A Path Beyond Survival: Chapter 16 - Approach and Books

The unmistakable scent of chamomile tea still clung to his nostrils as Harry descended the stairs of the hospital wing that morning. The gray light filtered through Hogwarts' stone windows, muted by the low-hanging clouds that heralded another damp, cold day.

Madame Pomfrey, before letting him leave, had examined him carefully, asked questions, muttered something about "young and reckless hearts," and recommended rest — but, faced with Harry’s stubbornness, she released him with a sigh and a warning: "If you feel even the slightest unusual chill, come back. Immediately."

He promised he would, but they both knew he wouldn’t.

The castle was awake. The sound of voices echoed through the corridors, mixed with the creaking of armor and the clatter of cauldrons being dragged in some distant room. But none of that prepared Harry for the comforting contrast of the Great Hall.

As soon as he crossed the oak doors, the warmth of the torches and the aroma of breakfast enveloped him. For a moment, he felt exactly like someone returning from a long absence. The long tables were full, and the lively chatter revolved almost exclusively around the same topic: Hogsmeade.

Harry walked with his eyes lowered, instinctively searching for Ron and Hermione — but that didn’t matter anymore. They were there, of course. Sitting together, as always, just a few meters away. But the space between them felt wider than ever. Hermione’s gaze met his for a brief moment — tense, regretful — but quickly turned away. Ron pretended not to see him at all.

“Harry!” Neville called, raising a hand with a relieved smile.

He was sitting further down, in a group that now seemed strangely natural: Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Susan, and Hannah. An improbable mix of Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff that no one seemed to question anymore — at least, not to their faces.

“You’re actually on your feet,” said Tracey, looking relieved as she made space for him between her and Blaise. “That should be worth at least twenty points for Gryffindor.”

“Or a medal,” Blaise added, pushing a plate of toast toward him. “But we’ll settle for this sacrifice too.”

“How are you feeling?” Daphne asked, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

“A little dizzy,” Harry admitted as he sat down, “but much better than yesterday.”

“She shouldn’t have let you out today,” Neville muttered, looking as if he were ready to drag Harry back to bed himself if necessary.

Harry gave a weak smile. “I’ve been through worse.”

Daphne, beside him, observed in silence. There was something in her gaze — a mix of relief and analysis — that he still couldn’t decipher.

Then, Susan cleared her throat softly.

“Harry… I… I wanted to apologize,” she said, her voice lower than usual. “Yesterday, when everything happened… I shouldn’t have insisted on talking, and then I tripped, and you—”

“Hey,” Harry interrupted gently. “You don’t have to blame yourself for that. I already told you. It was the dementor. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I got in the way,” she insisted, staring at the teacup in her hands. “You protected me, and I just… stood there. If Professor Lupin hadn’t arrived…”

Harry hesitated. The weight of that moment was still present, but he knew Susan was already punishing herself enough. And, in a way, this conversation was helping something inside him fall into place.

“You didn’t get in the way, Susan,” he said firmly. “You stayed. That’s already more than a lot of people would have done.”

She lifted her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, she smiled at him — a small, guilty, but sincere smile.

“It’s good to see you two talking again,” Neville commented, with an almost shy smile, as if revealing a wish he had kept to himself for weeks. “Really.”

Harry nodded, and for a moment, everything felt a little lighter.

“At least you arrived just in time to hear the best news of the week,” Blaise said casually. “First weekend in Hogsmeade.”

“That’s all anyone talks about,” Hannah added, smiling. “Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, bags from Honeydukes, scares at the Shrieking Shack…”

“And are you going?” Susan asked, her tone now softer, almost hopeful.

He hesitated. Then shook his head. “I don’t have permission. My uncle never signed. Even Professor McGonagall couldn’t sort it out.”

The silence that followed was brief but uncomfortable.

“That’s ridiculous,” Tracey said suddenly. “I mean, the entire school is going. You faced a dementor! And you’re going to be stuck here?”

“Rules are rules,” Harry replied, shrugging.

“Maybe,” Daphne murmured, looking at him, “but not all of them are fair.”

Neville tried to change the subject, asking about the shops they wanted to visit first. Harry listened in silence, trying not to dwell too much on what he would be missing. But there was something else unsettling in his chest — a cold that still hadn’t completely faded. The attack from the previous night had left invisible marks.

He could still feel the fear. The emptiness.

But, surrounded by faces that chose to stay by his side, despite all the shadows, it seemed… bearable.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel completely alone.

The corridor on the fourth floor was almost empty when Harry crossed the stone archway, his boots echoing on the polished floor. Most of the students were already heading to their classes, but he had needed to go up to the Gryffindor Tower to fetch the Arithmancy parchment he had forgotten. Now, he was rushing to avoid being late for Ancient Runes.

