The real Herry Potter

Just as Harry had anticipated, the news of his encounter with the mountain troll spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts. By the next morning, it seemed that every student was buzzing with excitement, retelling the story in their own embellished versions. Whispers filled the corridors, and whenever Harry walked by, conversations hushed, only to pick up again as soon as he was out of earshot.

Harry found himself the center of attention, and it was a strange feeling. He wasn't used to so many people looking his way, let alone the admiring glances that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Girls from all houses, even those much older than him, giggled and whispered to each other as he passed by. A few of them, emboldened by curiosity, even approached him.

"Harry, is it true you took down the troll with a single spell?" a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl asked him, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Did you really punch it in the nose?" added another girl, this time a fifth-year Hufflepuff, looking at him with awe.

Harry couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that," he said, trying to downplay his role. "It was mostly luck, honestly."

His modesty only seemed to make him more endearing, and by lunchtime, a small crowd had formed around him in the Great Hall. Fred and George Weasley didn't help matters as they regaled anyone who would listen with their dramatic retelling of the event, complete with exaggerated gestures and overly heroic descriptions.

"And there Harry was," Fred said, standing on the bench to ensure he had everyone's attention, "face-to-face with the biggest, ugliest troll you can imagine!"

"Ugliest thing this side of the Black Lake!" George chimed in, earning a round of laughter from the gathered students.

"Then Harry lifts his wand," Fred continued, raising his arm as if brandishing an invisible sword, "and with a flick of his wrist—BAM! The troll was down for the count!"

The story earned a round of applause, and despite himself, Harry found it difficult to be annoyed. There was something strangely heartwarming about the way the Weasley twins made him out to be a hero. He glanced at Hermione, who sat nearby, her nose buried in a book as usual, though she looked up every now and then, a small, knowing smile on her face.

However, not everyone seemed impressed by Harry's newfound fame. The Slytherins, particularly Draco Malfoy, seemed less than thrilled by the attention he was receiving. During Potions class, Malfoy sneered at Harry across the table.

"Enjoying your little moment in the spotlight, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure you'll make a great troll-hunter someday."

"Better than a daddy's angel, I suppose," Harry replied calmly, not bothering to look up from his textbook.

The Gryffindors nearby snickered, and even Professor Snape, who had overheard the exchange, raised an eyebrow, though he said nothing.

Despite the attention, Harry tried to return to his usual routine, but it was clear that things would never quite be the same. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Quirrell couldn't seem to meet Harry's eyes and stammered even more than usual whenever he spoke to him. The man's hands would twitch as if he wanted to say something, but then he'd hurriedly change the topic, leaving Harry with an unsettling feeling he couldn't quite shake.

As the day went by, Harry's newfound reputation as a hero didn't seem to be waning. It reached a point where even the older students began to acknowledge him. Cedric Diggory, the handsome and popular Hufflepuff, approached him one evening after dinner.

"Impressive work with that troll, Harry," Cedric said with a sincere smile. "Not many first-years could've done what you did."

"Thanks, Cedric," Harry replied, feeling a bit embarrassed. "But it really wasn't as heroic as everyone's making it out to be."

Cedric chuckled. "Maybe not, but you still did it. That's what counts."

It was comments like that which made it hard for Harry to dismiss the whole ordeal as luck. But it was Hermione who kept him grounded. In the evening, while the rest of the school was still abuzz with troll fever, she looked up from her book and gave him a serious look.

"You know you were incredibly lucky, right?" she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Facing a mountain troll alone could've gotten you killed."

Harry nodded. "I know, Hermione. And I'm glad you came looking for me. I might not have made it without you all."

Hermione's expression softened, and for a moment, the two friends sat in comfortable silence, surrounded by the quiet rustling of pages. "Just promise me you won't do anything like that again," she said, giving him a stern look.

Harry smiled. "No more trolls, I promise."

But even as he said it, he couldn't shake the feeling that his days of blending into the background were officially over. Something had changed, and as he glanced around at his fellow students—some still whispering about his bravery, others looking at him with newfound respect—he couldn't help but wonder what adventures were waiting just around the corner.

