In third-year halls, their paths first crossed,
A Raven boy, a Blonde girl lost.
"Stay out of my way," she warned with a glare,
But something lingered in the frosty air.
Crimson with his scar and fame,
Emerald with her secrets untamed.
Two worlds ap...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The tension between Aria and Harry was palpable as they walked toward Dumbledore's office, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floors of the castle. The silence between them stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable, neither willing to break it. Despite being so close, Aria could feel the distance between them—a chasm of unresolved anger and hurt that she wasn't ready to cross.
She kept her eyes focused ahead, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her robes, though every now and then, she would glance sideways at Harry. His jaw was clenched, his green eyes dark beneath his brow as if he was deep in thought. Aria's heart ached, but her pride—and lingering fury—held her tongue.
They had barely spoken since the argument in the hospital wing. Even now, though she longed to reach out, to apologize or at least start mending the rift between them, her mind replayed Harry's accusations against Draco, and the anger flared up all over again. He had no right. He didn't understand Draco like she did.
As they neared the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, Harry muttered the password—"Acid Pops"—and the statue sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase. They ascended without a word, the tension mounting with each step until they reached the door to the Headmaster's office.
"Enter," came Dumbledore's voice from within before either of them could knock.
The door creaked open, and they stepped inside. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his half-moon spectacles perched on his long nose, his fingers steepled as he regarded them. His piercing blue eyes flicked between Harry and Aria, sensing at once the rift between them. He said nothing about it, however, merely gesturing to the two empty chairs before his desk.
"Good evening, Harry. Aria," Dumbledore greeted them warmly, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on the tension that filled the space between the two students. "Please, take a seat."
They both sat down, their silence louder than any words they could have exchanged. Dumbledore's expression softened, but he moved on without probing into the obvious strain.
"I trust you are both prepared for our next lesson?" Dumbledore asked, his voice calm and measured. "Tonight, we will be viewing another memory, but this one is a little different. It is a memory from my own past."
Aria blinked, startled out of her thoughts. Dumbledore's past? They had only been viewing memories of Tom Riddle so far, piecing together the puzzle of his life. But if this memory belonged to Dumbledore, what could it show about the Dark Lord?
Harry, though still simmering with unspoken frustration, was also curious. He sat forward slightly, his frown easing as he turned his attention fully to Dumbledore.
