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HPHM 157
🕑 Added 2025-10-25 01:13:43 +0000 UTC“Echoes Between Generations”
"Are you sure you’re okay?" Hermione asked as soon as they stepped out of the castle, walking toward the field where Care of Magical Creatures class would be held.
"Yeah, I’m fine. I just lost my shoes, that’s all. Not that weird," Harry replied with a calm smile as he strolled along the path.
"Oh really, Potter? You’re fine?" a mocking voice called from a few meters behind them.
Harry turned around, already tired before even seeing who had spoken. He didn’t need to guess. Luis Carrow was walking toward them with his usual entourage of idiots: Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and her group of friends, as well as a few other Slytherins who trailed behind like shadows.
Of course, that could only mean one thing—the class would be shared with the Slytherins. And that, undoubtedly, would “make things more fun.”
"I heard about the prison escape of your parents’ killer," Carrow said with a dark smile, pretending sympathy. "Wasn’t he one of their childhood friends? What a tragedy. Though really, you should be careful with those old friends. You never know when one of them might stab you in the back."
His words dripped with venom, each syllable laced with amusement. Around him, his followers chuckled under their breath. Carrow then turned his attention toward Harry’s friends. "After all, blood traitors already live up to their name, don’t they?" he added in a tone that was almost playful, staring directly at Draco and Daphne, who looked back at him with absolute coldness.
"Why don’t you just ignore us?" Draco shot back, his expression one of perfectly measured irritation. "What do you gain from following us around all the time? Don’t you have a social life?" he added with a mocking smirk.
Carrow arched an eyebrow and grinned with contempt. "A social life? Now that you mention it... you’re right. I suppose you wouldn’t know, since you never attend the social gatherings." He turned toward Pansy with a cruel smile. "Thanks to you finally freeing yourself from that pathetic engagement, our families can now unite. I truly appreciate it."
Pansy lowered her head slightly, visibly uncomfortable, though everyone knew the story. Her family had tried desperately to bind themselves to the Malfoys, but Narcissa had grown tired of their manipulations and legal tricks. In a final act of fury, she threatened to erase the Parkinson family from existence before allowing the marriage. Terrified, Pansy’s father broke the magical contract—something once believed unbreakable—and tied her instead to Luis Carrow.
Luis might have been handsome, sure, but he was nothing compared to Draco, the love of her childhood. Pansy still despised herself for having humiliated him when they were young, destroying any future between them. Still, she convinced herself she had nothing to regret; better that than becoming the wife of someone who sympathized with “mudbloods.” With that thought fueling her pride, she lifted her head again, wearing false confidence, and met Draco’s eyes with a smirk.
Draco only smiled with icy calm. "Oh really? Then you’re not just pathetic—you’re someone who picks up what others throw away. You truly are pitiful."
The comment cut so sharply that the entire group fell silent. Carrow hadn’t expected that; instead of anger, Draco had responded with a kind of cruel pity.
Daphne covered her mouth to suppress a laugh, and Hermione did the same, hiding her amusement.
Luis scowled. He couldn’t risk saying anything against Daphne—but seeing Hermione laugh was enough to ignite his rage.
"What are you laughing at, you filthy mudblood?" he spat with pure hatred in his eyes.
Up until that moment, Harry hadn’t said a word. He had simply observed the scene with the same calm one reserves for watching an approaching storm. But that last insult changed something in his expression.
He raised a hand and gave a subtle motion to the side. In an instant, Luis Carrow was hurled backward as if struck by an invisible force, crashing several meters away.
In the blink of an eye, all the Slytherins drew their wands and pointed them at Harry.
"You’re in the way," he said in a cold, emotionless tone. "We need to pass."
The Slytherins hesitated. No one moved. The tension in the air was so heavy it could be cut with a knife.
At that moment, a group of Ravenclaws—who had gone ahead earlier—returned after hearing the commotion. Terry led them, wearing his usual nosy grin.
"Trouble here?" he asked with mock innocence, raising an eyebrow. "Because if there is, we’d be happy to join in."
Immediately, several other Ravenclaws drew their wands, standing beside Harry and his friends. The air turned icy. Carrow rose from the ground, his face red with anger and humiliation.
He knew he wore several enchanted talismans meant to resist telekinesis—a type of magic Potter and Granger often used—but they hadn’t worked at all. His confidence was collapsing.
