Chapter 216 – Half-Blood Wizard Dean
Alexander wasn't a gossip, but he wasn't like most wizards either. His senses ran so sharp that—if he didn't rein them in—he could pick up a dead leaf dropping in the Forbidden Forest from across the grounds.
So how could Harry, the center of so much attention lately, ever slip past his notice?
Harry's thinking fascinated him. He'd guessed right that Snape spied for Lily Evans, but wrong about when—not as a student. Sirius seemed to share that muddled timeline, which had the side effect of softening how both of them viewed Snape. Tiny shifts, big ripples. Alexander loved watching the worldline bend.
More intriguing was what had just happened at the Black Lake: the phoenix that merged into Harry. That wasn't coincidence. It felt like Lily's sacrifice living on—a protection charm with a pulse. Even when Harry came of age and Voldemort no longer leeched power through their shared link, this thing wouldn't simply evaporate.
It wasn't ordinary magic. It was love—crafted as a talisman with Lily's life. By rights, it should have faded at adulthood, but Dumbledore's choices (placing Harry with blood kin) had strengthened it. And that phoenix now nested deeper than the "original" timeline. Like a mother's whisper: You're not safe yet.
The charm tasted the shard of Harry that Voldemort had once touched and chose to stay, phoenix-shaped, inside him. It wouldn't grant immortality, and Harry couldn't wear it like an avatar, or even perceive the sigil it left on his heart. It was the same current studied in the Department of Mysteries' Hall of Love—present, invisible.
Still… that letter must have mattered, Alexander thought.
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The Great Hall buzzed.
At Gryffindor, Fred and George joked with Lee Jordan, defeat in Quidditch failing to dent their mood. A few seats away, Dean Thomas had red eyes. Strange—Dean didn't even care for Quidditch that much.
At Slytherin, Draco Malfoy murmured to Pansy Parkinson while Crabbe and Goyle demolished puddings.
Over at Ravenclaw, students hemmed Harry Potter in with questions about the phoenix and the rumor of a fourth-floor break-in. Luckily, Ron Weasley played press secretary, spinning on the fly.
"That phoenix? Ravenclaw's guardian from the Astronomy Tower," Ron declared. "Stopped by to thank us before flying off with its invisible friend."
"And the other one?"
"Fawkes. Dumbledore's." Ron shrugged like it was obvious.
As for the fourth-floor corridor? Ron lowered his voice. "Top secret."
"Dean Thomas and Harry Potter, this way!" Professor McGonagall's voice sliced through the din.
"Dean?" Ron blinked.
Dean looked like he knew. He swiped his eyes and stood. Harry followed, feeling searchlight stares track them.
They passed the empty staff table and slipped through a side door into a narrow chamber lined with portraits. A cool-blue fire licked the grate, taking the edge off summer heat. Painted faces turned to watch. A wrinkled witch slid into the frame of a walrus-bearded wizard and whispered.
In one portrait, Sirius Black spoke animatedly with a wizard in a purple top hat—Dedalus Diggle. Harry recognized him; Diggle had bowed to him in Diagon Alley once, and greeted him again at the Leaky Cauldron.
But Diggle's gaze settled on Dean, full of pity and warmth.
"You should have received the letter, Dean," Diggle said gently. "I'm Dedalus Diggle, your father's friend. He never abandoned you. He was killed by Death Eaters—protecting you and your mother."
Diggle produced a small Gringotts key.
"Your father, Hadwin Jones, was a Gryffindor—just like you."
Dean's breath hitched.
And somewhere beyond the chamber wall, the castle kept humming—unaware that, for one boy, a door had just opened to a past he'd never truly known.
(End of chapter)
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