The next meeting of the club took place in their official clubroom on the fourth floor. The group had now solidified their unofficial name: "The Order of the Stars." It was a fitting name for a band of students who seemed to stumble upon mysteries that need to be solved. The room was dimly lit, with candles flickering on the desks, casting long shadows on the walls. As usual, Fred and George were perched on top of a desk, their feet dangling, while the rest of the group sat in a loose circle.

Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw with an analytical mind and a natural curiosity, adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Alright, everyone," he began, his tone serious. "I've been thinking a lot about what happened that night with the troll."

Everyone grew quiet, leaning in with interest. "We know that we met Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Dumbledore on our way to find Harry," Terry continued, "but there's something that doesn't add up."

"What do you mean?" Susan Bones asked, twirling a lock of her red hair around her finger, her expression puzzled.

Terry tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk thoughtfully. "When we were running through the corridors, Professor Snape joined us later, but did anyone else notice where he came from?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance. "He was limping," George pointed out. "And he definitely came from the direction of the third-floor corridor."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You mean where the giant three-headed dog is?"

"Exactly," Terry said, nodding. "Why would Snape be near the forbidden corridor when everyone else was trying to deal with the troll in the dungeons?"

Hermione, who had been silently listening, frowned and leaned forward. "But why would Snape go there? What could he possibly want?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Fred said, grinning. "He was trying to get past that big brute of a dog and whatever it's guarding."

"But what would he want?" Neville asked hesitantly. "I mean, what could be so important?"

Theodore Nott, who had been sitting quietly in the back, finally spoke up, his voice low and steady. "I can confirm something that might make this even more suspicious," he said. "When Professor Snape came back to the Slytherin common room that night, he was limping. And there was blood on his cloak."

There was a stunned silence as everyone processed this information. Harry felt his heart race, and he clenched his fists. "You're sure?" he asked Theodore, who nodded solemnly.

"I'm sure," Theodore replied. "He was muttering to himself, something about being more careful next time. Whatever happened, he definitely had a run-in with that dog."

"That settles it," Fred said, smacking his palm against the desk. "Snape used the troll as a distraction! He wanted everyone to focus on that while he tried to sneak past the dog and get to whatever it's guarding."

"But what could he want?" Susan asked, her eyes wide. "And why would he risk it?"

"That's the big question, isn't it?" George added. "The question is, what's so valuable that it's worth sneaking past a three-headed dog and causing a whole troll incident?"

Harry shook his head, feeling a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. "We need to find out what's behind that door," he said firmly. "Whatever Snape is after, it can't be good."

Hermione bit her lip, clearly torn. "But Harry, if it's being guarded by such dangerous magic, it's probably meant to be left alone. Besides, Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore doesn't seem to be telling us the whole truth," Harry interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. "If Snape's trying to get whatever's in there, we need to know why."

"Well, I, for one, think this sounds like an adventure," Fred said cheerfully. "And you know how we feel about those."

"Count us in," George agreed, clapping Harry on the back.

Neville, who looked more than a little nervous, managed a brave smile. "If you're going, then I'll come too."

"I'll help with any research we need to do," Hermione offered, albeit reluctantly. "If we're going to do this, we need to be smart about it."

"I can try to keep an eye on Snape," Theodore suggested. "I'll report back if he does anything else suspicious."

"And I'll do some investigating in the library," Terry added. "There must be something about magical creatures guarding valuable objects. Maybe it'll give us a clue about what's being hidden."

"So, we're all in agreement then," Harry said, looking around at the circle of friends, a sense of determination settling over him. "We'll find out what Snape is after, no matter what it takes."

As they finished their meeting and went their separate ways, Harry couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. For the first time, he wasn't just a boy caught up in the whirlwind of the wizarding world—he was actively seeking out answers, determined to uncover the mysteries that Hogwarts had to offer.

As they left the dimly lit room, Harry glanced back at the flickering candles, feeling a sense of foreboding. Whatever they were getting themselves into, one thing was certain—it was going to be dangerous.

