Umbras ? Harry Potter

February 11, 1994 • Headmasters Office

Dumbledore sat at his large, cluttered desk, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over the many parchments scattered around him. The faint scent of parchment and old wood lingered in the air, mingling with the soft, almost imperceptible hum of the enchanted instruments that lined the walls. The Sorting Hat, resting silently on its stand, seemed to be watching him intently, as though waiting for something to happen.

His half-moon spectacles rested on the tip of his nose as he absentmindedly turned over a letter, his thoughts elsewhere. He hadn't stopped thinking about what the two third-year students had shared with him. The conversation had left him troubled and intrigued in equal measure. He couldn't understand the why or the how of it.

The visions Ciara seemed to be experiencing were brief flashes—snippets of Harry's own encounters with the Grim. But why? The Grim, an omen of death, was something many believed in, but it made little sense that this phenomenon would have started only this year. After all, Harry had faced death more than once in previous years without these visions appearing. If they were simply a manifestation of Harry's omens of death, it didn't explain why Ciara would be the one seeing them now, and not before. The idea that her visions were merely echoes of Harry's own premonitions seemed unlikely, and the more Dumbledore thought about it, the less sense it made.

Ciara and Harry were both talented, but there was nothing particularly unusual about their magical abilities, at least not that he had ever observed. They had no magical bonds that he knew of, and if they did, why would these two—so different in temperament, background, and experience—share such a connection? It made no sense. He had known of powerful magical bonds in the past, but those were usually between family members or closely knit groups. Never between two students who seemed to have little in common.

The mystery lingered in his mind like a puzzle that, despite his best efforts, remained unsolved. He considered the possibility that perhaps he had missed something crucial. After all, Harry's past was complicated, and Ciara, though quieter, possessed a certain depth that he had yet to fully comprehend.

The pieces didn't fit together. But Dumbledore knew from long experience that the most baffling mysteries often held the key to something far more significant than anyone realized at first glance.

Perhaps it was time to dig a little deeper into their histories. Dumbledore turned toward the Sorting Hat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the answer it might hold. He needed to know what the Hat had sensed during her sorting ceremony.

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February 22, 1994 • Quidditch Pitch

The Quidditch Cup, now only a little over a month away, meant both teams were on the pitch every day they could be. The tension was evident, as both Gryffindor and Slytherin teams knew this would be a crucial showdown. Wood had the Gryffindors working harder than ever, pushing them to their limits, determined to secure a win before he graduated. It was his final chance to claim the trophy, and his desire for victory had reached an almost obsessive level.

But Flint wasn't one to be easily outdone. He, too, was graduating, and with one Quidditch Cup win already under his belt, and he was hungry for more. The Slytherin captain had been running his team through grueling drills, focusing on precision and cunning, as only Slytherins could. It was a matter of pride. For Flint, the idea of leaving Hogwarts with two wins in his final season was simply too tempting to let go.