MP: Strength returns in unexpected ways, sometimes carried on the gentlest of notes, like the song of a phoenix that fills hearts with courage when the darkness feels too heavy.
Chapter 18 - Resonance
The quill scratched softly against parchment, the only sound in the quiet of her office. Outside, snow was beginning to melt past the high windows, Scotland's coldness retreating slowly as spring progressed. Minerva McGonagall sat stiffly at her desk, spine straight, lips pursed in thought. The letter she was writing had been started three times already. None of the previous drafts survived her scrutiny.
'How did one inform a man like Solan Thorne that his ward had been shot?' She thought grimly. Her gaze fell to the parchment again, the ink had begun to dry but her hand hovered motionless above the page.
Even now, she found the words insufficient as Lynne Volant was barely alive in the hospital wing. Although that should've been cause for relief, it hollowed her out knowing that a student under her care suffered injuries like these two years in a row.
The fact that this was the second time she had gotten injured under Hogwart's safety combined with them not informing Thorne last year, made her feel guilty and ashamed. Neither attack had come from some foreign battlefield or unknown dark force in the forbidden forest, no. Both had happened here, within Hogwarts, under their very noses.
She folded her hands in her lap as her fingers tightened. The weight of the incident still clung to her like frost, that a staff member, even one as overlooked and bitter as Filch, could be twisted into an assassin and by Muggle means no less, was unthinkable.
It was something so vile and unforgivable, and yet it had happened at the best wizarding school. A young girl had been shot three times and almost killed had she not been so unique herself.
Minerva closed her eyes, thanking Merlin that no one else was injured in the attack. She was already concerned about Mister Creevey being petrified, now she was consumed by stress.
She was tasked now with making sure her guardian, Solan Thorne knew about the attack, if only because she had heard the girl mutter his name a few times and thought he might assure her that everything would be fine.
The only redeeming aspect was that Pomona Sprout was sure that next week a mandrake would be mature enough to procure a cure for the muggleborn boy. Of course there was another issue with having to coach him extensively in order for him not to fall back and to plan a way they could help him with his exams. Maybe easier or less extensive ones.
Still, she was feeling uneasy and unsure about her decision. Even decades later, Thorne's reputation lingered like ash. There were few living wizards whose war record she remembered with as much discomfort.
He had never worn a mask like the Death Eaters, or flown a Dark Mark over a village, but the destruction he left behind often eclipsed theirs. A man the war needed in desperation as the light side began to lose, operating under the thinnest veil of approval.
There had been times where even Dumbledore hadn't always known where Thorne's missions took him, or what they required him to do. Minerva opened her eyes and looked down at the parchment. In the end, she decided to be as blunt and short as possible, something she was sure he would appreciate.
Your ward was gravely injured. She is hospitalized and is expected to make an eventual recovery, thanks in part to her resilience and the swift response of others. I request your presence at Hogwarts at your earliest convenience so that she may be reassured and accompanied. - Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
She folded it carefully and slid it into an envelope, sealing it with a press of wax and Hogwart's ring. Then she called for her office owl, which flapped down from the perch overhead and settled with quiet grace upon the armrest. She handed it the letter with a whispered instruction.
"Find Solan Thorne." she whispered. The owl blinked once, took the message, and soared into the sky beyond the glass.
Minerva sat back slowly, her hands resting on the desk. She was still unsure if calling him here was the right decision, but whatever Lynne Volant truly was, she had bled for this school more than most now and she seemed to want him here.
If they couldn't keep her safe, then at the very least, they owed her that wish. She just hoped it wouldn't invite bigger problems.
The Common Room felt emptier without her. Even with Evan recounting his latest misfire in Charms and Meena trying to animate a folded paper swan with whispered incantations, the air felt thinner, like something important had been plucked out of it and hadn't returned yet.
Luna sat near the hearth, legs tucked beneath her, sketching gently in the corner of a well-worn notebook. Her lines curved into her father's latest creature waiting to be discovered, a creature, half owl half girl. But she wasn't entirely paying attention to what emerged on the page.
It was not that she was worried, not exactly. If the stories were true, and she didn't really doubt them, Lynne survived worse than what most people ever imagined last year. Besides, there was something about her that seemed too sturdy to break, no matter how many cracks appeared.
But the others didn't feel that. Her friends were still learning what Luna had understood long ago, that Lynne, strange and made of metal and silence, strong and emotionless as she was, was still someone who could get hurt. Harry sat nearby, not quite resting, his eyes fixed on the parchment in his lap but clearly not reading it.
