A Path Beyond Survival - Chapter 7: Conflicts and Alliances

The Great Hall was bathed in the golden morning light, filtered through the tall windows, still misted from the dampness of the night rain. The air was filled with the welcoming smell of freshly baked bread, eggs, and bacon sizzling on steaming trays. It was the kind of morning that brought quiet comfort, a truce before the start of classes.

Harry arrived early, the exhaustion from the previous night still weighing on his shoulders. He didn’t even feel hungry, but forced himself to grab a plate and serve some eggs and toast. The warmth of the food helped to chase away the remnants of the cold that still seemed to cling to him since the encounter with the Dementor.

Neville was one of the first to appear, looking a bit awkward, a book pressed to his chest and his eyes heavy with sleep. He sat down without a word, just nodding to Harry before opening the book and starting to read, as if trying to absorb some last-minute knowledge.

Soon after, Hermione appeared with determined steps, pulling a chair beside Harry and serving herself a moderate portion of food. Her expression showed energy, but he knew that look well—she had already reviewed all the subjects before classes even began.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” she asked, adjusting her cutlery in front of her.

“I forgot you’re always the first to wake up,” Harry replied with a half-smile.

“Obviously,” she said, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. “I spent the morning organizing a study schedule. I want to be prepared.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And you’re still sure you’ll handle all that on your own?”

Hermione gave a sideways smile. “I’ve done it before, Harry. Besides, we don’t have classes at the same times, so I’ll have plenty of time.”

Harry just shook his head, resigned. There was no use arguing with her about that. While grabbing a piece of toast, he opened his copy of Advanced Magical Healing Treatises, immersed in his own reading.

It didn’t take long for Ron to appear, stumbling to the table and dropping onto the bench beside Harry. His hair was messy and his eyes still puffy with sleep.

“Oh, thanks for waking me up, Harry,” he grumbled, grabbing a generous pile of bacon and tossing it onto his plate.

“You looked so comfortable I didn’t have the heart to do it,” Harry said, holding back a laugh.

“It was the best sleep of my life,” Ron sighed dramatically before stuffing a huge piece of toast into his mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes, looking away, clearly annoyed by her friend’s manners.

“Ron, could you eat with at least a little bit of decency?”

“If I did that, I wouldn’t be me,” he replied with his mouth full, giving her a wink.

Harry watched the scene with a slight smile. It was in these simple moments that he felt truly at home. The normality of life at Hogwarts, the company of his friends... everything seemed, at least for a few moments, perfect.

But the calm was soon broken when Fred and George approached the table, both sporting mischievous grins.

“Harrykins!” exclaimed Fred, patting him on the shoulder. “What’s that? Magical healing? Are you planning on opening a hospital?”

Harry laughed. “No, but I thought learning about it might be useful.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” said George, winking. “Who would’ve thought you’d swap Quidditch practice for sessions in the hospital wing?”

“Madam Pomfrey will end up hiring you,” Fred added.

Harry just laughed, shaking his head, and was about to reply when a very familiar voice cut through the air.

“Just who I wanted to find,” said Oliver Wood, walking quickly over to the Gryffindor table. His eyes shone with their usual excitement.

“Good morning to you too, Wood,” greeted Harry.

Wood barely paid attention. “Harry, we need to talk about practice. This is my last year, and I won’t accept anything less than the Quidditch Cup.”

“Didn’t even wait for breakfast, huh?” joked Ron.

“Quidditch is the only thing Wood takes more seriously than life itself,” said Fred, feigning a solemn tone.

“Actually, I think he’s having an affair with his broomstick,” George added, drawing laughter from the table.

“Laugh all you want,” said Wood, unfazed. “But this year we’re going to win. I’m counting on you, Harry.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry assured him, accepting the firm pat on the shoulder Wood gave him before leaving.

The relaxed mood lasted until McGonagall appeared, handing out class schedules. When she handed Harry’s, she gave him a thoughtful look.

“Interesting choice of subjects, Potter,” she commented.

“I wanted to learn something different this year,” Harry replied, pointing to his book.

