Stop Time and Rewind

by Redstar1323

Summary:

“I helped you get your life and future back. Now it’s up to you do decide your future”

At the final battle, what if things went a little different. Those who live and die can be changed by one person on a mission to make life better for many people. Time and power are great tools. Though, with them, lives and fates can change (for better or worse). As everyone navigates through the final battle and its effects, no one will be untouched. Though, in the far distance, if you listen closely, can hear the sounds of war?

Chapter 1: Stop Time

Stop time and rewind. The jet stream of green light was coming toward him and he knew that he couldn’t run away. It was fated from before he was born to die this way. Perhaps this is better, he thought. From now on, no one will lay down their life for him to achieve this greater purpose of defeating the greater evil. For a moment he is happy, he achieved his purpose in life, be it a short one. The grand design made and shaped over many years has finally come to an end. With his dead loved ones surrounding him, he decided that he was ready. Ready to rest as the green stream of light hit him for one last time at last.

Silence and white space surrounded him as he opened his eyes. If this is death, then it is actually quite bland. He got up slowly and looked at his hands. They were clean. He forgot how his hands looked like when there were clean. He looked at his body and saw that they were also clean. His body lacked aches and pains. He felt, well normal. Though this feeling felt ten times more wonderful than what he has been feeling for the past few weeks. Well, more like months if he is being completely honest with himself, it was a little weird.

Since there is nothing around him, he decided that its best to look around to see where he is precisely. He looked to his left, there was nothingness just white. He looked to his right, there was also nothingness just white. It was unnerving. He looked down and it seemed like he was standing on nothing and just floating on thin air. The whiteness consumed him. It was too much, no life to speak of and he felt himself panic. This couldn’t possibly be it. Just nothingness is all that his life came down too. He felt the urge to scream start in his stomach and it slowly reached his throat and it burned. It burned.

A scream would break up the blandness. Something living at least will take up the space. He healed legs felt like nothingness and he had this urge to run. Feel the exhilaration on his legs and in his lungs. He got up and started walking. And that walk turned into a jog, and then a full-on sprint. To his disappointment, his body was exactly the same. He didn’t feel anything just the same as before. He could go on running forever and he wouldn’t have felt any different. He felt that he was dead. He must have stood there for a while. He was slowly losing his mind. Within the madness, he felt utter disappointment. If this is what his life came down too, was it all worth it. He had yet to experience so many things.

He would miss Ron and Hermione. There was so much left unsaid and things to experience with the both of them. He wouldn’t see them grow old and bicker through the ups and downs of life. They were his family.

He wanted to learn so much about different people and cultures and magic. It was so much he would miss and it all came down to blankness and silence. He kept standing for what seemed like hours or maybe days. Time didn’t seem to matter here in this world of silence and quiet. Just nothing, nothing, nothing.

For what seemed like an eternity, he then heard something. It was first very soft and he could have misheard. But then it kept getting louder and louder and louder. It was almost deafening. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but then he felt something touch his hand. It zapped him and it his body flinched into life. He turned around and saw a small child. He looked to be 6 years old with big brown eyes and hair. He clothes were also that same strange white that surrounded everything. The boy then asked, “Are you Mister Potter”?

Potter, I guess that was his name. He nodded and said, “Yes”. The child smiled and took his hand walking in one direction saying, “I’ve been looking for you, but you seemed to have run off. I’m so happy that I found you, the train is about to leave”.

As they kept walking, his surroundings turned into a place very familiar. It was King’s Cross. They seemed to be walking towards a bench with someone sitting on it. It was Dumbledore.

When he saw who it was, he sprinted over and exclaimed, “It’s you!”. Dumbledore smiled and said, “Yes, it is me. Come sit with me young Harry, we have something to discuss”. He sat down while the child took off in another direction and could not be seen. It was weird to see him again. He looked like when he was alive and well. It was nice to have a familiar face in this strange and blank place.

He began saying, “So I guess that I am dead” he said bluntly. Dumbledore smiled saying, “Well you are sort of, more like the place in-between. You see young Harry; you have an important choice to make”. He paused and looked Harry into the eyes saying gravelly, “Whether you should leave or stay”. As Harry looked back, he didn’t the notice that twinkle in his blue eyes, but rather the endless black pit in the middle. He felt his stomach drop.

Dumbledore’s voice lifted saying, “Though the choice to do so is running out quick”. The train in the station blew its horn. He glanced at the train and then back at Dumbledore. While staring at the train again, he asked, “Will the next place be like this?”.

Dumbledore smiled and said, “Well I’m quite on sure, I’ve been waiting for you so that we can hopefully go and find out together”.

He looked at Dumbledore’s eyes again. They seemed genuine and they had that little twinkle in his eyes like when he saw him for the very first time. Though there was something unnerving about this. It seems like he lost the plot and will be thrown into another plan again. Like why would…

His train of thought was cut short when Dumbledore touched his shoulder and said, “It seems like it’s time to go”.

The train whistled again and the little boy from before came back. Dumbledore got up and said to the child, “Come here Tom”.

His eyes widened as he stared at the boy. Hand in hand, they both looked at him and the boy, Tom, freakily enough asked, “Are you coming with us? I was told that the place we are going to is very hot. I’m sure you would like it.”.

He closed his eyes to block what was in front of him. He felt that something was wrong, he’s missing something. But when he opened his eyes again, he was walking towards them. It was more like a compulsion. He legs felt like lead with each step as they smiled at him as he grew closer.

Just as he was about to reach then, he felt something tap his shoulder. He turned around and it was Draco. He didn’t look haunted like the last time he saw it. Instead, he looked healthy like he has never seen before. His hair was shining that very pail bound, his cheeks where a rosy pink like he was been running, but his clothes we’re a deep shade of midnight black. Though, you can see that tiny stars sparkled in the fabric. It looked magical.

The one thing that stood out the most was that his eyes were two different colors. He smiled at me and said, “It not your time Potter” and pushed him backward. Gasping, he fell. Instead of falling on the ground, he just kept falling and falling until he was utterly gone.

When he woke up, he was in the forest where he was first hit. Reality came back in full force as he felt all of the aches and pains on his body. He was sure that something was broken and a pointy stick was bothering his back, but he was alive again.

He got up slowly since he felt sick to his stomach and wanted to pass out. When he got to his bearings, he looked around him. The first think he noticed was that Hagrid was staring at him with huge eyes, snot running town down, and his eyes red from crying. He said, “How?!” he paused “you were dead… how did you?” he finished his sentence softly.

He really felt bad for Hagrid, but at the moment he felt the urgency to move. Time was of the essence and it was not on his side. He looked at Hagrid and said, “I don’t know, but we have to get back quickly. Can you carry me there?”. Hagrid looked shocked but then nodded a second later.

“Great, I have a plan”.

**** STOP TIME ****

As Hagrid carried him back, time felt endless. He looked up at the grey sky and wished that it was blue. Despite his plan, he could very well die again. Thinking back to the white place, he shivered. No, dying now is not an option. When they were close, Hagrid told him to close his eyes. Hagrid carried him into the heart of the battle and everyone stopped and stared.

For a moment, everyone was in disbelief at what they say. It was true, the savior is dead and Voldemort had won. The feelings of distress, anger, and grief could be felt by everyone. Ron and Hermione clutched their hands together at their fallen friend. The Weasleys started to cry for their fallen son. Though, there was one who still stood determined, ready for action. The moment will come.

Some people thrived under the sadness and were excited by it. This is partially seen by Voldemort who exclaimed in happiness, “He is dead!”. He did a little dance while everyone stared at him for, they thought that the war has come to an end. It was in that moment when Harry sprung to life and went full sprint toward Voldemort.
Everyone was shocked as the man thought to be dead sprung to life. Voldemort was off of his tilter at this and didn’t react for a short time. This was all the time that he needed. Just as he was running towards Voldemort, Draco came from the crowd running at him as well. Many thought that he was trying to stop him, but that was not the case. In his eyes, you could see his joy, but also determination to get towards him.

It was then Draco threw a wand at him and exclaimed, “Harry!”. His eyes widened at this, and he caught the wand with ease. His seeker skills never failed him.

At this moment, Voldemort recovered and looked at the betrayer. In anger, he raised his wand and shouted, “Avada Kedavra”. A jet of green light came towards Draco. Har looked in horror and before he could think, he was shouting at Draco to run, but he didn’t. He just stood there like he knew this was the end. Just before the light reached him, he turned his head towards Harry and gave him a small smile filled with acceptance and peace and mouthed something.

Then he was gone, it hit him straight in the chest and he fell like a graceful willow. From the distance, he would hear screaming, but it was overshadowed by his overwhelming rage.

It only took it a second to round back on Voldemort and screamed, “Volta Avada Kedavra”. A stream of black, yellow, and green light went towards Voldemort. Though, Voldemort was just as fast and recovered saying, “Avada Kedavra” at him. When the streams meet, sparks flew all around them.

It was a battle of wills and pure magic as everyone around them started and screamed for what side they wanted to win.

The majority was screaming for Harry, and he used their energy and determination to fortify him in this fight. He felt the magic deep within himself that he never felt before and dug into it. It burning like the sun, filled with energy and life. With it, he pushed it forward from his core, threw his body, out his arm into the wand Draco threw at him. A sonic wave of magic pulsed into the air around him which pushed everyone back. Now slowly yet surly, his magic was beating Voldemort.

He moved forwards as he felt his power winning. Voldemort’s snake like eyes widened as he realized that he is losing. With anger, Voldemort screamed, “NO” and tried valiantly to get the upper hand again. However, it was not to his advantage. The was only a sliver left before Harry’s stream meet him, when Voldemort screamed, “You will never beat me!”. With that Harry gave a final push of his magic so that this war can end once and for all. When his multi-colored magic reached Voldemort, he bellowed.

It was the sound of pure terror as it seemed like his soul was being pushed from his body. His body became black and slowly turned into ash as the seconds ran by. Though at his core, something truly black remained. It pulsed like a heartbeat. It was the last horcrux, the final piece of his soul. When his body was no more and his soul still remained, stopped in place by an indivisible force.

He feared that it would scurry off in hiding and once again look to regain his body. With magic thrumming through the air and in his figure tips, he stepped closer to it.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it, but then an idea popped into his head. He clenched it with his bared hands.

Black lines ran up his arm as the soul tried to gain a new host, but he wouldn’t let it. The soul was solid, yet not. Either way, it was doomed to be destroyed. The soul tried in vain to get away, but he was steadfast. With both hands on the soul, he channeled his magic again from his soul and pushed it into his hands.

Everyone looked in amazement and in fear. It was pure power put on display by someone so young. Many people would remember this day for this particular reason.

Harry then screamed as he slowly ripped the rotten soul in half. With each ripe, a wave of magic pulsed through the air as the soul tried to go against its fate. With one final push, Harry finally ripped the soul in half and ended the war once and for all. The blackness of the soul turned in into a blinding light and then slowly dissipated into nothingness.

Once it was no more, Harry dropped to the ground on his knees and he looked up to the sky. It was a bright blue sky. He was a peace.

It was different from his brief trip from the white place. He still felt the pain and the sadness, but it felt like a great weight was taken off of him for the first time in a long time. From this moment, he should be free. No prophecy would bind his life anymore.

And then the world around him came into focus. Everyone around him was cheering and hugging each, and crying tears of happiness. Some brave few were chasing the after the death eaters that were running away.

His first priority was going to Draco. He was the only reason why he won and it seems the one to push him back to the land of the living. With each agonizing step, he walked towards him.

Draco lay still on the ground. He looked very young laying there, too young. He felt the tears develop in his eyes as he looked down at Draco. They were not friends, but in the end, he saw and knew that he didn’t want to be on Voldemort’s side. He wondered why he did though. He’ll never get to ask now.

He took Draco’s hand which lay on his side and brought it up. His hand touched his watch which looked old and warn. Finally, he bent down and put his head on his hand, saying “Thank you”. At that moment, time stopped.

Chapter 2: Running Out of Time

Draco didn’t have much time. To be precise, 15 minutes and 15 seconds before it was time. Though 2 minutes were already in place already, which now left him 13 minutes and 10 seconds. He moved quickly to find his friends. By now they should be in the corridor leading to the main hall. He ran towards them like the world was going to end. The smoke of the crumbling buildings filled his lunges and dodged curses, from both sides, coming his way. When he turned around the corner, he saw them. They were fighting a death eater. Wand in hand, he stunned the man from behind. His friends looked at him with amazement. Their faces were dirty and their clothes had dirt, ash, and blood. Pansy asked, “Draco what are you doing here?! If anyone sees you, they will kill you.”. Blaise nodded in assentment.

Draco hurriedly said, “There is no time. Do you remember the old guard statue that we make fun of”? They nodded. During their first year, they constantly made jokes about it. It was fun and simpler time.

“Okay, I need both of you to go there and help the twins.”. Their eyebrows and demeanor changed at the unusual request. “What do you mean the …” Pansy was cut off when Draco growled, “There is no time to explain. Just go NOW”.

They both knew that when their friend said there was no time, he was usually right. Without asking any more questions, they ran towards the old guard to go to the twins of all people. Checking his watch again, he looked to see if he has time to do another trick. It seems that he did. The courtyard in front of him was full of bodies and people from both sides fighting. It seems that the only way to get to his goal was to dart straight through. Bracing himself, he tightened his grip on his wand and went darting across the field.

Dodging curses from both sides, he only tripped once while sprinting. His body hit the ground hard as dirt and grim encased the front of his body. Looking back and what he tripped on, he saw a severed arm. He started for a second before coming back to himself. He had no time to freak out now. He heaved himself up and continued charging across the field, towards the back of the castle and the Forbidden Forest.

From the distance, he was able to see Tonks and Remus. Side by side, they were fighting Greyback off. Greyback looked half transformed as he stood tall with grey fur adorning his body. He was vicious as he cast spell after spell with no hesitation.

Draco was getting close to them, but not close enough to save Tonks from the green spell that hit her head. A scream of despair tore from Remus’s throat at her death, but Greyback was not affected. Just as was aiming for the kill shot, Draco yelled “Sanctumsempra”! The spell traveled strong and true as it tore through the air and connected with Greyback’s wand arm. A moment of disbelief stretched as Greyback’s transformed arm fell to the ground with a thud. Blood sprayed from the amputation as Greyback howled.

Taking a moment of distraction, Remus's eyes flashed golden yellow as he launched himself on Greyback. Greyback tried to fight with one arm, but it was no use as Remus’s transformed mouth filled with sharp teeth torn out his throat. Greyback gargled under his own blood as Remus howled in his bittersweet victory.

As Draco approached, Remus quickly snapped to his direction. He growled ready for a flight at Draco’s approach. Draco held his hands and wand up as he approaches him. Carefully he said to the professor, “I mean to harm professor. I just want to help”. Remus concentrated on Draco’s heart as he said that and decided that he was truthful. Eyes turning back to their light brown once again, Remus looked at Draco and asked, “why”?

“Because it is the right thing to do” Draco answered full of conviction.

The moment was broken when the air around them changed just slightly. Draco and Remus looked towards the sky as something in the world fundamentally changed. Glancing down at his watch once again, Draco cursed. It was almost time. Taking out another mini watch from his pocket, Draco handed it to Remus. Looked very confused, Draco explained, “You need to go now. We don’t have time.”.

“But ...” Remus started, but Draco stopped him once again.

“We have no time. This will take you to Severus” Draco told him.

Remus eyes crinkled as he softly said, “Severus” and blinked out of existence.

With him gone, Draco looked back at the castle waiting for his big debut.

**** TIME STOP ****

He started running in a full sprint towards the castle. He had to get there on time or it will be for nothing. Dirt and ash whirled in the air as he constantly rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. When he couldn’t see, he kept running and hoped for the best.

His feet pounded the concrete, grass, and unfortunately some humans. Nothing could stand in his way as he constantly sucked in the air into his burning lungs. From a distance, he could see what he was aiming for. The crowds of people rose in volume at what he could guess was Harry.

Even though everything hurt in his body and his lungs felt like lava, he pushed the people to make his way toward his main target. The main reason for this his plan. Once he spotted the iconic crazy brown hair, he yelled “Harry” and threw his wand at him. It seemed like an eternity as the wand traveled through the air. Then finally, it was could in capable hands. Now he could breathe.

