Harry Potter: The Forgotten Chronicles- Book 7

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The early morning light filtered weakly through the heavy curtains of Grimmauld Place, casting the house in a dull, somber glow. Harry awoke, his mind still clouded by the remnants of a restless night. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. Beside him, Ron stirred, mumbling something incoherent as he rolled over.

"Morning," Harry muttered, more out of habit than anything else.

Ron grunted in response, still half-asleep.

Hermione was already up, her sharp eyes scanning a tattered book. "I'll make us some tea," she offered, trying to inject some normalcy into their tense morning. She stood, moving toward the small kitchen.

Harry and Ron sat in weary silence, but their moment of quiet was abruptly shattered by a piercing scream from the hallway.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione's voice was shrill with shock and fear.

They bolted to their feet, their hearts racing as they sprinted toward the sound. They skidded to a halt as they rounded the corner, nearly crashing into Hermione, who was frozen in place, staring at something on the floor.

Harry's eyes followed her gaze, and his breath caught in his throat. There, collapsed in the hallway, was Evelyn.

She was barely recognizable—her once-vibrant presence reduced to a gaunt, emaciated figure. Her sunken face was haunting, and her collarbones were painfully prominent beneath the filthy, tattered clothes she wore. Her skin was pale, almost ashen, covered in dirt and grime, with deep purple circles under her eyes.

"Evelyn..." Ron breathed, his voice filled with disbelief.

Evelyn's eyes fluttered open at the sound of their voices, her gaze unfocused and glassy.

Harry's mind raced, trying to process what he was seeing. He felt a mix of shock, relief, and fear all at once. But before he could say anything, Hermione moved, her instinct to help kicking in.

She rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside Evelyn, but before she could reach out to her, Harry grabbed her arm, pulling her back with a firm grip. "Wait!" he commanded urgently, his eyes locked on Evelyn with a steely gaze. His mind, racing from shock to suspicion, tightened his grip on his wand, leveling it at her. "Don't move!" he ordered, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Hermione gasped, her eyes darting between Harry and Evelyn, her face a mask of horror. "Harry..."

"We can't be sure it's really her," Harry snapped, his voice edged with distrust. "We can't trust appearances anymore. It might be a trap."

"Evelyn," Harry demanded, his wand unwavering. "What potion did you make me before our first D.A. meeting?"

Evelyn blinked, struggling to focus on his harsh tone. "Tell me!" Harry's voice was sharp, insistent.

"Draught of Peace," Evelyn croaked, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry's grip on his wand tightened further, his skepticism not easing. "And what's the first book we ever discussed together at Hogwarts?"

Evelyn tried to push herself up, her movements slow, labored and painful. "Harry, there's no way I would remember that..." She said desperately.

Harry's eyes searched hers, his wand still trained on her, expecting an answer. Seeing the pain and mistrust in Harry's eyes, she broke down completely.

"I don't know!" Evelyn cried, her voice cracking with anguish. "I don't know! If you don't believe me, just kill me, Harry! Please!" She sobbed, her plea mingled with a deep, painful resignation, almost wanting death.