Harry Potter dropped the golden egg onto the bed and sat down beside it, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to give him her attention. Physically he felt fine, but for some reason his magic felt slightly…off. He wasn't sure what the problem was, but knew it was likely a side effect of the ritual that brought him here.
As his thoughts drifted to the ritual, he had to admit that he was mostly pleased with the result - even if it hadn't entirely gone according to plan. While it did successfully send his soul back in time, he intended to arrive on July thirty-first of 1991, the day his first Hogwarts letter had arrived (not that his relatives had allowed him to open it).
He had spent years painstakingly studying and improving runes in order to design the ritual, but he must have made a small miscalculation somewhere. The unknown error bothered him, but he wouldn't dwell on it. After all, he had sent himself nearly eighty years into the past, back to a day which, in hindsight, had been the beginning of many of his problems. His arrival here still gave him plenty of time to prevent the terrible events of his past and save the ones he loved. He sighed as he once again pictured their faces in his mind, but he would have to reminisce later, as Madam Pomfrey had entered the tent and was tentatively approaching him.
"Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey," Harry saluted politely, but with no hint of emotion in his voice. "I feel like there's something wrong with my magical core, can you please check it for me?"
Looking somewhat wary of the young wizard, she nodded and waved her wand in a series of movements, trying to avoid looking him in the eye. She breathed a sigh of relief when Professor Dumbledore entered the tent, followed by Professor McGonagall and the rest of the judges.
Dumbledore's expression carried a mix of curiosity and unease, and he obviously wanted question Harry, but an eager Ludo Bagman jumped ahead of him to enthusiastically congratulate Harry on his performance.
"An outstanding flight, Mr. Potter, truly amazing! I have never seen such a thing in my life, and I..."
"Harry, I would like to know how it was you were able to perform such magic?" Dumbledore interrupted, with no trace of his usual grandfatherly demeanour.
"I also must admit that I am quite disappointed that you chose to kill the dragon."
Harry turned his gaze to the headmaster, and Dumbledore could see flames dancing in emerald eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived. If looks could kill, Dumbledore would have fallen dead on the spot.
"I did what I had to do," Harry retorted. "I can't help but find your concern for the dragon amusing, considering you seemed to have no problem with me being forced to go up against it."
Harry was trying to keep his temper in check, but the audacity of Dumbledore to try and lecture him like that after everything he'd been through was too much. The angry teen radiated enough magic to produce a visible aura for a few moments, before he finally took a deep breath and regained his control. Madam Pomfrey was so astonished with what she was seeing that she didn't notice that the diagnostic spell had finished, and that the parchment was faintly glowing.
"I killed it by accident," Harry stated, his composure restored. "I did use an Exploding Charm, but I'm pretty sure a Bombarda wouldn't kill a dragon that size, even if it hit the beast in the head. The dragon is only dead because it opened its jaws and swallowed the spell."
Harry glanced around at each of the adults in turn before turning back to Madam Pomfrey. "What does it say?" he asked her, pointing to the scroll.
It took a few moments for Madam Pomfrey to realise what he was talking about, and she almost blushed when she noticed the scroll was glowing. She read through the results of her scan and gasped.
"In the name of Merlin, this is impossible!" the matron exclaimed, the others turning sharply to her.
"What is it, Poppy?" asked McGonagall, noticing that her friend had paled considerably.
Harry took the scroll from her hands and read through it, before giving a matron a piercing look and inquiring, "I trust this will be kept private under the rules of patient-healer confidentiality?"
Madam Pomfrey couldn't bring herself to do anything but nod.
"Good."
"Harry, my boy, if there is a problem, I need to know..." Dumbledore started, only for the scroll to burn to ash in Harry's hands. Harry hadn't drawn his wand or even said a word, yet the headmaster knew it had been the young wizard's doing.
"All you need to know is that I am fine, and that I need to rest. Nothing revealed in Madam Pomfrey's scan will jeopardise my participation in this pathetic tournament of yours."
They were taken aback by his spiteful words, and Crouch's finely manicured moustache was twitching as his rage boiled beneath the surface.
"As Madam Pomfrey will confirm, I'm in need of rest, and I am not interested in explaining myself to you, especially after almost dying. Twice, I might add."
