The Daily Prophet did not scream.
It howled.
Harry learned this the following morning, when he stepped into the Great Hall and found it buzzing with a tension that had nothing to do with breakfast. Owls swooped lower than usual, wings brushing rafters as bundles of newspapers thudded onto tables with alarming force. Pages rustled. Gasps followed. Then whispers, urgent, disbelieving, electric.
He felt it before he saw it.
That low, instinctive awareness he had learned on Pandora, the sense of being watched, not by predators, but by something just as dangerous: attention.
Hermione froze mid-reach for toast.
Ron stared at the front page that had landed near his elbow, colour draining from his face. "Harry," he said hoarsely. "You're… mate, you're on the front."
Harry looked.
BOY-WHO-LIVED BECOMES BEAST?
DRAGON TASK SHOCKER LEAVES MINISTRY REELING
The photograph moved. Of course it did.
It showed the moment mid-transformation, Harry caught between forms, skin darkening, bones reshaping, eyes burning with feral focus. The caption beneath was less restrained.
Sources confirm Potter is an unregistered Animagus of unknown species. Experts warn this may represent an unprecedented magical mutation.
Harry felt nothing.
That unsettled him more than outrage would have.
Across the Hall, conversations stalled as eyes flicked toward him, some wide with awe, others narrowed with suspicion. A few students leaned closer, whispering urgently. Others edged subtly away, as though afraid proximity alone might provoke a transformation.
Draco Malfoy did not whisper.
"Well," he drawled loudly, pale eyes sharp with something like triumph. "I always knew Potter was hiding something."
Harry turned his head slowly.
Draco flinched.
The movement was minimal. Controlled. But there was something in Harry's gaze now, something still and assessing, like a predator deciding whether another creature was worth the effort.
Draco looked away first.
Harry returned to his breakfast.
That, more than anything, seemed to unsettle people.
Life at Hogwarts did not return to normal.
It rearranged itself around him.
Professors watched him more closely, though not with distrust, more with the careful attention reserved for unstable experiments or dangerous artefacts. Students approached him in fits and starts. Some asked breathless questions about Pandora, dragons, and whether he could still fly a broom. Others said nothing at all, content to stare from a distance.
The younger years watched him with open awe.
The older ones watched him with calculation.
Harry spent more time outside now.
The grounds soothed him in ways the castle no longer did. Grass beneath his feet, wind through his hair, thin echoes of something greater, but enough to ground him. He found himself sitting beneath the trees by the lake, eyes closed, listening to the quiet pulse of the land the way he once had to Pandora's forests.
Magic answered him there more readily.
Not explosively. Subtly.
Dumbledore noticed.
He always did.
Remus Lupin arrived quietly, late one evening, ushered into the Headmaster's office without fanfare. Sirius Black followed an hour later, restless energy contained only by the wards that kept him from pacing through walls.
Harry sat between them, hands folded loosely in his lap.
Remus's eyes softened at once. "Harry," he said gently. "You look… older."
Sirius snorted. "That's one way to put it."
Dumbledore said nothing. He simply drew out the Pensieve once more.
Understanding dawned slowly on Remus's face. Sirius's expression sharpened, instinctively alert. "All right," Sirius said. "What are we about to see?"
"The truth," Dumbledore replied.
They stepped forward.
And fell.
Remus watched with a scholar's focus that fractured almost immediately.
The forest. The bond. The war. His breath caught as he watched Harry learn to hunt, to kill, to mourn, and not lose himself to it. He saw the careful balance Harry struck between instinct and restraint, between ferocity and compassion.
"This isn't escapism," Remus murmured, half to himself. "This is lived experience."
Sirius said nothing.
He watched Harry fight, watched him protect Jake without hesitation, watched the way leadership settled on him not as entitlement but burden. When the memory reached the scene beneath the glowing trees, the godfather promise, Sirius let out a soft, broken laugh.
"Merlin," he whispered. "You really did it, didn't you, Prongslet?"
When the memory ended, Sirius did not move for a long moment.
Then he stood and crossed the room in three strides, pulling Harry into a fierce, crushing hug.
"You idiot," Sirius muttered thickly. "You went and lived a whole life without me."
Harry closed his eyes, breathing him in, warm wool, smoke, something wild and familiar. "I came back."
Remus's voice was quiet, steady with emotion. "You carry yourself like someone who has survived things no one should have to," he said. "And yet… you're still kind."
Harry met his gaze. "So are you."
Remus smiled sadly. "I try."
Neither man asked if Harry was dangerous.
They already knew the answer.
The announcement came at dinner.
Dumbledore rose, hands raised slightly, and the Great Hall hushed with remarkable speed. Harry felt the shift ripple outward, ln anticipation, curiosity, distraction from fear.
"It is my pleasure," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "to announce a long-standing tradition of the Triwizard Tournament."
A pause.
"The Yule Ball will take place on Christmas night."
The Hall erupted.
Excitement crashed over the students like a wave, laughter, groans, frantic whispering as social hierarchies recalculated themselves in real time. Parvati squealed. Dean groaned. Hermione went very still, eyes thoughtful.
Harry sat back in his chair.
Music. Light. Ritual.
A dance to mark the turning of seasons.
He remembered a different kind of gathering, songs beneath glowing branches, bodies moving not to impress, but to remember. To belong.
The noise washed over him, and for the first time since the Prophet's headlines, Harry felt something almost like anticipation stir in his chest.
Not fear.
Not dread.
Something quieter.
Change was coming.
And this time, he would meet it on his own terms.