He was about to give the signal to attack when a deep voice thundered from behind.
"What are yeh all doin’ here?" Hagrid’s voice boomed as he appeared with heavy steps, his massive shadow falling over everyone.
At once, all the students hid their wands.
"Class is about to start. Come on, get movin’," said the gamekeeper with a stern but confused expression, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he had just interrupted.
The Slytherins slowly backed away, shooting hateful looks toward the Ravenclaws. The quarrels between Harry’s group and Carrow were well known throughout Hogwarts, but lately something had changed. Slytherin House seemed more united than before, more deliberate—almost as if someone in the shadows was tightening those bonds while quietly pushing the other houses apart.
Harry glanced at Carrow one last time before following Hagrid down the path. For a brief instant, he felt a strange pressure in his chest, as if something dark and dormant inside him had stirred. But the feeling faded quickly.
He shook his head and continued walking beside his friends toward the open field.
…
Meanwhile, at the Ministry of Magic, yet another Wizengamot meeting was taking place—one more among the countless sessions held since Peter Pettigrew’s escape.
Though these gatherings appeared important on the surface, in truth they were little more than formalities—excuses for the Ministry to pretend it was “doing everything possible” to catch the fugitive. Most of the meetings were filled with awkward silence and useless questions like whether anyone had “any new information on Pettigrew,” as if the members of the Wizengamot were Aurors rather than political advisors.
"Another one of these absurd meetings… They don’t even leave me time to visit the children at Hogwarts and watch their classes," Selene muttered irritably as she exited the chamber. She was still wearing the elegant purple robes of the Wizengamot, which she adjusted with visible annoyance before removing her hat and tossing it aside. However, the moment she did, she sighed, realizing she would have to pick it up herself.
Fortunately, Wanda was there. With a simple motion of her fingers, the hat floated gently back into Selene’s hands.
Wanda’s expression was serene, though her eyes betrayed a faint trace of worry—not about the meeting or politics, but about Harry. She continued performing her duties in the Wizengamot, but deep down, it was more out of commitment and solidarity with her friends than genuine interest.
Selene smiled as she caught the hat, while beside her, Narcissa also looked tired. She exchanged a glance with Wanda before speaking in a calm, composed tone.
"You’re still worried about Harry, aren’t you? If that’s the case, you could switch places with Selene and go see him," she suggested gracefully, though her voice carried a faint note of empathy.
"Well…" Selene raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. "Even if I want to see how they’re enjoying themselves, I wouldn’t mind going at all," she said, pretending indifference—though everyone knew she cared far more than she let on.
Wanda couldn’t help but smile. "No, it’s fine," she replied with a small sigh. "That little one keeps everything to himself. The older he gets, the more he does it."
"That’s what happens when children stop being little ducklings following their mother duck," came a warm voice from behind them.
The three turned around. The newcomer had dark brown hair with soft highlights, a face of delicate, serene features, and kind eyes that radiated warmth and strength—so different from her sister Narcissa’s cool elegance. It was Andromeda Tonks, who had once again become involved in the family affairs of the Blacks. Her daughter, Nymphadora, couldn’t attend due to work, and her cousin—well, he always found an excuse to sneak out of his duties.
"And when the hormones start doing their work," Andromeda added with a playful smile, "the only thing left is to call an exorcist."
The three women let out light laughter. After all, Andromeda was the only one among them with an adult daughter, and the only one who had survived that stage already.
"Even if you’re my sister, it’s irritating when you compare my son to an animal," Narcissa said with offended elegance, crossing her arms.
Andromeda, however, didn’t seem to care in the slightest; her smile remained perfectly intact. She turned toward Wanda with a soft, maternal air.
"Don’t worry too much. Children are like that—it means they’re growing, learning to feel for themselves. Even if they try to hide it, those emotions will surface eventually," she said in a gentle, almost wise tone.
Wanda nodded slowly, letting out another sigh. "I hope so. Because honestly, I’m not exactly the best example of someone who handles their emotions well. And if Harry’s anything like me… we might be in trouble," she added with a faint, weary smile.
The four women began walking down the carpeted corridor of the Ministry, their robes flowing elegantly as they continued chatting in low voices. Amid the building’s solemn atmosphere, there was something unexpectedly warm about the sight: four powerful women—bound by blood, experience, and the love they held for their children—sharing a brief moment of humanity far away from the intrigues and judgments of the Wizengamot.
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