Though not for too long. A stream of green was coming at him and he knew that it was too late to move out the way. In the distance, he could hear the desperation of someone telling him to move, but he knew that it was too late. Draco turned his head to Harry and smiled. At least now, he can finish the prophecy and finally live. He mouths words he hoped Harry would understand, before being met with total darkness.

Chapter 3: Waiting on a Miracle

For a second or an eternity, there was nothingness. There was no darkness nor light, just the vast all-encompassing beyond. Though, in the distance, something came into being. In the beyond, it was All and it was beautiful. Though All, it was lonely. Though, it seems it would not stay that way for long.

**** TIME STOP ****

Harry came to himself with a soft sigh. Draco’s watch, which was broken and had stopped, seemed to start once again. Green eyes stared at the watch, but then caught sight of the impossible. Pale long fingers seemed to move just slightly.

Before he could investigate further, the sound of a wail and fast-approaching feet came towards him. On instinct, he quickly moved back from Draco and the fast-approaching figures. Soon Mrs. Malfoy, Pansy, and Blaise surrounded Draco’s body. Thick tears streamed down Mrs. Malfoy sat on the dirty ground and softly picked up her son’s body. She wailed, “Draco! Draco! O my sweet boy!” as she rocked him to her chest. Pansy and Blaise hugged each other as they cried unto each other.

At that moment, Harry could not but feel helpless as he stared at their deep sorrow.

POP!

Pansy, Blaise, and Harry turned sharply to the unexpected loud sound with wands in hand, ready to attack. To their astonishment, it was a house elf. The small elf wore plain grey clothes and looked upon Draco with big brown eyes.

“Missy is taking Draco home now”, the house elf, Missy, said to it seems Draco’s Mother. His mother was not listening, however, as she still stroked her son’s cheeks.

Missy twisted her hands in her skirt as she stared at the inconsolable mother. She seemed to change her tactic when say instead said, “Missy is talking all of you home now. Missy is under strict order to get Draco home or it will be too late”.

Faster than any house elf he has ever seen, Missy moved to where the Slytherins were. Blaise and Pansy tried to move, but they were too slow as Missy touched Draco and Blaise with her long bony hands. Within an instant, she was gone.

Harry’s eyes widened at what transpired and was again left at a loss. Though his mind was running a thousand miles per hour, his body seemed to have the opposite approach. One second, he was up and then at the next, he was out like a light.

**** TIME ****

The tree leaves rustled and shook as Harry slowly came to himself. As he slowly opened his eyes, he squinted as the sun burned them. He must have made a noise because he heard the patter of feet come toward him. With one eye open barely open, he looked to see the shadow that loomed over him and blocked the blinding light.

With a warm smile and soft voice, Mrs. Weasley asked, “How are you feeling sweety?”

In all honesty, it felt like his body had been trampled by some giants, but he responded with a weak, “Okay”.

She smiled warmly at me as she came closer and brushed my hair from my forehead.

“You gave us a mighty scare deary. Let me check up on you just to make sure everything is okay” she said as she pulled out her wand.

With the wave of her hand, she hovered her wand from the top to the bottom of his body. He felt a little tingle and wanted to sneeze, but besides that it was painless. Within a few seconds, he saw her frown and asked her worriedly, “Is there something wrong with me”?

Her brown eyes glanced up at his for a second, before she said, “No honey, it seems that the spell is a bit wonky. A proper nurse should be coming around the house later in the day and will be sure to check up on you”. Though her face and demeanor seemed to be nonchalant, her eyes displayed something different.

She changed the subject quickly asking, “Are you up for visitors deary? I know Ron and Hermione have been wanting to see you a lot”.

Without a second thought, he said, “Yea, I’m up for it. Though, just Ron and Hermione for now.”

With that, she smiled, patted his cheek softly, and left the room. Within a few seconds, Ron and Hermione came barging into the room and towards him. Their faces were fresh with worry and some of the aftermath of the battle. Ron was sporting a black eye and a deep cut across his cheek. His arm was in a sling. Hermione wasn’t fairing any better. She had a bandage on the right side of her forehead, multiple cuts on her lips, and was using crutches. For a while, they just stared at each other.

Harry laughed slightly saying, “You two look like shit”. Ron cracked a smile while Hermione laughed lightly. With the tension broken, Hermione sat on the chair beside him while Ron sat on the side of the bed. It felt nice that the three of them were together again.

“How’s the arm?” Harry asked Ron.

He shrugged with his left shoulder, saying, “Its okay. Nothing that I can’t handle. It’ll be around 2 weeks before I can take off this blasted sling”.

“The sucks. And you Hermione?”

She shifted in her seat slightly and Ron went to reach for her hand. Her lips drew tight as she thought about what she would say. She squeezed Ron’s hand before saying, “Fine”.

Harry snorted slightly at that and lightly said, “I get it. I’m ‘fine’ as well”, he shifted towards her, not daring to touch her, and said, “While you are fine, just know that we are here for you. Truly Hermione”.

She glanced at her teary eyes and Harry before nodding. For a while, they just sat there in the still room with the birds singing in the sky and the trees slightly blowing. It was peaceful.

The stillness was broken by Ron asking, “Harry…” he paused, “What happened? What you did was …”. His thought was halted by Harry looking sharply at him. For a second, Ron was struck with fear as he looked into his friend’s green eyes as they seemed to glow. Though, it left as quickly as it came; Harry was his best friend after all.  

Harry looked away from Ron, not sure how to answer him. He could tell them what happened, but it was too strange for it to be real. Perhaps he would tell them one day, but it was not today. So, Harry turned to look at the window again before answering, “The world seems dark and strange to me, but still so beautiful”.

Ron tilted his head as he thought about his friend’s answer. Hermione seemed to get it as her head shot up at what he said. Sensing that his friend wanted to be left alone, he helps Hermione get up as they leave the room now filled with warmth and silence.

**** STOP ****

With a thud, four bodies hit the floor hard. Blaise and Pansy sprawled on the floor while Mrs. Malfoy and her son lay side by side. Everyone except for Draco quickly recovered as Blaise and Pansy stood up with wands at the ready. Mrs. Malfoy once again took her son into her arms ready to attack. Pansy looked around for an attacker, saying out loud, “Where are we? And where is that blasted elf”?

Mrs. Malfoy looked up and started saying, “I think we are …” before being interrupted by two grand doors on the side opening with a load BANG. They jumped at the loud noise and were about to attack before seeing who was there.

Mrs. Malfoy's eyes opened saying, “Severus!”. As always, he wore all black but the two things that stood out were the big bandage on his neck and how deathly pale he looked. Blaise was the first to notice the person standing behind him. “Professor Lupin!”

Severus wasted no time as he looked at Draco on the floor.

“Come, bring him QUICKLY, I’m afraid we have no time to waste,” Severus said and then turned around towards the doorway.

Mrs. Malfoy looked down at her son and yelled, “HE IS DEAD SEVERUS”!

He quickly spun around, “No, he will be if you all don’t follow me right now!”.

Moving into action, Pansy casts a lightening charm on Draco, and Blaise moved to carry him. The two then followed their professor through the doors. Professor Lupin looked at her for a second, before following after them.

As she sat on the floor with tears down her face, she wondered if she would get a miracle.

Chapter 4: Just Breath

Notes:

New Chapter, New Year! : )

The four of them moved quickly through the home to a room that seemed to be a sunny makeshift hospital. As soon as they entered Severus instructed Blaise to put Draco on the bed in the middle of the room. Blaise saw how still and pale his friend looked under the dirt and blood which encompassed his body. Just a few minutes ago, he was so vibrant in all of the wreckage and now only his shell remained.

Severus pointed at Blaise and Pansy saying, “You two stay right over there. Don’t get in the way and help when I instruct you to”. They quickly went to the side of the room and looked on as their professor went on.

Severus looked upon ember eyes and gulped before saying, “Wolf, I’ll deal with you later” he paused. “But for now, lend me your strength”. Lupin nodded, roughly saying, “I’ll be here”.

With that, Severus took out his wand and began a long series of chants. He stood in place as he moved his wand in a circular fashion around Draco’s chest. With each rotation of his wand, the magic in the room filled, weighing down the people in the room. Sweat formed on his temple and slide down his face as he continued on and on.

Lupin’s keen eyes started to notice something hovering just over Draco’s body. Just as he was watching Draco, he noticed Severus struggling to carry on. Swiftly he moved behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. Without hesitation, he whispered, “dōnāre redo”.

Blaise and Pansy looked on in awe at what was happening in the room. The power and magic in the room were tangible as they looked upon the professor. They we confused as to what he was actually doing, but they had hope. As time went on, they noticed how he grew weaker and weaker. It seemed that Lupin noticed it too and moved to help him. As soon as he whispered something both of them couldn’t hear, they both buckled under the increased magic pressure in the room. Though he still looked exhausted, Severus seemed to gain a second wind as he stood up taller than before.

Then they saw something miraculous. It was a second Draco that just hovered over his body. Just like his body, he was still, but they noticed he was clutching a small watch on his side. A semi-coherent Severus also noticed this and looked at Missy across the room. With a soft pop, she disappeared.

Within the second, Narcissa was in the room just opposite Severus. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red as she looked at the scene in front of her. Before she should say anything, Severus glared hard at her without stopping his chanting and wand movement. Missy stood next to her and said, “Esteemed guest Severus requests that you pull yourself together. A binding spell needs to be done. You do remember it, correct?”.

Once again Narcissa looked at Severus who has stopped paying attention to her, instead devoting all his focus to her son. She breathed in deeply and wiped her eyes. Swiftly she pulled out her wand and began to chant the same spell from long ago.

With their combined chanting, Blaise and Pansy witnessed the second Draco become more real and less transparent. Timed seemed to drone on as the three poured all of their magic into the spell they were casting. It seemed to Blaise and Pansy that just their power was not enough to sustain what the three were doing.

The two glanced at each other and knew they had to help. Pansy looked at Missy who stood guard in the room watching over everything that was happening. Pansy asked, “Missy what can we do to help?”.

Missy hands were clutching her skirt when she turned to them and said, “Magic”. Pansy face contorted into confusion at her words and asked, “How?!”. The elf didn’t respond immediately, instead looking at the struggling faces of the three wizards. As she made her decision, she untangled her fingers from her skirt and went towards the younger wizards.

“You” pointing to Pansy, “go to the Miss”.

“And you” pointing to Blaise, “come with me”

Pansy did the same as Professor Lupin did with the Professor while Missy and Blaise moved to the foot of the bed. Missy spread her bony hands over Draco’s body while Blaise bent down to put his hand on Missy’s shoulder.

“Now repeat after me dōnāre redo” Missy instructed the two. Together they said, “dōnāre redo”.

Suddenly it felt like they were freefalling. The floor underneath them was no more and the only thing that was holding them to the group was the person in front of the other. It felt freeing yet terrifying as they held on for dear life. If this is what it took to get their friend back, they would hold on forever if they had to.

The additional three magics in the room swirled and shifted in the air causing both Severus and Narcissa to feel the final stages of the spell coming to life. They chanted louder as their wands moved in unison to the magics in the air. The room began to fluctuate between blistering heat and freezing cold with each rotation of the wands. At its peak, the scream of six souls echoed throughout the room as the magic burned brightly throughout their bodies.

In an instant, six bodies dropped to the floor and a pair of eyes opened.

**** Rewind ****

Harry seemed to have fallen asleep once again because when he woke up, the suns dying light flowed into the windows. Feeling like he has slept enough, he slowly moved his body to sit at the edge of his bed. His legs protested as he slowly stood up and moved towards the door. Just as he was at the door, his left leg gave out under him, but luckily caught himself on the wall.

He breathed in and out slowly as everything in his being screamed for him to go sit down, but he had to keep moving forward. After a minute or minutes, he wasn’t keeping track, he slowly pulled himself up and opened the door. He was greeted by the site of the familiar Weasley hallway. There wasn’t a person in site as he made his way down the hallway and to the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he rested. As he leaned against the wall, he heard the sounds of people downstairs, though he couldn’t distinguish who.

He breathed in deeply and then out again as he looked at the staircase. If he could take on Voldemort, he could go down a flight of bloody stairs. The first few steps were fine, but by mid-way tears flowed to his eyes. As he stopped to recollect himself, he didn’t hear the two sets of feet coming towards him.

The two sets of eyes looked upon the boy on the stairs who was clearly in pain.

“Harry!” The pair of them moved in sync to help the boy.

They noticed the sweat forming on his temples and the pained grimace as he tried to move down the stairs by himself.

They each took a side and said, “Okay Harry, we’ll lift you on the count of three to get you down the stairs”

They waited to do so until Harry nodded his head in attestment.

“One”

“Two”

“Three”

The brothers lifted Harry from the group slightly and the three moved in unison down the rest of the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell, Harry breathed in and out deeply before turning to the two saying with a grimaced laugh, “Thanks guys. I really could have made an ass out of myself”.

The twins frowned slightly before one of them said, “It’s no problem, Harry. Were always here to help you”.

“For sure Harry” the other echoed.

They stood in deep thought for a second until Harry said, “I smell food”.

The two usually cheerful twins perked up said, “O yea, ma is cooking up a storm. Everyone should be home today for dinner. Well, they should be …”.

The topic of Percy seems to still hang over the family.

“Great, lets join her then and see if she needs any help” Harry said knowing that she wouldn’t, especially now. The twins flanked him once again, always ready to help him walk if he needed it. The walk was slow, but it was nice that they didn’t insist helping him again.

Eventually they made it to the kitchen which was warm, smelled of great food, and had some other Weasleys. Mr. Weasley was the first to notice them as Mrs. Weasley had her back turned cooking. Mr. Weasley put the paper before smiling widely at Harry saying, “Harry your up!”.

At Harry’s name, Mrs. Weasley turned quickly around wailing, “Harry my dear, you should be resting! Come sit, you need to rest”. It seemed that her voice carried because then Ginny, Ron, and Hermione quickly came into the kitchen. 

Once Ginny saw Harry, she screeched just like her mother, “Harry!”. Suddenly she was next to him, pulling him along to the table and a seat. He stumbled over himself and her hand on his arm burned, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Once he was forced to sit down, Ginny sat in the chair very close to him. Harry slightly shifted to the other side to get away from Ginny who has taken upon herself to drape her body over him. The others in the room started trickling into the kitchen as Ginny continued her antics.

Without a moments reprieve, Ginny started bombarding questions at Harry. They all flowed over his head as he spent all of his energy not passing out or crying in pain.  It seemed that Ginny was the only oblivious one to his plight when Ron decided to step in saying, “Hey Gin leave off him. He just woke up okay”. His voice was strong, sure, and calm as he said so.

At his words, she slide back properly into her seat as the people took a seat around the Weasley table. Once everyone was seated, Harry breathed in deeply before asking, “So what did I miss?”.

Chapter 5: What Did I Miss?

Harry breathed in deeply before asking, “So what did I miss?”

Ginny seemed to take that as her queue to talk again when you started saying, “Well …”, however, she was cut off by Mrs. Weasley when she said, “All serious talk is for AFTER breakfast. Now everyone sit down. Everything will be out in just a minute”.  At Mrs. Weasley’s command, everyone sat at the small table which has been magically extended. Ginny continued to sit next to Harry while Ron sat in the other seat beside him. As Mrs. Weasley started to bring over the delicious-smelling dishes she made, the flow came to life. Everyone jumped in their seat at the sound and everyone, but Ginny and wandless Harry pointed their wands in the direction of the sound. Light footsteps come towards the kitchen and to everyone’s surprise, Percy came into view. 

For a second everyone was shocked at the unexpected visitor until the twins jumped up and exclaimed, “What are YOU doing here?”. Percy seemed to pale further at their clamor, but Mrs. Weasley came to the rescue. She pointed a wooden spoon at the twins saying, “You two sit down NOW” and they quickly did so. She turned to Percy and a vast range of emotions flashed across her face before she settled saying, “And you young man, will sit with us and have breakfast”. With no room to argue, Percy went and sat next to Ron and far away from the twins. 