That seemed to snap Madam Pomfrey back to her usual self, and she quickly hustled the judges out of the tent. Looking around, Harry noticed the bewildered looks the other champions were giving him. He simply ignored them and laid back down on the bed.
According to Madam Pomfrey's spell, his magical core had increased significantly, which explained some of what happened during the task. He had intentionally overpowered his Bombarda, as he had done many times before, but tapping into his newly expanded power caused him to really overdo it. If he had more time to get a feel for his magic before the task, maybe he wouldn't have been thrown from his broom by his own spell.
A satisfied smirk appeared on his face as he pondered the implications. He had theorised that this might happen, but Madam Pomfrey's report left no doubt at all. His soul and magic had come together and merged with that of his younger self, resolving a long-held debate about the relation between the soul and the magic: they were inextricably linked, and one might even say they were one and the same.
Dobby, his most loyal friend and servant, was another living example. The Dobby of this timeline had not yet gone through the physical and magical changes that his Dobby had, yet as the dark elf's soul merged with that of his younger self, the change was immediate, and his deep bond with Harry remained intact.
A small pop sounded to his right, revealing his best friend.
"Dragonslayer," Dobby mock saluted with a small bow, crossing his arms in an X across his chest. He was grinning, and Harry snorted at his friend's antics. Dobby reached out to hand him a blue energy draught potion.
"No need," Harry replied in a whisper. "It seems that my magical core increased because of the merging, and we are both much more powerful because of it."
"I thought something was different..." Dobby replied with a smirk.
"I have already claimed the dragon carcass in your name and took it to the Chamber. As soon as I get back, I'll start harvesting it for meat, hide, and ingredients, although it lost a lot of blood," Dobby explained. "I'm thinking dragon tail roast for dinner, what do you think?"
"Lovely idea, my friend," Harry said with a smile. "How did people react when you claimed the carcass?"
"I have no idea. I just popped in, shouted loud and clear that 'I, Dobby Elf, claim this dragon's remains in the name of my master, Harry Potter, under the rights of beasts slaying,' and popped out with the dragon. The judges weren't even there anymore."
Harry chuckled at the elf. He could expect another visit soon then. He simply thanked his friend, and Dobby popped away, leaving Harry to his thoughts.
"The dragon is dealt with. The next problem is figuring out how to invite her to the Yule Ball," Harry thought to himself.
He intended to ask his wife from his original timeline, but how to do it without raising suspicion? If he followed the same path as before, he wouldn't even get close to her until the end of next year. This time would be different, though, he was sure of it.
Last time, he had accepted Gryffindor's pathetic excuses and weak apologies after the first task and returned to the tower. Harry didn't see any way he could get closer to Daphne this year if he re-joined the lions, even if he wanted to - which he most certainly didn't. He had learned his lesson.
In his later years, he had spent countless hours reflecting, and he believed that many terrible events in his life would have been avoided had he not been so forgiving. There was absolutely no chance for reconciliation this time around. He wouldn't do it even if the red waste bin and bucky came grovelling, and oh how he hoped they would. He would love to see them down on their knees, begging him for forgiveness right in front of everyone in the Great Hall.
"HARRY!" he heard a hated voice shout, and sensed bucky running towards him without even needing to look. He stood quickly and pointed his wand at her, freezing her in her tracks.
"Harry, mate, what are you..." started the red waste bin, who was right behind her.
"Shut the fuck up, you useless bastard. Get the fuck out of here before I curse you all the way back to your father's balls!" growled Harry, his aura flaring dark green around him, drawing the attention of the other champions and Madam Pomfrey.
"Mr. Potter, please refrain from cursing anyone, and mind your language!"
Apparently, the matron had indeed recovered from her earlier shock and was back to her old self.
"Then get these useless bastards away from me!" shouted Harry. The others really didn't expect that from the Gryffindor golden boy, especially Granger and Weasley. As far as any of them knew, Harry had never acted like that before.
Minerva McGonagall followed her two young lions into the tent, originally intending to inform Harry of his points for the task. She had overheard the entire interaction and was absolutely stunned by Harry's words, as she knew him to be a polite and caring boy. She wasn't happy that he had been forced from the tower, but she truly had expected he would eventually forgive Gryffindor for their actions and rejoin the house.