“I must say I didn’t expect that,” she said, raising her eyebrows slightly. “But I think it will be a worthy challenge.”

Harry nodded. As soon as she walked away, Ron sighed heavily beside him.

“You really didn’t choose Divination?” he asked, sounding disbelieving.

Harry leaned back on the bench, feeling that this conversation would drag on. “No, Ron. I decided I wanted something else.”

“But that was the easiest subject!”

“Maybe for you,” Harry replied, laughing.

Ron crossed his arms. “You’ve changed, mate. Never saw you so interested in anything besides Quidditch and spells.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe it’s because this year I want to learn something that really makes a difference.”

Ron was silent for a moment, until he murmured something more quietly. “And about what you said yesterday? About Slytherin...”

Harry stopped chewing, setting his fork aside.

“What difference does it make?” he asked, now serious.

Ron looked away, as if unsure how to answer.

“If you had gone to Slytherin, maybe...”

“Maybe what?” Harry interrupted, feeling a thread of irritation rise. “You wouldn’t be my friend? Would that make any difference?”

Ron hesitated, scratching his neck.

“It’s just that...” he began, trying to choose his words. “All dark wizards came from Slytherin, Harry. You can’t deny that.”

Harry took a deep breath, keeping calm. “That doesn’t mean all Slytherins are dark wizards.”

“But...”

“If we think like that, Quirrell was from Ravenclaw,” Harry said, cutting him off. “And he still tried to kill me in first year.”

Ron frowned, looking unsettled.

“You only see Slytherin as a bad house because Malfoy is a jerk,” Harry continued. “But the house isn’t just him. Don’t you think you’re being a bit unfair?”

Ron didn’t reply.

Harry sighed, picking up his things and standing up.

“I’m your friend, Ron, but I’m not your babysitter. If you want to keep thinking every Slytherin is bad, that’s your problem. I just hope one day you realize how stupid that is.”

He walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving Ron and Hermione sitting at the table, still absorbing the argument.

The first day of classes would start soon, and Harry felt that this year would be different. He just didn’t know exactly how.

Hogwarts felt different that morning.

The stone corridors, lit by the diffused light coming through the tall windows, seemed colder than usual. The sound of Harry’s footsteps echoed on the polished stone floor, but not just the sound — his frustration reverberated in his mind, throbbing like an open wound.

Ron.

The irritation boiled inside him like a cauldron about to explode. His friend had always been impulsive, always spoke without thinking. But what he had done that morning went beyond that. It had been an affront. A refusal to see the obvious, to recognize that the world was not just black and white, Gryffindor and Slytherin, heroes and villains.

Harry leaned against one of the columns, rubbing his face with his hands. Breathe, he thought. Breathe and move on.

But it wasn’t easy. The feeling of standing on the edge of something, about to cross a line he had never considered before, made him restless. As if he were breaking away from something fundamental to his own identity.

Edgar’s words came back to him. After school, it doesn’t matter which house you were in.

When he had first heard that, it had seemed absurd. But now...

Now, it made sense.

He closed his eyes, trying to push the anger away, when a voice cut through the silence, dripping with sarcasm.

“Talking to yourself, Potter? I know you like attention, but this is a bit much.”

Harry turned around with a start, his heart pounding in his chest.

Daphne Greengrass.

She was leaning against one of the corridor's pillars, arms crossed, watching him with that serene, assessing look that always made him uncomfortable. Her expression was unshaken, but Harry noticed a hint of curiosity in her clear eyes, as if she were studying his reaction.

Behind her, a small group of Slytherins watched the scene with neutral expressions — Blaise Zabini, with his eternally bored look; Tracey Davis, wearing a mischievous smile; and the Carrow twins, who always seemed ready for a show.

Harry took a deep breath. He wasn’t in the mood for provocations.

“The ghosts might not know,” he replied, crossing his arms. “They died before my heroic deeds.”

“Oh, Potter,” sighed Tracey, in a falsely disappointed tone. “And here I thought you were humble.”