His mouth was pressed into a firm line, the same way it had been since the Hospital Wing doors closed behind him yesterday. He had been the one to explain to the younger students what had happened, his voice even but hollow, repeating the tale and expressing his dread at almost losing his friend.
"She was shot." he had said. "Using a Muggle weapon. It's called a gun, and it is one of the foulest Muggle creations."
Most of the first-years had stared, not understanding the word. Terry had asked if it was like a wand, and Meena had shaken her head before Harry could answer, explaining that it was like an angry stick that spat metal. That seemed to unsettle them even more.
Luna had watched Harry throughout the conversation, the way he clenched his hands when someone asked if Lynne would die, the way he avoided saying her name after that. She had tried to make him feel better and had offered him a green jelly bean from the packet she kept for special occasions. She had even told him about the time her father wrote an article on Moon Frogs, just to distract him, but it had not helped much.
"She's going to be fine." Luna said, breaking the silence between them.
Harry looked up, surprised, as if he had not expected anyone to speak. "You don't know that." he said softly.
"I do." Luna replied, tapping her pencil twice on her drawing. "She will be fine, trust me."
He looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave her a tired smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes, and returned his gaze to the fireplace.
"I'm not only worried about her recovering, Luna." he said. "She keeps getting into trouble, this is the second time I have seen her injured like this, she is my best friend, I don't want to see her get hurt again."
"I think she would prefer it to one of us getting hurt in her stead." Luna said, setting the notebook down. "You have seen how protective she is with everyone."
Harry nodded slowly, his hand tightening on the parchment in his lap. "I hate that she's always the one in the hospital bed."
"She hates it too." Luna said, smiling gently. "I'm sure that resting, for Lynne, is the worst way to spend her time."
He chuckled softly in response and they fell into silence again, but this time it was softer. The fire crackled and sent little waves of warmth across the room. Around them, the others had gathered bits and pieces for the get-well box Terry suggested earlier. They had added notes, candies and a few folded drawings. Ginny had even sewn a blue cloth flower with mismatched petals that she insisted looked like Lynne's hair butterfly.
Luna added her own note to the pile, folded carefully. She sighed, even if she wasn't worried, she missed her awkward hugs.
The Board of Governors had gathered with the scent of old and outdated perfume still clinging to their subpar clothes, the great chamber warmed only by the flicker of chandelier light and the low drone of conservative agreement.
Lucius sat near the head of the table, hands folded over his cane, his expression a careful mask of concern. His patience, however, was beginning to rot beneath the surface.
For some reason he couldn't understand, they were satisfied. One could say they were content, even. As if the assault of a student by a staff member armed with a Muggle weapon were a minor embarrassment rather than a catastrophic failure.
He had spoken clearly, eloquently, laying out the incidents of the year, the petrified child, the blood-written threats, and now this latest affront, a Squib attempting the murder of a pureblood child inside school walls. Yet they seemed determined to minimize it all.
They believed the attacks had stopped, blind to the possibility that this peace was simply an intermission before the curtain rose on something worse. Then they believed that it was just resentment of a squib that finally snapped, which, in a way, was a good thing as they didn't suspect his involvement in that particular plan.
Their solution was merely to punish the caretaker and to offer help to the muggleborn that was petrified, but his motion to get Dumbledore from his Headmaster position was denied. In hindsight, he should have put more money to buy their votes, but he reasoned that it should have been enough.
Lucius narrowed his eyes, one of the main reasons he had orchestrated the attack was to kill the girl, not to get rid of Filch, as much as he despised the man. If only that freak had died like she was supposed to, then he was sure his plan would have worked and Dumbledore would be gone by now.
The Squib had been given enough ammunition to ensure she would not rise again, and had waited, quietly, for news of her death to reach the Prophet. But the opposite had arrived, the girl had survived.
Worse still, she had disarmed the old man, wounded as she was, so he couldn't do any damage to anyone else. And now, to his disgust, the Board merely called for Filch's dismissal, pending a trial that would probably see him banished from the wizarding world.
He had, of course, left enough evidence to discover the traces of the Imperius Curse. And if the squib was examined by Snape, it would have been easy to find. For some reason though, Dumbledore had not informed the board about the full extent of what they discovered. The man was many things, but scheming and cunning were among his rare redeeming traits.
