Despite the burning desire to grow stronger, Harry hadn't forgotten the people who'd stood beside him through the chaos of the last two years. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley might not always understand the path he was walking now—but they had earned his loyalty, and Harry knew better than to cast them aside.
So he made time.
They still sat together at meals, still walked to class side by side. And sometimes, when training left his muscles aching and his magic flickering at the edge of exhaustion, he let himself laugh with them in the common room—just long enough to remember that he was still a boy.
Even if the war was coming.
One evening, Hermione pulled him aside as they sat near the fire, a parchment rolled in her hands.
"You should ask Professor Lupin to teach you the Patronus Charm," she said, her tone firm and worried. "He offered to help you. And you need it, Harry. The Dementors—"
"I can handle it," Harry said shortly, but not unkindly.
Hermione frowned. "You fainted. Twice."
Harry exhaled, fingers curling. "It's not the spell I mind. I just… don't want to ask for help."
Hermione's eyes softened, but there was no judgment in them—only worry. "Harry, no one's going to think less of you."
"I don't care what they think," Harry muttered. "I just… don't like needing people I barely know."
Ron looked up from the table, where he was stacking wizard chess pieces into a precarious tower. "You trust me and Hermione, though."
Harry smiled faintly. "Of course I do."
"Then let us help," Hermione said gently. "Even if it means sending someone else to get help for you."
He didn't answer right away. But he didn't say no, either.
While Hermione and Ron offered friendship, strength still came from elsewhere. In the solitude of the Room of Requirement, Harry pushed his body and mind beyond what wizardkind considered normal.
He no longer just meditated to connect with the Force—he practiced battle meditation, channeling focus even in motion. He learned to run faster than the eye could follow, to leap higher than the tallest suit of armor in the castle. It wasn't just magic. It was will. It was control.
And he trained.
Force-enhanced sprints around the Hogwarts grounds at dawn.
Push-ups and body conditioning exercises in secret corners.
Every movement, every strain, sharpened his focus.
He knew something others didn't.
Wizards were vulnerable.
They had spells, yes. But most couldn't run ten feet without panting. Most couldn't dodge. Most couldn't fight without a wand.
And Harry was determined to change that—for himself.
He practiced wandless magic every night.
First-year spells came easiest—Lumos, Nox, Wingardium Leviosa. Soon he could do them silently, with a flick of his fingers and a focused burst of intent. Second-year spells were harder—but with effort and Dobby's help, they yielded one by one.
"Concentrate, master," Dobby would say, standing across from Harry in the Room of Requirement. "Not just the word, but the will, Master Harry."
"I am concentrating," Harry muttered, sweat beading on his brow. "Expelliarmus!"
His wand—lying on the table behind Dobby—flew into his hand.
He grinned. Dobby clapped excitedly. "You is amazing!"
Harry smiled. "We both are."
And where others were restricted, Dobby was not.
The little elf had become Harry's most trusted companion—not just in training, but in logistics.
"Harry Potter cannot go to Hogsmeade, sir," Dobby said one morning, tucking a list into his coat. "But Dobby can! What shall Dobby get?"
Harry handed him a folded list, written with careful scrawl: enchanted weights, potion ingredients, two protective charms, and a pair of thick gloves from Gladrags.
"Try not to draw attention," Harry said, slipping a pouch of coins into Dobby's hands.
Dobby stood tall. "Dobby will be like shadow!"
Harry watched as the elf disappeared with a crack, knowing the errands he couldn't do himself would be done with perfect precision.
Despite everything—the training, the secrecy, the pressure of becoming someone more—Harry still sat beside Ron and Hermione when he could. He still played wizard chess and helped with homework. But there was a wall now, invisible but firm.
They were living one life.
He was living another.
And one day soon, that gap would widen.
Because Harry Potter was preparing for war.
And not just a wizard's war.
But a war of light and darkness, Force and power, life and death.
And he wouldn't lose.
Not again.
Not ever.
Training under Salazar Slytherin had given Harry more power than he'd ever imagined possible. His mind was sharper. His reflexes, faster. His spells—silent, deadly, precise. He could lift stones with the Force, summon flames with a gesture, and fly through the air in near silence.
But even power came with a price.