The room grew tense again, but at the smell of food permeating the air, both Harry's and Percy’s stomachs rumbled loudly. At that Mrs. Weasley sprang into action and soon the table was filled with food. As soon as the last dish was set down, almost everyone launched at the food. Harry waited for a few before grabbing food since he didn’t want to be trampled by everyone and to his despair, Ginny noticed this. At the lack of food, Ginny turned, grabbed his plate, and started putting various dishes which she seemed to like. Though he liked all of Mrs. Weasley's food, he wanted something very different from what Ginny decided for him. As soon as Ginny put his food back down and gave him a frankly gage-worthy smile, his appetite all but vanished. 

With a forced smile, he thanked Ginny and forced himself to try eating. Mostly, he was poking around at the food and taking a few bites just to appease Ginny who kept glancing at him while eating. As breakfast winded down, Mrs. Weasley took notice of Harry’s plate but didn’t say anything. Once everyone was done, Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand to vanish the plates to be washed in the kitchen. 

Harry felt Ginny creeping closer and closer to him, so he turned to Ron and asked, “Want to play some chess?” knowing he was almost always ready to. At that, he nodded, stood up, and offered his hand to Harry. Harry was grateful as his friend helped him up but was soon almost pulled back down by Ginny grabbing and tugging on his other arm. At the unexpected touch, a vase near the window blew up. 

Embarrassed, Harry quickly muttered, “Sorry” and tried to hurry away. Ginny was about to say something else when Mrs. Weasley said, “Ginevra, can you help me for a second” with no room for argument. As Harry moved, Ron took up his left, while Hermine stood next to him on his right. They moved at Harry’s pace back to his room and soon were back in the small room again. Harry sat down on the bed, exhausted from the short trip while Ron and Hermione pulled up a chair. Harry closed his eyes as he lay down awkwardly on the bed. 

“Harry”, Ron called. Harry lifted his head slightly and opened one eye for his friend. Ron sighed before continuing, “I’m sorry for Gin. She …”. His voice petered off, at a loss for what to say about his younger sister. Contrary to popular opinion, Ron does notice the things around him and the behavior Gin has been displaying has been making him think a lot. On one hand, Gin was his baby sister, but then Harry is his brother in everything but blood and his best friend. He was at a loss for what to do exactly at the moment. 

Harry could see the turmoil in Ron’s eyes before saying, “It’s okay Ron. She’s just worrying a lot since the battle. She’ll back off in a few days”. That was Harry’s hope anyway. At the finality of that conversation, Hermione spoke up saying, “I have the chess board if you two want to play”. 

“That would be great Hermione,” Ron said with a soft smile. She took the never-ending pouch that she carries with her everywhere from her waist and pulled out the board and a pouch of pieces. Soon the board was set and the two played a couple of games. Ron wiped the floor with Harry, but it was fun for the both of them. Hermione spent her time reading a book. 

Their moment was peace was disturbed too soon in Harry’s opinion when a knock came on the door. Mrs. Weasley poked her head saying, “Harry dear the healer is here to see you”. Harry nodded his head and soon the healer came into the room. Harry noted that she was an older woman around Mrs. Weasley's age and wore traditional white and red medical clothes. On her shoulder, there was a golden star. 

She stood near the door as she says, “Good morning, Mr. Potter. I am Healer McRue from St. Mungo’s Hospital. I have been specifically assigned to you for any ailments you may have. Before we continue, I have to ask for you to decide which persons, if any, you want in the room before we discuss anything with you medically”. 

Harry was taken aback by the professional healer; he was so used to people just knowing everything about him without his knowledge. His decision was easy to make saying, “Ron and Hermione can stay if they want”. They two turned back and nodded at him. 

Mrs. Weasley spoke up saying, “Are you sure you don’t want me here as well sweety?”. Harry smiled tightly saying, “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll let you know if there is anything serious”. Mrs. Weasley stared at him in shock until Healer McRue said, “If you don’t mind being on your way Mrs. Weasley, I have to attend to the patient”. 

She moved out muttering, “Of course. I’ll just be downstairs”. With Mrs. Weasley gone, the Healer focused back on Harry. 

Notes:

Just a short chapter that I was supposed to post last month. Might post another one this month.

I’m not totally sure which direction I want to take Mrs. Weasley, so lmk what y’all think.

Chapter 6: My Friends on the Other Side

Notes:

A short chapter setup for this month so that next month, more content will be in the next chapter.

Have fun reading! : >

The sound of crickets was the first to greet Draco as he woke. Regaining his awareness took some time. He gradually felt sensations from his toes, working his way up through his ankles, legs, torso, neck, ears, and finally his eyes. Everything about his body felt different. An unfamiliar essence seemed to radiate from his chest, spreading swiftly throughout his entire form. He decided to set that particular issue aside for later and instead focused on the simple task of opening his eyes.

His eyelids felt weighty as he strained to unveil the new day. Once they fluttered open, his gaze swept cautiously around the room. The initial sight that struck him was the scattered bodies strewn across the floor. He blinked repeatedly, as if to confirm what lay before him, and a silent chuckle escaped him as he acknowledged the surrealness of the situation.

It was time to rise. He gradually pushed himself up, his muscles tensing and joints audibly popping until he managed to sit upright in bed. Walking seemed out of the question for the time being. With a sigh through his nose, he contemplated his next move. His attention caught on the shattered glass of his watch, prompting him to summon Ouros. He pressed his finger to the watch's remains and, closing his eyes, softly exhaled, "Ouros."

At his call, the room's shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, casting one corner into profound darkness. Out of this abyss emerged a voice, low and creaking, "Yes, young master." Keeping his eyes closed, Draco responded, "Until I regain my strength, I require your assistance, Ouros. Can you be my eyes, ears, and feet during this period?"

A lengthy silence hung in the air before the darkness answered, "How gracious my young master is, offering me a choice. I shall become whatever you need me to be, for as long as your command requires."

Draco's chapped lips curled into a wicked smile, causing them to bleed slightly. "Excellent. There's much to be attended to."

*** I am as big as you are, but I am weightless. Who am I? ***

After Mrs. Weasley departed the room, Healer McRue shifted her attention to Harry, gracing him with a faint smile. "With that settled, we can focus on the matter at hand," she said.

From within her robes, she extracted an ivory-white wand, a sight that prompted Harry's eyes to widen. McRue appeared to notice his reaction and proceeded to elaborate. "This is my healer-specific wand, distinct from my regular one. Its attributes are more aligned with healing and analysis." Just as Hermione seemed poised to pose a question, McRue interjected, "I'll address any inquiries after we proceed."

Hermione looked excited while Harry just nodded.

Healer McRue began her explanation, "Now, Mr. Potter, today you have two options to choose from. The first is a basic scan, which provides a general overview of your health and the most common ailments. This process only takes a few minutes, after which we can discuss a care plan. The second option is a comprehensive scan. This provides a complete history of your ailments and their status at the time of the scan. While this scan can detect the majority of ailments, please note that while it covers most incidents, we cannot guarantee that it will record everything. This scan is a more time-consuming process and generally requires at least two Healers for comprehensive results. There's a standby Healer available if you choose this option, so don't let that influence your decision. Like with the first scan, a thorough care plan will be devised after the scan and analysis. Do you have any questions?"

Harry shook his head.

"Alright, Mr. Potter, which scan would you like to undergo today?" Healer McRue inquired.

Harry averted his gaze from McRue's eyes, instead focusing on the window. The sun was beginning to set, and a red owl soared by. Collecting himself, he responded, "Let's go with the basic scan."

"As you wish, Mr. Potter. Please lie down on the bed, and I'll begin shortly."

As Harry settled onto the bed, Healer McRue positioned herself on one side, while Ron and Hermione took their places on the other. As he tried to find a comfortable position, Harry turned toward his friends. Ron asked, "Feeling alright there, mate?"

"As comfortable as I can be," Harry replied, shifting awkwardly.

His attention shifted back to Healer McRue, who explained, "This scan should be entirely painless, Mr. Potter. If you experience any discomfort, pressure, or unusual sensations at any point, please inform me immediately. Before we proceed, I must confirm if you consent to this scan."

Harry blinked a couple of times before confirming, "Yes, I give my consent."

With his agreement, the tip of Healer McRue's wand emitted a soft green light. She then directed her wand to the tips of Harry's toes, gradually tracing it up his body. As her wand moved, a translucent parchment emerged beside her, taking form as she went.

The room was filled with the gentle sounds of nature drifting in through the open window. Despite the Healer's assurance of a painless experience, Harry began to notice an increasingly lengthy list forming on the parchment. While the Healer's expression remained neutral, his friends started to pale as they glanced at it. When the scan was finally complete, the list extended almost to the floor.

As Healer McRue stowed the parchment in her bag, she addressed Harry, saying, "Now, Mr. Potter, I'll need some time to analyze the results. Once I've completed my analysis, I'll provide an explanation of the findings to you and what is the best approach to healing whatever may be a problem area. It should only take a few minutes.”.

Harry nodded in response to her words, and the Healer made her exit from the room into the hallway. Once alone in the corridor, she was slightly taken aback when she encountered Mrs. Weasley.

Concern laced Mrs. Weasley's voice as she inquired, "Is everything all right?"

McRue replied in a composed manner, "Could you provide a private room for me to use briefly?"

Mrs. Weasley responded swiftly, "Of course, follow me."

Upon reaching the room, McRue observed that it appeared to be an unoccupied boys' quarters. Finding herself alone, she released a heavy sigh and proceeded to cast an array of privacy spells, ensuring the room was secure.

Retrieving the parchment from her satchel, she began perusing the extensive list of injuries and conditions detailed upon it. As she worked her way through each item on the list, unspoken tears welled in her eyes. As she finished her review, she clenched her fist and wondered what she could do to help this victim of war.

Notes:

Can you solve the riddle? Also with Mrs. Weasley, I think that she deserves a little character arc. Though which side she will end on, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

EDITED: 09-23-23

Chapter 7: Tell Me Something I Don’t Know

When the Healer left the room, Harry sank into his bed, utterly exhausted by the recent events. The scan had been a surprising relief. Although she had claimed it to be a sensationless procedure, it felt more like a soothing cascade of calming waters washing over him. He luxuriated in this serene feeling for a fleeting moment, only to be roused by his friends' concerned gazes fixed upon him. Raising an eyebrow, he quipped, "Is there something on my face?"

Ron shook his head, attempting to speak but the words seemed to dissolve in his throat. The trio settled back into the room, awaiting the Healer's return. Harry noticed the tension gripping Ron's shoulders and the furrow creasing Hermione's brow, yet he paid these observations little mind. For now, all he yearned to do was drift back into slumber and recuperate.

His wish was promptly interrupted, as he found himself jolted awake by the creak of the door opening. Healer McRue hesitated at the threshold, momentarily arrested by the intensity of Harry's gaze. Her body seemed to relax as he held her gaze, and a faint smile danced on Harry's youthful countenance. She couldn't help but wonder about the latent power that resided within his battered form.

Regaining her composure, she entered the room and softly shut the door behind her. As she moved, she perceived that his two friends were surreptitiously keeping a watchful eye on her, their hands discreetly hidden from view. Before drawing her wand, she addressed the trio, "I'll be reinstating the privacy wards."

With a practiced swiftness that came from routine, she cast the wards around the room. Once completed, she focused on her task. Retrieving the previous list of ailments and her fresh notes, she began, "Mr. Potter, I have concluded the initial scan analysis, and I must say you're fortunate to be alive. You have multiple hairline fractures, predominantly in your arms and legs. Furthermore, there appear to be complications with your left knee that necessitate further examination. Nutritionally, your body is severely malnourished, demanding swift action to avert any lasting damage. A few surface injuries seem to be healing well, though I'd like to assess the wraps and potions responsible for their accelerated recovery. The report also identifies several older injuries, which have led to enduring damage. These could be contributing to the underlying pain you've been enduring. However, we can delve into these matters after addressing the more pressing concerns. Do you have any questions?"

A heavy silence engulfed the room, and Healer McRue noted how Harry's friends turned pale, while Harry himself remained impassive. Sensing their concern, Harry shifted his attention to them, assuring, "I understand it sounds grim, but truly, I'll be fine."

His red-haired friend, however, prepared to interject, "But Harry—"

"Ron," Harry's voice resonated, halting any further words in their tracks, freezing the room in stillness.

Taking a deep breath in and then exhaling slowly, he composed himself. He carried on, directing his attention to the Healer, "I apologize. What steps should I be taking to recover?"

"It's perfectly fine, Mr. Potter. Regarding the plan, I've outlined one that will require some time to finalize. I want to ensure that all your injuries and requirements are properly addressed. Before providing you with your health guide, I intend to confer with a senior Healer," Healer McRue explained matter-of-factly.

"I understand. Take all the time you need. Rushing recovery isn't the goal here," Harry responded.

Leaning in a little closer than before, Hermione inquired, "Would this consultation reveal Harry's personal information?"

With a slight shake of her head, Healer McRue clarified, "No, the consultation wouldn't grant access to Harry's personal information. I am bound by the Healer code, and my consultation would solely focus on optimizing a potion regimen."

"If there are no further questions, I'll head back to the Center and begin crafting your action plan," the Healer declared. She scanned the room, noticing that no one had any additional inquiries before she departed once again. Just as she opened the door, she was caught off guard by the presence of a teenage girl standing before it. The girl seemed oblivious to her presence as she barged past, entering the room. Taken aback by the girl's brusqueness, the Healer continued on her way, her thoughts consumed by the workload ahead.

*** A Shadow ***

Ron was the first to spot Ginny entering the room. He genuinely cared for his sister, but his heart skipped a beat upon catching the slightly wild glint in her eyes. Furthermore, a sense of unease settled in him as he observed the newspaper clutched in her hand.

She maneuvered her way energetically to sit near Harry on his bed and started to lean in his direction. Harry, being his considerate best friend, subtly scooted up the bed to put some distance between himself and Ginny.

"How're you feeling, Harry?" Ginny inquired, leaning over to touch his arm.

He instinctively withdrew his arm before responding, "Just a bit tired. Did you bring the paper for me?"

Suddenly remembering the paper, Ginny sat up abruptly, reaching behind her to retrieve it. Handing it over, she said, "Absolutely, here you go, Harry."

Accepting the paper, Harry flipped to the front page and glanced at the headline. As expected, it read:

"Victory at Last!

The Boy Who Conquered

Read more on page 6."

Thankfully, there wasn't a picture of him on the front page; instead, there was an image of a group of people from the battle, smiling and celebrating.

Turning to the following page, he encountered a list of names confirmed as deceased from the battle. With the list spanning over two pages, Harry's stomach began to churn. Tears welled in his eyes, prompting him to set the paper down. He swiftly shifted away from Ginny and rose to his feet.

Ron hurried to Harry's side, attempting to assist him, but Harry raised a hand to halt him, saying, "I'm alright, Ron, just need to use the loo."

Ginny moved to help Harry, but Ron's hand prevented her from doing so. Without a word, they all observed as Harry staggered out of the room.

Harry's legs throbbed with agony as he shuffled towards the restroom, yet a glint of movement snagged his attention. At the far end of the hallway, within a veil of shadows, stood the twins and Percy. Their hushed conversation seemed to envelop them, rendering them unaware of his presence. The twins, known for their irreverent spirit, now displayed a resolute demeanor reminiscent of the final battle. Meanwhile, Percy's visage bore an uncharacteristic tightness, more pronounced than ever before.

Harry's pace decelerated as his gaze fixated on a potion nestled in Percy's grip. A twin's hand reached out, fingers delicately encircling the vessel, eyes assessing its mysterious contents. Amidst the duel of his intrigue and the searing pain in his legs, pain emerged victorious. With a renewed effort, Harry resumed his movement, his mind swirling with questions about the enigmatic exchange he had just witnessed.

*** What building has the most stories? ***

Black hair lay over brown as the two figures slumbered deeply. With a slight rustle, the man with raven hair began to stretch and stir, gradually emerging from his slumber. His attention was immediately drawn to the arm encircling his waist, causing him to tense momentarily. He cautiously reached beneath his pillow for his wand, only to find it absent. A surge of alarm shot through him, prompting him to swiftly edge away from the person beside him, poised for a hasty retreat. His apprehension dissolved into relief when he recognized the sleeping face of Lupin. His anxiety subsided upon seeing a familiar visage, but then he took note of their current state. Easing himself back onto the bed, he pondered intensely, attempting to piece together the events that had led to this situation.

