The days at Hogwarts felt like the calm before the storm. The final confrontation between Harry and Quirrellmort was looming over the castle like a dark cloud, but honestly? Not my problem. Let the Golden Trio handle their destiny—I had enough on my plate.
I myself was leaning against the Owlery's stone wall in the evening after completing my training, staring at the sunset. Garuda was perched beside me, his feathers gleaming in the fading light. Humming softly "It's the final countdown~~."
Garuda tilted his head. "What are you counting down to?"
"Not me, buddy," I replied with a smirk. "The Trio's big showdown with Voldy's disembodied face."
The bird let out a quiet caw of amusement. "And you're doing nothing to intervene?"
"Why would I?" I shrugged. "That's their story, not mine."
---
While Harry, Ron, and Hermione were likely unraveling mysteries, I had my own priorities—like staying up-to-date on Hogwarts' juiciest gossip. Thanks to my avian spy network, information poured in constantly, and let me tell you, the birds didn't disappoint.
Take the Ministry owl, for example. It dropped by regularly to share tidbits of information that were as scandalous as they were useless.
"An Auror having fantasies about Amelia Bones?" I muttered one evening, staring blankly at the message Garuda had delivered. "Why do I even need to know this?"
Garuda, perched on a nearby branch, ruffled his feathers. "You asked for all useful information. Blame yourself, Arthur."
"Useful," I deadpanned. "Yeah, sure. I'm going to file this under things I never wanted to know."
One thing I didn't like about this ability was that I was able to talk to cats too and those things are narcissist as fuck, while dogs were goof balls of energy cats were lazy didn't give a shit about you and wanted to be left alone except for kittens they were nice and cute.
Still, the gossip provided some entertainment amidst the monotony of my training. The Ministry, it seemed, was a soap opera waiting to explode, and my feathered friends had front-row seats.
---
Speaking of training, it was progressing, though not as smoothly as I'd hoped. My dueling skills had improved significantly under Tonks' guidance, and integrating the techniques I'd learned in the White Room into my sword style was coming along. But when it came to precision and control, I still had a long way to go.
Caliburn remained my pride and joy, but unlocking its full potential was another story. Despite countless hours of practice in the Room of Requirement, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something crucial.
"Maybe I'm overthinking it," I muttered, watching the blade shimmer faintly in the dim light. "Or maybe I'm just bad at this."
Garuda let out a low whistle. "Patience, Arthur. Even the sharpest sword takes time to be honed."
"Yeah, yeah, patience," I grumbled. "Not exactly my strong suit."
---
While my training and spying network kept me busy, there was one thing that continued to bother me—my growing reputation as the Golden Prince.
A few first-years called me "handsome," some older students praised my top marks, and somehow, it all spiraled into this ridiculous title. At first, I didn't mind the female attention. Who wouldn't enjoy a bit of admiration? But being under constant scrutiny? Not so much.
"Hey, Arthur!" a group of giggling girls called out as I passed through the courtyard one afternoon.
I managed a polite smile, but inside, I cringed. Being ogled by a bunch of kids wasn't exactly flattering.
"Garuda," I muttered under my breath as we walked toward the library, "how do I make this stop?"
The bird let out a soft chuckle. "You don't. The more you shine, the more eyes will follow. Isn't that the price of your so-called glory?"
"Great," I muttered. "First, I spy on people, and now I'm the one being spied on. Karma's a bitch."
---
The attention wasn't limited to admiration. Everywhere I went, people sometime stared, whispered, and occasionally followed me like I was some sort of celebrity.
"Hey, I'm a side character!" I vented to Garuda one evening. "Leave me alone and focus on the main cast!"
"Side character?" Garuda echoed, his tone dripping with amusement. "Arthur, have you considered that you might not be as insignificant as you think?"
I shot him a glare. "Don't get philosophical on me, bird."
Despite my protests, I couldn't deny that the title of Golden Prince had its perks. It opened doors, earned me favors, and gave me leverage in situations where I'd otherwise be ignored. But the constant spotlight? Yeah, I could live without that.
---
With the final battle drawing closer, I kept an eye on Quirrellmort—not to intervene, but to stay informed. My birds reported his every move, confirming that he was spending more and more time near the third-floor corridor.
It was only a matter of time before things came to a head.
"You know," I said to Garuda one evening, "this whole thing feels like a badly written play."
"And yet, you continue to watch from the sidelines."
"Because it's not my story," I replied with a shrug. "I've got bigger things to worry about—like how to keep my cover when everything inevitably goes to hell."
Garuda's golden eyes gleamed in the twilight. "Just remember, Arthur, even sidelines have their moments."
---
As the end term neared, the tension in the air became almost palpable.
But I stayed the course, focusing on my training and refining my swordplay.
"You ready for the fireworks, Garuda?" I asked one evening, staring out at the darkened Forbidden Forest from the window of the Room of Requirement.
"Always," he replied, his voice tinged with excitement. "But the real question is, are you?"
I smirked. "I'm always ready. Let's see what the Golden Trio's got."
And with that, I turned my attention back to my blade, knowing full well that the countdown was over.
---Note
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