After the club meeting, Harry slipped away quietly, making sure no one followed him. He knew that the castle's enchantments had a way of making people feel lost, so he took a few extra turns, doubled back, and waited until he was certain he was alone before heading to his secret base.

Harry had discovered it months ago, during one of his late-night explorations, and since then, it had become his personal workshop, a place where he could be himself without fear of judgment or prying eyes. The door to the base was camouflaged, and it required a specific incantation combined with a tap of his wand in a certain rhythm to unlock it. Once inside, Harry lit a few lamps, the soft glow revealing a room filled with scattered parchments, diagrams, and half-finished experiments.

Against one wall stood an assortment of brooms—each one in various stages of enhancement. Harry had been working on them tirelessly, using enchantments and ancient runes to modify their speed, agility, and overall performance. He had even managed to create a broom that could shrink and expand on command, something he'd read about in an ancient text. That broom in particular, his prized project, was nearing completion. He had painstakingly carved runes along its handle, ancient inscriptions that pulsed faintly with magic, enhancing the broom's maneuverability and speed.

"Almost there," Harry muttered to himself as he examined the broom, running his fingers over the polished wood. "Just a bit more tweaking, and it'll be ready."

Satisfied with the progress, he moved to another corner of the room where a stack of old, dusty books awaited him. These were tomes he had found in forgotten corners of the castle or tucked away in unused classrooms. One by one, he had scoured them for any information on the legendary Godric's Vault—a mythic place said to have belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself. According to the legends, the vault could transform into any terrain or battlefield, allowing its user to experience various forms of combat training. It was the ultimate test of a wizard's abilities, and Harry had been fixated on finding it ever since he first stumbled across an entry about it in an old Gryffindor journal.

His search for the vault had been thorough but fruitless so far. Yet, Harry remained undeterred. He had discovered plenty of other hidden secrets within the castle during his quest—an abandoned potion chamber, a room full of enchanted suits of armor that moved of their own accord, and even a small, enchanted greenhouse with plants that reacted to the sound of music.

"This castle is endless," Harry whispered to himself, unrolling a map he had been meticulously working on. It showed various pathways and secret passages he had discovered over the past few weeks. He traced a finger along one of the routes, lost in thought. "But there has to be something more. There has to be a clue I'm missing."

As he pored over his map, a faint draft tickled his neck, and he glanced up, feeling a sudden rush of excitement. He had felt that draft before, coming from a wall near the Charms corridor. He remembered touching the stones there—they had felt warmer than they should have been, almost as if they were reacting to something. It could be nothing, or it could be another entrance.

Without wasting any time, Harry grabbed his wand and stuffed a few notes into his robe. "Tonight," he muttered to himself with a grin. "Tonight, I'll see if you're hiding something."

Before he left, he paused at the center of the room, where a small chest lay open. Inside was an assortment of odds and ends—trinkets and treasures he'd found during his explorations. He picked up a polished red gem and held it up to the light. According to one of the journals he'd read, Gryffindor himself was rumored to have worn a gem like this one, and though Harry knew it was likely just a coincidence, he couldn't help but feel a connection to the ancient founder. It was as if he could feel Gryffindor's adventurous spirit coursing through him.

"I'll find it," he said aloud, his voice echoing in the small chamber. "No matter how long it takes, I'll find Godric's Vault."

Satisfied, Harry slipped out of his secret base, once again making sure no one had seen him leave. As he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, his mind buzzed with excitement. There was still so much to explore, so many mysteries to unravel. But for now, the next step was clear—find the hidden entrance and take another step closer to unlocking the secrets of Hogwarts.

The castle felt more alive than ever as he moved silently through the corridors, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floors. Harry grinned to himself, feeling a thrill he hadn't felt in years. This was what it meant to be a true Gryffindor, he thought—unafraid, adventurous, and always seeking the next challenge. And with every secret passage he uncovered, with every hidden room he found, he felt as if he was getting closer to something extraordinary, something that would finally connect him to the legacy of Godric Gryffindor himself.