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HP470- Cocoon
🕑 Added 2025-07-18 21:42:46 +0000 UTCThey sent spell after spell, one barrage following the next. Red, blue, and golden streaks of magic shot across the room, lighting up the air like fireworks. But Harry moved like he grown an extra set of eyes... behind his head, under his feet, everywhere at once. Every curse and hex aimed his way either glanced off, twisted aside, or bounced back with a sharp flick of his wand. The stone floor was scorched in places, walls cracked from stray blasts. Dust and rubble rained down steadily as bits of ceiling gave way.
Harry didn’t even look winded. A faint grin tugged at his mouth as he sidestepped a Stunner and sent it skimming harmlessly into the wall. Across from him, his friends were panting hard, spread out in a wide arc, their wands raised but grips tightening with fatigue.
“Merlin’s balls, does he even bleed?” Blaise muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
Tracey shot him a look, but she was breathing heavily too. “Don’t start whining now.”
Hermione’s eyes darted from the cracked floor to the thick air around them. She inhaled sharply as her gaze caught something. “Oh no.”
Harry’s grin widened slightly. “Too late.”
The dust swirling in the air suddenly shifted. It spun faster, converging in thick waves until the room seemed alive with moving grit. The group barely had time to react before the dust hardened, compacting itself into jagged stone walls that curled in around them like the petals of a closing flower.
“Harry!” Susan snapped, trying to blast the encroaching rock with a Reductor curse. It fizzled uselessly against the smooth surface.
“Not very fair, Potter!” Pansy called, backing into Daphne as she searched for an opening in the stone.
“You are not exactly supposed to get fair in a fight,” Harry replied lazily. He strode closer, hands folded behind his back like he had all the time in the world. “What is your plan now, then?”
Neville jabbed his wand toward the ceiling. “Reducto!”
The explosion rattled the chamber but didn’t so much as chip the stone cocoon.
It was actually Cho who shouted, “Spongify!” The stone surrounding them softened under the charm, taking on a rubbery texture that sagged under its own weight.
“Diffindo!” Luna followed up, slicing through the softened rock with a neat sweep of her wand. Cracks splintered across the surface as slivers began to tumble away.
But before they could carve an escape, Harry’s wand moved in a quick, tight spiral. Dust swirled into the air, thick and heavy, gathering faster than they could react. The fragments of rock they’d cut through reversed, fusing back together like clay. The softened mass hardened again in seconds, trapping them completely.
This time, there was no gap left to exploit. The stone encased them in a single solid boulder, sealing even the smallest cracks. Only muffled shouts and the dull thuds of fists and spells against the interior reached Harry’s ears.
He exhaled through his nose, amused. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”
With a flick of his wand, he cut off the flow of dust and let the room settle. Loose grit rained gently to the floor, the sound oddly loud in the sudden stillness. Harry stepped back and studied the massive rock like it was an art project gone slightly wrong.
Inside, the group wasn’t giving up quietly. Faint booms echoed as someone, probably Susan, hammered against the interior with a Blasting Curse. It spoke to their skill, really. Using such a dangerous spell in a confined space was usually asking for trouble, but Susan, and a few of the others, had learned to modify it, focusing the force so the blast hit like a precise spear rather than a chaotic explosion.
Tracey’s voice came faintly through the stone, her words muddled but tone unmistakable.
“You smug prat! Let us out!”
“Don’t worry, Trace,” Harry called. “You lot wanted to see if you could take down Voldemort. Consider this your answer.”
More muffled shouting answered him, followed by the faint crackle of spellfire. Someone, Hermione, by the sound of it, barked a string of incantations in quick succession. Sparks flew from the edges of the boulder, but nothing more.
Harry crouched down slightly, smirking as he tapped the side of the stone. “You’re burning through a lot of energy in there. If this were a real fight, you’d all be exhausted by now.”
“Potter!” Draco'ss voice roared faintly through the barrier. “Fight fair!”
“Fair? Thought we covered that,” Harry replied dryly. “Fair fights are for people who want to lose.”
A sharp crack rang out as Ginny tried another Reductor Curse. The rock shook faintly under the blast but held firm.