Without that discovery, the board was not fearful of another mind having a hand in the attack. He couldn't really say anything about it without it hinting at knowing something he shouldn't.
Lucius had been meticulous, had ensured no trail led back to him, and yet something about the way the girl had survived or even that she had managed it in the first place did leave a small spark of fear. If the girl found out about his involvement, it would be dangerous for his son.
She would not know the truth, of course, and it was foolish to fear. Not unless someone opened their mouth, and there was no one left that could anymore. Still, the failure rankled. He had hoped that the girl's death, besides eliminating a threat, would spark Dumbledore's fall, finally severing the old man's influence and allowing someone more suitable, or at least someone controllable, to take his place.
Yet the rest of the Board had spoken with weary voices and bureaucratic calm, praising Dumbledore's handling of the school in light of difficult times. They believed this girl had no lasting consequence, that her injuries would heal and the year would finish without further scandal. They even expressed sympathy for the girl, for all the parties involved, as if sympathy had ever kept children safe.
He had forced himself to smile, to agree, to nod when necessary. But his mind burned behind his eyes. The only useful fragment to salvage from this debacle was the opportunity to finally confirm who had placed this strange girl under their protection.
She had no parents listed, no clear origin, and while his family held a name for themselves, they had gone extinct after their last heir married to the Lestranges. He had investigated from a distance, pulled strings, demanded records unsealed since the girl's first threat, yet nothing satisfying had turned up.
The records in the ministry were removed, and his spies suspected Dumbledore as he had also gone looking for the same information. Which could be good or bad news, as she could be under the old man's hand or worse, someone out of his control whom he wanted to rein in with favors.
But now, the mysterious entity that had trained that thing had a reason to be at the castle, and Lucius even had a justification to speak with Dumbledore directly so he could be there as well. The Board had appointed him to deliver the results of their vote and oversee the transition of responsibilities following Filch's removal.
It was an opportunity to finally learn what he was up against. And if indeed they were not under Dumbledore, he would love to see the confrontation that was sure to happen with the headmaster.
The best case scenario would be that he could convince them that they were on their side, or for his lord's cause. After the attack that killed the operation that Jugson and Selwyn were running he wasn't really expecting that to be possible, but one could dream.
Her body did not move, but her mind was adrift, suspended somewhere between sleep and sensation, anchored by the rhythmic pull of her core and ambient magic being pulled towards her.
She could feel it, low and steady, flowing through her like a tide, searching every wound, every shattered thread of fiber, stitching her back together with mechanical resolve. Thankfully, she couldn't feel pain but she could still feel something akin to pressure, the weight of her wounds and her body mending itself slowly.
She had known this might happen again and had tried to account for an imminent attack. She was ready, and although she didn't know what manner of weapon they used against her, in the fight she knew she could survive it.
What she had not accounted for was how strange it felt, to be lying still while her thoughts fluttered like paper on the wind, hearing voices through the layers of a world not yet fully restored.
Her mind knew that she was at the Hospital Wing, although it seemed that the usual silence was gone now. She heard the soft clink of vials being sorted, the faint rustle of curtains, the muttered hums of Pomfrey moving between beds. Somewhere nearby, she could sense the other student stuck at his bed, petrified, Colin Creevey.
But none of that mattered as much as sensing he was here. Her mind sharpened instantly, drawn toward the sound of footsteps she knew too well. That precise cadence, every step with a small skip, the unmistakable sound of his cane. A voice, low and roughened by age and control, speaking in clipped tones just beyond her curtain.
His master was here, her mind provided. She tried to move, but her body didn't respond. Her fingers, metal and ceramic alike, refused to flex. Her chest felt hollow, still mending from the impact of gunfire.
She tried to open her mouth, to speak, to call to him through the fog, but all she managed was a faint twitch of her left shoulder. It was enough to send a spike and pull on her magic through her torso, and she stilled again, drawing focus inward.
He was speaking to Headmaster Dumbledore. She heard the old man's voice, calm and composed, yet tinged with something weary. There was another voice too, sharp and oily, rising in agitation with every sentence. Her mind provided the name before she had to really focus, Lucius Malfoy.
She could not make out all the words, not clearly. They came like fragments in water. "…reckless endangerment…" "…the Board has decided…" "…I'm only here to communicate the decision…"
She strained. Her mind dug into the words, desperate for meaning. But it was like chasing shadows across glass.
"…do not presume to dictate terms to me, death eater." her mentor's voice cut through at last, clear and heavy with something far more dangerous than anger. "You forget your place."
