Chapter 40: The Unseen Hand
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 40: The Unseen Hand
The Invisibility Cloak had changed everything for him.
Harry no longer had to time his movements to avoid the Young Inquisitor patrols or hide in shadows when he heard footsteps.
He could simply throw the silvery fabric over his shoulders and walk where he pleased.
It was the most liberating feeling he had experienced since arriving at Hogwarts...a taste of freedom in a place that had become increasingly suffocating.
He had been using the cloak for over a week now, slipping out of the common room after dinner, making his way to the Room of Requirement without fear of being caught.
The castle at night was his secret kingdom. The empty corridors, sleeping portraits, and silent suits of armour were a common sight. He walked among them like a ghost.
The Room of Requirement had become his private training ground. The only place where he felt like he could do whatever he wanted.
Tonight, as the last week of February drew to a close, Harry stood in the centre of a large, torchlit chamber.
The room had provided training dummies...straw‑stuffed figures with painted faces and padded torsos, all arranged in a loose formation before him. They were old and battered, scarred by decades of use by students who had come before him.
Harry held his wand and focused.
The grimoire had many spells to offer him, but after a lot of testing, Harry had no choice but to recognize his limits.
Most of those spells were extremely complex to use and weren't beyond his reach as someone who had merely begun their journey as a wizard.
There were complex incantations, dangerous transformations, and curses that required years of practice and a level of magical control he simply did not possess.
And this was supposed to be only the first and safest part of the grimoire. Harry could only imagine what lay on the latter half of those ancient pages.
Though he did not despair, nor did he feel disappointed in himself.
Instead, he spent hours flipping through the pages, searching for something he could learn...something simple and useful.
He had found one spell called Verbero.
As the name indicated, this spell produced a concussive blast of invisible force, akin to a punch thrown from a distance.
It was a variant of the Depulso charm, but more focused on a single point. So instead of producing a "push," you got a "punch".
The spell appears very basic and weak at first. When he first used it, it could barely knock over a candle. But according to the grimoire, the power output of the spell had no limits, and it was up to the wizard's focus and intent.
Harry had estimated that in the hands of someone like Dumbledore or Voldemort, this basic spell could be strong enough to destroy a thick brick wall, or...to easily kill a person.
He didn't want to do that...he had never been a violent person in either of his two short lives.
The mere thought of taking someone's life made him sick in the stomach. Thought he needed a way to defend himself from those with bad intentions.
At the very least, he wanted to be strong enough to protect those he cared about.
The image of poor Pansy appeared at the front of his mind.
Harry shook the thoughts away. "Come on...I need to focus."
His time for practice was very limited. More than two hours, and he wouldn't get enough sleep for the next day.
Harry stood in front of the training dummy and raised his wand, recalling what the grimoire said about this spell.
"Verbero is a foundation spell. Master it, and you will understand the nature of all forceful magic. Do not look down upon it because it is simple. The simplest tools are often the most useful."
All spells had notes like these written at the bottom. They were left there by whatever member of the Potter family had written that particular entrance.
Harry took a deep breath and focused his intent. He imagined a solid wall of air striking his target. "Verbero."
A faint ripple of energy shot from his wand tip. It struck the nearest dummy in the chest, and the dummy wobbled a bit...but did not fall.
He tried again. "Verbero."
Another ripple, stronger this time. The dummy swayed, then steadied.
Harry gritted his teeth. He had been practicing for an hour, and his arm was growing tired. The sweat dripped down his forehead, and his shoulder ached from the repeated wand movements.
The spell required not just wand movement, but a strong will to accompany it. A focused intent to strike and a clear mental image of the desired result.
He had read the theory, memorised the incantation, and visualised the effect.
But theory and practice were very different things, no matter how simple it may have seemed on paper.
He stepped back, lowered his wand, and took a moment to breathe. The torchlight flickered.
He thought about what the grimoire had said about intent...about the need to truly want to strike at the target. It wasn't about anger or hatred, but pure determination. A clear, cold purpose.
He raised his wand again.
"Verbero!"
This time, the blast was sharper and much more focused. The dummy staggered backwards, its straw‑stuffed feet scraping across the stone floor.
It wobbled for a few seconds and then fell down. The painted face stared up at the ceiling.
Harry lowered his wand, breathing hard. A small smile crept across his face.
'I'm getting better, he thought. 'It's not much...but better.'
He glanced at the cloak, draped over a chair in the corner. It had made this possible...all of it. The secret training, the freedom to move, the ability to prepare for whatever was coming.
'Whoever gave it to me,' he thought, 'I owe them a lot.'
He practiced for almost another hour, until his arm ached and his concentration had started to fail.
By the end, he could knock over a dummy with one well‑aimed blast.
It was still far from consistent, but often enough to feel a spark of pride.
With a few more weeks of practice, he should be able to rely on this spell to defend himself to a certain degree.
He wished he had started months ago. But he was grateful for what he had.
He collected the cloak, wrapped it around his shoulders, and left the Room of Requirement.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The corridor outside was dark and silent.
Harry moved quietly. The cloak made him invisible, though it did nothing to muffle the sound of his steps. This was something he had to be careful about when moving around.
He was heading back to the Slytherin common room, planning to return the cloak to its hiding place and collapse into bed.
