Polyjuice Potion and the Heir (I)

The two walked down the stairs side by side, their footsteps echoing dully against the stone steps.

Harry did not look again in the direction Justin had fled, nor did he turn back to pick up the book thrown on the floor. He just walked, one step at a time, like a machine that could only carry out the command "move forward," his mind completely blank.

Ron walked beside him, holding An Outline of Magical History and glancing at Harry now and then. His expression was complicated: anger, heartache, and the helplessness of wanting to say something but not knowing what to say.

He knew Justin. Not well, exactly, but well enough that they greeted each other when they met. He had never imagined Justin would be the sort of person who would be so frightened by rumors that he would run away without daring to say a word.

But he also knew that fear had never been reasonable.

It did not care how many happy memories you had shared with someone. It did not care whether that person would truly hurt you. It cared about only one thing—danger. Or, more precisely, things that looked dangerous.

And right now, Harry looked dangerous to a great many people.

Whether he wanted to or not.

Whether he really was or not.

They passed corridor after corridor, archway after archway. While climbing a moving staircase, they nearly tripped over a gap between two steps. The stairs seemed to be in a bad mood today, twitching lightly in place as if warming up.

Ron swore and pulled Harry up.

The password for Gryffindor Tower today was the tongue twister "Dragon-Dung Compost." Ron had to say it three times to the Fat Lady before he got it right. She rolled her eyes and let them