A Path Beyond Survival - Chapter 9: Tradition and Choice

The cold evening wind cut across Harry’s face as he walked along the edge of the Black Lake. The dark waters reflected the last golden flashes of the setting sun, tinting the sky with shades of violet and crimson. The towers of Hogwarts, lit from within, looked like watchful eyes, observing his every move.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, fingers clenched, trying to hold onto something he couldn't quite define. The icy breeze passed through his clothes, but the cold was welcome. Better than the whirlwind of thoughts that had been following him since morning.

Ron's words kept echoing in his mind, sharp as an unsheathed blade.

"You're going to end up like them, Harry. You can't trust Slytherins."

No matter how much he tried to push those words away, they kept coming back, persistent. He knew Ron was impulsive, hot-headed, and had always carried a certain aversion to Slytherin. But why did he always have to justify his own choices? Why couldn't he just decide who he wanted to talk to without being judged for it?

He let out a heavy sigh and kicked a stone on the shore. It bounced on the water only once before sinking, vanishing into the lake's darkness.

He stopped under a large oak on the hillside and leaned against the trunk, feeling the roughness of the bark on his back. He looked down at his feet and, without thinking much, pushed off his shoes with his heels, feeling the cold grass against his skin. The icy touch was a physical reminder that he was there, that everything was still real.

On warmer days, he liked to dip his feet in the lake. Sometimes, the giant squid would rise to the surface, its lazy tentacles rippling in the water. He remembered when students would throw food to it—bread, toast, even strawberry jam. A curious taste for a creature that size, but who was he to judge?

Harry laughed to himself, a brief, humorless sound that got lost in the breeze.

He rested his head against the trunk, eyes fixed on the now-darkening sky. The evening chill was nothing compared to the cold the Dementors brought. A cold that came from the inside out, erasing everything—laughter, happy memories, hope. Only emptiness remained.

He closed his eyes.

His mother's screams. Cedric's empty gaze. Voldemort's voice echoing in his mind.

His heart sped up. He took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away. He reached out to grab a smooth stone by the tree’s root. He turned it between his fingers before hurling it hard into the water. The splash cut through the silence, and waves rippled in concentric circles, dissolving into the black surface.

He bit his lower lip. The argument with Ron hammered in his head.

Maybe his friend was right about some things. Maybe he really was getting too close to the wrong people. Or maybe... maybe Ron was just being Ron—jealous, protective, impulsive.

The truth was, Harry didn't know. All he knew was that, talking to Tracey, Daphne, and even other Slytherins, he had noticed something different. They weren't like Malfoy. They weren't caricatures of arrogance and scorn. There was more there than just taunts and inherited rivalries.

It made him question everything he had always believed.

He thought that after Hagrid's class, Ron would go back to normal. That it would take just a few sharp words exchanged, a muffled laugh, and everything would be fine. But when he tried to start a conversation, all he got was a cold stare and a muttered response.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

"What should I do?" he murmured to the emptiness.

The wind blew harder, as if carrying his question away.

"Didn't expect to find you here, Potter."

The voice, soft but firm, came from behind, and Harry jumped, his heart racing before he could react.

He turned quickly and found Daphne Greengrass standing a few steps away.

She wore a slight smile on her face, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The green and silver details of Slytherin still marked her impeccable uniform, and her blond hair, tied up in a high ponytail, left her face fully visible, lit by the last golden tones of the sunset. The wind made a few loose strands dance around her neck.

Harry blinked a few times, surprised by her presence, before finding his voice.

"Helps me think." He shrugged and made a vague gesture toward the empty space beside him. "And it's one of the few quiet enough places for that."

"I can see why."

Daphne took a few steps closer, without hesitation.

Harry couldn't say why, but for a moment, the loneliness he felt seemed a little less suffocating.

The wind blew across the lake, spreading small ripples that distorted the reflection of the sky now tinged with purple and gold. Daphne crossed her arms, observing the scene carefully. The great oak cast long shadows over the grass, and for a moment, the only sound between them was the whisper of the leaves dancing in the wind and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.

"Were you following me?" Harry broke the silence, lightly bumping his shoulder against hers as she got closer. A tired but playful smile appeared on his face. "We agreed to be friends, remember? But stalking is a bit much, don’t you think?"

"In your dreams, Potter."

"Harry," he corrected, without losing the light tone.

She raised an eyebrow, a playful glint crossing her eyes.

"I’ve spent two whole years calling you Potter. You really think it’s going to be that easy to change? Besides, if I start calling you by your first name, people will think I’m sick."