Professor Babbling’s classroom was at one end of the east wing, where the corridors seemed quieter, almost untouched by the buzz of the castle. Harry liked that feeling — the impression that time flowed differently there.

As he pushed open the heavy oak door, the usual sight greeted him: natural light streaming through the tall windows, reflecting off the bluish stained glass; walls lined with shelves full of dusty books; runic symbols carved into the dark wood that lined the tables.

Professor Babbling was already organizing the materials on the board, scribbling with wide, decisive movements. Her brown-gray hair was pulled into a loose bun, with a few rebellious strands escaping, as if they were trying to decipher the runes on their own.

Harry spotted Daphne sitting in the third row, near the window. She was absorbed in a green-covered book, notes neatly spread out in front of her. There was an empty seat beside her — the spot that, in the past few weeks, had almost become a natural extension for him.

She looked up when she saw him approach, not smiling, but with that subtle gleam that always appeared when he arrived.

“Forgot the parchment?” she asked, as he settled beside her.

“How do you know?”

“You’re always forgetting things,” she replied, adjusting the pages of her own book. “Plus, Blaise mentioned you went up to the tower. I connected the dots.”

Harry let out a muffled laugh and pulled the material from his bag.

“You should go to Divination.”

“Good grief,” she retorted, making a contained grimace. “I’d rather deal with ancient and predictable texts than teas that predict the future.”

Professor Babbling turned to the class and began the lesson, speaking in a clear voice:

“Today, we will analyze the use of Algiz, Eihwaz, and Tiwaz in the protective runic texts from the 11th and 12th centuries. These runes are fundamental for those studying defensive charms and, curiously, are also linked to healing and spiritual strengthening.”

Harry straightened in his chair, more attentive than he expected to be. It wasn’t the first time a Runes lesson had, even if indirectly, crossed paths with something connected to Dark Arts.

Daphne, as usual, was already translating the excerpt written on the board with ease. Her finger traced the parchment with elegance and precision, and Harry, used to the chaos of Potion books and Snape’s shouting, found that environment almost comforting.

“This part here,” she whispered, leaning slightly toward him, “talks about a Nordic ritual to protect the ‘fire of the soul.’”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Fire of the soul?”

She nodded. “It’s a metaphor. The ancients believed that the vital force — what we’d call magical energy today — needed protection from external forces. Eihwaz was used for that. A rune of resistance and... persistence.”

He looked at the symbol before them: a vertical line crossed by a winding line. Simple, but with something that seemed to vibrate, as if it held raw strength in silence.

“It makes sense with what I read last night,” he commented, lowering his voice. “The library book talks about healing magic as a cycle: understand, preserve, protect.”

Daphne shifted her eyes from the parchment to meet his, and for a moment, Harry felt exposed — but not in an uncomfortable way. It was as if she saw more than he let on.

“You’re really taking this seriously,” she said, in a tone that wasn’t surprise, but rather realization. “Dark Arts.”

Harry nodded slowly. “It’s the first thing at Hogwarts that feels... mine.”

She didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened. There was understanding there. And something else.

During the rest of the lesson, the two worked side by side, their subtle conversation happening between translations and scribbles on the parchment. As the symbols took shape, Harry felt that it wasn’t just the language of runes he was beginning to understand — but also Daphne’s.

In the end, when Professor Babbling dismissed them with an assignment on the rune of energy channeling, Daphne folded her parchment and commented, without looking at him:
 “If you want... I can show you some books from my family. Old ones. About Dark Arts. They're not easy to find.”

Harry felt his heart race. “Would you trust me with that?”

“Trust is built,” she replied, with a slight smile. “But, for now... I think you deserve a chance.”

With that, she stood up, books in her arms, and left the room without looking back.

Harry stayed there for a few more seconds, staring at the protective rune scribbled on his parchment. Eihwaz — persistence and fire of the soul.

He thought he was finally beginning to understand what it meant.

Harry quickened his pace in the silent corridor, still holding the rune parchment in his hands, trying to catch up to her before she disappeared among the students moving between classes.  

“Daphne, wait.”  

She stopped at the end of the corridor and turned slowly, her hair neatly tied up, a loose strand dancing over her cheek with the cold wind coming from the open windows.  

“Harry.” The tone was light, almost teasing, but there was curiosity in her eyes.  

Harry hesitated for a second. He didn’t exactly know what he wanted to say — only that he didn’t want the conversation to end there, on that final sentence full of meaning.  

“About those books from your family... were you serious?”  

“I’m always serious when it comes to magic,” she replied, her eyes locked on his. “Especially magic that comes with responsibility.”  

Harry nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cloak. “So... when can I see them?”  

Daphne slightly tilted her head, as if assessing him in a new light. “You’re really interested in this, aren’t you? It’s not just... a passing curiosity?”  