And Harry hadn't realized what that price was—until the day he saw Hagrid crying.
It was early morning, the dew still clinging to the grass as Harry stepped outside to breathe the crisp air. He needed a break. The Room of Requirement had been stifling the night before—Dobby's lightsaber had smacked him straight in the chest, and his ribs still ached.
He didn't expect to find Hagrid sitting on the edge of his pumpkin patch, shoulders hunched, hands cradling a mug of cold tea.
"Hagrid?" Harry asked softly, walking up the dirt path toward him. "Are you… all right?"
The half-giant sniffed, brushing at his eyes with one massive hand. "Oh. 'Ello, Harry. Didn't see yeh comin'."
Harry sat beside him in silence, waiting. Hagrid was like that. You couldn't push him—only wait for him to speak.
And after a long moment, Hagrid let out a shuddering sigh.
"They denied the appeal," he said hoarsely. "Buckbeak's gonna be executed."
Harry blinked, stunned. "Wait—what?"
"The committee at the Ministry," Hagrid muttered, voice thick with grief. "Lucius Malfoy's been whisperin' in their ears ever since that first class. Malfoy boy still walkin' around with his arm in a sling like Buckbeak tore it off—when yeh saw it yourself, the beast barely nicked 'im."
Harry remembered. Draco had provoked the Hippogriff, ignored every warning, and still, Buckbeak had shown restraint. But a Malfoy didn't need facts to win—they had money, influence… and the Ministry's ear.
"They scheduled the execution," Hagrid added, his voice cracking. "Next week."
Harry's heart sank. "But the petition—we were going to help. You asked me. I said I would—"
He stopped.
Because he had said he would. Months ago, when Hagrid had come to him with tears in his eyes and parchment in his hands. Harry had promised to speak with Dumbledore, to help with the wording, to get Hermione involved.
And he hadn't done a damn thing.
Because of Salazar Slytherin. Because of lightsaber forms, and Force pushes, and wandless casting drills. Because he'd convinced himself that power meant protection.
But what good was strength if you forgot the people who mattered?
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, guilt clawing at his chest. "I should've helped. I promised I would. But I… I got caught up in things."
Hagrid didn't reply, just stared out over the fields, eyes red-rimmed.
"I won't let them do this," Harry said suddenly, standing. "There's still time. A week's enough. We'll do something. We'll save him."
Hagrid looked at him, hope flickering behind sorrow. "Yeh mean it?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I do."
And this time, he meant to keep that promise.
Even if it meant going against Salazar Slytherin himself.
Harry knew that writing letters to the Ministry wouldn't save Buckbeak. The system was too corrupt, too far gone. Lucius Malfoy didn't need truth or law—he had gold, and gold bent ears better than justice ever could.
And Hagrid? If he tried to free Buckbeak on his own, they'd drag him off in chains for tampering with a Ministry order.
So Harry devised a plan.
For three days, he'd spent time after classes at Hagrid's hut, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak, studying everything—Buckbeak's chain, the enchanted lock, the area behind the hut where the Hippogriff was tethered to a thick pine tree. The chain was solid iron, reinforced by Ministry-grade runes to be unbreakable by magic.
Not by wands, at least.
But Harry wasn't only a wizard anymore.
On the fourth day, as golden sunlight fell slanted over the castle walls, and students made their way into the Great Hall for dinner, Harry stayed behind—cloaked, waiting beside Buckbeak.
The Hippogriff had grown used to his invisible companion. It didn't screech or rear up. It simply nuzzled the grass and waited.
Meanwhile, Hagrid played his part.
Standing by the path to his hut, Hagrid crossed his arms and waited. Just as expected, Draco Malfoy came swaggering down the sloping lawn, his expression smug.
"Where yeh headed, Mr. Malfoy?" Hagrid called, keeping his tone casual.
Draco paused and turned. "Where do you think? To check the beast. Father says they need daily proof it's still here."
"Then walk with me," Hagrid said, pretending to head back to the hut. "I was just returnin' meself."
As the two walked together toward the hut, Draco began to gloat.
"My father says the Ministry will make an example of this Hippogriff," he said with relish. "After what it did to me, it deserves the axe. And after that, we'll see how long you keep your job."