She did believe Harry when he said he hadn't put his name in the Goblet, but she admittedly did nothing to help the young man. After his performance against the dragon, she was both proud and a little in awe of Harry. Minerva was hopeful that this would be the thing that brought her house back together, and she had expected to see a tearful reconciliation between the three friends, certainly not the animosity she was witnessing now. The so-called golden trio was finished. Harry Potter clearly hated Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.
"Since Halloween these bastards have insulted me, humiliated me, and accused me of being a liar and a traitor. They were the ones who instigated the movement to banish me from Gryffindor tower and terminated our friendship," Harry announced for everyone to hear. He wanted people to know the truth.
"There is absolutely no way I will let them try and pretend it was all just a little misunderstanding. I have no interest whatsoever in re-joining them or Gryffindor house ever again. Frankly, given the chance, I'd rather associate with a Slytherin, and that includes their head of house."
That was a surprise. The mutual hate between Snape and Potter was legendary.
"Hell, I'd rather become best friends with Malfoy than accept these useless, backstabbing traitors into my life again." Harry's magic flared once more, constituting a warning to his two ex-friends.
"Now, I am angry, I am tired, and I have just needlessly killed a dragon. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
His two former friends did so in a hurry, not even bothering to look back at him. Harry holstered his wand and went back to the bed, only to be almost immediately disturbed by his former head of house.
"Mr. Potter, I am very..." she started crossly, meaning to admonish him.
"I don't care," he interjected, stunning the professor.
"You heard me right; I don't care what you are or what you feel. You were my head of house and allowed this to happen. I am no longer a Gryffindor, and I have no interest in becoming one again."
McGonagall felt as if she had been slapped, but she quickly recovered her composure.
"I understand, Mr. Potter," she said. "I came to inform you of your points. Bagman gave you a ten, Crouch gave you a five because you killed the dragon and disrespected the tournament. The headmaster gave you an eight, after subtracting points for killing the dragon, Highmaster Karkaroff gave you a four, not commenting on why, and Madame Maxime gave you an eight, also without commenting. As of right now, you are in last place."
Harry snorted, not hiding his disdain.
"Good for them, see if I care. I survived the task, that's all that matters to me."
"Mr. Potter, I..." started McGonagall, before being interrupted again.
"Please leave. As of right now, the only respect I have left for you is for your skills as a Transfiguration mistress," Harry said with a cold voice.
McGonagall was so taken aback by his words that she left immediately, wondering what had happened to cause such a change in the young man. Once again, Harry felt the eyes of every person in the tent looking at him. He met each of their gazes in turn and noticed that Fleur was practically leering at him.
Harry scoffed. Veela or not, she had nothing on his wife. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to slip into his dreams, which as usual, centred around a blue-eyed, blonde beauty. The only difference was that this time, it was a happy, hopeful dream.
By lunchtime the following day, everyone knew about the incident in the tent between Potter and his former best friends. Rita Skeeter had somehow heard everything and had written an exclusive insider report for the Prophet. She detailed at great length how Harry Potter, Dark Lord in training, had used dark magic to kill his dragon and severed all ties with his former friends, stating that he would rather socialise with Slytherins. She even added in the bit about Harry saying he'd rather be Malfoy's best friend than accept them back.
That, more than anything, was what shocked people the most. Much like the hate between Potter and Snape, the feud between Malfoy and Potter was legendary, and to say such a thing, Potter must really hate his former friends.
~BREAK~
Daphne Greengrass was picking at her breakfast and contemplating the dramatic change in atmosphere that had occurred at Hogwarts over the last 24 hours. The commotion and excitement of the previous day had disappeared, replaced by a sense of unease and foreboding. She nibbled at her toast, replaying every moment of Potter's task in her mind.
In her fourteen years of life, she had been fortunate enough to have observed many impressive displays of magic, and she could honestly say that she had never felt as awestruck as she had yesterday. Potter had spoken to a dragon in Parseltongue (though she had no idea what was said), and he had conjured a shield powerful enough to stop the dragon's fire, which she didn't know was even possible. He put on quite a show outflying the Horntail on his broomstick, and apparently had used a simple Bombarda to kill it – though the power behind the spell must have been incredible.
As if that weren't enough, Potter had again done the impossible and flew without a broom. She had held her breath and was even frightened for him when he was launched from his broom, but then her jaw dropped when he froze in mid-air and casually hovered, as if it was something he did every day.