Black eyes landed on his Lupin’s soft scarred face and slowly remembered how just a few hours ago was filled with horror and a hardness that only could be brought on by tough times. Merely a few hours earlier, the atmosphere had been saturated with terror and a resolute toughness that arose in the crucible of adversity. As he painstakingly retraced the events of the preceding days, he surged upright from the bed, a fierce determination propelling him towards Draco. Yet, as he rose, his head spun with dizziness, only to be magically steadied by the elf that had materialized in his room, seemingly unnoticed by him.

“Master Severus is to be sitting down. Your magics still need to be replenished” the elf crocked quietly.

Severus glared at the elf and said harshly whispered, “I don’t care. I need to see him.”.

The elf stared back at him and eventually relented and held out a hand for Severus to take. Once Severus took the hand, he was warped to an unfamiliar bed room. As he landed, he swayed a little until he took hold of a dresser to his side. His gaze swept across the room, finally landing on Draco seated in the window nook, his attention fixed on the view beyond the glass pane.

Severus slowly moved towards Draco and noticed multiple things. The first being that he was fast asleep and second was the color of his hair and skin. Briefly, a pang of fear gripped Severus, almost convincing him that Draco might have succumbed to death. The pallor of Draco's complexion and his utter stillness evoked an eerie resemblance to death's grasp.

With shaking hands, he moved to shake Draco’s shoulder. He held his breath for a second only to be released a second later when Draco moved and eyes flicked open. Draco's awakening was unhurried, but as recognition dawned upon him, his lips curved into a smile that bore a familiarity he hadn't witnessed for quite some time.

Voice groggy with sleep said, “Severus you should still be sleeping. The spell took a lot out of you.”.

Astonished, Severus stuttered, “ME! YOU DIED DRACO!”.

At the sound of Severus's tone, Draco's countenance shifted, assuming a wearied and stern expression. Relinquishing his spot by the nook, he repositioned himself, now sitting upright and direct before Severus.

For a second, Severus regretted his tone, but he needed answers. For all intents and purposes, Draco is supposed to be dead. Calming down a little, he looked at Draco, quickly noticing his changing eyes, saying, “Why and how are you alive?”.

The question lingered in the air for a brief moment, Draco's gaze fixed on him, yet not entirely. It seemed as though his eyes were peering not at him, but rather through him.

Sighing a little, Draco shifted to his right before saying, “We can have this conversation once everyone is awake. For now, if your able, I need you to create a potion for me.”.

Incredulously, “You want me to skip over the fact you survived the killing curse, to make you a potion?!” voice getting squeaky at the end.

Draco hummed before saying, “Actually two potions, but yes.”.

He was about to argue again when he noted how Draco collapsed on his right side even more. Giving up for now, he said, “Okay, but I expect answers Draco, you understand me, answers.”.

Agreeing, Draco nodded. He then snaped his fingers to summon an elf. Severus observed the odd elf as it held out a list. Taking it from their hands, he quickly read and noted the ingenious instructions on the page.

“Can you make it?” Draco asked cautiously.

He scoffed, “Can I make it?”.

“Of course, I can make it” he stated confidently “though I don’t have the materials”.

“Don’t worry about that, I have every thing you need. Can you start after dinner?” Draco asked.

Severus gave a small node. “But until then, you need to get into bed and rest”.

Draco laughed a little, complying he moved to his bed. Before he shut his eyes, Draco yawned out, “Just snap your fingers if need anything and my elf will help you”.

As Severus was making Draco comfortable, he noted that he was already fast asleep.

Notes:

It’s been awhile! I hope everyone likes the chapter and can solve the riddle. Till next time.

Chapter 8: A Soft Place to Land

Notes:

Here is the riddle of the chapter, the answer is in the end notes:
What has thirteen hearts, but no other organs?

Harry gazed at the ceiling, contemplating the potential paths his future could take. The expected route was clear: he could become a distinguished Auror, continuing the fight against evil, but he was growing weary of the constant presence of war and death. Honestly, he wanted to do nothing for a while. However, a persistent voice in the back of his mind insisted that many would stop and judge him for such a choice.

As the conflicting voices of obligation and personal desire clashed in his head, his heart raced as though he were facing Voldemort in battle. The concept of an "after," any life beyond the current struggles, felt foreign to him. While he spoke of grand, fantastical plans for the future with his friends, they remained just that—fantasies.

It was liberating in some ways since he could technically have a life after this since he was alive. However, that same nagging voice from earlier reared its ugly head, asserting that it wasn't true; the will of the people must take precedence.

Similar to the day before, the Healer glided into the room with a new bag she hadn't had before. Settling into a chair beside him, she greeted him with a reassuring smile, instantly easing the tension in his shoulders.

"How are you today, Harry?" she inquired.

Automatically, he replied, "I'm fine."

Her eyes met his, attempting to gauge his well-being.

Once she discerned what she was looking for, she nodded and said, "Okay, then we'll work on moving you towards feeling great."

His eyebrows shot up a little, and he nodded.

"Okay, Harry, we are going to start small today and gradually work up at your pace," she explained, retrieving a piece of parchment from the bag she had brought.

"I have obtained most of the potions required for your treatment, and a few are currently in production, scheduled to be ready within the week. Initially, we will address any significant injuries, focusing on all fractures and breaks present in your bones. Although this part is the most painful, it is also the quickest. Dealing with bone-related issues will be a two-part process. The first step involves inspection to identify the sections that require correction, followed by the application stage. This entails breaking and straightening bones that may have healed incorrectly, followed by administering a course of bone renewal potion. According to the records, it appears you have experience with this potion, so you should be familiar with what to expect. This process is expected to take approximately three days. Once the course is completed, I will confirm that everything has healed correctly.

Subsequently, our focus will shift to your nutrition. I believe it's optimal to combine both physical eating and a potion regimen. This approach will allow you to enjoy nutritious food while ensuring you receive all the essential nutrients. How does that sound?" the Healer concluded.

Harry sat in silence for a moment, absorbing all the information. Her reasoning resonated with him, and her approach mirrored that of Madam Proofry. After a while, he began nodding slowly, gaining confidence as he considered and approved more of her thoughtful plan.

"Yeah, I like this strategy. Are we starting with the bones today?" Harry asked.

She promptly responded, "If that is okay with you, then yes. I have all the materials needed to begin. If not, we can plan for a later date."

"Today is fine by me." Harry sat up straighter in bed, ready for action. He shifted from side to side as the Healer arranged all the materials she needed around the room. He kept a carefully trained eye on her as she methodically set out potions and materials. Perhaps he was staring too intently because she asked, "Do you want me to explain what I’m bringing out?"

In a quiet voice, he replied, "If you don’t mind."

She laughed lightly, saying, "No problem. I’m always happy to explain my work to people who are interested."

As she continued unpacking materials from her healer bag, she explained their functions and other uses. Most of the information went over his head, but he paid attention as best he could.

After completing her setup, she retrieved her ivory wand. Harry recoiled slightly but relaxed after a moment.

"Okay, Harry, I'll be starting the bone inspection first. I'll begin when you are ready."

Prompted by Harry's nod, she started moving her wand from his toes to the top of his head. Behind her, he noticed a piece of paper forming. It only took a few minutes, and she was finished.

"Please give me a moment to analyze the results," she requested as she returned to her station.

It was quiet for a few minutes, but to Harry, it felt like hours. He began shifting in the bed, uncomfortable with the silence. Not even the sound of a songbird could break through the oppressive quiet. After a while, she turned towards him, her face maintaining its professional demeanor.

“Okay, Harry. In general, your bone strength and density are on the low side. Considering the repeated breaks and multiple fractures of your bones, I can imagine that you are in a bit of pain constantly. Though this is the case, we can remedy this with a potion regimen and some physical therapy.”

Harry wasn’t surprised to hear this news, but he was kind of excited not to be in pain. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

“Now, the bad news. There are multiple breaks that have not healed correctly. This would mean re-breaking the affected bones and using potions to heal them in the correct place. I believe the pain you would experience would cause you tremendous mental harm, so I’m advising that we proceed with the rest of the bone section of the treatment while you are asleep.”

Harry’s eyes widened more and more as she went on, quickly becoming overwhelmed. She seemed to notice this and said, “Harry, I know this can be overwhelming, but do you have any questions for me at the moment?"

He shook his head slowly. He perfectly understood what she was saying, but the decision was overwhelming. Humbly, he asked the healer, “Do you mind if I talk to Hermione and Ron about this first? I want to get their opinion about it.”

She nodded, “Yes, that is fine. I’ll go fetch them now.” She quickly left the room and soon returned with his two best friends. Immediately, they went over to him, closely moving to his other side.

“With your permission, Harry, I’ll explain the situation to them,” the Healer explained. He nodded, and she recapped what was previously told to him. Hermione seemed to take the information in stride, nodding along and asking questions he would not have thought of. Ron seemed to get the general gist but kept eyeing Harry as he stared off into space. The Healer and Hermione kept talking for so long that Ron eventually sat down next to Harry, pulling out a set of cards to keep himself occupied.

When the conversation finally wound down, the Healer turned to Harry.

“I’ll leave for a few while you all discuss. When you are finished, just ring this bell and I’ll be back in a second,” she stated while handing him a dainty silver bell.

When she left the room, Hermione turned to him and asked, “Do you understand what she wants to do, right?”.

He nodded, saying, “Yeah, she wants to knock me out to break and reset my bones, then use the rest of the time to heal my bones.”

“When breaking it down to the barest bones, then yes,” she answered primly but paused.

“Honestly, Harry, I think you should do it.” She paused again. “It's just that what she is going to do is not like going to Madam’s office. This is MAJOR surgery, Harry. But, I think the long-term benefits outweigh the short-term challenges.”

She stopped to observe Harry’s expression. It remained blank, not really showing whether he was nervous or not. She turned to Ron and asked, “What do you think, Ron?"

He started to shift a little at the question. “What Harry wants to do, I’m okay with it. If anything goes wrong, we’ll deal with it together.”

Hermione rolled her eyes in her head at his typical response.

“So Harry, what do you decide?” Hermione asked.

Looking at both of his friends and then his scarred, calloused hands, he decided.

“Let's do the surgery,” he answered softly. Ringing the dainty bell in his hands, the Healer came back promptly.

After that, time seemed to fly as the Healer returned and prepped for the surgery. The last thing he remembered was the faces of his friends at his bedside.

Notes:

Answer:
A deck of cards

Chapter 9: Got To Work Hard

Darkness, a vast and all-encompassing void, yet he remained unafraid. Gradually, pinpricks of light pierced through the darkness. Initially feeble, they soon intensified, casting a beautiful glow. He was no longer alone, yet a profound sense of loneliness persisted, echoing in his heart.

Suddenly, he felt something move around him. It was something new and exciting. For the first time, he moved and chased, faster and faster, until it became something like a game. It was exciting and everything. However, as with most things, it came to an end as it blinked out of existence. Once again, he was lonely for a long time until something once again passed him with a soft “Harry.”

STOP TIME

The first thing Harry heard was the sound of shifting sand. His body felt heavy as he opened his eyes. Glittery magic moved around him like sand as it hovered around his body.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s a combination of monitoring and healing magic that helps promote recovery. Now, how are you feeling, Harry?” the nurse asked him.

As he grew more conscious, he felt sore everywhere, especially his legs. He was very thirsty and overall exhausted. He muttered, “Fine, just tired and sore.” She nodded, “That is to be expected. If you feel any pain, let me know right away. Now, if you are up to it, I’ll go over how the surgery went.”

Harry nodded, and she continued, “Well, it was a resounding success. All breaks and fractures are healed or in the process of healing. During the surgery, there was one moment where your magic reacted negatively, but it was tempered down soon after. You’ll be bedbound for the next few days as your body heals and your magic works overtime. After that, we’ll continue with the next round of healing, which we can discuss later. Do you have any questions for me?”. Harry shook his head slightly and relaxed further into the bed, liking how the magic is weaving over his body.

"Alright, I'll let you rest now," the Healer said softly, noting his exhaustion. She quietly gathered her things and left, leaving Harry to the comforting embrace of the healing magic.

As the door clicked shut, Harry's thoughts drifted. The journey ahead seemed daunting, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of hope. The pain that had been his constant companion might finally be leaving him. The prospect of a future where he wasn't defined by battles and scars seemed almost within reach.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax fully. The magic's gentle hum was soothing, like a lullaby. Memories of past battles and losses floated to the surface, but now, they seemed a little less sharp, a little less painful. The Healer's words, his friends' support, and the promise of healing were slowly beginning to mend not just his body, but hopefully his spirit as well.

STOP TIME

Days blended together as Harry underwent the rigorous process of healing. The Healer, true to her word, monitored him closely, adjusting his treatments as needed. Ron and Hermione were constant presences by his side, their familiar banter and unwavering support bolstering his resolve. Slowly but surely, Harry's strength began to return. Also, instead of relying on the Weasley for little things, he compelled his magic to do small things for him, like turning on lights, moving a box of cards back and forth from the drawer across the room, and even getting apples from the little tree outside his window. He kept this new development to himself.

One afternoon, as the sunlight streamed through the window, Harry felt a sense of clarity he hadn't experienced in a long time. He was sitting up in bed, absently twirling a small, enchanted globe Hermione had brought him. His thoughts turned once more to the future. The Healer's plan was working, and the pain that had dulled his senses for so long was fading.

Harry realized that while the road ahead was still uncertain, he had the strength and support to forge a new path. The weight of obligation still lingered, but it no longer felt insurmountable.

The door creaked open, and Hermione stepped in, a smile on her face. "How are you feeling today?" she asked, taking a seat beside him.

"Better," Harry replied, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "A lot better."

She nodded, her eyes twinkling with relief. "I'm glad to hear that. We've been worried about you, you know."

"I know," Harry said, his voice softening. "Thank you, Hermione. For everything."

"We're always here for you, Harry," she said firmly. "No matter what."

As Hermione continued to talk about their plans for the summer, Harry felt a warmth spread through him. Over the following weeks, Harry's recovery continued steadily. The Healer introduced new potions and therapies, each designed to restore his body to full health. She also started giving him little magic lessons on healing small wounds and how monitoring spells works.

The process was slow and sometimes painful. He frequently woke up in a cold sweat and an ache in his legs. One good thing that came from living in that blasted tent was the ability to keep his screams silent no matter how bad they get to be. Though sometimes, very rarely, he gets the best dream about ever-changing stars.

One morning, as Healer McRue completed another round of checks, she smiled at him. "You're making remarkable progress, Harry. I think we'll soon be able to start the next phase of your recovery."

Harry nodded, feeling a surge of excitement. "What's the next phase?"

"Physical therapy with a dose of magic exercises,” she replied. "We'll work on rebuilding your strength and mobility. It's going to be challenging, but I have no doubt you'll handle it well."

Harry felt a thrill of anticipation. The idea of regaining his strength, of being able to move freely without pain, was incredibly motivating. "I'm ready," he said with conviction.

The Healer's smile widened. "I believe you are. Let's get started, then."

STOP TIME

The next phase of Harry's recovery began with a careful, methodical approach. Healer McRue outlined a detailed regimen designed to rebuild his strength and mobility. Each day started with a series of gentle stretches, aimed at loosening the muscles and joints that had grown stiff from disuse.

“Let’s begin with some simple leg lifts, Harry,” Elara instructed one morning. She positioned herself by his side, demonstrating the movement. “Just lift your leg a few inches off the bed and hold it for a count of five.”

Harry followed her lead, grimacing slightly as his muscles protested. “Like this?” he asked, his leg trembling slightly.

“Perfect,” she said encouragingly. “Keep going, and remember to breathe.”

Each day, the exercises grew a bit more challenging. From leg lifts, they progressed to seated stretches, then to standing exercises with the aid of parallel bars. Harry’s muscles, long dormant, slowly began to regain their strength. The process was grueling, and there were days when he felt like giving up, but McRue’s steady encouragement and his own fierce determination kept him going.

One afternoon, as Harry balanced on the parallel bars, McRue introduced a new exercise. “Today, we’re going to work on walking,” she said. “I’ll support you, but I want you to try to take a few steps on your own. We will do this after you’ve had lunch”

Harry nodded, swallowing his apprehension. For the past month, lunch has been taken in his room, usually with Ron and Hermione keeping him company. Today was a bit different, however, when Ginny decided to join the crew. While eating, Ginny dominated the conversation talking about the work she’s been doing at Hogwarts for it to be ready for next the school year, gossip she’s heard from her friends, and how she’s sad about not going out with Harry lately.

