stone - it's absurd." Part of him clung to denial, rejecting the idea that Dumbledore had rigged it all, even as doubt gnawed at his own argument.
"The Devil's Snare for Neville, the flying keys for you, the chess game for Ron, the riddle for Hermione…" Ginny mused, her voice soft as dread coiled in Harry's gut. "Challenges meant to stop a Dark Lord, yet solved by first-years and you just happened to know the last one already? You were even there when Hagrid got the Stone from Gringotts," she went on, though the point was obvious. "And he took a broom to the Ministry instead of apparating or using the Floo."
Harry closed his eyes.
He wasn't even angry anymore. He just felt… tired.
The world he thought he understood - the trust he had in Dumbledore, the way he had once believed in his own choices - felt like it was unravelling.
Ginny didn't say anything else. She just sat beside him, idly stroking the Thestral foal in her lap.
Her presence was the only thing grounding him as he tried to come to terms with the simple, undeniable truth.
Everything he believed had been a lie.
"You're not alone," Ginny said after a while, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Even if Dumbledore really manipulated you like that, I'm on your side. You're not alone."
She smiled at him, radiant even in the dim forest light. Harry's chest tightened. She was stunning and he couldn't fathom what he'd done to deserve someone like her - couldn't picture his life without her now.
"Thank you," he managed, voice thick. Words failed him - how could he tell her how much her being there held him together?
They stayed put, tossing meat to the Thestrals now and then, the quiet settling around them.
oOoOo
Ginny didn't know if Dumbledore had actually manipulated Harry last year.
Everything she'd told him was based on fanfictions - those stories where Dumbledore manipulated Harry into a willing sacrifice or was a secret dark lord. Maybe it was just a coincidence that Harry found the Mirror of Erised. Maybe getting through the obstacles had been dumb luck. Maybe Dumbledore's little stunt with the broom was nothing more than a way to annoy Fudge.
But in the end, it didn't matter. Harry believed it and that was what counted. And if, somehow, it turned out that Dumbledore hadn't been pulling the strings? Well, Harry had drawn those conclusions on his own - with some magical nudges to his subconscious.
It made sense and it wasn't as if she'd made anything up. Dumbledore's choices, from leaving Harry with the Dursleys to his strange behaviour during his first year, were suspicious no matter how you looked at it…
Why was she doing this again? Was there any meaning in manipulating Harry like this now?
Something inside her felt restless, aimless. Before Hallowe'en, her every action had been driven by the singular dream of having this body, this identity, this life. Afterward, she had been consumed with dealing with the consequences and ensuring her survival.
And now?
Now she had succeeded.
Everyone was deceived. The Ministry believed Hagrid was responsible for Hermione's death - or at least they accepted him as a convenient scapegoat. Dumbledore was convinced that Lockhart had killed Hermione - he'd sent Lockhart to St. Mungo's, so she doubted he would risk using the fake confession to exonerate Hagrid in court, not with his political clout on the line.
No one suspected her of being anyone but Ginny Weasley - the brilliant student, well-liked, with plenty of friends and a loving family. Even Harry Potter himself, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, was trailing after her like a loyal puppy in love.
She had everything she'd dreamed of, hadn't she? So why did she feel so empty?
Her gaze dropped to the baby Thestral in her lap, its head resting in her palm as she gently stroked its dark, leathery skin. The scene felt familiar. Nearly half a year ago, she'd been here in this same clearing, surrounded by the Thestrals, but back then, she was only possessing this body, not truly owning it. Back then the Thestrals had given her an inexplicable sense of peace.
She tossed her last piece of meat to one of the older ones, watching as it snapped the morsel out of the air with eerie precision. But now, that peace eluded her.
"Ginny? You alright? You looked miles away… kind of lonely."
She blinked, dragging herself out of her thoughts.
"Yeah… just lost, I suppose. I don't know what to do… aimless, I guess," she admitted to him. For some reason she really didn't feel like lying at the moment. And wasn't that part of the freedom she dreamt of? Being able to do and say what she wants, to be herself?
The baby Thestral broke free from her lap and ran away to play with the other foals.
"Um, do you have anything you want to do, Ginny?"
The question stopped her. Such a simple thing - what did she want? She looked up into his eyes. He flushed and started talking too fast, tripping over his own explanation.
"Eh, I mean if you don't know what to do you first need to know what you want, right? Like… in Quidditch I first need to know if I should catch the snitch as fast as possible or wait for my team to get a certain amount of points… that is maybe a bad example. What I mean is, um, that…"
She pressed a finger to his lips, interrupting his ramblings. His ears went scarlet.
"It's a good question, Harry. I guess… I just want to be a normal girl. Boring, right? I want to spend time with my friends and family, go to school and learn magic, maybe fall in love and do all the normal stuff," she said while looking at the darkening sky.
And wasn't this true? She just wanted to be Ginny - maintaining normality so she didn't have to worry about survival all the time anymore.
She looked back. He stared at her, thunderstruck, eyes wide and shining.
'Ah yes, isn't this also his dream? Being just Harry, not the Boy-Who-Lived or is it the love comment?' she thought. Not that she cared much at the moment. Instead, she decided to lean her head on his shoulder and just watch the sunset.
To her surprise, she felt... calmer. More at ease than she had in weeks.