She'd never had any reason to believe that Potter was anything special. She had always assumed it was a fluke, or perhaps some obscure magical ritual enacted by the Potters that was responsible for the Dark Lord's defeat back on Halloween of 1981. He never showed any extraordinary talent in classes, except for maybe Charms and DADA, where he at least seemed competent. He did have some skill in Transfiguration too, now that she really thought about it.
What Potter had done during the task was beyond amazing, far exceeding what she could have ever predicted from him. Was he really that powerful? Had he been holding back in classes all this time? Had he been doing some sort of special training? Those questions had been nagging at her all of yesterday afternoon and into the night. The only reprieve her mind got that day was when she finally succumbed to sleep.
Potter himself had not been seen since he arrived back at the castle, a few hours after the task had finished. A group of Gryffindors instantly approached and surrounded him, seemingly intent on persuading him to return to their tower. Rumour had it that Potter ignored them and summoned his house-elf, loudly requesting that he take him away, because he was afraid he might kill them if he was forced to draw his wand.
The house-elf laughed and simply popped the both of them away, likely back to whatever mystery accommodation Potter had been using. He probably wasn't serious, but after what she had seen at the task, Daphne believed that if it came to violence, Potter would win.
Daphne had been observing the other houses and their guests too, trying to gauge their reactions. The students from the other schools rarely spoke English, but from what she could tell, Potter had at least gained the respect of the Durmstrang lot. It made sense, knowing that their school valued strength, and how they were known to be more tolerant of offensive magic and spells others might consider "dark." The Beauxbatons students tended to keep to themselves, though several of the girls tittered annoyingly when Potter made his appearance in the castle the previous night.
Gryffindor's display made it obvious that they wanted him to forgive them and rejoin their house, probably so they could all bask in his glory. Potter definitely didn't seem interested, based on how he reacted to them yesterday, not that she could blame him. The grumbling from the Hufflepuff table was mostly about how the Boy-Who-Lived had outshone their own champion.
She had overheard some Ravenclaws debating exactly how Potter had managed to do what he had done, especially the unaided flight. As for Slytherin...well, Slytherin were divided. The older years largely respected the power he had displayed, and some were intrigued by the theory that he had been concealing his actual abilities. Several of the others were now feeling a sense of trepidation, including many in her year. They had taunted and mocked him for years, and if he ever came out for vengeance, they would be in trouble. Malfoy had the most to worry about, as nobody had done more to provoke Potter than he had over the years. He tried to hide his disquiet by acting overly casual and detached from the situation, but she could tell he was nervous. Daphne couldn't help but smirk at the thought.
That morning's Daily Prophet had done nothing to put them at ease. Potter was portrayed as a burgeoning Dark Lord, out for blood, and those that had mistreated him knew they needed to tread lightly. They had vilified and laughed at him for weeks, but now they were afraid.
Daphne was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of whispers rising in the Great Hall. She noticed everyone turning in their seats to look at the hall doors, where Harry Potter now stood. A moment later, the hall erupted. Students and staff were yelling over each other, either shouting questions about the task, demanding to know where he had been, or even begging his forgiveness.
"SILENCE!" Harry shouted.
Physically, he looked as he always did, down to his untidy black hair, but he had a presence about him that had been absent until yesterday. He looked around the hall for a moment before saying anything else.
"I would like to say a couple of words, if I may." He paused for a moment, and when no one interrupted him, he continued to speak.
"I was reading through some books yesterday, and I discovered a very useful kind of spell called a Magical Oath. It's a very curious spell, which ensures that whoever swears the oath will have no choice but to speak the truth, or else they will lose their magic."
He paused for another moment to allow his words to sink in. Looking around, he could see that most students understood what he was saying, and some were trying to explain it to their neighbours.
"One of the more interesting facts about oaths is that they're really a cultural thing. They're well known to almost anyone from magical families, but they're rarely talked about openly. We're not taught about them in school, whether it's how to perform a Magical Oath or the potential risks involved."
"However," Harry continued, a sneer forming. "For someone like myself, who is regularly accused of lying, knowledge of such a thing is invaluable."
He raised his holly and phoenix feather wand in front of his face and spoke in a clear voice, "I, Harry James Potter, hereby swear on my life and magic that I did not place my name in the Goblet of Fire, nor did I ask or coerce another to do it for me, so mote it be."
