NOVEL NEXT Chapter 26: Chapter 26
Harry woke with a deliberate calm that he didn't quite feel. No meditation today. His chest still hummed with a leftover irritation, an electric spark of something dark, and he wondered if his choice not to meditate was merely laziness or a subtle urge to test just how much control he actually had.
He made his way to the Gryffindor boys' bathroom and cranked the tap on, letting the icy water snap his face awake. His thoughts weren't exactly scattered, but they swirled, stirring as if someone was poking around, searching for a vulnerable thread to pull. His gaze darkened in the mirror, that scar prickling, but he forced his focus back, shoving down the strange feeling with a sharp exhale. He pulled his clothes on, running a hand through his unruly hair, and stepped out, leaning casually against the wall as he waited for the others to join him in the common room.
Seamus and Dean came down first, sleepy but cheerful, and they greeted him with nods, Dean mentioning how relieved he was that they'd found Ron before things got worse. Seamus smirked, clapping Harry on the back and adding, "Don't worry, They'll find who did it." Harry returned their sentiments with a thankful nod.
As Seamus and Dean walked off, Lavender, Hermione, Neville, and Parvati appeared, Neville and Parvati sporting wide, silly grins. Harry couldn't help a sly smirk, rolling his eyes at them. "We can't all take nights off for a bit of…'study,'" he teased, making Neville redden even further.
Parvati gave him a playful shove. "Oh, get stuffed, Harry," she laughed, but Harry noticed her arm sneak around Neville's waist just a little tighter, her eyes glinting with pride. He didn't mind their joy.
"Look," he said, getting their attention. "Let's skip breakfast. I think we should head to the infirmary, check on Ron before Madam Pomfrey decides he's better off without visitors."
Hermione gave an enthusiastic nod, and they all agreed, making their way toward the infirmary. When they arrived, they found Ron sitting up, looking more alert than the last time Harry had seen him. Millicent Bulstrode was at his side, holding a spoon and guiding it toward his mouth. She glanced up, a little caught off guard but clearly pleased to see them.
Harry strode over, his gaze sharp but warm. "Bulstrode, are you Ron's new nurse?"
Millicent flushed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I heard he was hurt," she said defensively, though her cheeks tinged with pink, "and with the rumors going around, I just wanted to be sure He did not get potioned or something." She glanced down at Ron, concern softening her usual gruff tone.
Harry's lips twitched. "Knowing Ron, he'll end up here for a hundred more reasons other than the potion." His grin widened as a chuckle went around the group, and Millicent looked away, trying to hide a small, appreciative smile while saying "she will look our for him still just to make sure". Hermione reached over, pulling Millicent into an unexpected side hug. "You're good like that, Milli," she said. Millicent stammered, embarrassed, but there was no missing the pleased look that lingered on her face.
Harry finally pulled a chair next to Ron, leaning in to meet his friend's eyes. "So, you feeling alright? Apart from…you know." He nodded toward Ron's floppy arm, making his friend snort in frustration.
"Yeah," Ron mumbled, shoving the spoon away when Millicent tried to feed him again. "Just that weird potion taste that won't go away. And the, uh, itch. But other than that…" He trailed off, and Harry's eyes narrowed, sensing the discomfort.
"So, why?" Neville's voice broke in, his expression cautious but curious. "Why did you, you know, try it without us? You could havev waited for the next day and we would have done it in the morning"
Ron's gaze flickered, his initial answer buried under an uneasy silence. But Harry wasn't letting him off. He leaned forward, voice low, forcing Ron's gaze to meet his. "Ron. Why did you really do it?"
Ron's shoulders slumped, and he exhaled heavily. "I…I was scared. I thought…I thought maybe I was just…replaceable."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Replaceable?" He repeated, shocked. "What are you talking about?"
Ron's face twisted with a pained expression. "You've got your meditation thing, and Hermione's got her books and her brains. When I got the hang of meditation faster than you did, I thought maybe I was good at something too. But then I saw Neville pick it up like nothing. I…I wanted to prove I was…you know, good at something too. Worth keeping around."
Harry felt a sharp pang, squeezing the bridge of his nose before placing a firm hand on Ron's shoulder. "Listen, you're a funny bugger, yeah? And no one's beating you in chess, not me, not anyone. But more than that…Ron, you're my best mate. Nothing changes that. Absolutely nothing."
Ron's face crumpled as he looked away, but Harry could see the unshed tears glinting in his eyes. He leaned in for a quick, rough hug, and the others couldn't help but cheer, the sound breaking the solemnity with warm laughter. As they broke apart, Neville spoke up, his voice a little rougher than usual.
"You know, Ron, I was the clumsiest one here. Felt like dirt for weeks until you and Harry called me yesterday for your morning jog, meditation or whatever. I mean, without that meditating and Harry telling me about my wand, I'd still be blaming myself for everything that went wrong." He scratched his neck sheepishly. "you…you have this way with people, a way to make friends wherever you are and I admire that" Parvathi gave him a supportive hug while saying "You cannot be alone with all of us around you. Idiot"
Harry, seeing an opening to lighten the mood, waggled his eyebrows, "Oi, Neville, so when's the big wedding, eh?"
