Ch 112
Harry's mood had finally improved.
Ever since the Quidditch match against Slytherin, he felt as though luck had completely abandoned him. First the Dementors had targeted him, then he had fallen from his broom mid-match.
Without their Seeker, Gryffindor had lost without any suspense. He felt he had let Wood down, let the entire team down. All their serious training, all their hard work—it felt as though he had thrown it away with his own hands.
And there was something that hurt him even more.
His Nimbus 2000—the broom that had been with him for so long—had been smashed into pieces by the Whomping Willow, beyond any hope of repair.
It felt as if he had lost a close friend. That broom carried too many of his happiest memories.
On the day he woke up, Ron had rushed in excitedly to tell him that all the Dementors had been removed from Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore had said they would almost certainly never return.
Harry had been happy to hear it, yet at the same time a strange sense of loss crept into his heart. The sudden disappearance of the Dementors made his motivation to learn the Patronus Charm fade.
But he didn't want to give up halfway. He still hoped to learn it from Lupin. Even if the Dementors never came back, he wanted to overcome the fear buried inside him.
Thinking of Professor Lupin reminded him of the days when Snape had taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts. Those lessons were unbearable—endless notes, mountains of homework, and a dreary atmosphere that made students fight to stay awake. Snape always lectured in that greasy-haired, drawling tone, and no one dared disobey him. He seemed to take special pleasure in deducting points from Gryffindor.
Whenever Harry so much as let his mind wander, Snape would "coincidentally" appear beside him.
"Potter, it seems you have mastered the material perfectly," Snape would say in that gloomy voice. "But that is not an excuse to daydream in my class. Answer the question."
And no matter whether Harry answered correctly or not, Gryffindor still lost points.
Most of the time, he couldn't answer at all.
Then there was Ron and Hermione. Their relationship was still as frozen as ever. They visited him separately, carefully avoiding each other. Harry had realized that the worst stage of a quarrel wasn't the shouting—it was the cold silence where neither side spoke a word.
All of it weighed on him.
Today was the day he was finally leaving the hospital wing. And Wood had brought him one piece of unexpected good news.
That afternoon, Slytherin had played Ravenclaw—and suffered a crushing defeat. According to the spectators, most of the Slytherin team had been absent-minded, and even their supporters' cheers were weak and half-hearted.
Slytherin's loss meant Gryffindor still had hope to recover from their first defeat.
Like a warm ray of winter sun breaking through heavy clouds, Harry felt his spirits lift. He was full of determination again, even though the broom he now had to use was completely unfamiliar.
Not just unfamiliar—old, battered, and shabby.
He had no choice but to endure it for now. He would have to find a chance to buy a new broom.
Christmas was approaching, and before the holidays the students would be allowed to visit Hogsmeade again. Everyone was excited—everyone except him.
Just as Harry, wrapped in cloak and scarf, was about to head back to Gryffindor Tower with Ron along the marble staircase, the Weasley twins appeared behind him and gently patted his shoulder.
"Harry, poor Harry," Fred said, shaking his head with sympathy.
"We really can't stand seeing you so lonely," George continued.
"We actually thought it might be better if you stayed quietly in school," Fred said with a conflicted look.
"But in the end, the choice should be yours," George shrugged.
"What are you two on about?" Harry asked, utterly confused.
"We just wanted to give you an early Christmas present," they said together.
"Thanks," Harry replied, reaching out to take it.
"Open it back in your dorm," Fred said with a wink.
"Alright." Harry nodded, still unsure whether this was another one of their pranks.
"Trust us—you'll be surprised," George promised.
Harry thanked them again and headed toward his room.
"Be careful, Harry!" the twins called after him.
He turned and waved to show he'd heard.
"Tell me honestly—he won't be in danger, will he?" Fred muttered, nudging George.
"Blake won't dare show up. The school and Hogsmeade are crawling with Aurors," George replied casually.
It didn't take long for Harry to understand what they meant.
The present was a hand-drawn map—crooked and messy, yet clear enough to show its purpose.
A map to Hogsmeade, covered with notes on how to use a secret passage.
---
When Harry finally appeared in front of Hermione, her mouth fell open as though she'd seen a ghost.
"Harry! What are you doing here? Your uncle actually signed the permission form? He even mailed it by owl?" Her face was full of disbelief.
"I sneaked out," Harry whispered.
He sniffed the air and caught a strange, metallic smell that made him uncomfortable. Looking up, he saw a sign overhead: Unusual Tastes.
He and Hermione moved to a darker corner to talk.
"Are Ron's brothers trying to get you killed?" Hermione gasped, then suddenly paused. "Wait—you mean the map? There's a secret passage that leads here?"
Her expression flickered, as if an unpleasant memory had surfaced.
"Yeah," Harry nodded, not noticing her unease. "It starts from Honeydukes' cellar. There's a one-eyed witch statue near a classroom on the fourth floor—the passage is behind it."
"Oh." Hermione's excitement faded instantly.
She hated remembering the times she had broken school rules.
Perhaps for reasons even deeper than that.
"Ron isn't with you?" Harry asked—then immediately regretted it. Hermione's face turned as cold as the snow outside.
"Him?" She raised an eyebrow. "He's probably still at the table drinking butterbeer and staring at the bar owner like an idiot," she said with biting sarcasm.