"…ase, Gentlemen… calm… not the place."
The silence that followed was thunderous and she found herself trying to mend her wounds faster but her body was just too damaged yet. Then, a step closer. She could feel his presence approaching, could feel the familiar pulse of controlled power radiating from him like heat. He was here at her side at last.
She tried again to wake, her thoughts pushed like a tide against the walls of her own stillness. Her mind provided information on her situation, her body would take time, the wounds were deep, the damage intricate.
Her internal magic was prioritizing function first so her mind was alert now. Her mentor was near, and if nothing else, she needed to see him, even if just for a moment. A hand touched her shoulder, steady and cold.
"You'll wake soon." he said quietly. "There is no need now."
Then he was gone again, back into the fray of conversation behind the curtain. Lynne lay still, the pulse of magic humming beneath ribs half-forged anew. As he said, she would return to consciousness soon enough. For now, she clung to the knowledge that she was not alone and her mentor was here for her.
It was one of the few happy feelings her mind could fully understand, as he was perhaps the only one who understood what she was and what she needed, and had come for her.
And though her thoughts were slower than usual her mind was already sorting the information. Malfoy's voice, her mentor's presence and tone along with Dumbledore's. The world was still full of threats, both subtle and obvious, and Lynne knew she would have to stand again soon.
Her mentor being alive, now known to the world, was something they had discussed after all, and would only be done if the time was right. They would have work to do now that they were revealed to their enemies.
Her mind was now determined to enter suspension to resume the healing process faster, her consciousness slipping back into blackness.
She woke slowly, the world returning to her with a faint buzz under her skin and a flicker of artificial warmth along her spine. Her eyes opened in measured increments, letting the low amber light of the Hospital Wing seep into her senses without strain.
The curtains were drawn around her bed, muting the silhouettes beyond, and for a moment, she stared upward at the ceiling, simply breathing. Then she turned her head when her magic sense came alive and smiled brightly. Her master was seated beside her, reading from a scroll, one leg crossed over the other, his wand held lightly in his right hand.
The moment her eyes moved, he lifted his eyes to her. He did not speak at once, his gaze flicked to meet hers, sharp and unreadable, before the wand was returned to his coat with a smooth motion.
"Good." he said, his voice full of pride "You're awake earlier than expected."
She shifted slightly, registering her body's limits, making sure not to strain her now repaired body. Although there was a stiffness across her side, her arms were functional. Her legs felt a bit sluggish yet.
Her voice came low. "Master."
A thin smile touched his mouth for the briefest instant. "You did well."
He stood, brushing his coat back into place, and studied her closely, the weight of his expectations already gathering.
"I saw the damage." he said. "If that was a threat to the boy, he would be gone now. By you being the target, he was kept safe, which was our priority. You succeeded."
Her gaze lowered, calculating. "I'm glad you see it that way, master. I hope I didn't bring unnecessary attention to him in the first place."
"In a sense, you did, but the assets they could have used against him were used for you instead. Now they are no longer available." Thorne replied. "Ignoring that… He's worried for you, I see that you made good friends with him."
"I imagine he wasn't the only one. I made many friends here."
"True, many small ones came to visit you."
"Thank you for giving me the opportunity."
There was a pause, as if he were deciding how much to share.
"There will be no more recalibrations." he said at last. "We have reached that threshold. I will not waste time softening the blow. Our enemies now know I live, and although our plans did not change much, you need to remain as you are, unstable if required."
Her expression did not change, but she blinked slowly.
"I won't be functioning at my full strength, master." Wondering why he would want that.
"You did well, but I need the other part of you now." Thorne replied. "I need for you to draw on emotions if we are going to change to an open fight against them. For stealth, you were to remain suppressed, but the time for that is now gone."
She did not respond at first as the idea was unfamiliar to her. She was unsure if she could keep operational value if she was unstable, and most of all, she knew that keeping the other voice under control would be a difficult task.
He seemed to study her again, then spoke with less sharpness.
"You need the instability to fuel the Unforgivables curses. You will also need it to cast a proper Patronus."
She opened her eyes wide, now understanding what he needed. "Then I will do my best to manage."
"I know you will, but you won't be alone. I will help you keep my daughter under control. We begin training at the manor this summer. You will also learn your animagus transformation, it is crucial for our next mission."
Her fingers twitched under the sheets. She felt the voice inside her stir faintly, like a breath in the dark, but it did not rise. She wondered, quietly, if she was listening.