A flash surrounded Harry, and he glared around the hall as if challenging anyone to refute him. Many came the realization that they really should have just asked Potter for an oath earlier. A few of the Slytherins actually seemed to be enjoying the verbal smackdown Potter was giving everyone - it was a move almost worthy of their house. Daphne Greengrass happened to be one of those people.
"Now, if I lied, I would lose my magic. As you can see..." Harry lifted his wand and cast a Lumos so intense that the people nearest him were momentarily blinded. Harry did it on purpose, and he didn't even blink at their discomfort.
"…I still have it. This means, of course, as any pureblood or adult will tell you, that I spoke the truth as I made my oath, and therefore I am innocent of the accusations of lying and cheating my way into this pathetic tournament," Harry snarled, allowing them time to let it all sink in.
Really, how did he not think of a Magical Oath the first time? He'd clearly been wasting too much time with the useless idiots instead of learning.
"Awesome spell, isn't it?" Harry asked in a childlike voice, turning his back to the hall. "I hope that next time, people can remember it exists, and we can avoid these sorts of uncomfortable situations."
"Harry, wait!" shouted Granger.
Harry reacted on instinct and turned on her with his wand raised, his eyes flaring again. Granger yelped, and gasps echoed around the hall. Harry looked away and quickly tried to calm himself down, realizing he had once again revealed too much of his dark green aura. He wondered if being back in a teenage boy's body had affected his emotional control.
As soon as he turned back, he regretted it, because as soon as he turned around, he saw them, his greatest enemies - even worse than Voldemort, who he defeated at age seventeen. As he beheld their teenage selves, a spike of hatred lanced through him, as visions of their adult counterparts flashed in his memory: Oberon and Titania, the 'Light Lords', the misguided fools that ruined his life, along with the lives of thousands of others. The pair that almost destroyed their nation, the two he took the greatest pleasure in slaughtering with extreme vengeance. That had been nearly seventy years before, shortly after he turned thirty-three...or was it thirty-five?
Oberon and Titania took their names from the magical king and queen of the fairies, of medieval and Renaissance literature. Arrogant and misguided fools, that's what they were. Thinking they knew best, they ruined everything, and then had the audacity to be surprised when most of the nation turned against them. When the Dark Lord Potter emerged victorious in their conflict, the masses had cheered for him and willingly gave him power over the country. For Harry, that was so long ago, and yet here they were before him once again, completely helpless.
There they stood, hidden in plain sight right next to each other, and no one was the wiser. It would be so easy to simply kill them...but no, he didn't just want to kill them - he wanted to crush them completely. He wanted to destroy their families as they had destroyed his, shatter their minds as they had his, and torture them until they begged for the release of death, and only then would he be merciful and end their worthless lives.
However, this was not the time for it. He'd do his best to ignore his enemies for the moment, but sooner or later they would pay – he would make sure of it.
"Please, Harry, we're sorry, and we want you back," Granger pleaded.
The other Gryffindors nodded hopefully from behind her. Harry's face betrayed no emotion, but on the inside, he was celebrating. The exact opportunity he was hoping for had just been handed to him on a silver platter, and it was going to be fantastic. He would let the traitors know exactly what he thought of their apology – in front of the entire school no less - and would even be able to use it to score points with the Slytherins.
"Do you, now?" asked Harry, tapping his chin with his finger and pretending to consider their offer.
"Tell you what, Granger, do something for me and I will consider it." Granger nodded happily, trying to mask her grin.
"Anything."
Harry snorted, and the Great Hall was left wondering for a few moments.
"I want you to convince everyone in Gryffindor house to kneel before me, right here in the Great Hall, and beg me for forgiveness."
They were all flabbergasted.
"Mr. Potter, that is very inappropriate!" shouted McGonagall, rising from her seat at the staff table.
Snape just sat silently at the staff table with a faint smirk on his face. Something had happened to Potter. He didn't like the boy, but he had to admit he was enjoying this. At the Slytherin table, people began to snicker and laugh. Curiously, Dumbledore said nothing, and made no attempt to intervene. He simply leaned forward in his throne-like chair with his hands steepled in front of him, a serious look on his face.
"What?!" shouted several of the shocked Gryffindors.