“Give it up,” Harry said lightly. “You’ve got no air holes, and I’m starting to worry you will suffocate if I leave you in there too long.”
“Harry James Potter, you absolute...” Hermione’s voice was cut off as someone, likely Daphne, told her to save her breath.
Harry snorted and waved his wand lazily. The boulder split open like an orange, large wedges peeling back and crumbling into dust that scattered across the floor.
The group spilled out in a tangle of limbs, wands clutched tight. Most of them were dusty, their hair sticking up at odd angles from the static in the air.
Astoria bounded up to him, completely unfazed by the dust smeared on her cheeks. “That was brilliant! I didn’t even see when you started pulling the stone together. You just...” She mimed swirling motions with her hands, then let them clap together. “Boom! We were toast.”
“Glad you appreciated it,” Harry said, ruffling her hair.
She swatted his hand away but grinned all the same. “Next time I will be ready.”
“Sure you will.” Harry raised a brow at the rest of the group. “So, do we call it there, or do you want a rematch?”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Pansy drawled, arms crossed. “You are having the time of your life watching us scramble.”
“I am,” Harry admitted without shame. “It is educational. For you lot too.”
“Educational?” Ginny shot back, still slightly flushed from the fight. “You flattened us in five minutes!”
“Three and a half, actually,” Harry corrected lightly.
“Git,” she muttered.
They knew Harry had gone overboard to humble them, and he had. If he’d gone easy on them and let them believe numbers alone could take down Voldemort, a few of them would die in a real fight. That was a few more than he was willing to lose. Better to break their confidence now than let them grow complacent.
The rest of the term passed in a blur. Slughorn kept hosting his little gatherings, eager to pull more of Harry’s circle into his “Slug Club.” Harry humoured him occasionally, showing up just long enough to snag rare ingredients or trade information, but he had no interest in spending hours being flattered by people hoping to ride his name.
Most of his time went to training. Between drilling his own group in the Room of Requirement and running the Duelling Club for the wider school, there wasn’t much room left for boredom. Hogwarts was sharper for it. Even the younger years were moving cleaner and faster in spellwork, and the older students were leagues beyond where their yearmates used to be.
As Christmas arrived, Potter Yule was back again... bigger, louder, and far more chaotic than the last three years combined. The manor practically buzzed with life, music floating through the air, fireplaces crackling in every room, and laughter spilling from one hall to the next. The guest list had grown larger and stranger with each iteration.
Harry moved through the crowd. He already danced with Daphne, twice, thanks to Astoria’s nudging, and found himself coaxed into a spin with Tracey shortly after. Astoria had dragged him onto the floor at least three times, chattering away about how she was going to “teach the Ravenclaws some proper rhythm.”
House Elves mingled in the crowd, led by Dobby in a ridiculous crimson hat, chattering and laughing as if they were old hands at wizarding parties. The Centaurs stood near the French doors to the garden, keeping mostly to themselves but watching the festivities with faint smiles. A handful of Goblins occupied a corner of the drawing room, their sharp eyes scanning the room.
The surprise came when the Werewolves arrived. Lupin led them in. For a brief moment, the music wavered as more than one wand hand twitched. A pair of Aurors standing by the entrance reached for their holsters out of instinct, as the full moon shone bright on the sky, until Amelia Bones, standing near the refreshments table, raised her hand in warning.
“They are guests,” she said sharply. “Lower your wands.”
The tension broke with murmurs rippling across the crowd. Conversation picked back up, albeit a touch quieter than before.
It wasn’t long before the reason for Lupin’s bold appearance became clear. Over champagne and firewhisky, word spread like wildfire, Long Green Pot had perfected a Lycanthropy-Suppressing Potion. Full suppression. No full moons, no transformations, no risk of losing control. The announcement was subtle, Daphne had slipped it into conversation with Griselda Marchbanks, and from there it flew, but the effect was anything but.
For many, it felt like a seismic shift. Werewolves walking freely into a party without fear of a wand at their back? Unthinkable last Christmas. Now it was reality. (On 24 December 1996, it was full Moon.)