In some ways, it was good to hear about restoring Hogwarts and mindless gossip, but he wondered about the more serious items. However, what dominated his mind since he woke was a particular dragon.

He came to the present when Ron growled, “Ginny, can you seriously cut it? Harry is recovering; he can’t go out and about”.

“He looks fine to me. Just look at him and he’s eating so much.” Ginny pointed at Harry and his plate of food.

Harry looked at his food and the other’s plates to see the big difference in amount. He really hadn’t noticed since he ate what McRue gave him. He became flush and pushed away his plate. This was just in time for Ginny to grab is arm and start pulling his arm and him off the bed. Let it be known that Ginny is strong as his whole body moved when she pulled. Soon he was meet with sharp pain as his legs meet the floor and pressure was applied. Unable to help himself, he cried out and dropped to the floor.

Soon his vision became hazy as he heard Ron and Ginny yelling and felt hands touching him. He crawled into a ball and floated through the waves of pain. Next, the door banged open, causing everyone to fall silent. Sharp heels clacked on the floor and came next to him.

“Did he hit his head?” McRue asked sharply. “No” a small voice answered.

“You all to leave this room. Be expecting a TALK later on.”

The next thing Harry noticed was his body being lifted and put on the bed and the flow of golden magic around him.

STOP TIME

After a sort nap, Draco woke up sharply to a change in the room. Hard eyes turned and looked at Ouros.

Ouros spoke, “Young Master. Everyone in manner is now awaking. I await your next command”.

Slim hands drummed on the window, wondering how he should proceed. Out of all of the things that need to be done, the potions need to be sent out sooner rather than later. The other is the matter of his death.

Looking at his watch first Draco planned, “Get dinner ready. It should be ready at 6 pm. Next, fetch me some parchment, you’ll deliver it once I finished. Take everyone to the sitting room, I’ll be joining them shortly after everyone has arrived. Is that clear.”.

“Understood, Young Master.” There was a pause.

“Young Master I’ve got a gift to aid your transition if you wish to receive it”

Draco raised a brow, knowing exactly from whom it was from. No, he couldn’t take it, yet it was not the time. With a wave of his hand, Ouros went off to his tasks. Looking down at his shaking hands and blacking nails, it would have been wiser to take the gift.

Notes:

End Notes:
Next up is catching up Draco’s portion so they are level. Till next time.

Chapter 10: Level Up

Summary:

Draco is still planning, but his fears for himself only grow by the second. The adults finally sync stories as they try to figure out what is happening. The key word is try.

Notes:

It's been awhile and I hope you all have been well! =＾● ⋏ ●＾=
I finally got the writing bug again and have more of an idea where this story is going. I also have some chapters in the backlog so posting should be consistent for a little while.
Enjoy! ໒(⊙ᴗ⊙)७✎▤

Originally Posted: April 8, 2025

With thoughts of the change lingering like a shadowed whisper in the back of his mind, Draco was blessedly left alone until dinner, giving him time to draft letters and plan for things to come. The solitude was both sanctuary and prison, each scratched word on parchment a deliberate act of reclaiming time lost in the wind. When dinner eventually came around, he was poked awake, having succumbed to exhaustion and slumped over his desk, quill still clutched in ink-stained fingers.

With a start he shot up, heart hammering against his ribs, and looked at who had dared to touch him. To his left stood Ouros, eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge that made Draco's skin prickle with unease. At Draco's pointed glare, Ouros's lips curled into a wicked grin, revealing teeth too sharp for comfort.

"Young master, you are coming along very well," Ouros stated, voice carrying the weight of prophecy rather than observation.

Great, Draco thought bitterly. Now he was once again reminded of the very thing he had desperately wanted to keep buried in the recesses of his consciousness. With that unwelcome reminder slithering through his thoughts, he began stretching, muscles protesting after hours of stillness.

He rose from his chair with calculated grace, determined not to betray the tremor that threatened his composure. His body flowed through the practiced motions of getting ready for dinner, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought faltered. Despite everything, he felt markedly better than he had in days, the raw edges of his pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

It seemed that Ouros had taken the liberty of selecting what he would be wearing for dinner; as Draco emerged from his washroom, he saw the combination laid out with meticulous precision on his bed. The fabric caught the light, shifting between shades of midnight and twilight—a visual manifestation of the transformation Ouros seemed determined to accelerate. He had to admit, it was beautiful, the embroidered silver threads catching the light like captured stars. But it was still much too soon, too revealing of what lurked beneath his carefully cultivated facade. It seemed that Ouros wanted to rush the process, pushing Draco toward an inevitability he wasn't yet prepared to embrace.

With a sharp snap of his fingers that betrayed more emotion than he intended, Missy was called to his side, materializing with a crack that echoed his internal fracturing.

"Bring me some dinner clothes that I would usually wear with friends," Draco politely requested, his measured tone a deliberate counterpoint to the chaos churning within.

As quickly as she had appeared, Missy vanished and returned with his request clutched in her small hands. It was a simple white shirt and black trousers—familiar, safe, an armor of normalcy. Perfect.

With a quick, genuine thank you that softened his features momentarily, Missy disappeared once more, leaving him alone with choices that felt increasingly significant.

Once dressed in his chosen attire for the evening, Draco stood before the mirror, assessing the reflection that stared back with eyes that held too many secrets. Drawing a deep breath that expanded his chest and straightened his spine, he turned toward the door. It was time to face the crowd.

All I hear are screams

Severus was deep in potion prep when a pop resonated through the old potions room. To his right it was Missy.

“Most esteemed guest, please be ready by 6 for dinner. I or one of other Young Maters’s elves will escort you to the dinning room”.

At the same time, the other guests of the house were told the same thing. With her message given, she popped off.

After determining it was a good time to clean up after a quick tempus, Severus stored away his prep and made his way back to the bedroom he was originally in. To his surprise, he was meet with the muscled yet scarred back of the wolf.

The wolf turned around once he heard the door open and meet with onyx eyes. Severus seemed to get lost again in those brown eyes of his again, but shook himself mentally to the present. Ignoring him, he went to get cleaned up, still absolutely filthy from the past battle. He also had to check up on the bite on his neck which was starting to hurt again.

As he walked passed the wolf, he was surprised to find rough hands around his wrist. Opening his still stupidly beautiful mouth, Severus cut him off saying, “If you want to help me, get me some supplies for this” indicating to his neck.

Brown eyes glowed gold temporarily looking at his neck. With he let go of his wrist and left the room to get some supplies. He breathed out a sigh we he had the room to himself again. With haste, he went to get clean, he wasn’t sure when the wolf would be back. Washing in the large gorgeous bathroom, he wondered why he was put in a room with Remus. Perhaps there aren’t enough rooms in this strange house. He would have to ask.

In his thoughts, he was shocked to hear someone knock the door. From the other side Remus said, “Severus I’ve left clothes for you left by the elf on the other side of the door.”. His heart pumped hard after that, wondering what would have happened if he instead came in. Looking down at his sickly body, he grimaced. Nothing would have happened considering how he looks.

Finishing up and putting on the provided clothes that were surprisingly his style, he went back into the room. The wolf sat at the table next to the window, with supplies splayed out. The wolf turned and tracked him as he came towards him. Sitting down across from him, he looked what was laid on the table. He hummed in intrigue at each item.

It seems the wolf took the sound as a diss to him when he said,“Hey I actually do know what to use unlike” cutting himself off before saying the name on both of there minds.

Severus skipped over it saying, “Yes, but if I remember correctly, you are horrendous in actually applying it”.

The eyebrow with a scar cut through it raised at the implication. “Alright, I guarantee that I’m better than I was back them. Let me show it to you”.

At that Severus took him in fully and decided to let him.

It is now time

The room was only filled with the quit words of cleaning charms and wrapping of bandaging when it was interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door. They didn’t have time to react when Narcissa entered the room with a storm. Her normally immaculate hair was a mess, but devoid of ash. Severus was quick to jump away from Remus at the noise, putting himself slightly in front the wolf.

She scanned the room until she locked eyes with black ones.

“You” she seethed pointing at him.

She moved faster than Severus has ever saw her until she was in front of him. Severus braced himself for a slap or pain of any kind, but only was enveloped in a warm hug. He looked down at the women and say he crying quit tears.

His eyes widened in shock, not sure how to handle this. It’s been years since she has last hugged him. Thinking about it, the last time was probably when Draco was born.

As she hugged him tightly, he reciprocated and put his arms tightly around her, finally hugging one of his good friends after a long time. He could hear her saying thank you into his chest, only hugging tighter in reply.

It took a couple of long minutes before she stopped crying, stepping away from him, turning to look at the two men in the room. Taking a deep breath in and out, she finally said, “Thank you Severus for my son once again. I am forever in your debt”.

Severus mouth twitch in a small smile saying, “For my friend, your thanks is payment enough”. They two of them eventually moved to the table where Remus patiently sat. Once settled, they all sat in silence for a moment, not sure how to approach the situation.

“So” Remus began “We are not dead”. Severus about to nods, but stoped at the pain in his neck.

“But that bastard finally is” Narcissa said viciously.

Severus tensed as the words left Narcissa's lips, the venom in her voice casting a momentary silence over the room. The wound at his neck throbbed in dull agreement, a physical reminder of what they'd all survived.

"What exactly happened back there?" Remus finally asked, his voice rough with exhaustion. Golden flecks still danced in his irises, the wolf beneath his skin restless even now.

"Potter," Severus supplied, the name tasting strange on his tongue without its usual bite. “What did he do? I was here after,“ he trailed off, his fingers absently traced the partially bandaged wound at his neck, mind replaying those final moments in fractured, disjointed flashes.

Narcissa leaned forward, her normally perfect posture totally absent from this conversation. She explained to everyone at the table her frame of events. She ended saying, “I think he did something to his soul. The magic he wielded..." she began, choosing her words with deliberate care. "It wasn't dark. At least, not entirely."

"Not dark?" Severus scoffed, though the sound lacked conviction. "That level of power doesn't come without cost. If I’m understanding you, the boy practically tour reality apart and wielded a soul”.

"Since when does Harry know the old magics anyway?" Remus interjected, the question hanging heavy between them. “If he did as you said, it wasn't just raw power. There had to be intention behind it, precision. Not dark.”

Narcissa's eyes narrowed, calculating towards Remus. "You assume it was old magics.”

Severus countered. “It had to be dark. What else could it have been?" Severus demanded to no one in particular, memories of ancient texts flickering through his mind.

Her fingers drummed against the wooden table, an uncharacteristic display of agitation. "I've seen dark magic, Severus. We all have. This was... different."

The silence that followed was weighted with unspoken memories, each of them retreating momentarily into their own thoughts. The dimming light through the window cast long shadows across their faces, highlighting the exhaustion etched into each line.

"Whatever he did," Narcissa said softly, "it saved us all. Including Draco."

Narcissa's expression softened at her son's name, vulnerability momentarily replacing her muddled aristocratic composure.

A sharp crack interrupted them as a Missy materialized in the center of the room. Small and efficiently formal, she bowed low, ears nearly touching the floor.

"Mistress Narcissa, Master Severus, Master Remus," the elf intoned, straightening. "Young Master Draco requests your presence in the dining room. Dinner is served in fifteen minutes precisely."

Narcissa exchanged glances with the others, suddenly aware of how disheveled she remained despite her attempts at presentability. The elf seemed to sense her hesitation.

"Young Master says you are to come as you are," it added, a hint of Draco's authoritative tone creeping into its high-pitched voice. "No further preparations required. Call again for me if you need help to the room”

"Tell my son we'll be there momentarily," Narcissa replied, smoothing her hair in a gesture more habitual than effective.

The elf nodded once and disappeared with another crack, leaving them alone with their unfinished conversation and the weight of questions still unanswered.

"Well," Remus said after a moment, standing with a barely concealed wince. "I suppose we shouldn't keep our host waiting."

I can’t help but wonder

Missy led them through corridors that seemed to shift and breathe with ancient magic, walls adorned with intricate art and curiously no portraits.

Narcissa's fingers trailed along the mahogany wainscoting, confusion battling in her eyes. These weren't Black heirlooms, nor Malfoy treasures—and yet something in the magic felt achingly familiar.

Severus moved with the calculated precision of a man acutely aware of every vulnerability in his body, each step a negotiation between dignity and pain. The bite at his neck pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a metronome counting down to questions that demanded answers.

Beside him, Remus walked with the watchful tension of a predator in unfamiliar territory, nostrils occasionally flaring as he catalogued scents invisible to the others. He kept careful glasses at Severus, noticing his pain.

When they finally reached the dining room, the doors swung open of their own accord, revealing a space that arrested them all mid-step.

The ceiling arched impossibly high, enchanted to mirror the night sky outside but with constellations shifted just enough to suggest another time, another place. Candles hovered in formations that mimicked the stars above, their flames casting warm, golden light across a table that could have seated twenty but was set for only six. At the far end of the room, a fireplace large enough to stand in crackled with emerald-tinged flames, casting dancing shadows across walls lined with tapestries depicting scenes none of them recognized.

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson were already seated, their faces a study in exhausted vigilance. They looked up as the trio entered, relief momentarily softening the hard edges of survival that had carved themselves into young features.

"Professor," Pansy acknowledged, her usual sharp voice subdued. "Mrs. Malfoy. Lupin." The formal addresses seemed to ground her, a return to social protocols that made sense when nothing else did.

"Have any of you seen my son?" Narcissa asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice as she took in the sheer impossibility of what surrounded them.

Blaise shook his head, his usual smooth confidence fractured by recent events. "Not since we arrived. The elves brought us here about several minutes ago."

Severus moved to the table, obsidian gaze cataloguing each detail with the precision of a man accustomed to finding poison in the most innocuous places. "This house has extensive wards," he observed. "Old magic. Layered."

"Blood wards," Remus added, his heightened senses picking up what the others couldn't. "But twisted somehow. Extended."

Narcissa sank into a chair, fingers pressed against her temples.

"How long has he had this?" she murmured, more to herself than the others. "How long has my son been—" She couldn't finish the thought, the weight of what she didn't know about her own child crushing against her chest.

The realization settled over her like frost—all those missing hours she'd attributed to schoolwork, to friends, to the normal secrets of adolescence. All those letters with details too perfect, too practiced.

She knew that it was her and his father’s fault for forcing him into secrecy considering they let a mad man live and take over there house and lives. Though a small part of her felt hurt. Why hadn’t he mentioned any of this to her, she thought they were closer.

Her son had built this sanctuary, had carved out this space of power and protection, and had done it entirely without her knowledge or help.

"He wanted to protect you," Pansy said quietly, reading the anguish on the older woman's face with unexpected gentleness. "Knowledge is vulnerability, Mrs. Malfoy. You taught him that."

The irony of her own lessons turned against her didn't escape Narcissa's notice. A twisted smile pulled at her lips. "So I did."

Pansy, curious as to what the Professor ment earlier asked,”Professor how did you come to be here before all of us”.

At hearing that questions, Severus once again felt the powerlessness and resignation of imminent death, but kept to himself in front of his students.

Thickly “Draco came to me when I lay dyeing and took me here. Once he stabilized me, he left. I only was awoken from my injuries a few minutes before you all came with instructions”.

Pansy and Blaise shared a look before Pansy spoke,”That’s so strange. Draco also found us in the battle suddenly and then told us to help some people. Shortly after, he sprinted away”.

Lupin jumped in saying,”He also found me in the battle near the forbidden forest with Tonks fighting Grayback. He save me and give me time to end him”. Lupin clenched his fist at the thought of Tonks.

Silence fell, broken only by the occasional crack from the fireplace and the soft clink of crystal as an invisible force filled their goblets with deep red wine and pumpkin juice. Minutes stretched, tension building with each passing moment. Severus's fingers drummed against the table, Remus shifted restlessly, and Blaise kept glancing toward the door with increasing frequency.

Just as the waiting became unbearable, the candles dimmed in perfect unison, plunging the room into near darkness. Then, one by one, they flared back to life—brighter, whiter, their light gathering toward the entrance where the doors swung open with theatrical precision.

Draco Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the light behind him. He'd always understood the power of an entrance, had been taught from the cradle that appearance was a weapon as deadly as any wand. But there was something different in his posture now—something that spoke of choices made in darkness, of survival earned through sacrifice.