"You heard me," replied Harry with a malicious grin. "You want my forgiveness? Beg for it."
Harry couldn't believe it when half the house really kneeled and asked him to forgive them. A look of disgust crossed his face as if he were smelling something foul.
"You people are pathetic!" Harry shouted spitefully, making Granger recoil.
"I can't believe you actually did it. Don't you have any pride? Look around at yourselves and see how far the house of lions has fallen. You truly are a disgrace. Now, more than ever, I can say without a doubt that I will never return willingly to Gryffindor house. In fact..." Harry raised his wand.
"I, Harry James Potter, hereby swear on my life and magic that I will never rejoin Gryffindor house. I'd rather be expelled from Hogwarts. So mote it be."
As his magic flashed, the Gryffindors slumped dejectedly. Some of his fan girls even cried at the loss, especially Weaselette, whose dreams of snagging the Boy-Who-Lived were crushed right in front of her. McGonagall collapsed back in her chair while Dumbledore shifted uneasily, both of them taken aback by Harry's coldness, and beginning to recognise the hopelessness of the situation.
"I wonder if I could ask for a resorting," Harry muttered to himself, though still loud enough that most everyone heard it. "Better check Hogwarts rules."
"Meanwhile," Harry turned to the Slytherin table. "May I ask Slytherin house for their hospitality for the remainder of the meal?"
That effectively silenced the Great Hall, until a single voice called out.
"Why should we allow you to join us, Potter?" demanded Daphne Greengrass, the Ice Queen herself.
"What's more, why would you even want to join us in the first place? You've never been interested in engaging with our house before, so why don't you join one of the other houses?"
Harry turned and looked into her ice-cold blue eyes, as hers locked in on his. He saw scepticism and irritation there, but he also recognised her curiosity and uncertainty hiding just beneath the surface.
"Trust her to always ask the right questions," he thought to himself, with a touch of pride for his once and (hopefully) future wife.
"You can join us, Monsieur Potter," offered Fleur. Harry turned around and felt her Veela allure wash over him, though he was unfazed by it.
"Veela, you and yours have done nothing but insult me since you arrived, even without knowing me. Don't think I didn't notice you leering at me after the task, either. I have no interest in someone like you, so mind your allure before I mind you," Harry snapped, shocking Fleur into silence and forcing her to sit down. She had never met any man who could so easily resist her, let alone a teenage boy.
"As I was trying to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, Slytherin is the only house that has been honest with me since day one," he stated.
Most of the Great Hall's occupants just looked around at one another in disbelief at Harry's startling pronouncement.
"Sure, none of you particularly care for me, and most of you outright hate me," he continued, addressing the Slytherins directly. "But unlike the others, you have been consistent in your feelings for me and have never just gone with the flow."
"So yes, I trust the snakes to dislike me," he said, turning back to the rest of the hall. "But at least I know where I stand with them and can act accordingly. I much prefer that to associating with the other houses, where I'm a hero one minute and a pariah the next."
That silenced them all.
"Very Slytherin of you, Potter," someone called out from their table. Harry shrugged.
"Had I never met Malfoy, I would probably be one of you," Harry said.
More gasps echoed around the hall.
"It's true; the hat said I would do well in Slytherin, but I met blonde ponce on the train, and let's just say he didn't make the best impression on me. He essentially declared himself the perfect pureblood and future leader of Slytherin house, and I decided that spending seven years in the same house with him wasn't an attractive prospect. I was led to believe that everyone in Slytherin was like that, so I begged the hat to put me 'anywhere but Slytherin', so instead, I've had to spend the last few years in Gryffindor with the red waste bin..."
"Not a very pleasant trade, I'll give you that," he concluded with a shiver. He glanced around and smirked at the looks of shock, bewilderment, and even disgust around the Great Hall – his work here was done.
"Oh, very well. I am sorry to have disturbed your meal. See you in class."
With that, Harry Potter turned and left the Great Hall, whistling to himself. Had he taken one last look at the Slytherin table, he might have noticed the hateful looks half of them were sending Malfoy. In his distraction, he didn't notice the spiteful look Daphne Greengrass was giving him either. He had made a lot of good points this evening, and she was even willing to overlook some of his prior displays of ignorance, but she could not forgive him for comparing her to Malfoy, even indirectly. Powerful or not, Harry Potter would pay for that insult.