Then...he heard some shouting.
This took him by surprise. There were only twenty or thirty minutes left before curfew, so there shouldn't be that many students walking around the castle, except maybe for the official patrols.
It came from a side corridor, not far ahead.
Harry's blood ran cold when he realized that he recognized some of the voices.
He crept closer, pressing himself against the wall and dragging his feet on the floor.
Around the corner, he saw them.
Ron Weasley stood with his back to Harry, flanked by Oliver Rivers and Stephen Runcorn.
They had trapped two girls against a tapestry of a wizard wrestling a troll.
They were Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.
Tracey looked very scared, but Daphne's eyes were still cold and defiant. She held her head high, refusing to show fear.
Tracey had her wand out, though her hand was trembling, the tip wavering slightly.
" – think you're clever, don't you, Greengrass?" Ron was saying, his voice dripping with contempt. "Sneaking a look at the answer key before the test? Using your family's old notes?"
"I didn't cheat," Daphne said, her voice steady. "I studied. Unlike some people."
Ron's face flushed red. "My father says the Greengrass family is all cheats and liars. Just like your father...a traitor who sold out his own kind."
Tracey stepped forward, her wand raised higher. "Leave us alone, Weasley. We haven't done anything to you."
Ron sneered at her. "Stay out of this, half‑blood. This doesn't concern you."
He raised his wand. "Maybe you both need a lesson in humility. You need to learn how to speak to your betters."
Harry could no longer keep watching this...he had to do something.
He could not reveal himself as it would expose the secret of his invisibility cloak, but he could not stand by and watch as Weasley attacked those girls.
He moved.
Still invisible, he crept behind Ron and his cronies.
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a hard candy he had been saving for a while.
Then... aimed and threw it at Ron.
It ended up hitting one of his cronies on the back of their head.
"Ouch!" Rivers turned. "What was that?"
"What are you on about?" Ron asked.
"Something hit me." Responded Rivers.
"I heard something too." Said Runcorn, though his voice was uneasy. "It was probably some critter."
Taking advantage of their distraction, Harry reached out and knocked a torch from its sconce. It clattered to the floor, sparks skittering across the stone.
The three boys jumped from the scare. Their faces were becoming pale.
"What was that?!" River exclaimed.
"Someone knocked over a torch...that can't be just a rat." Runcorn looked at Ron. "What if it's that...that...g-ghost again."
This triggered a reaction in Ron. His body began to shake as he recalled that encounter in the third-floor corridor.
"W-who goes there?!" Ron pointed his wand around.
Harry saw his opportunity. While standing near the corner, he moved the tip of his wand outside the cloak, aimed it at Ron, and focused his intent.
"Verbero..." he whispered.
The blast was the strongest he had managed all night. It struck Ron's wand dead on, sending it flying from his grip. The wand spun through the air, clattered to the floor, and skidded into the shadows.
Ron stared at his empty hand, his face white. "What – who –"
"Ghost!. It must be the ghost!" Runcorn whispered. "This corridor is haunted, too."
"Run!" Rivers said.
The three boys ran away. Ron scrambled to retrieve his wand, nearly tripping over his own feet, then fled after his cronies.
Their footsteps echoed in the distance.
Daphne and Tracey stared at the empty corridor. Tracey lowered her wand. "What just happened?"
"I don't know," Daphne said. She looked around, her amber eyes scanning the shadows, searching for something, or someone. "I think someone helped us."
"But there's no one here. You think it was a ghost?" Tracey's face was also becoming pale.
Daphne was silent for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the spot where Harry stood, invisible. For a terrifying second, he thought she could see him.
Then she said, quietly, "Who knows...but we owe them."
She took Tracey's arm, and they hurried away.
Harry almost called out. Almost threw off the cloak and revealed himself. The words were on the tip of his tongue...' Daphne, it's me, it's Harry', but he stopped himself from doing it.
He couldn't. He couldn't risk it. If anyone knew he had the cloak, if anyone connected him to the incident, Dumbledore would find out. And then he would lose his last chance to fight back.
He waited until their footsteps faded, then slipped back towards the Slytherin common room.
<><><><><><><><><>
The next day, breakfast in the Great Hall was livelier than usual.
Harry sat between Draco and Crabbe, pushing food around his plate.
Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley was hunched over his meal, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Rivers and Runcorn sat close to him, whispering.
Draco had heard the rumours. "Did you hear what happened?" he asked, leaning in with obvious delight. "Ron Weasley got hexed by a ghost in the corridor. His wand flew right out of his hand!"
Crabbe raised an eyebrow. "A ghost?"
"That's what they're saying." Draco's voice was gleeful, almost smug. "Serves him right. Maybe now he'll think twice before throwing his weight around."
Harry kept his head down, eating mechanically, forcing himself to look bored.
Around them, the Slytherin table buzzed with the story. Students whispered and laughed, passing the tale from one end of the table to the other.
Some claimed the ghost was the spirit of a former student who had died in that corridor. Others said it was a poltergeist, like Peeves, but more dangerous. A few suggested that Ron had simply dropped his wand and made up the story to save face.
Harry said nothing.
He felt a pair of eyes on him and looked up. Across the hall, at the Ravenclaw table, Daphne Greengrass was watching him.
Their eyes met, and Harry gave a small shrug.
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