"Did she say anything?" he asked, as if reading her thoughts.
"She's been quiet, so far." Lynne answered.
"Good, then my method is working. You will be able to use her effectively, so don't fear."
Lynne nodded, though the gesture cost her effort, her body not cooperating with her fully yet.
He turned to leave, then paused. "Malfoy was the one behind the attack. He supplied the Squib with the weapon."
That landed with a different weight. Not because it was unexpected, but because it made the pieces fall into place.
"We retaliate?" she asked simply.
"Yes." Thorne said. "I trust you know what to do to hurt him. Do so enough and we might get him out of the fight sooner than expected."
She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. Then opened them again.
"I understand."
"Good. Now, rest and take this potion in 4 hours, it is needed. I will go back and get ready. We have prepared long enough for this." he said, handing her a vial.
She nodded, her eyes focused with determination.
The Hospital Wing was warmer than he remembered it being. It might have been the light, the way the sun poured through the high windows now that spring was pressing gently against the castle.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that this time, the visit had not ended in dread. Harry stood near Lynne's bed, hands loosely clasped behind his back, watching her sit upright with the same quiet posture he had always associated with her. She looked almost unchanged, her usual pale and composed self.
For a brief moment he thought that maybe she didn't know what had happened to her, as she had been shot. Not hexed or jinxed or knocked down by a rogue spell. She had taken three bullets to the chest, and somehow survived, and now she was just sitting there like it had been a scraped knee and a long nap.
Maybe wizards didn't truly understand the dangers muggle weapons were. Otherwise he couldn't understand how she was as calm as ever without a hint of worry on her face. He briefly remembered that she wasn't really aware of Muggle inventions in general, so it was possible.
The others filed in behind him, Ravenclaws mostly. Some first-years, some second. Meena had her blue cloth flower in her hands and gave it a nervous twist before stepping forward and placing it gently on Lynne's blanket.
Terry mumbled something about being glad she was awake and tried to sound casual, though his eyes didn't quite meet hers. Evan waved awkwardly and stood off to the side.
Ginny lingered a bit longer, then set down a little box filled with Honeydukes wrappers she had carefully refolded into tiny stars. She didn't speak either, just gave a small nod and stepped back.
Luna moved forward last and did not ask permission. She hugged Lynne softly around the shoulders, resting her head against metal and cloth. Lynne did not return the embrace, but she did not resist it either, with a small smile on her lips.
Harry watched the whole thing from the foot of the bed. He didn't know what to say as he hadn't known what to expect, not really. Last year, after she had taken the hit meant for him, she had changed.
Her face had softened, her words had shifted, and the strange version of her that emerged had haunted him ever since. But now… she looked like herself, and the other 'her' was nowhere to be seen. Cold and composed and entirely Lynne, which was a relief.
"Sorry for worrying you all."
"Are you really alright?" he asked finally.
She turned her gaze to him. "I will be fine."
There was something final in the way she said it. He nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"We brought you a lot of things." he said, gesturing vaguely to the small pile on her bedside table. "Hope you like them."
"Thank you, I appreciate every single thing. I'm happy to have so many friends."
Madam Pomfrey appeared then, arms folded, eyeing the group like they were about to tip a bed over.
"Alright, one more minute, then all of you out." she said. "She should be resting."
They laughed quietly, even Lynne let her mouth twitch for a moment, almost like the start of a smile. Then the students began filtering out, trailing their well-wishes and hesitant goodbyes behind them.
Harry remained behind just a moment longer.
"I'm glad you're okay." he said, stepping closer.
She looked at him, really looked, with those unnervingly steady eyes. "Thank you, Harry."
He swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat and nodded. "Just get better, alright?"
"I will."
Then, quietly, she added, "Thank you for coming to see me."
He gave a small, almost shy smile, and turned to go. As he stepped through the doors, he glanced back one last time. Lynne was still sitting straight in the bed, fingers now gently touching one of Luna's folded notes, her eyes were unreadable but not cold.
Exams were coming, but for once, no one seemed all that bothered. The study tables in the common room still held their usual stacks of books, and parchment lay curled beside half-dried ink pots, but the tension that usually filled the air this time of year just wasn't there.
Harry supposed it had something to do with how much had already happened. When your friend had been shot and nearly died, a few hours of revision didn't seem all that intimidating anymore.
Not that Hermione saw it that way, she had retreated into her books the moment Lynne was out of the Hospital Wing, creating elaborate study schedules that she tried to impose on the others but mostly failed.
