The Sisters' Mark

The Dungeons of Hogwarts, June 1992

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off – the pain in Harry’s head was building – he couldn’t see – he could only hear Quirrell’s terrible shrieks and Voldemort’s yells of ‘KILL HIM! KILL HIM!’ and other voices, maybe in Harry’s own head, crying, ‘Harry! Harry!’ He felt Quirrell’s arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down … down … down … The boy did not know what had happened then. But Hogwarts did. It felt. It saw. It sensed the threat. A shattered soul had drawn close to one of its fragments, the one within Harry’s scar. The balance of the world had been broken long ago. The rituals that once sustained it had nearly been forgotten. People no longer remembered. And this strange boy… so small, and yet somehow very important to the ancient castle. The scar, tainted with dark magic, unsettled it. The child was part of something greater. But what? How was it to understand? For now, it could only watch. And quietly… help. For now. When Harry awoke in the Hospital Wing, he felt something unusual. Something he had never felt before. He could not describe it. The castle… felt different. As though, somehow, it had become more of a home than it had been before. As if even the walls had grown warmer in his presence. The feeling faded quickly. Harry forgot it. Only years later would the thought return to him. And so, the ancient castle stirred. Slowly, it began to raise the ancient protections woven into it by its founders. Imperceptibly changing, day by day, Hogwarts restored forgotten rules. It was seeking to drive out those who had brought the danger closer. But also to protect the children within its walls. And more and more, it began to regard one man as its greatest threat. Albus Dumbledore.

The Great Hall, January 1996

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had always loved chess. From a young age, he had studied it, built strategies, played brilliant games. Ah, those were simpler times… But such days were long gone. For decades now, he had borne the heavy burden of a grandmaster, guiding fools away from darkness. He had to direct the pieces, sacrifice what was necessary, all for the greater good. For a perfect world. A world without darkness. Without the arrogance of those clinging to blood purity. And how difficult it was to oversee every move in this, the greatest game of his long life. But it had to be done. Otherwise, they would all fall into darkness. And yet, something was… wrong. More and more often, the old man found himself thinking that something unseen stood in the way of his carefully laid plans. He could not explain why the smallest childish mischief now sent a chill down his spine. And there had been many such incidents of late. A door jamming unexpectedly. A step vanishing beneath one’s foot. Tea turning into burnt coffee. Portraits falling silent mid-conversation, watching him with strange stillness. Magic faltering where it never should. Even the castle itself felt colder. Drafts slipped through ancient stone, settling deep into old bones. Such a constant reminder of age. And today, once again. A perfectly good rice pudding had turned into a tasteless lump of dried porridge. With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore lifted his gaze from his plate. His blue eyes swept across the Great Hall, now filled with students. They settled on the central piece of his game. Harry Potter. The boy looked pale, dark shadows lay beneath his eyes. And within them flickered strange anger that was not entirely his own. Tom’s influence had grown stronger this year… That Dark Lord would need to be addressed. Harry sat at his usual place at the Gryffindor table, absently rubbing his scar. This day had gone wrong from the very beginning. The pain pulsed relentlessly in his scar. Sharp and insistent, as though his skull might split apart. It came in waves, each one stronger than the last. And with it came anger. Terrible, suffocating anger that clung to him no matter where he went. Even Ron and Hermione, unusually quiet today, grated on his nerves. His hand ached, a reminder of the pink toad. And in half an hour… Snape. Forcing himself to breathe through the pain, Harry tried to focus on his meal. Then he froze. Something was wrong. A strange sensation crept over him, sudden and unfamiliar. The castle felt… different. Not alive no, that much had always been true, in its own way. But now… aware? The noise around him faded. Which made no sense. The Great Hall was full. Laughter, loud voices, the low murmur of conversation from the professors’ table… And now, nothing. Only a piercing silence. Time seemed to slow. Movement ceased. Voices vanished. Even the magic that usually pulsed through the walls fell still. Only silence remained. Instinctively, Harry reached for his wand gripping it tightly. This was wrong. Not like his visions. Not like the pain in his scar. This was something else. The air grew heavy, thick with tension, like the moments before a storm. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the torch flames dancing wildly. The next moment, the flames trembled, then stilled, stretching unnaturally thin. As though something invisible was pulling them toward the vaulted ceiling. Harry turned. The Great Hall was empty. But he was not alone. The castle was watching him. Pain exploded behind his eyes. He staggered, gasping, his hands flying to his scar. Darkness closed in at the edges of his vision, thick and suffocating. “Not now…” he rasped. A moment later, he was falling. Blinding light flooded everything, forcing his eyes shut. A voice brushed against his mind. Cold. Distant. And yet somehow familiar. Not quite words, but something like intention. Something unseen was reaching for him. Harry drew in a sharp breath, trying to push it away, to break the connection. But the space around him trembled. He was still within the castle. Even blinded, he could feel it. A faint tremor ran through ancient stone. The light twisted, shifting as though alive. Suddenly, everything stopped. The pain vanished. The voice disappeared, replaced by silence. Harry hung there, suspended. His breath was ragged as his heart was hammering against his ribs. He could no longer feel the ground beneath his feet. “What?” His own voice sounded too loud. Too sharp. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut. Then another. And another. The sound echoed, one after the other, like a chain reaction. “Locked. Sealed. Cut off.” “No…” Panic tightened in Harry’s chest. He struggled, reaching for anything, anything at all. But it was as though the castle itself held him in place. “Stop!” he snapped. “Let me go!” The words felt meaningless the moment he spoke them. This was not a spell nor a curse. This was something ancient. The air changed again, turning icy cold. Harry’s breath caught as the chill seeped into his bones, freezing him from within. A low, dissonant hum filled his ears, disorienting, overwhelming. His scar burned with unbearable intensity, as though his head might shatter into a thousand pieces. The only thing holding him to consciousness was the feeling of a presence. Everywhere at once. And then came certainty. The same as before. Hogwarts had recognized him at last. The pain vanished. For a single, impossible moment, everything fell still. As though the world itself had taken a breath… and forgotten how to exhale. He was falling again. This time, there was no stopping it. He hit the stone floor hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Before Harry blacked out… somewhere, distantly, he heard the sharp sound of a falling… fork?

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall

A blinding flash of light erupted, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. For a moment, everyone froze. The next instant, the walls of Hogwarts trembled with unnatural force. One by one, the tall windows slammed shut, heavy shutters sealing them from the outside world. Students and professors alike flinched at each thunderous crash. And then came chaos. Dumbledore blinked, then turned toward the place where the flash had appeared. A cold unease slid down his spine. Harry Potter had been sitting there only seconds ago. Now, there remained nothing. Only a scorched bench, and a thin trail of smoke curling into the air. A sharp scent of ozone was already spreading through the Hall. Something was very wrong. The rising panic around him pulled the Headmaster back to the present. With a rapid Sonorus, Dumbledore began issuing orders, his voice cutting through the chaos. He gathered the professors around him. Students had to be sent back to their dormitories. Time was running short. Something was coming. And whatever it was… it would change everything. Amid the chaos, no one noticed the thoughtful gaze of grey eyes, their color shifting faintly to violet in the torchlight. Their owner slipped silently into the frightened crowd. Those eyes had seen everything.More than the others ever would.