The morning after the dream, Harry's robes didn't fit right.
Not physically — magically.
They sparked at the collar when he pulled them on. His fingers flickered faint green when he adjusted his tie.
Theodore noticed first.
"You're humming."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Your magic. It's… alive."
Magic Without Movement
Charms class. Professor Flitwick chirped something about levitation theory.
Harry didn't lift his wand.
The feather rose anyway.
Ten inches into the air — smooth, controlled — and hovered. Students gasped.
Flitwick stared. "You—didn't cast."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't need to."
He smiled nervously, but his hands were sweating. His palm itched.
The mark had changed again.
Not visibly. But it felt deeper now. Like it was learning.
Detention in the Dungeons
Snape didn't wait for excuses.
"You channeled silent casting. That's advanced — even for me."
"I didn't mean to."
"Magic doesn't care about intent. Only reaction."
He poured something into a glass vial. Thick, smoky gray.
"Drink."
Harry stared. "What is it?"
"A memory stabilizer. You're not dreaming, Potter — you're being called."
Harry's fingers twitched, almost refusing to take it.
But he drank.
The smoke curled up his throat. It tasted like old stone.
A Memory Not His
He staggered back — and saw it.
A vision. Brief, brutal.
A boy, not him, in Slytherin robes. Standing in front of a girl with silver eyes. Holding out his hand.
A door. The same black stone.
Then screams. Fire. Betrayal. Silence.
He gasped as he came back.
Snape looked grim.
"You just saw a marked predecessor. There were others."
Harry swallowed hard.
"What happened to them?"
Snape turned away.
"They lost control."
End Scene – In the Common Room
Back in Slytherin that night, the others kept their distance. Except Draco.
He sat beside Harry, close enough to whisper.
"You didn't say anything in class. You didn't even blink."
"I know."
Draco hesitated.
"Is it still you?"
Harry looked up.
"Right now… yes. But I don't know for how long."