“It’s not,” Harry answered firmly. “I can’t explain it. It’s like everything I’ve been through... what I felt with the dementors, with what happened in the lesson with the boggart... it’s all part of something trying to tell me this is the path. That understanding this magic... might help me understand myself.”  

She fell silent for a moment. The corridor around them was almost empty now. The light coming through the windows tinged the floor with bluish tones, and a cold breeze made the distant torches flicker. 

“You’re starting to sound like a Greengrass,” she said, with a small, restrained smile.  

“Is that good or bad?”  

“It depends on which Greengrass you ask,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “But for me... it’s a good start.”  

She then opened the leather bag with brass clasps and pulled out a dark-covered book, with symbols embossed on it — ancient, angular, almost alive.  

“This is the first one,” she said, carefully extending it to him. “It’s not just about Green Magic. It’s about the fundamentals. The roots. Dense reading, fair warning.”  

Harry took the book as if it were a precious artifact. The texture of the cover was rough, and there was an old, almost earthy smell, like dry leaves in a forest.  

“Why trust me with this?” he asked, looking up at her. “I mean... it’s not the kind of thing Slytherins usually share with Gryffindors.”  

Daphne stepped a little closer, and now the distance between them was minimal — just enough for him to see the small golden specks in her eyes reflecting the light from the stained glass.  

“Because you’re not the kind of Gryffindor I expected,” she said softly.  

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The air between them was different now. Dense. Charged with a tension that wasn’t uncomfortable, but unexpected.  

Daphne then looked away, pulled the strap of the bag over her shoulder, and took a step back.  

“But don’t make me regret it, Potter,” she said with a half-smile. “These books are older than my grandmother.”  

“Don’t worry. They’ll be safer with me than Trevor is with Neville.”  

She let out a short, genuine laugh. “That’s not exactly comforting.” 

Harry shrugged, with a smile.  

“After classes, if you want to talk about the first chapters... I’ll be in the library,” she added, already turning to follow the corridor.  

“I’ll be there,” he replied, and realized it was true — not because he felt he should, but because he wanted to.  

Daphne hadn’t taken two steps when she hesitated. She turned partially, her eyes narrowing, as if an unspoken question was lodged in her throat. Harry noticed.  

“What’s up?”  

She crossed her arms. “You and Susan.”  

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “What?”  

“You were sitting together at the café. Talking. And... well, it was the first time I’ve seen you two like that.” She spoke casually, but there was a cautious interest behind her words. “Were you close before?”  

Harry took a deep breath and pressed the newly received book against his chest.  

“Sort of.” His eyes turned to the stained glass, as if the filtered light there were a distant memory. “In second year... we talked a lot. Susan’s always been kind to me. She listened, you know? When things started happening... when the attacks started...”  

Daphne said nothing. She simply waited.  

Harry ran his hand through his hair, messing it up in an automatic gesture. 

“She thought I was the one to blame,” he continued. “She and almost everyone. She thought I had opened the Chamber of Secrets... that I was the Heir of Slytherin. And... she told me that to my face. She said she didn’t want to be associated with me anymore. That I was dangerous.”  

A brief silence settled, thick.  

“It hurt,” he added, his voice quieter now. “More than I admitted at the time. I was scared, confused... and then I lost someone I thought understood me.”  

Daphne slightly furrowed her brow, her eyes analyzing every detail of his face.  

“Did she apologize?”  

Harry nodded, without enthusiasm. “She said she regrets it. That she was young, that she was scared... And I understand that, really. But... there are things you don’t forget so easily.”  

She slowly moved closer, until she was just a few steps away from him again. The colored light from the stained glass tinted her face with soft shades of amber and blue.  

“You have this habit of trying to understand everyone,” she said, with a half-smile. “Even when you have every right not to.”  

“Maybe,” Harry replied. “But I don’t know how to be any other way.”  

Daphne fell silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on him. There was something more there — a layer of understanding that went beyond words.  

“I’m not saying to forget,” she murmured. “But if she truly regrets it... maybe it’s worth letting her prove that.”  

Harry looked at her, surprised by her bluntness.

“Are you defending her?”  

“No,” she answered calmly. “I’m just saying that... sometimes, we close ourselves off so much trying to protect ourselves that we end up preventing the right people from getting in too. And I know Susan, we’ve been friends since we were kids. She really seems sorry.”  

He didn’t respond, but the weight of those words lingered in the air, along with the comfortable silence that formed between them.  

Daphne then adjusted the strap of her bag and gave him one last look before moving on.  

“See you after classes, Potter. And... be careful with that book. It might seem boring at first, but there are some truths in it that are hard to swallow.”  

“Like some people,” Harry murmured, with a smile.  

Daphne smiled back, but didn’t respond. She just turned and disappeared down the corridor.  

Harry stood there for a few more seconds, looking at the dark cover in his hands. Something told him that this day would bring more questions than answers.  

But, at that moment, he didn’t mind.