Disclaimer: This chapter explores the growing consequences of altered timelines, fractured friendships, and the first careful steps toward reclaiming a future that was stolen.
Old assumptions begin to crumble while new alliances grow stronger.
Harry Potter and its characters belong to J.K.
Rowling; this alternate journey belongs entirely to fanfiction.
The three friends once again settled at the Gryffindor table for dinner.
Earlier, Harry had suggested that they occasionally spend a meal at the Slytherin table.
Not because any of them particularly wanted to, but because he suspected the rumours had already started.
If they weren’t careful, people would soon begin whispering that he and Hermione were somehow “corrupting” Daphne with their outrageously reckless Gryffindor habits.
Daphne had opened her mouth to respond when disaster arrived in the form of Ronald Weasley.
Having apparently decided that sitting somewhere near them was acceptable again, Ron overheard the conversation and immediately launched into a loud, passionate rant about Slytherins, Dark Arts, and how associating with snakes would inevitably drag Harry and Hermione into darkness.
The volume alone was enough to turn heads across the Great Hall.
The content only made it worse.
Within moments, Professor McGonagall appeared, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
Without ceremony, she seized Ron by the shoulder and marched him straight out of the Hall while he continued protesting.
The moment he disappeared through the doors, all three quietly drew their wands.
A series of detection charms swept across their goblets and plates.
Unfortunately, peace lasted less than a minute.
Draco Malfoy chose that exact moment to stroll over with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him like oversized decorative furniture.
He barely managed half a breath before Daphne fixed him with an icy stare.
Her wand appeared in her hand so quickly Harry almost missed it.
“Unless you’re curious about what castration feels like without adequate pain-numbing potions,” she hissed, leveling the wand directly at him, “I strongly suggest you keep your mouth shut, turn around, and return to your table.”
Silence fell around them.
Malfoy looked at her.
Looked at the wand.
Thought about it.
Then apparently decided he valued certain body parts.
With a sneer, he turned and walked away.
Harry watched him leave before asking, genuinely impressed, “How come he never reacts like that when I threaten him?”
Daphne calmly returned her wand to her pocket.
“Because he knows I’d actually do it.”
Harry blinked.
“…Fair.”
She shrugged.
“Besides, he knows his godfather would immediately rush to protect him from you. With me, things become more complicated.”
“How so?”
“I’m a Slytherin.”
A faint smirk touched her lips.
“Which leaves Professor Snape in the unfortunate position of deciding whether to support his godson or one of his own House members.”
Neville, seated opposite them as usual, leaned forward curiously.
“What was that spellwork over your food earlier?”
Harry answered before either girl could.
“Detection charms. Poisons. Potions. Anything suspicious.”
Neville’s eyes widened.
“Seriously?”
Harry nodded.
“Considering Alastor ‘Constant Vigilance’ Moody is teaching Defence this year, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried slipping something into our drinks just to prove a lesson.”
For a second Neville looked genuinely alarmed.
Then he quickly asked, “Did you find anything?”
Daphne examined her goblet one final time before offering a satisfied smile.
“Nope. Everything’s clean.”
Neville visibly relaxed and returned to his meal.
After dinner, the three headed back toward their common room.
The portrait closed behind them.
The moment they entered the familiar warmth of the living room, Harry exploded.
Hermione glanced up.
“Which one?”
“Difficult question,” Daphne mused.
“Ron or Malfoy?” Hermione clarified.
Harry snorted.
“Ron.”
That answer came instantly.
“Malfoy’s predictable. I’ve had years to get used to him. Ron is a completely different matter.”
He threw himself into a chair.
“Was he always this bigoted?”
“Yes.”
Daphne didn’t even hesitate.
“You simply never noticed.”
Crossing the room, she settled elegantly onto one of the sofas and motioned for Harry to take the seat opposite.
Crookshanks observed the gathering from his favourite armchair, judged them entirely uninteresting, and promptly returned to sleep.
Midnight remained absent.
Harry sat down.
Daphne folded her hands in her lap.
“How much did your Grim Reaper actually tell you about what Ronald prevented from reaching you?”
“Not much beyond the potions,” Harry admitted.
“John told me Ron kept interfering with people who might have become friends.”
Daphne released a slow breath.
“That’s only part of it.”
Her expression darkened slightly.
“Over the last year—this timeline, anyway—I tried approaching you several times.”
Harry looked surprised.
“You did?”
“More than once.”
A hint of annoyance entered her voice.
“Every single time, Weasley intercepted me.”
Harry’s jaw tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He claimed you wouldn’t want to speak to a ‘filthy snake.'”
She rolled her eyes.
“He also said several other things that are not worth repeating.”
The silence stretched briefly.
Then she continued.
“And it wasn’t just me.”
Harry frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Toward the end of last year, he became increasingly possessive of your social circle.”
Her gaze met his.
“I wasn’t the only girl interested in getting to know Harry Potter.”
The words hit harder than expected.
“Or The-Boy-Who-Lived,” she added quietly.
“Damn.”
Harry stared down at his hands.
“I was blind.”
“No.”
Hermione immediately crossed the room and sat beside him.
Taking his hand, she squeezed gently.
“You weren’t blind.”
Her voice softened.
“You were drowning in loyalty potions keyed directly to Ron.”
Harry looked away.
“You were not stupid.”
Then he sighed heavily.
“No… I suppose I wasn’t.”
His expression became thoughtful.
“John never mentioned this specifically, but I’ve started wondering whether those potions affected more than my friendships.”
Both girls looked at him.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
Harry frowned.
“My schoolwork.”
That earned their full attention.
“He said it was a miracle all those potions hadn’t turned my brain into mush.”
A humorless laugh escaped him.
“And one of the reasons I died in the graveyard was because they had already damaged my ability to think clearly.”
Hermione’s expression grew grim.
“It was much worse than that, Harry.”
He looked up.
“Much worse?”
She nodded.
“By fifth year, you were so heavily affected that you never told anyone about Umbridge torturing you.”
Harry opened his mouth.
Hermione continued.
“Except me and Ron.”
A bitter look crossed her face.
“And honestly? Looking back, I think Ron was secretly pleased it was happening.”
Harry stared.
“As for me,” she said softly, “I wasn’t thinking clearly either. I was being dosed as well.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
“Neither of us even considered using the mirrors to contact Sirius before we rushed to the Department of Mysteries.”
Harry felt sick.
“And then sixth year.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You already knew powerful fire magic. The Flame Curse. The Fire Whip. Even Incendio.”
Harry slowly nodded.
“You used them before.”
“Yet in the cave,” Hermione said, “surrounded by Inferi, you somehow forgot every single one.”
The memory made him wince.
“And after Dumbledore died?”
She shook her head.
“You chased Snape and the Death Eaters across the grounds, casting spell after spell.”
Harry remembered.
“Not a single hit.”
The room fell silent.
Hermione looked directly into his eyes.
“This is the same wizard who fought Tom Riddle in the graveyard after being hit twice with the Cruciatus Curse.”
Harry swallowed.
“The same wizard.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“Those potions didn’t just interfere with relationships.”
The words hung heavily in the air.
“They damaged judgment. Memory. Awareness. Decision-making.”
Harry sat motionless.
Even John had never laid it out so clearly.
Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to.
Or perhaps he’d known Hermione would eventually connect the dots herself.
Either way, the realization hit like a Bludger.
“Bloody hell,” Harry whispered.