The boy who had fled the Manor weeks ago was gone, replaced by the man he should be. A rebirth in both the literal and figurative sense as he walked in with something that he previously lacked: time and power.

Chapter 11: God Games

The dining room fell into a weighted silence as Draco crossed the threshold, his footsteps initially measured but gradually losing their precision as he moved deeper into the room. The candlelight caught in his platinum hair, creating a momentary halo effect that only emphasized the hollow shadows beneath his cheekbones. His eyes, storm-gray and fathomless, swept across the gathered faces.

"Mother," he acknowledged with a slight incline of his head, voice rougher than they remembered. “Severus. Lupin. Pansy. Blaise."

The confident entrance he'd clearly intended fractured as he reached the head of the table. His fingers gripped the chair's back with white-knuckled intensity, a barely concealed tremble running through his frame. For a heartbeat, raw vulnerability flashed across his features—gone so quickly it might have been imagined—before he sank into the seat with visible relief.

Narcissa half-rose from her chair, maternal instinct overwhelming propriety. "Draco," she whispered, her composure fracturing around the edges. "How—What—”

"How am I alive?" he finished for her, summoning a shadow of his former smile. He gestured weakly, and the empty place before him filled with food that steamed invitingly. "Please, eat. Questions can wait until we've restored our strength."

The redirection was transparent, but hunger won over immediate answers as dishes materialized before each of them. Severus, however, left his plate untouched, obsidian eyes never leaving Draco's face.

Lupin leaned forward, forearms braced against the table's edge. The gold flecks in his eyes caught the candlelight as he studied Draco with preternatural focus. "You knew where to find us," he said quietly. "Each of us. In moments when finding anyone should have been impossible."

Tension coiled between them, a serpent waiting to strike. Blaise and Pansy exchanged glances loaded with unspoken communication, while Narcissa's fingers whitened around her utensils.

"I had information," Draco conceded after a deliberately extended silence, cutting into his food with meticulous precision that belied his evident exhaustion.

"That isn't sufficient," Severus stated, patience evaporating like morning mist under harsh sun. "You found each of us in the midst of absolute chaos—when no one could have known where we would be. Your friends in the castle. Lupin near the forbidden forest. You materialized beside me in the Shrieking Shack as I lay dying. No information network, however elaborate, could have predicted those moments. That isn't intelligence gathering, Draco. That's impossibility."

The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees as Draco set down his silverware with exaggerated care. His eyes, when they lifted to meet Severus's, held something ancient and terrible in their depths.

"Are impossibilities still impossible when they happen, Professor?"

Narcissa set her goblet down with enough force to send wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Enough," she commanded, mother overriding aristocrat. "Draco, we deserve answers. I deserve answers." Her voice broke on the last word, raw emotion splintering through practiced control. "I watched you die. We all did. You threw your wand to Potter in that final moment—sacrificed everything—and Voldemort's curse struck you. I held your body, felt the warmth leaving you.”

"Mother," Draco interrupted, his voice softening with unexpected gentleness. "I need you to claim the doppelganger clause."

The color drained from Narcissa's face. Pansy's sharp intake of breath cut through the silence, while Blaise's expression shifted into careful neutrality that masked calculation.

"That's impossible," Narcissa whispered, fingers trembling against the tablecloth. "Your father and I... we never created a vessel. We couldn't. The ritual nearly killed me during pregnancy."

Draco's smile held no joy, only resignation. "I know. But claiming it will help us in the days to come. All of us." He held his sleeve where intricate latticework of silver scars pulsed with barely contained power. "The Malfoy name still carries enough weight with the old families. They'll accept the claim without verification if you invoke the ancient rights."

Lupin glanced between mother and son, confusion evident. "Doppelganger clause?"

"An... insurance policy," Severus explained, disgust and fascination warring in his expression. "Practiced only by the oldest, most paranoid Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Upon birth, a perfect duplicate body is created, preserved in stasis, empty of consciousness." His gaze locked on Draco. "Should the primary vessel die, the soul transfers. A second chance at life—at the cost of experiencing death itself."

Horror dawned on Narcissa's face. “Then explain to me this — What ritual did we do to bring you back?“

"The magic took what it needed," Draco stated without truly answering. "Your magic recognized what was needed and responded." His eyes found Severus’s. "You were the anchor. Blaise provided the structural framework. Mother, the blood connection. Pansy, the knowledge. Lupin, the primal power."

Narcissa's fingers trembled as she reached for her wine. She wanted to ask more, getting a true answer, but perhaps this wasn’t the time.

“And the... legal implications?" she finally asked, aristocratic calculation reasserting itself through maternal anguish.

"Complete exoneration," Draco confirmed, voice hollow. "If we claim the doppelganger clause was activated, the pain of death and transfer is considered punishment beyond any court's authority to impose. No one willingly endures it. No one survives unchanged. The old families will support the claim—they'll have to, or risk exposing their own use of forgotten magics."

Pansy's voice cut through the tension, pragmatic as always beneath her carefully maintained veneer of indifference. "That explains how you returned. It doesn't explain how you found us. How you arrived precisely when needed."

"Or how you knew exactly what each of us required in that moment," Blaise added, observant as always.

Draco's expression closed like a door slamming shut. His eyes flickered briefly to Severus, a subtle glance laden with unspoken meaning. "The potion," he murmured, the words barely audible. "How far along?"

Understanding flashed across Severus's features, so quickly concealed that only those who knew him well would have caught it. "Progressing as expected," he replied with deliberate ambiguity. "But certain... adjustments remain."

"By tomorrow evening?" Draco pressed, fingers tracing absent patterns on the tablecloth.

"Perhaps," Severus allowed, the single word carrying layers of meaning beyond simple acknowledgment.

"What potion?" Narcissa demanded, maternal concern overriding propriety.

Draco's smile was a brittle thing, stretching across his face like a scar. "A necessity, Mother. Nothing more."

"For whom?" she persisted, years of navigating political undercurrents making her sensitive to evasion.

"For people who needs it more than I do."

Severus slammed his hand against the table, plates rattling with the force of his frustration. "Enough games, Draco! We dragged you from death, bring us to a house that shouldn't exist, make demands without explanation—do you think we're puppets to be manipulated? Pawns in whatever scheme you've concocted?"

The air crackled with sudden static electricity as Draco's magic responded to the outburst, candles flaring dangerously high. Goblets vibrated against the table, wine rippling in crimson waves. The pressure in the room built like the moment before a thunderclap, crushing lungs and pressing against eardrums.

"Control yourself, young master," came a silken voice from the doorway only heard by Draco. Ouros materialized like a shadow given form, eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge as they fixed on Draco. “We need be discussing anchoring."

The oppressive magic receded incrementally as Draco closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath that expanded his chest. When he opened them again, the storm had passed, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

"Apologies, Severus," he said, voice lower than before. "Old habits of secrecy die hard, particularly when they've kept yourself and the people you love alive."

Silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Finally, Draco sighed, shoulders dropping slightly.

"You're right. You deserve answers." His gaze swept over them, settling finally on Severus. "I'll tell you what I can, but not here. Not all at once." His eyes shifted to his mother. "Mother, you should hear this as well. You're involved more deeply than you know."

"And the rest of us?" Lupin asked quietly, the wolf's perceptiveness sharpening his gaze.

Draco's expression softened fractionally. "Soon. But there are things that must happen first, preparations that can't wait." He pushed back from the table, rising with effort that he tried and failed to disguise. "Professor, Mother—if you'll follow me. The others can finish their meal in peace."

Narcissa exchanged glances with Severus, unspoken communication born of decades of shared secrets. Finally, she nodded, rising with the practiced dignity that had carried her through darker nights than this.

"Lead the way, my son," she said, the endearment catching slightly in her throat. "It seems I have much to learn about you."

As they left the dining room, Blaise turned to Pansy, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. "He died. Actually died."

She nodded, face pale in the candlelight. "And came back different. The question is—how different?"

In the corridor outside, Draco walked three steps ahead of his mother and former professor, shoulders set and rigid. The shadows seemed to reach for him as he passed, curling around his ankles like affectionate cats seeking attention.

The corridors twisted like living things, shadows deepening in impossible ways as Draco led them through the ancestral home that shouldn't exist. Narcissa's fingers trailed along the wall, sensing magic older than the Malfoy name itself pulsing beneath the surface—ancient, hungry, waiting.

Severus moved with deliberate steps, his eyes dark with recognition that he refused to acknowledge. The weight of old secrets pressed against his chest, memories he'd carried alone for too long while Narcissa lived in the mercy of forgetting.

“House doesn't appear on any Malfoy estate paperwork,” Narcissa observed, voice carefully neutral despite the tremor in her hands.

Draco's shoulders tensed beneath his robes. "Because it wasn't built by human hands, Mother."

The admission hung between them. Severus's jaw tightened, the burden of forbidden knowledge he'd carried for decades suddenly threatening to crush him under its weight.

"The Pact," he said, not a question but an acknowledgment, the words scraping his throat raw. His eyes never left Narcissa's face, searching for recognition that wasn't there.

Draco stopped before an unmarked door of ancient wood that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the torchlight. His palm pressed against its surface, and for a moment, silver lines of power traced the contours of his veins, pulsing in synchronicity with whatever lay beyond.

"Father believed what he needed to believe for duty’s sake,” Draco replied, something ancient flickering behind his eyes as the door recognized his touch and swung inward. "As Mother forced herself to do, when the truth became unbearable."

The office beyond defied rational architecture. Ceiling vaults stretched upward into impossible darkness, while walls curved in ways that made the eye slide off them, refusing to be properly perceived. Books lined shelves that twisted like DNA helixes, their spines unmarked yet somehow promising knowledge beyond mortal comprehension. A massive desk carved from what appeared to be a single piece of obsidian dominated the center, its surface reflecting nothing, as though it devoured light itself.

Narcissa stumbled, a small, wounded sound escaping her as recognition slammed into her consciousness. Her knees buckled, and only Severus's quick reflexes prevented her collapse. His hands steadied her with the practiced care of someone who had caught her before, in moments equally devastating.

"You remember now," Draco said softly, not a question but a confirmation. He guided her to a chair that materialized from the shadows. "The mind protects itself in remarkable ways, doesn't it? Locks away what it cannot bear to know."

Narcissa's breath came in shallow gasps, color draining from her face as memories long suppressed crashed through mental barriers constructed by desperation and survival instinct. Her fingers clutched Severus's wrist with bruising force.

"You knew," she whispered, turning to Severus with dawning horror. "All these years, you remembered everything."

Severus didn't flinch from her accusation, though something vulnerable flickered behind his obsidian eyes. "Yes," he admitted, voice rough with unspoken emotion. "It was your choice, Narcissa. After the ritual, when you realized the full weight of what we'd done—what you'd sacrificed—you begged me to take the memories from you."

"The constant potions,” she whispered, voice cracking. "Not just... not just once. Three times Lucius and I failed. Three times I carried life only to feel it wither inside me. The Malfoy curse." Her nails dug crescents into her palms as the memories flooded back. "I came to you, didn't I? Asked you to help break the curse when conventional magic failed."

Severus nodded once, a sharp movement laden with decades of carried secrets. "You were desperate. Lucius was determined to get an heir, but you..." His voice softened fractionally. "Your determination was terrifying to behold."

"What sacrifice wouldn't a mother make?" she whispered, eyes haunted and fathomless as they lifted to meet his. "You think your oath to protect Potter's son was profound? Even you, Severus, don't comprehend what I was willing to surrender."

A bitter laugh escaped her, brittle as frost-covered glass. "And then I forced myself to forget, leaving you to carry the burden alone." Her fingers, elegant despite their trembling, reached for his hand. "Why did you agree? To help with the ritual, knowing what it would cost? To keep my secrets afterward?"

Something raw and unguarded flashed across Severus's face—there and gone so quickly it might have been imagined. "Some debts can never be repaid," he said simply. "Some bonds never broken.“

Draco moved behind the desk, his movements unnaturally fluid, as though partially disconnected from physical constraints. From a drawer that hadn't been visible a moment before, he withdrew a small obsidian box inlaid with silver runes that seemed to shift and writhe when viewed directly.

"The old gods," he said, voice resonating with unnatural harmonics. "Forgotten, but never gone. Waiting in the spaces between heartbeats, in the shadows cast by shadows." His fingers traced the box's edge. "Mother pledged herself—her magic, her bloodline, her soul—in exchange for a child who would survive the Malfoy curse."

Narcissa's shoulders curved inward, the perfect aristocratic posture crumbling under the weight of remembered desperation. "You were dying in my womb," she whispered, gaze fixed on something only she could see. "Like the others. The Malfoy curse claiming another generation."

Her eyes darted to Severus, recognition blooming. "The Blackthorn Grove," she breathed. "On the winter solstice. You created the ritual framework from forgotten texts. You stabilized the magic when it threatened to consume us all."

"While you offered yourself to entities that should never have been awakened," Severus finished, voice hollow with remembered horror. "I tried to stop you when I realized what entities you were calling upon, but by then—"

"By then it was too late," Draco interrupted, fingers splaying against his chest. "The bargain was struck. A child made in part by gods." His laugh held no humor, only resignation. "Blessed with knowing. Cursed with understanding." His eyes met Severus's, holding secrets that seemed to physically pain him. "I am not a seer, Professor. It's worse than that. I am clairvoyant."

The admission hung in the air like a death knell. Severus didn't recoil in surprise, but his posture stiffened, old suspicions finally confirmed. "I suspected," he said quietly. "Small things over the years. Too much knowledge behind those eyes. Too much calculation in a child's gaze."

"You never said anything," Draco observed, something almost like gratitude coloring his tone.

Severus's expression turned inward. "Some secrets protect themselves by remaining unacknowledged."

Draco stepped away from the desk, moving toward a wall that rippled like water at his approach. It transformed into a vast map that defied conventional cartography—constellations and landmasses overlapping, threads branching and converging in dizzying patterns.

"Potter's story," Draco explained, tracing illuminated threads that pulsed gold against the chaotic backdrop, "was written in the stars long before any of us drew breath. Fixed points, immutable moments that must come to pass." His fingers paused over a bright nexus. "His confrontation with the Dark Lord. His sacrifice. His victory."

Narcissa leaned forward, maternal calculation warring with calculated interest. "And everyone else?"

"Unwritten," Draco confirmed, shoulders bearing the weight of terrible knowledge. "Expendable, as far as fate is concerned. Pieces that might be sacrificed or saved, depending on how they serve the preordained ending." His hand clenched into a fist. "But the ending itself is fixed. Potter must win. If he doesn't—"

The air rippled, and suddenly the office disappeared around Draco. In its place stretched a blasted landscape—skies boiling with unnatural storms, earth cracked and bleeding. The air itself seemed to scream with voices beyond counting. In the distance, massive shapes moved with terrible purpose, their forms refusing to resolve into anything comprehensible to human minds.

"The world ends," Draco stated flatly as the vision collapsed back into the confines of his office. "Not metaphorically. Not politically. Literally."

Severus didn't flinch from the vision Draco painted, his expression grave but unsurprised. "You've carried this," he stated, the words somewhere between accusation and aching sympathy. "Since childhood."

"Every night since I was seven," Draco confirmed, exhaustion briefly overwhelming the ancient knowledge in his eyes. "Every possible deviation from Potter's destined path. Every failure point. Every missed opportunity." His laugh was a broken, brittle thing. "Do you understand now? Why I found you all at the exact moments I did? Why I threw my wand to Potter in that final confrontation?"

Recognition bloomed across Severus's face, old puzzle pieces finally fitting together. "You've been manipulating events. All of us. For years."

"Guiding," Draco corrected gently. "Whenever possible. But there were moments where direct intervention became necessary." His gaze turned inward, remembering. "Small nudges, usually. A forgotten book left where Granger would find it. A whispered warning that seemed like paranoia. A strategic failure that appeared to be cowardice."

He turned to his mother, something desperately human breaking through his otherworldly composure. "I'm sorry for the disappointment I must have been to you and Father. Every moment of apparent weakness, every failure... all calculated to ensure we reached this point."

Narcissa rose on unsteady legs, crossing to her son with the fierce determination that had once faced down the Dark Lord himself. She took Draco's face between her palms, studying him as though seeing him truly for the first time.