Luna remained unaffected as always, revising when the mood struck her and inventing memory rhymes about some weird creature when it didn't. Most of the other firsties were not that worried either, they had been cruising through their classes thanks mostly for Lynne's help.
Terry had memorized half his Transfiguration notes by accident just from helping Padma with hers. Even Ginny seemed oddly calm, claiming she had done better than expected and that worrying wouldn't help now anyway.
Harry tried to focus, he really did, but his thoughts kept drifting. He was also still riding the high of the Quidditch Cup. Ravenclaw had won their final match of the season, sealing their claim to both the House Cup and the long-coveted Quidditch trophy.
For once, the victory didn't feel like a dream slipping through his fingers. He had played well, made clean catches, and his team, thanks to Jeremy, had gone above and beyond to come up with new strategies for every match, and they had won.
Lynne had been there for the final match, somehow having recovered well enough. Most of the team were relieved as she was one of the key players on their unconventional strategies. She had smiled at him after the last game, offering him a nod of approval and letting the rest of the team chatter beside her about their journey to victory.
Virgil had also seemed lighter lately, even if his eyes remained a little distant. He had completed his NEWT project earlier in the week, presenting the translation spell with the same calm he had when explaining Runes to first-years.
The spell worked flawlessly and the examiners were so impressed that one offered to write him a personal recommendation for a master-apprenticeship in Charms, while another said he'd make a strong candidate for a department research assistant at the Ministry.
He had sought Harry out on the library's long table to share the news.
"I told them Lynne helped me, in the end." Virgil had said. "Not that she would have wanted the credit, but I don't think they really believed me."
Harry had smiled, not knowing exactly what to say, except that he agreed on her not wanting the credit. Virgil had become more than just another older student. He had been a partner in their quiet investigation of Lynne's weird behaviour earlier in the year.
"I'm going to miss having him around." Harry admitted now as he leaned back against the library armchair, legs stretched under the table.
"He's not dead, Harry." Hermione replied, flipping through notes beside him.
"I know," he said, grinning faintly. "Just… we finally got a proper team. You, Luna, Lynne, most of the first and second years even. And now Virgil's off to invent the next big spell."
Hermione shrugged. "That's how Hogwarts works. People come, they leave, I'm sure you can stay in touch with an owl. At least he may be back for some things, right? He did say he wanted to teach at some point."
Harry nodded, though something about the thought didn't sit quite right. Virgil had been one of the only people besides Hermione who really took an interest in what was happening with Lynne.
He had helped research everything they could about soul magic, about magical identity fractures, even about how possession could linger without detection. They had found ideas, patterns, and theories. But sadly no certain answers yet.
"Do you think she knows what's going on with her?" Harry asked suddenly.
Hermione looked up, brow raised. "Lynne?"
"Yeah."
Hermione tapped her quill once on the edge of her book. "I think she knows something. But whether she wants to talk about it, that's the real question."
Harry sighed. That was the hard part, he thought. Getting Lynne to open up, to explain anything. She could be surrounded by people and still feel miles away.
Still, she was here at least, alive and whole.
He stood by the open window in the Ravenclaw tower, arms resting on the stone ledge as he looked out over the lake. The water was still, dappled with late spring light, and the distant shape of the Forbidden Forest trembled with soft wind.
It didn't feel like the year should be ending. The castle was quieter now, not in the way it was during winter or exams, but with the kind of hush that came before something inevitable. Trunks were being packed and dragged around, while owls had begun arriving daily with reminders from families and ticket instructions.
Harry, though, wasn't ready to leave. He had made friends here, real ones. He really liked learning and finally he was feeling that his knowledge was no longer behind most people in the wizarding world.
Even though he no longer felt completely safe in the castle, it still felt that it was better than returning to Privet Drive, to the Dursleys.
Most of all, he had had a great year overall, full of cheers, friends and new experiences, like Quidditch. He didn't want to leave that behind, yet. Even if he knew that he would be returning to the castle for a third year.
Fortunately, he had more than one option this summer to avoid going to the Dursleys. Dumbledore had found him that morning outside the Great Hall, just before breakfast. The Headmaster had that same twinkle in his eyes that unnerved him at times.
"You are welcome with the Weasleys this summer, Harry." Dumbledore had said, voice warm but measured. "I know you had an interesting time last summer, and I had asked them if they were willing to host you."
Harry had mumbled a response, not understanding where that had come from.
