“Mate?”

Ron watched his brothers disappear down the corridor, still horsing around like usual. Turning back, he noticed his best friend looking unusually pensive.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, walking over, his voice tinged with concern.

“Nothing.” Harry shook his head and handed Ron a letter. “Just feeling a bit sentimental, I guess.”

Ron skimmed the letter quickly, then hastily handed it back. “Mate, you’re getting way too into this,” he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “That’s an old feud between Harry Potter and Malfoy from over a century ago. What’s it got to do with you?”

“But,” Ron added, tilting his head thoughtfully, “if I were you, instead of worrying about how Malfoy didn’t bother researching time magic for that Potter, I’d be more concerned about something else.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, Miss Grindelwald, for one,” Ron replied, making a circular motion with his hand. “Think about it—what if her brother turns out to be that Grindelwald? You know, the dark wizard Dumbledore defeated. What would you do then?”

“What’s it got to do with me?” Harry asked, clearly puzzled.

“It’s got everything to do with you!” Ron groaned, clutching Harry’s shoulder with mock sympathy. “Picture this: a dark wizard with a grudge finds out his sister left their family for someone named Harry Potter. And guess what, mate? You’re also named Harry Potter…”

“And then?” Harry still couldn’t follow Ron’s logic.

“By Merlin’s beard!” Ron groaned theatrically, throwing up his hands. “He’d probably show up and say something like, ‘Mr. Potter, do you think my sister would mourn you?’ Then—bam!—he curses you on the spot. He wouldn’t care which Harry Potter you are, as long as he gets one to vent his anger.”

The idea sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

Even if Ron’s theory sounded ridiculous, Harry couldn’t ignore the memory of his visit to Nurmengard in Austria—once the seat of the Austro-Hungarian Empire—where he’d encountered Gellert Grindelwald.

Sure, Gellert had seemed harmless at the time, like a grumpy parrot incapable of casting magic, with a face you almost wanted to pinch out of sheer frustration. But the hostility in his eyes had been unmistakable, especially when Veratia wiped a smudge of cream off Harry’s nose. The way Gellert had glared could’ve burned a hole through steel.

They say the child is father to the man. Judging by Gellert’s attitude back then, Harry had no doubt that the adult version was equally dangerous. And considering Veratia’s considerable magical prowess, her brother was unlikely to be a slouch.

Stolen story; please report.

After a century of refining his skills, who knew what heights of power Gellert had reached?

Harry knew one thing for certain: in his current state, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“You’ve got a point,” Harry admitted, slipping the letter and notebook back into his pocket. He glanced at Ron. “Let’s search the Room of Requirement again, just to be sure.”

Ron’s insight had sparked a thought: the Room of Requirement could take countless forms. Maybe their friends’ belongings weren’t in the meeting-room version they’d been using.

As Harry began to search, Ron tilted his head. “Harry? What are you doing?”

“Looking for more letters or clues,” Harry replied without looking up. “I want to know more about that Harry Potter. He seemed… extraordinary. I’d like to understand the man I share a name with.”

Fortunately, Harry kept his head down, sparing Ron from seeing the awkward smile that crept across his face as he inadvertently complimented himself.

“Fair enough,” Ron shrugged. “My great-grandfather Gareth was mates with him, too. Makes sense we’d be curious.”

Despite their efforts, they found nothing new.

Left with no other options, Harry and Ron left the Room of Requirement, disappointment trailing behind them. It was getting late, after all.

As they walked, Harry’s thoughts drifted.

Cassandra…

Rationally, he understood why she’d stopped searching for him. Emotionally, though, it still stung.

Maybe it’s for the best, Harry thought, shaking his head in an attempt to dispel the melancholy.

Lost in thought, he bumped into Ron.

“What is it?” Harry asked quietly.

“Harry, look over there,” Ron whispered.

Harry raised his head. Without his Invisibility Cloak, he’d cast a Disillusionment Charm instead. In a nearby abandoned classroom stood a lone mirror.

Strange, Harry thought. That wasn’t there before.

“Want to check it out?” Ron asked.

“No,” Harry replied, a deep unease settling in his chest. “Let’s head back.”

“Alright,” Ron said reluctantly, turning to leave.

Unbeknownst to them, Dumbledore watched from the shadows, his sharp eyes glinting behind his half-moon spectacles.

When Ron noticed the mirror, Dumbledore had straightened slightly, a flicker of anticipation flashing across his face. But when the two boys turned away, he sighed softly.

With a wave of his hand, he transfigured a nearby statue into a black-robed figure with greasy hair—a near-perfect likeness of Severus Snape.

Young wizards are always terrified of Severus, Dumbledore mused, directing the statue toward Harry and Ron, hoping to nudge them toward the mirror.

Under the dim light, the figure’s silhouette loomed ominously.

“Harry, it’s Snape!” Ron whispered urgently. “We’re done for if he catches us! Quick, let’s hide in that classroom!”

Harry frowned. Something wasn’t right.

Snape’s sudden appearance was too coincidental, too out of character. After countless detentions, Harry knew Snape’s routines like the back of his hand. At this hour, Snape should’ve been in his office, painstakingly sorting potion ingredients. Roaming the sixth floor wasn’t his style.

Could this have something to do with the mirror?

“No,” Harry whispered. “Stay here. He won’t notice us.”

Ron obeyed, pressing himself against the wall as Harry instructed.

“Don’t make a sound,” Harry murmured. “We’ll leave once he’s gone.”

Dumbledore, observing from his hiding spot, felt a mix of pride and exasperation. The boys’ caution was commendable, but their refusal to investigate the mirror was frustrating.

No matter, he thought. Plans can change.

Dumbledore directed the Snape-like statue closer, its presence growing more imposing with each step.

Sensing danger, Harry quietly drew his wand, pointing it at the advancing figure.

Dumbledore: …What?!

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