“Your fame is a fact,” said Daphne, raising an eyebrow. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’m not the one spreading rumors,” Harry shot back, feeling a slight smile forming on his lips. “I leave that to Malfoy.”

The group laughed — not the cruel, mocking laugh he expected, but a genuine, relaxed one.

Harry blinked, surprised. What the hell was happening?

“Making friends with Slytherins, Potter?” Daphne tilted her head, observing him. “Your friend Weasley wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

Harry’s smile faded, turning into something more bitter.

“Ron can be stubborn sometimes, but he’s still my best friend,” he said, with a tired sigh. “But I don’t need his permission to talk to whoever I want.”

“Interesting,” murmured Blaise, finally speaking up. “So, you chose to talk to us.”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, raising his chin slightly. “Why not?”

Blaise exchanged a glance with Daphne and then extended his hand to Harry, in a surprisingly formal gesture.

“Blaise Zabini,” he introduced himself, with a half-smile. “This is Tracey, and the Carrow twins back there. But you already know Greengrass, right?”

Harry shook the boy’s hand, feeling the strangeness of the moment.

“Daphne and I had a... meeting yesterday,” he said, glancing at the blonde.

“Meeting?” Daphne chuckled softly. “Correction: you knocked me over, Potter.”

“Depends on who’s telling the story,” Harry retorted, a smile appearing involuntarily on his face.

The conversation was flowing in an unexpected way. Natural.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Slytherins and Gryffindors didn’t talk like this. They didn’t laugh together, didn’t trade jabs on equal terms. And yet, there they were, sharing a moment that felt... normal.

Hermione’s voice shattered the illusion.

“Harry!”

She appeared in the corridor, her expression worried, her gaze quickly scanning the Slytherins around him before fixing on him.

“I was looking for you,” she said, a little breathless. “What happened at breakfast? I’ve never seen you talk to Ron like that.”

Harry felt the irritation return like a punch to the stomach.

“You heard what he said,” he answered, crossing his arms. “If I had gone to Slytherin, would I be a dark wizard? Is that it?”

Hermione hesitated.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way...”

Harry let out a dry laugh.

“Of course he did.”

The silence between them grew heavy.

Finally, Hermione noticed the attentive looks from the Slytherins and frowned.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“Talking,” he replied, his voice more defiant than he intended. “Getting to know other people. New friends.”

Daphne gave a small smirk. “I don’t know if we can call this friendship yet.”

“Definitely not,” added Tracey, laughing.

Harry blushed. “I just meant that—”

“Relax, Potter,” Blaise interrupted, amused. “No one here is going to drag you into a dark basement and turn you into a dark wizard.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but instead of scolding him, she just crossed her arms.

“Hermione Granger,” she introduced herself, though her posture remained stiff.

“Daphne Greengrass,” the blonde replied, analyzing her with a calculating look.

“Tracey Davis.”

“Blaise Zabini.”

Hermione nodded slowly, still trying to process the unusual situation.

“You’re as famous as Potter,” commented Daphne, a teasing tone in her voice.

Hermione frowned.

“Famous?”

“Draco complains about you almost as much as he complains about Potter,” Blaise explained, smiling. “He can’t stand being outdone by someone who isn’t pure-blood.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I don’t see it as a competition,” she muttered.

“And neither do we,” Tracey replied, shrugging.

For a moment, silence settled over them.

Harry realized he was about to enter a classroom next to Slytherins.

And more than that, he didn’t care.

In the background, he noticed Susan Bones watching him from a distance. Something in her gaze made his chest tighten — a mix of hurt and disbelief.

But he didn’t have time to think about it.

Professor Babbling appeared at the classroom door.

“Come in,” she said, ignoring the students’ murmurs.

The groups began to disperse. Harry and Blaise ended up sitting at the same table.

“So,” said Blaise, leaning back in his chair. “Friends, is that it?”

Harry gave a slight smile, but didn’t answer right away. Blaise chuckled softly.

“If you say so.”

Harry looked around the room.

Maybe Hogwarts was changing.