"I know your friend Ginny would welcome you warmly. Do let me know if you agree with that plan, I'm sure they have a nice room for you."
Harry had blinked in surprise, caught between gratitude and hesitation. "That's… nice of them, I will think about it."
Dumbledore had simply nodded and moved on, robes trailing behind him like a curtain closing. Now, staring out across the grounds, Harry still hadn't made a decision. He knew that Dumbledore was probably right and the Weasleys would offer a room for him.
But his mind kept returning to the other option. The one that hadn't been offered aloud but still lingered like a secret waiting to be chosen. Lynne hadn't asked him directly, but like last time, he was sure she wouldn't even ask and follow him in her weird attached way, even if she now had more friends he could see always had her attention on him most of the time.
Besides, he was sure that Thorne would like his presence this year again, and he wanted to thank him again for the broom that had given Harry so many happy memories this year.
He shifted his weight, closing the window against the wind, and turned toward the stairs. He had made up his mind. He hadn't told anyone yet, but he wouldn't be going to the Burrow with the Weasleys.
He wanted to stay close to Lynne after seeing her hurt. He also wanted to understand what was happening to her from time to time and help if he could. And maybe, just maybe, to make sure that when the next danger came, he would be there to fight it together.
He had been too late, he thought grimly. By the time Draco was safely in their manor, the damage had already been done. The boy had barely spoken since stepping off the platform at King's Cross.
His eyes had darted constantly, searching faces in the crowd as if he expected someone to appear and drag him back. The house-elf had taken his trunk, but Draco wouldn't let go of his wand, not even for a moment.
Lucius had watched him carefully, noting the signs. The trembling fingers, the shallow breathing, the haunted stillness that settled over him during the ride home and refused to lift even after they reached the gates.
Narcissa had tried everything, from comfort, scolding, potions and even a mind soothing spell that she learned from her time spent studying as a nurse, although she never really worked a day in her life. It sadly made no difference as the boy had been broken.
A month back he had learned it was Solan Thorne behind the girl and he was never a man to be underestimated, and yet he didn't see this coming. Lucius had thought himself clever, thought he had time to set plans in motion and remain beyond its reach to eliminate him.
That was the old way, after all. Whisper a command, pass a pouch of gold, and watch the pieces fall into place. But he forgot about the fact that the girl had indeed already threatened his son's life once.
The only consolation was that Thorne had let him live, but the punishment his son endured must have been terrible for his young mind.
The moment Thorne had told him to get out of his sight in the Hospital Wing, he should have known. That tone, restrained and still, had told Lucius everything. He should have known that the damn ministry butcher had already planned to reveal that he was still alive to his enemies.
The one who paid the price though wasn't him directly. Draco did not speak about what had been done, but the signs were unmistakable. Not physical wounds, but fear woven into the corners of his posture, into the way he refused to be alone, into the way his gaze now skittered past windows and shadows like they were traps.
Narcissa had cried when she realized he wasn't responding to her voice anymore, not fully. She had held him for hours, stroking his hair and whispering things only mothers knew how to say. It had helped, a little. Enough for him to sleep or take potions to help with his panic attacks.
Lucius, however, could not sleep at all. He sat in his study now, staring into the fireplace, fingers laced beneath his chin, feeling dread and regret for failing to protect his son.
They would have to leave, he thought. There was no safety in Britain anymore, not for them. Not while Thorne was alive and walking free, and definitely not while the girl still attended Hogwarts without fear of any consequence.
Lucius could not count on Dumbledore to reign him in. The man had allowed her into the school in the first place, had ignored every warning, every sign. It had been naive to think Draco was safe in the castle and that they wouldn't try something there.
He would move Draco when they could improve his health. Let the other Death Eaters linger and play their games. He would not be among them when the hammer fell, he didn't want to sacrifice his family for pride.
They would move to the continent, there were old holdings still under his name in the north of France, untouched and well-protected. They would take the necessary papers, arrange discreet transport, and vanish before anyone caught wind of anything.
Then he would bide his time and look for his old master. He had heard whispers and hints of his presence last year, and although he initially had decided to ignore it as he had always feared his lord's madness, he now needed him to take revenge on Thorne.
Draco also needed time to recover and to be himself again. Lucius had once imagined his son standing beside him, carrying the Malfoy name into the next great age of magical rule.
Now, all he wanted was for the boy to laugh again and punish the abomination that had dared hurt him.