Harry let out a short laugh, but there was something in the way she looked at him that made the weight in his chest feel a little lighter.

"People in Slytherin talk about me, huh?" he asked, now more curious.

Of course." Daphne sat down next to him, pulling her knees close to her body. "When you do something stupid—which, let's be honest, happens often—or when we hear Malfoy complaining about you like it's his favorite hobby."

"I don't do things that stupid!" He pretended to be outraged, though the smile remained.

"Are you sure?" Daphne crossed her arms, turning to face him. "Quirrell? The Chamber of Secrets monster?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please, Potter." She rolled her eyes. "Keeping a secret at Hogwarts is like hiding a dragon in the common room and expecting no one to notice."

Harry snorted but couldn't hold back a laugh.

"But how do you all...?"

"Know these things?" She gave a crooked smile. "You disappear, the whole school panics, and when you show up again, you're always in the Hospital Wing. You don’t have to be a genius to put the pieces together."

Harry fell silent, his eyes fixed on the calm waters of the lake, his hands resting on the cold grass.

"I never thought about that."

"Maybe you should start."

"Harry." He corrected again, almost automatically, but with a smile.

Daphne laughed, amused, and eventually gave in.

"Harry."

His name in her voice sounded... different. More personal.

"I guess I spend a lot of time in the infirmary," he admitted, laughing lightly.

"You think?"

"Maybe that's why I got interested in Healing Magic."

Daphne raised her eyebrows, genuine surprise lighting up her gaze.

"Healing Magic?"

Harry leaned his head back against the trunk behind him, his eyes following the sky as it slowly darkened.

"Yeah. I spent the summer at the Leaky Cauldron, found a book on the subject. I don’t know... it was the first time something seemed to make sense, you know?"

Daphne watched him more carefully, as if she saw something beyond the image she had always had of him.

"Interesting," she murmured. "Some old wizards call it Green Magic. But don’t ask me why. One of those old traditional family things."

"Green Magic..." Harry repeated, savoring the words. "Never heard that name."

"And you won’t hear it much." Daphne gave a half-smile. "It’s an old term. The traditional families think Healing Magic is a modern name, almost Muggle-like."

Harry frowned, intrigued.

"Muggle-like term?"

"Yeah." She nodded, her gaze distant, as if searching her memory for family stories. "In the Middle Ages, some Muggles called Green Magic Healing Magic. When things started getting dangerous for us, the term was lost, but the old families kept it."

For a moment, they both fell silent again, as if that fragment of ancient history connected their worlds in an unexpected way.

"And my family?"

Daphne shrugged, a subtle smile on her lips.

"The Potters never cared much for those things. They were always on the side of Muggles, Muggle-borns... fought against all that blood purity nonsense."

An involuntary smile appeared on Harry's lips.

"Good to know."

He looked at her sideways, his eyes softer now.

"But... what about you?" he asked, turning to face her fully. "What do you think about all this?"

Daphne hesitated. For a moment, she just stared at the lake, her eyes lost in the reflection of Hogwarts' lit towers.

"What I think doesn't matter much," she murmured, her voice low, as if speaking more to herself.

"Of course it matters."

She laughed, but without humor, a short sound, almost a sigh.

"What they expect from me is what matters, Harry." His name in her mouth sounded different now, less like a tease, more like intimacy. "Marry someone from a good family, keep the Greengrass name alive, smile and wave as if that's enough."

Harry frowned.

"But is that what you want?"

For a moment, Daphne remained silent. Her eyes, when they met his again, had an uncomfortable shine, too sincere for someone who had always known how to wear masks.

"What I want and what I’m supposed to do..." She shrugged, but this time, the smile didn’t return. "...are very different things."

Harry watched her, studying the way she looked away, as if revealing that was dangerous. Then, with a small smile, he said:

"It's always good to have a plan B, you know?"

Daphne let out a real laugh—not the restrained laugh she usually used, but something lighter, more genuine.

"And since when do you give good advice?"

Harry smiled, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

"Let's just say I had to grow up faster than I wanted."

She looked at him sideways, with a smile mixed with surprise and something harder to define—maybe respect, maybe curiosity.

For a while, they stayed silent, just listening to the wind rustling the leaves and the distant sound of an owl cutting through the sky.

When Harry laughed, Daphne laughed too, and the sound of their laughter spread along the lake’s shore, warming the cold night air.

Neither of them had expected to be there, laughing with each other.

But Hogwarts... Hogwarts always had a strange way of surprising people.

And that night, maybe the biggest surprise was realizing that, sometimes, the right person to talk to is the one you least expect.