Laughter filled the room, Neville and Parvati both blushing furiously. Harry leaned back, smirking as he watched them flounder for a reply. Finally, he stood, ushering them all toward the door. "Alright, children, time for class. Ronnikins here needs his rest." Ron groaned in frustration, rolling his eyes as he muttered, "The twins told you that, didn't they?"
They left the infirmary and made their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry positioning himself next to Neville. Once they were settled in, he turned to him, voice low and curious. "So, Nev, about you and Parvati. You serious?"
Neville glanced away, scratching his head. "I…dunno. I mean, yeah, I like…you know…doing stuff with her." His face flushed red as he admitted this, and Harry's gaze sharpened, his tone prodding.
"So, if you like the sex, and you could have anyone you wanted…why her?"
Neville hesitated, glancing away, then finally muttered, "I don't know. It's just…it feels right." His words were soft, a new determination in his tone, and Harry studied him, nodding slowly. "Look, mate, we're rare. If you want to stay with her, that's your choice. But know that women here—they won't always be loyal. Not just for you. They'll wander."
Neville nodded, glancing back. "Is that why you ignored Lavender for a week?"
Harry shrugged. "She needed to know I wasn't some…dildo she could use whenever."
Neville scoffed, shaking his head. "If she is as you say she is. Why hasn't she made a move on me yet Even though…she had her chances."
Harry smirked, but there was a cold edge to it. "That's because she's my bitch, Nev. She knows who she belongs to."
Neville's gaze hardened. "She's not a 'bitch,' Harry. She's Lavender, your friend."
"She's a friend who likes what I have not me," Harry shot back.
Neville's glare intensified, his voice rising. "She's trying to learn about you, alright? That takes time, and maybe, just maybe, she's more than what you think of her as!"
Harry's voice came out a low growl. "I know how the world works, Nev. I have the facts, the knowledge. I'm the one in control here. I'm the one who decides what is the Truth so do not fucking lecture me!"
A loud slam of his fist against the bench echoed through the room, silencing everyone. Harry's eyes snapped up to meet Quirrell's steady, cold gaze, an unsettling grin twisting on the professor's lips as he called out "Thirty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," Quirrell said smoothly, "and detention with me."
Harry, pulse hammering, forced a tight smile, responding with a sarcastic bow. "After Snape's detention, Professor."
Quirrell's mouth twitched in irritation, and he waved his hand dismissively, the smile dropping from his face as he resumed his lesson. But Harry's mind kept spinning, that pulse of anger lingering, a dark storm held just beneath his skin. His hand went to his scar, the prickle at the edge of his consciousness as troubling as the fight he'd just had with Neville.
---
Harry's mind raced. Why had he blown up like that in class? He'd never cared that much about what Neville or Parvati did—if anything, he was glad for them. So what was it that had him twisted up, lashing out, like he'd been ready for a fight? He looked over at Quirrell's turban across the room, suspicion sharpening. Was Voldemort playing at something? It was one thing for Quirrell to give off a faint aura of magic, but this was different. His thoughts went back to the last time he'd felt that level of raw anger, almost right under his skin. It had happened twice now—and both times, he realized, he'd skipped his morning meditation.
The first was when he took Ron with him, trying to teach him the meditation technique, only to have his own focus blown apart; he'd felt irritated all day, and the intensity had lingered. Then again today, without his meditation practice, the fury had struck him like a wave. But why would meditation—simple, focused breathing and awareness—have anything to do with whether Voldemort could mess with his mind? It was supposed to be about magic control, not mind control.
As Harry touched his scar, he noticed something strange—it wasn't hurting, not even a dull ache. Voldemort was nearby, so why the silence? Unless… maybe he wasn't exactly here. Closing his eyes, Harry focused, searching his own magic, feeling his way down, like looking through still water. But instead of calm, his mind found something else: a storm. His magic was spinning like a dark whirlpool, with a black mass churning in its depths, struggling to force the magic into new shapes.
The horcrux—that's what it had to be. Voldemort's horcrux, right here in his mind, bending his magic, trying to press his will through, stoking that anger. But to what end? Did it want control? Harry reached deeper into the magic, forcing his will upon the storm, calling for calm. Gradually, the black shape receded, swallowed back into the depths as his magic settled into stillness, like a sea that had found peace.
When he opened his eyes, the class was nearly over. Neville was still fuming at him across the table. As the bell rang and students began filing out, Harry quickly grabbed Neville's arm, steering him into an empty corridor before he could escape.
"Neville, listen to me. Something's trying to make me angry."
Neville yanked his arm away, crossing his arms defensively. "Oh yeah? That's a pretty convenient excuse."
Harry held up a hand. "Hear me out. It's happened twice—both times when I skipped my morning meditation. This morning, I saw it, Neville. A black mass churning my magic, making me angry."
Neville's scowl softened slightly as curiosity crept in. "Like…an Obscurus?"
That was a thought Harry hadn't considered. "Why would you say that?"
Neville tilted his head thoughtfully, his earlier frustration replaced by a frown of concentration. "They say Obscurials act out, sometimes without knowing why. The anger gets to be too much, so it tries to get out by forcing accidental magic. And your meditation—it's probably helping you keep it in."
Harry's mind raced, and a new understanding dawned on him. 'So, if I have this—this bit of Voldemort's soul—maybe it's doing the same. Making me angry, trying to get out through magic.
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