The platform was a hive of motion and noise, trunks being heaved into trolleys, voices raised in farewell, families weaving around one another like mismatched clockwork. It would have been easy to get lost in it all, but Lynne moved through the crowd with quiet purpose, Harry close behind her, and Ginny slipping through a parallel path toward the other Weasleys.
The younger girl gave them a final glance over her shoulder, her expression unreadable, then bumped purposefully into a passing witch and her books, drawing Molly's attention in a flurry of apologies and fuss, to help her pick them up. It bought them the seconds they needed.
Lynne turned at once, guiding Harry toward the far archway where Zicky had said he would be waiting. He appeared out of thin air with a pop, then the small creature took both of their hands and she felt the sharp tug behind her navel, a sharp blink, and the world snapped sideways.
They landed in the manor's atrium with a ripple of displaced air and the scent of iron and wood polish. The entrance hall was quiet, the chandelier swaying slightly above them. Zicky bowed at them, in his blue uniform with his hands tucked neatly in front of him, as if they had not just arrived unannounced from a covert extraction.
"Welcome home, Misstress. Mister Potter."
Harry gave her a grateful nod, brushing off his cloak and stepping aside as Lynne set down her satchel and transfigured her butterfly hair clip into her trunk once more.
They split soon after. Zicky led Harry to his room that had been already prepared, of course, and left Lynne to climb the wide stairs alone. She did so slowly, her fingers brushing the railing, feeling the familiar texture beneath her hand.
The manor felt different now, heavier somehow, like the air had taken on the weight of everything that had changed. Her room was as she had left it, her tools laid out in perfect order, books aligned by subject and thickness, the window left cracked open just enough to allow the summer air inside.
She shut the door softly behind her and crossed to the desk, removing her coat and folding it over the back of her chair.
Something hit her mind, it wasn't a memory, more like a residue. A flicker of thought that wasn't her own. She could feel it stirring behind her eyes, pressing gently at the edge of her awareness like a bird brushing glass.
It was subtle at first, just flashes of laughter in a hallway she didn't remember walking through, the taste of something she had never eaten, a name she didn't recognize echoing with warmth.
She exhaled slowly and sat down, her fingers folding together on the desk. The other voice inside her had been quiet since the Hospital Wing, but now it was stirring again. Not with words, but feelings and memories, as if her mind was merging with her into a soft surrender, not of control, but of space. Their thoughts were no longer wholly separate.
Some of those strange thoughts and feelings she could not identify as hers, were being allowed to stay. She had not given them permission, not truly, but she couldn't push them out either.
She didn't know what that meant yet. Only that she was changing. Her magic was more volatile now, threads slipping free when her emotions rose. She had burned through her core a couple of times already without even raising her hand and her magic had pulsed wildly when she was having fun with her friends at the end of the year.
The inner voice remained distant, but she could feel its shape. A soft presence that was no longer passive in the back of her head. As if waiting for her to acknowledge it not just as an echo, but as part of herself.
She spent the entire night going over the collection of memories and feelings, cataloguing and analyzing well into the following morning.
A knock at her door broke her thoughts, then her master stepped inside, his expression warmer than usual. His eyes flicked over her, taking in her stance, her breathing, the slight tremor in her fingers.
"Good." he said. "You're adapting."
She gave a short nod. "I'm managing, master."
"That's enough."
He gestured and she followed, down the stairs again, past the atrium, and into the dueling chamber beneath the east wing. The stone floor was clean, the training dummies stacked to the side.
Thorne crossed to the far wall and drew his wand, he took a small wooden bowl and placed it at the center of the room.
"This is nostalgic." he said. "Teaching you again after all these years. You have done well so far, but restraint is no longer our path."
She met his gaze. "I'm going to finally use the Unforgivables."
"I want you to master them with your newfound emotions. If you are to continue with our missions, you must use everything at your disposal." he answered.
"You were unable to use them before, which is why we never practiced them even if I did use them on you."
Lynne didn't flinch as she stepped forward and drew her wand, letting the silence settle between them like smoke.
His master quickly transfigured the bowl into a rat.
"Pain first, to make your interrogations faster, with enough pain, a fortified mind falls." he said.
She nodded. Her magic rippled through the room, fed by the strange storm inside her. Her anger bled together until the spell took shape in her mind.
"Crucio."
![Artificial Protector [Harry Potter OC/AU]](/data/threadmark-index-icons/l/23/23226.jpg?1755288772){kind=icon}