"My son," she whispered, voice cracking with the raw emotion aristocrats were trained from birth to suppress. "What you've endured... what you've carried alone..."

Draco leaned into her touch, eyes closing briefly as something ancient and terrible gave way to simple human longing for connection. For understanding. "Not alone," he murmured, gaze shifting to include Severus. "Not entirely. You sensed it, didn't you, Professor? Even without acknowledging it consciously. You protected me in ways even you didn't fully understand."

Severus's expression tightened, the admission costing him. "I felt... resonance. Between what was done that night and what you became." His voice lowered. "Between my complicity and my obligation."

"What remains to be done?" Narcissa asked, her aristocratic resolve reasserting itself through the cracks of maternal anguish.

Draco straightened, the momentary vulnerability submerged beneath purpose. "Much," he admitted, moving to the obsidian box and opening it with a practiced motion, hiding what is inside from view. "Potter won, yes, but the victory is incomplete. Threads remain untied. Consequences unresolved."

"I cannot explain everything—you wouldn't believe me if I did. Some knowledge must be earned through experience, not revelation." His eyes, ancient and weary, met theirs. "But I can promise you this: what we do in the coming days, months, and possibly years will either secure Potter's victory permanently... or render it meaningless."

The silence stretched between them, fragile as spun glass. Finally, Severus stepped forward, the movement decisive after decades of serving multiple masters.

"Tell us what you need," he said, the simple statement carrying the weight of absolution.

Draco's smile was a haunted thing, relief and resignation intertwined. "First, we prepare. The others downstairs have roles to play, whether they realize it or not."

He gestured to the door they came through, which swung open of its own accord. "Then, we move and act with precision. Time keeps ticking for better or worse."

As they moved to leave, Severus paused, something occurring to him. "The doppelganger clause," he said slowly. "It was never about legal protection, was it?"

Draco's expression shifted into something mischievous. “Well, it is, but also something else." he confirmed.

His hand rested briefly on the doorframe, fingers tracing patterns in the ancient wood that seemed to respond to his touch. "Will you help me?" he asked, voice stripped of its otherworldly resonance, leaving only the question of a son to his mother, a student to his mentor. "Even knowing I can't explain everything? Even knowing what I am?"

Narcissa's hand found his, squeezing once with fierce maternal devotion. "Always," she whispered.

Severus inclined his head, the gesture containing decades of unspoken loyalty. "Until the end," he promised.

The light in the office dimmed, shadows gathering like conspirators around their forms as they stepped into the corridor. The door sealed behind them, ancient wood absorbing the final echoes of revelation.

Chapter 12: Defying Gravity

Summary:

Draco and co. finally speak plainly to each other to get some answers. Harry is going through it but finds some freedom.

Dawn broke with painful clarity across the eastern windows of Draco's sanctuary, bathing his study in unforgiving light that exposed every tremble in his hands as he signed the last of seven documents. The quill's scratch against parchment felt deafening in the morning stillness, each stroke carrying the weight of deliberate falsification and desperate necessity.

Behind him, Ouros lingered like a sentient shadow, his presence a constant reminder of debts unpaid and bargains still in effect. The creature's eyes, bottomless and knowing, traced Draco's every movement with predatory patience.

"Your condition deteriorates, young master," Ouros observed, voice like velvet dragged over broken glass. "The gift remains available."

Draco's jaw tightened, but he didn't look up from his work. "Not yet."

His fingernails had darkened overnight, the beds now nearly black, branching veins of similar coloration creeping past his wrists beneath the expensive fabric of his sleeves. The transformation accelerated, feeding on his resistance like a parasite gorging on desperation.

"Stubbornness will not alter inevitability," Ouros murmured, closer now, breath carrying the scent of ancient places long forgotten. "It merely extends your suffering."

"Then let me suffer," Draco replied, sealing the final document with wax and his family ring. "I'm not finished being human yet."

A soft knock interrupted their exchange. Ouros melted into the shadows as Narcissa entered, her aristocratic composure firmly back in place after yesterday's revelations. Only the shadows beneath her eyes betrayed her sleepless night.

"The paperwork is ready?" she asked, gaze lingering on her son's hands before he could tuck them into his sleeves.

"Yes," Draco confirmed, sliding the stack toward her. "I'll send them through the old channels. These will establish the doppelgänger claim officially." His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. "The beauty of ancient laws—they require no proof beyond family attestation."

Narcissa's fingers brushed the edge of the parchment, hesitating. "And what of the physical evidence they'll expect? The... previous vessel."

"Already managed." Draco's eyes flicked toward the shadows where Ouros had disappeared. "A simulacrum rests in the ancestral crypt beneath Malfoy Manor. It will pass any inspection, magical or mundane."

Curiosity flickered across Narcissa's features. "When did you—"

"After Father's arrest," Draco interrupted, voice deliberately calm. "When it became clear the Dark Lord would require... evidence of my loyalty."

Understanding bloomed in Narcissa's eyes, followed swiftly by horror. "You knew even then?"

"I've known since I had coherent thought,” Draco reminded her gently, the weight of foresight heavy in his voice. "Every possible path. Every potential failure." His fingers drummed against the desk, the rhythm slightly off-beat, betraying his deteriorating control. "Preparation became habitual."

Moving from behind the desk with careful precision that masked his physical struggle, Draco approached the eastern window. Morning light cut across his features, briefly illuminating the silver threads spreading beneath his skin like frost across glass—a spiderweb of ancient magic claiming territory with each passing hour.

"The Ministry is in chaos," he stated, eyes fixed on something beyond the visible horizon. "The perfect time to take advantage of old protocols long forgotten by bureaucrats."

Narcissa moved to stand beside him, years of political maneuvering evident in her immediate calculation. "The old channels still function?"

"They never stopped," Draco replied, certainty edging his tone. "The ancient families ensured that. No ministry, no war, not even Voldemort himself could dismantle what was built centuries before their time."

"And after you submit these documents?" she asked, maternal concern threading through her aristocratic reserve.

Draco's smile was a brittle thing. "Then we wait. For whispers to become proclamations. For shadows to solidify into official summons."

The door opened without preamble, admitting Remus Lupin. His hair damp from morning ablutions, amber eyes sharp with preternatural focus. He hesitated on the threshold, nostrils flaring subtly as he cataloged scents invisible to ordinary humans.

"Forgive the intrusion," he said, voice rough. "Severus mentioned you'd requested me."

Draco nodded once, gesturing for Lupin to enter. "There are matters that require your attention," he explained, measuring each word with deliberate care.

Lupin's eyes narrowed fractionally, the wolf's intuition rising beneath human calculation. He inhaled deeply, cataloging the scents in the room with preternatural precision. His gaze lingered on Draco, something unspoken passing between them as the wolf recognized an essential wrongness that transcended ordinary perception.

Draco caught the assessment but offered no explanation, his expression closing like a book slammed shut.

"My son needs rest," Narcissa interjected, maternal protectiveness sharpening her tone to a blade's edge. "Perhaps this conversation might wait until after he's sent the documents?"

"No," Draco countered softly, "time remains our most precious commodity." He turned to Lupin, "I require some of your memories of Hogwarts."

Surprise registered briefly on Lupin's face, “To what end?"

A sharp crack announced Missy's arrival, the house-elf materializing with the Daily Prophet clutched in her small hands, surprising two of them.

"Young Master," she squeaked, ears flattening, "Master Severus requests your presence in the laboratory." Her bulbous eyes darted to the newspaper she carried. "And the morning news has arrived."

Draco gestured for the paper, scanning the front page with practiced efficiency. His expression remained neutral as he read:

MINISTRY RECALIBRATES JUSTICE DEPARTMENT

Focus on Post-War Recovery and Accountability

So it began.

“Actually, Mother can you send the documents now," he asked calculation replacing vulnerability. "Through the secure channels we discussed."

Narcissa took the papers with aristocratic efficiency, no questions needed where absolute trust existed. "And then?"

"Then we wait for their echo to return to us," Draco replied, certainty edging his tone. "In the form of an official summons."

As Narcissa departed with the papers, Lupin lingered, something unspoken weighing on his conscience.

"Malfoy," he began, voice carefully neutral, "whatever you're hiding—and it's clearly significant—remember that secrets have consequences. Not just for you."

Draco's smile was a brittle thing, cracking around the edges like fine porcelain under too much pressure. "Believe me, Professor," he replied, voice hollow with terrible knowledge, "I am intimately acquainted with consequences."

**⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆**

In the basement laboratory of Draco's sanctuary, Severus Snape worked with the focused precision of a man accustomed to finding salvation in methodical processes. Cauldrons of varying compositions simmered around him, each containing a separate stage of what would eventually become a single, complex brew.

The central cauldron, crafted from meteoritic iron and etched with runes so ancient they predated formal language, bubbled with a substance that defied conventional description—neither liquid nor gas, it shifted between states with hypnotic unpredictability.

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson stood at separate workstations, following Severus's meticulous instructions with the solemn concentration of acolytes. Neither had questioned the purpose of the potion they helped create, their trust in both Draco and their former Head of House transcending ordinary skepticism.

As Draco entered with Lupin trailing behind, Severus glanced up from his work. His obsidian eyes swept over Draco's form, noting the increased silver threading beneath his skin, the deepened shadows beneath his eyes, the careful way he measured each step to disguise weakness. The assessment was clinical, wordless, and kept carefully beneath the surface of his expression.

“It’ll be ready soon,” Severus stated, indicating the central cauldron with a slight incline of his head. "Final stabilization completes in a hour."

Draco's mouth tightened imperceptibly. "Excellent timing." He moved toward the cauldron, examining its contents with careful attention.

"The potion," Lupin interjected, amber eyes fixed on the central cauldron. "What exactly have we been brewing? And for whom?"

Draco's expression shifted into careful neutrality. "A stabilization draft," he explained, offering partial truth with practiced ease.

Severus's eyebrow arched fractionally, but he offered no contradiction. Whatever suspicions he harbored remained carefully contained behind obsidian eyes.

Turning back to Severus, he asked, "The potion's final requirements?"

"Delivery must occur within forty-eight hours," Severus replied, professional detachment masking deeper concern. "After which its efficacy diminishes rapidly. And it must be administered directly—ingested, not merely applied externally."

"That," Draco acknowledged, "presents certain logistical challenges. But ones I've anticipated." His fingers drummed against the worktable, the rhythm slightly off-beat.

"Ouros”, Draco called. With no sound, the elf like creature appeared besides Draco. “Collect within an hour”. The creature was then gone as silent as before.

“Great! With that done, let’s get out of this stuffy room”.

As they filed from the laboratory, Severus lingered, waiting until the others had proceeded beyond earshot.

"The truth, Draco," he said quietly, obsidian eyes unblinking. "Who is the potion really for?"

For a moment, the mask slipped—calculation giving way as Draco met his gaze directly.

"For those who need it most," he replied simply. "For those who must survive what comes next."

Severus studied him with the penetrating focus that had made him a master Legilimens. "And you? Will you survive what comes next?"

Draco's smile was a brittle thing, cracking around the edges like fine porcelain under too much pressure. "That," he said softly, "remains to be seen."

WEEKS LATER

"The official summons arrived this morning. The council convenes tomorrow at dawn."

Severus's hands stilled above his plate momentarily, the only indication of surprise he permitted himself. "So soon?"

"The old families move quickly when properly motivated," Draco replied, something like satisfaction flickering briefly across his features. "Mother's connections proved... persuasive."

Pansy looked up from her plate, curiosity overriding trained restraint. "What council? I haven't seen anything in the Prophet."

"You wouldn’t” he paused “Well considering how things now, you shouldn’t“ Draco explained, his tone measured. Draco laughed to himself, “Considering my luck, it would be announced in the papers”.

Narcissa came into the room, overhearing them, saying ”The council operates beneath official channels. An ancient provision allowing members of society to address matters requiring... discretion beyond standard judicial proceedings."

Understanding dawned in Blaise's sharp eyes. "For you," he deduced. "To address your supposed death and resurrection."

"Precisely," Draco confirmed. "The doppelgänger clause has been invoked. Now comes the official validation."

Pansy's natural pragmatism surfaced immediately. "And our parents? They'll be notified—"

"Already managed," Draco assured her. "Your protection and status as witnesses rather than subjects of investigation has been secured." His expression softened fractionally as he regarded his friends—true friends, who had followed him into danger without question, who had offered their magic to drag him back from death itself.

"You've both done enough," he continued. "You can return home if you wish, with no obligations to testify unless you choose to."

Blaise and Pansy exchanged loaded glances, years of unspoken communication distilled into a single look.

"Don't be absurd," Pansy stated flatly. "We're coming with you."

"Obviously," Blaise added, his usual smooth detachment briefly giving way to fierce loyalty. "Did you really think otherwise?"

For a moment, something nakedly human flickered across Draco's features—raw gratitude unmediated by calculation or ancient knowledge. Then it was gone, submerged beneath necessary composure.

Rising from her workspace, Pansy brushed imaginary dust from her immaculate robes—a gesture of aristocratic recalibration that reminded Draco vividly of his mother.

"So," she said with brisk efficiency, "what happens at this council tomorrow? And what do you need from us?"

Draco's smile was a haunted thing. "Truth, carefully curated. Memories, selectively shared." His gaze swept over them, ancient knowledge weighing heavy behind storm-gray eyes. "And absolute commitment to the version of events we present. No deviations, no embellishments. The story we tell must be perfectly aligned."

"And that story is?" Blaise prompted, his natural intelligence immediately grasping the stakes.

"That I survived through ancient family magic," Draco replied simply. "That my apparent death was a transfer of consciousness to a prepared vessel—the doppelgänger clause in action. Nothing more complex, nothing more revealing."

"And they'll believe this?" Lupin asked skeptically.

"They'll accept it," Draco corrected, "because the alternative would require examining forgotten magics that many of them have employed themselves. Self-preservation ensures their cooperation." His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. "Especially with magical society in such... precarious reconstruction."

TIME STOP

Hermione stepped into Harry’s room. Ron followed close behind, his lanky frame filling the doorway before he stepped inside, closing the door with deliberate care, as though the sound of the latch might shatter something essential.

"Brought you lunch," Ron said, attempting normalcy that fell just short of convincing. "Mum's made your favorite."

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, the cracks more reliable companions than the concern swimming in his friends' gazes. "Not hungry."

Hermione set the tray down with the precise movements of someone restraining themselves from saying what they really wanted to say. The china clinked with finality against the wooden surface. "You need to eat, Harry. Your body can't heal without proper nutrition."

"My body isn't healing much anyway," Harry replied, voice hollow as an abandoned grave. "So what's the point?"

The unspoken conversation that passed between Ron and Hermione was almost audible—the tensing of shoulders, the minute head-shake, the slight widening of eyes. Finally, Ron dropped into the chair beside the bed. The wood groaned beneath him, a sound more honest than anything that had been said aloud.

"The point," he said with unexpected gentleness, "is that you're still here. Still fighting. Still bloody Harry Potter, even if you're temporarily horizontal."

A sound escaped Harry's throat, something raw that might once have been a laugh before it corrupted into something bitter and broken. "Temporarily? McRue made it clear the damage—"

"Is significant but not permanent," Hermione interrupted, conviction forcing strength into her voice. "If you follow the treatment plan and stop trying to force things."

Harry finally turned toward them, the effort almost unbearable. His eyes, once vibrantly green, had dulled shadowed by something feverish and unfamiliar. "I can feel it changing," he admitted, the words torn from some place so deep and private he'd never let anyone see it before. "My magic. It's... different since the battle. Growing. Shifting."

Without warning, the crystalline water glass on his bedside table detonated, shards launching outward with enough force to embed themselves in the far wall like translucent daggers. Ron and Hermione flinched in unison, a choreographed dance of alarm. Harry didn't move, didn't blink, as though he'd been expecting exactly this.

"See?" he murmured, eyes sliding back to the ceiling's familiar geography. "No control."

"It's just accidental magic," Hermione reasoned, though uncertainty threaded through her voice like a poorly hidden seam. "Like when we were children. Your core is probably recalibrating after everything you've been through."

"It doesn't feel accidental," Harry countered, something ancient and cold entering his voice.

Ron shifted his weight, the chair creaking a protest beneath him. "Maybe we should mention this to McRue?" His voice lifted at the end, a question rather than a suggestion.