Hagrid didn't respond. He just nodded and kept walking beside the boy.
Behind the hut, Harry quietly approached Buckbeak under his cloak.
"Easy now," he whispered. "We're going to fly."
He climbed atop Buckbeak's back, shifting carefully into position. "Ready when you are."
Buckbeak tensed. His wings twitched.
Then he leapt forward—only to be yanked back mid-air, the enchanted chain snapping taut with a sharp metallic clang.
From the front of the hut, Draco jerked his head toward the sound. "What was that?"
"Eh?" Hagrid feigned confusion. "Must be the hippogriff stirrin'. Let's go see."
Draco followed eagerly, already preparing to see Buckbeak struggling.
Behind the hut, invisible and frustrated, Harry stared at the chain.
Too strong for magic. But maybe not for the Force…
He took a deep breath, centered himself, and closed his eyes. He didn't reach inside—he reached outward. To the tree. To the stone. To the iron links groaning beneath the strain of a creature that wanted to be free.
He clenched his hand into a fist.
The Force surged.
The chain groaned, bent, and with a sound like cracking bone—snapped.
Buckbeak shrieked triumphantly.
His wings spread wide, golden in the setting sun. With a beat of his mighty wings, he soared upward, lifting Harry into the sky.
They banked westward, toward the Forbidden Forest, the last rays of evening sun catching the tips of the treetops.
From below, Draco pointed, his jaw open.
"Wha—what?! It—he— IT ESCAPED!"
Hagrid just blinked at the sky and said, "Well, would yeh look at that. Chain must've rusted."
"Rust?!" Draco sputtered. "Father will—!"
"I'll make sure to file a report," Hagrid said firmly. "Now off with yeh. No use screamin' at the clouds."
Harry, still under the cloak, gripped Buckbeak's feathers tightly as the Hippogriff glided into the canopy, their figures swallowed by the trees. The cool breeze on his face felt like freedom.
They'd done it.
The rescue had worked—and with the daylight still shining.
And Hagrid? He had the perfect alibi.
The very next morning, a group of stern-faced Aurors arrived at the castle by Ministry order. With them was none other than Lucius Malfoy, his silver-blond hair immaculate, his cane clicking on the stone floors with every step. Draco trailed behind him, smirking at first—until they reached Hagrid's hut and the story unraveled.
Hagrid, calm and composed, explained that he had been walking with Draco Malfoy at the time of the Hippogriff's escape. They had just arrived together at the hut when they heard the chain snap. Malfoy had witnessed the moment—just as Harry had predicted.
"I was with 'im," Hagrid said, arms crossed as he stood before the Aurors. "Ask the boy. Chain just... came apart. Must've been faulty. Didn't even see the beast lift off."
Draco scowled but nodded reluctantly. "I was with him. The chain just broke."
The Aurors examined the shattered remains of the chain. It hadn't been tampered with magically. There were no wand signatures. No spell residue.
Of course, there wouldn't be. Not when the Force had done the work.
Still, Lucius Malfoy wasn't satisfied.
"This chain was Ministry-enchanted," he spat, barely controlling his anger. "Not even the professors here could have undone it without leaving a trace. And this oaf—" he sneered at Hagrid, "—has no wand, barely finished fifty years of Hogwarts education, and was expelled. He couldn't have snapped the chain even if he wanted to."
One of the senior Aurors gave Lucius a sidelong glance. "So what are you saying, Mr. Malfoy?"
Lucius stepped forward, his voice sharp. "I'm saying that someone else freed that beast. Someone powerful enough to destroy an enchanted chain without magic we can trace. Someone like... Albus Dumbledore."
Gasps rose from a few of the Aurors, but the leader narrowed his eyes. "That's a serious accusation, Mr. Malfoy. Do you have evidence?"
Lucius hesitated. "No," he admitted, his lip curling. "Not yet. But I will."
The Aurors, bound by their laws, could do nothing. No evidence. No witnesses. No spell residue.
Just a snapped chain.
And a vanished Hippogriff.
As the sun rose higher that day, Harry stood behind a window in Gryffindor Tower, hidden by shadow, watching Lucius and Draco Malfoy fume by the gates.
He smiled quietly.
The rescue had gone perfectly.