The Family That Lived

¹¹|ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ 1

At this point, Harry was just a nervous wreck. It would appear as if he was always walking with concrete walls enclosing him. No one could read the youngster, who had completely lost the typical smile and good-natured pleasantries.

Only person he felt even an ounce of comfort with was Hermione but with her on her track to be the most capable witch had taken up multiple classes yet again this year. How she managed her time even with the little device was beyond him. 

He felt cautious of not venting to her, but lately he couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom, like a dark cloud hanging over his head.

As he would lay in his bed each night, his mind conjured up images of Voldemort's face, twisted with anger and hatred. Harry could almost feel the weight of the curse on his scar, the constant reminder of the danger he was in.

The triggers could be anything, in the middle of a class he would feel waves of nausea wash over him. His palms would grow clammy, and he'd feel like he was going to vomit. His heart would race, and he'd start to hyperventilate. Deep breaths only seemed to make him more lightheaded. In these cases, his empty room would be the only solace. 

He had a family, people he cared about and so many things he had already dreamt of that the upcoming contest was tightening the coil in his chest. 

He needed a plan, he needed something that could help him sleep at night. 

With that determination in his head, Harry headed to find Professor Moody. The man had experience and expertise, all that Harry could use right now. The teacher began to strategize with the boy the moment Harry asked. 

Unfortunately, Harry was oblivious to the cruel intentions hidden behind the helpful advice.

"We aren't allowed a broom", said a concerned Harry upon the suggestion. The answer he received to that was "but you are allowed a wand".

Even in the midst of all his fear, Harry had faith in his flying skills. The newest revelation didn't relieve him of all his worries but the noises around him weren't bothering him as much anymore, and the darkness of the halls didn't feel as suffocating.

Maybe he was on the right track. 

The rest of his evening was spent searching for spells, anything that could help him more. Something that could be an ace up the sleeves. He chose the quant corner of his room, making himself comfortable on the edge of the window. 

The school had always been awe-inspiring. The moonlight illuminated the towering turrets and the intricately carved stone walls, giving the impression of a magical fortress straight out of a fairy tale. Flickering torches lined against the walls and each time he gazes out, he understands the love his parents have for this place. 

The books were abandoned and Harry kept his eyes glue outside, enjoying the figments of clouds still visible in the darkness of night. Soon, he spotted a white owl, similar to Hedwig fly his way. The white feathered owl dropped off a letter and then left abruptly.

With much needed precaution the raven opened the letter. The handwriting was too neat, too posh, Harry thought in the back of his mind. 

Rivalries are exhausting, don't you think Potter? It might sound surprising and I never thought I'll ever gather the courage to hurt my ego by writing to you but we have to talk. It's best if I don't mention my name but I assure you I mean no harm

Hear me out once, after the first round at midnight at the astronomy tower.

D

Oblivious to the identity of the stranger, Harry made a mental note of meeting the person on the other side of the letter.

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