"I'd rather not give her another reason to keep me bedridden indefinitely," Harry replied, bitterness seeping through the cracks in his forced neutrality. "She's already convinced I'm one wrong step from permanent disability."

The silence between them swelled, becoming its own presence in the room—a fourth companion heavy with unspoken fears. Finally, Hermione reached for the Daily Prophet she'd tucked beneath the tray, the rustle of newsprint almost startling in the quiet.

"There's something you might find interesting," she said, attempting a casualness that didn't fit the tension humming in the air. "The Ministry's justice department is being restructured, and there are rumors of a special closed council."

Despite himself, Harry's attention snagged on this new information. His eyes tracked to the newspaper Hermione unfolded across her lap.

"What kind of council?" he asked, the first genuine curiosity he'd shown in days momentarily displacing the apathy that had become his armor.

Ron leaned forward, visibly relieved at Harry's engagement. "It's not directly mentioned, but Hermione reckons it's the first in nearly a century. The old families sometimes invoke ancient law when normal judicial processes are... complicated."

"The article mentions 'matters requiring discretion beyond standard judicial proceedings,'" Hermione confirmed, finger tracing the relevant paragraph. "That's euphemistic language typically used when powerful families are negotiating with the Ministry behind closed doors."

Harry's brow furrowed, concentration momentarily overwhelming pain. "Who would be involved in something like that?"

"It's all very secretive," Hermione admitted, "but I suspect the Malfoys might be at the center of it. With Lucius in Azkaban and Narcissa's contested status due to her... moment of intervention on your behalf, there would be substantial legal complications to address."

A strange heaviness settled in Harry's chest at the mention of the name, memories of the final battle surging forth unbidden. Draco throwing his wand through the air, the impossible moment of connection as their eyes met across the battlefield. The killing curse striking Draco directly in the chest, his body crumpling with terrible finality.

"Malfoy," he said, the name strange on his tongue. "I saw him die. At the end."

Hermione's expression softened with the particular caution she reserved for moments when she thought Harry might be confused. "Yes, Harry. Everyone saw it happen. It was... awful."

"Bloody heroic, actually," Ron added unexpectedly, earning surprised looks from both Harry and Hermione. He shrugged defensively. "What? I'm not saying I liked the git, but throwing Harry his wand right in front of You-Know-Who took serious bollocks."

Harry stared at the ceiling, memories of the final battle surging through him with devastating clarity. "I was there. Closer than anyone. I saw his eyes at the end."

The familiarity of Malfoy's death had become strangely personal, a private moment between enemies that transcended their history. Harry remembered the calm acceptance in those gray eyes, the slight nod before the green light struck, as though Malfoy had known exactly what would happen and chosen it anyway.

Something shifted beneath Harry's sternum, a sudden pressure like an invisible hand squeezing his heart. The temperature in the room rose instantly. The three of them broke into a sweat.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, eyes wide as he watched steam form on the previously lukewarm teacup.

Harry closed his eyes, focusing inward, struggling to contain whatever had surged through him. The alien presence in his chest pulsed, a heartbeat not synchronized with his own, before gradually subsiding. The temperature slowly normalized to a more comfortable temperature.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, something hollow and exhausted in his voice. "I didn't—I couldn't—"

"It's alright," Hermione assured him quickly, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her concern. "But Harry... this is happening more frequently. Maybe we should mention it to Healer McRue."

Before Harry could formulate a response, another knock cut through the tension. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar mischievous expressions of Fred and George Weasley—still subdued compared to their pre-war exuberance, but unmistakably alive with purpose.

"Hope we're not interrupting serious business," Fred said, eyes darting between the three friends with the perceptive assessment that belied his jokester reputation.

"We come bearing gifts," George added, pushing the door wider.

They entered in perfect synchronicity, maneuvering what appeared to be a heavily modified wheelchair into the room. Where a normal wheelchair would have conventional wheels, this contraption sported what looked like miniature Quidditch hoops, their centers glowing with faint blue enchantment. The frame itself seemed constructed from a combination of dragon heartstring and polished silverwood, materials usually reserved for high-end racing brooms.

"Behold," Fred announced with theatrical flourish, "the Mobilius Maximus."

"Working title," George clarified. "Marketing department still deliberating."

"We are the marketing department," Fred reminded him.

"Hence the deliberation."

Harry found himself actually listening, their familiar banter a lifeline to normality that he hadn't realized he desperately craved.

"What exactly am I beholding?" he asked, voice hoarse from disuse but genuine curiosity threading through it.

Fred's eyes lit with enthusiasm. "Only the most sophisticated personal transport system ever devised by two devilishly handsome entrepreneurs with too much time on their hands and a friend in need."

"It hovers," George explained more practically, demonstrating by pushing it forward. The chair glided several inches above the floor, completely frictionless. "No stairs or uneven floors to worry about. Custom levitation charms with auto-balancing enchantments, so you won't tip even making sharp turns at speed."

"And the best part," Fred continued, gesturing to the armrests where intricate control panels were embedded, "is that it responds exclusively to your magical signature. No one else can operate it, so certain individuals with boundary issues can't move you without permission."

The unspoken message hung in the air with perfect clarity: they'd designed it specifically to prevent another incident like the one with Ginny. Security disguised as convenience.

For the first time in days, something cracked in Harry's carefully maintained wall of apathy. He pushed himself up further, ignoring the sharp protest of his healing bones as he examined their creation with genuine interest.

"You made this?" he asked, wonder momentarily displacing the darkness that had settled over him. "From scratch?"

"Well, we may have liberated certain components from Dad's shed," George admitted, "and possibly borrowed a few design concepts from an artifact in the Department of Mysteries that we absolutely were not supposed to see."

"But the conceptualization and implementation was pure Weasley genius," Fred added, pride unmistakable beneath his casual tone.

"Mum's been keeping us under house arrest since the battle," George explained. "Something about 'recovering from trauma' and 'not immediately returning to potentially lethal product testing.'"

"As if we'd be that irresponsible," Fred said with mock indignation.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched upward in what might have become a smile in a world where smiling still made sense. "It's brilliant," he said honestly, reaching out to touch the armrest. The control panel illuminated at his contact, responding to his magical signature with an eager pulse of blue light.

"Want to take it for a spin?" George asked, hope tempering his attempt at nonchalance.

Harry hesitated, memory of his recent humiliation still raw. "I'm not sure if I should, without clearing it with McRue first. Last time—"

"That was different," Hermione interrupted, surprising everyone with her support. “Ginny was trying to force you to walk when you didn’t want to. This is designed specifically to accommodate your current limitations."

Ron nodded enthusiastically. "And you heard them—it's got safety features built in. Won't tip or drop you even if you try."

The temptation of mobility, of escaping the room that had become both sanctuary and prison, was overwhelming. After a moment's consideration, Harry nodded, something like determination flickering in his eyes.

"Let's do it," he said, voice stronger than it had been in days.

The process of transferring from bed to chair was a masterclass in controlled agony. Despite the twins' and Ron's careful assistance, every movement sent lightning bolts of pain through Harry's healing body. By the time he was settled, sweat had soaked through his shirt and his jaw ached from clenching against screams he refused to release. But the sensation of being upright, of existing in space differently than he had for weeks, was worth every second of torture.

"The controls are intuitive," Fred explained, demonstrating on a secondary panel he held. "Forward, back, side-to-side—basically like a broom but horizontal. Speed adjusts based on pressure. Emergency stop here," he pointed to a red button, "but you shouldn't need it. The chair reads your intentions almost before you form them."

Harry placed his palm flat against the main control panel, feeling a gentle vibration as the chair's magic synchronized with his own. With the barest thought of forward movement, the chair glided smoothly ahead.

"Bloody brilliant," he breathed, executing a careful turn around Hermione. The chair responded exactly as intended, requiring only the lightest touch of guidance. For the first time since the battle, he felt something like agency returning. Control over his own existence.

"We thought you might fancy a trip outside," George suggested, gesturing toward the window where summer sunshine illuminated the fields surrounding the Burrow. "Chair's weather-proofed and terrain-adaptive. Mud, grass, even shallow water won't slow you down."

Harry nodded, unexpected emotion tightening his throat. "Thank you," he managed, the simple words wholly inadequate for what they'd given him.

As they helped navigate the narrow doorway, Harry's gaze fell on the newspaper Hermione had left on his bedside table. The subtle mention of the special council seemed to pulse with significance he couldn't yet articulate, a ripple in the fabric of what he thought he understood about the aftermath of victory.

The chair hummed beneath him as they reached the stairs, automatically adjusting to compensate for the descent. Harry focused on the miracle of movement, of escape from the four walls that had become his entire world, but something lingered in the back of his mind—a puzzle whose pieces refused proper alignment.

Sunlight struck his face for the first time in weeks as they exited the Burrow, warm and cleansing as phoenix tears. He closed his eyes, tilting his face upward, absorbing the sensation of being outside, alive, present in the world beyond his sickroom.

But beneath that momentary peace, the alien presence in his chest stirred once more, as though responding to something only it could sense—hungry, growing, and increasingly aware.

Something remained unfinished. Incomplete.

Chapter 13: Wait For It

Summary:

Just as Harry begins to heal, Kingsley shatters his sanctuary with news of an ancient magical crisis that requires the Boy Who Lived once more. Left alone in the Ministry due to his physical frailty, Harry encounters a towering figure in ceremonial robes who greets him with the kind of reverence reserved for legends....or gods.

Notes:

New chapter time! The timelines are finally converging and the main story is now beginning.
o(≧▽≦)o

The twins' chair was a revelation. Harry felt liberated with it, venturing beyond the confining walls of the Burrow more frequently. The land surrounding the house wasn't vast, but it offered just enough space to escape when the weight of recovery became suffocating. Mrs. Weasley had initially opposed the contraption, her voice strained with worry as she declared it "unsafe," but Healer McRue surprised everyone by approving it after a thorough interrogation of the twins and observing Harry navigate with it. In fact, Harry had overheard hushed conversations between the healer and the twins about developing a standard model for St. Mungo's patients.

With this newfound mobility, however, came intensified physical therapy. McRue made it clear that while the chair provided an excellent interim solution, it wasn't meant to be permanent. "This is a bridge, not a destination," she explained, her clinical tone softened by genuine concern. After the Ginny incident, McRue had implemented additional safeguards, conspiring with Ron and Hermione to prevent similar occurrences. The physical therapy remained brutally challenging in the aftermath of that setback, but Harry sensed he was progressing more rapidly than before.

"You're retraining your body rather than teaching it from scratch," McRue explained one afternoon, satisfaction evident in her typically measured voice. "Think of it like riding a broom—initially difficult, but something your body never truly forgets."

Before Harry fully registered the shift, a fragile sense of wellbeing had begun to take root. It manifested in small moments: his genuine interest in the twins' experimental creations that occasionally resulted in controlled explosions in the garden; the surprising presence of Percy around the house; the way sunlight through his window no longer felt like an accusation but an invitation.

Molly was visibly delighted by her wayward son's return, though her other children maintained a cautious distance. Harry observed Percy's careful attempts at reconciliation, the weight of his actions and inactions during the war evident in every hesitant interaction. Ron displayed unexpected maturity in these exchanges, Hermione's influence undoubtedly shaping his responses. She had retreated to her familiar fortress of books, her face concealed behind towering stacks for most daylight hours. Harry initially suspected her research related to his condition, but McRue's silence on the matter suggested otherwise.

The healer remained a steady presence, a constellation by which Harry navigated his recovery. Her almost imperceptible smile as she documented his progress in her logbook confirmed he was following the correct path, at least in this one aspect of his fractured existence.

Complications lingered on the periphery. Ginny's persistent presence when Harry craved solitude created a tension that thickened the air between them. More concerning were the occasional disruptions in Mrs. Weasley's magic, manifestations that everyone politely pretended not to notice. The most alarming incident occurred during dinner preparation when plates she was levitating suddenly crashed to the table without warning. Her startled expression revealed this wasn't intentional, though her dismissive "Nothing to worry about, dears" contradicted the shadow of concern darkening Mr. Weasley's features.

Despite these undercurrents, recovery progressed steadily until the inevitable interruption arrived, heralded by a firm knock at the front door.

Harry and Ron were engrossed in their third chess match of the afternoon when Mrs. Weasley's greeting drifted up the stairs, followed by a deep, resonant voice Harry immediately recognized. Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived.

"Harry's with you?" Kingsley's question carried clearly to the upstairs bedroom.

Mrs. Weasley's uncharacteristic silence spoke volumes. Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, whose eyebrows rose high on his forehead. Without discussion, Harry maneuvered his chair toward the door, Ron following close behind.

As they descended, Harry watched Kingsley's expression shift from diplomatic neutrality to poorly concealed shock. The acting Minister's gaze fixed on Harry's hovering chair before traveling to his gaunt face, hollowed cheeks, and the shadows beneath his eyes that refused to fade regardless of how much he slept.

"Kingsley," Ron broke the silence first, his casual tone belying the tension radiating from his rigid posture. "Good to see you're well. What brings you all the way out here?"

"Actually, I'm here for Harry," Kingsley replied, his deep voice recalibrating to something gentler. "The current ministry representatives require your assistance with a... delicate situation. We believe your presence could be instrumental in its resolution."

Harry felt himself go utterly still, a visceral disconnect between mind and body. The room around him seemed to fade, colors bleeding into periphery as he stared at Kingsley. Something inside him, that alien presence that had taken residence since the battle, stirred restlessly, responding to Kingsley's words with an interest that wasn't entirely Harry's own.

The silence stretched until Mrs. Weasley shattered it with brittle cheerfulness. "Of course Harry will help! You know him, always eager to do good, even after defeating that awful wizard." She turned to Harry, her smile strained at the edges. "Why don't you get out of this contraption, get properly dressed, and go with Kingsley? He wouldn't ask unless it was absolutely necessary."

Harry's awareness sharpened, taking in the tableau before him: Kingsley's grave expression beneath his diplomatic veneer; Mrs. Weasley's smile that didn't reach her eyes; Ron's face transformed by incredulity. In the kitchen behind them, a pan had inexplicably risen from the counter and was drifting toward them until Mrs. Weasley's attention broke whatever unconscious magic had animated it.

"Fine," Harry said finally, each word measured and deliberate. "But Ron or Hermione comes with me." He paused, exhaustion already seeping into his bones at the prospect. "Does it have to be today?"

Relief slackened Kingsley's features momentarily. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Will there be significant walking involved?" Harry asked, hating the necessity of the question but knowing his limitations remained non-negotiable. "I'm not certain how much I can manage."

Kingsley's gaze lingered on the chair, calculation evident in his expression. "There shouldn't be. Unfortunately, where we're going, it would be best not to bring your chair. But we'll ensure frequent breaks."

Ron's derisive snort conveyed his opinion more eloquently than words, but Mrs. Weasley intervened. "You hear that, Harry? Plenty of breaks." She turned to Ron, maternal authority reasserting itself. "Go get dressed since you're accompanying him."

The two friends exchanged glances, a wordless conversation forged through years of shared danger. Harry nodded slightly, and Ron's shoulders dropped in resignation.

"Fine, we'll go," Ron conceded. "Give us a few minutes to prepare."

As they retreated upstairs, the weight of inevitability pressed against Harry's chest. Whatever fragile normalcy he'd constructed was fracturing already, reality once again demanding his participation when all he wanted was silence.

Your why is the most important thing to me

They took their time preparing, a small rebellion against whatever urgency drove Kingsley's request. Ron scrawled a hasty note for Hermione, who was absent from the house, while Harry changed into clothes that felt like armor, jeans and a jumper that hung from his still-too-thin frame.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Harry caught Ron's appraising glance and forced a smile. "I've got this, Ron. My legs work fine now, no need to carry me down like a princess."

Ron rolled his eyes, but his voice carried the hardened edge Harry had come to associate with their desperate forest months. "If you ever want to leave, we'll leave. I'll find a way."

Harry's forced smile transformed into something genuine. "Thanks, Ron. I know I can always count on you."

They descended to where Kingsley waited, his scrutiny of their casual attire visible but unvoiced. Whatever their destination, Harry suspected their clothing was inappropriate, but the acting Minister appeared unwilling to risk Harry's reconsideration by mentioning it.

"We'll be traveling by side-along Apparition, if that's acceptable to you both," Kingsley offered. The two of them agreed.

The familiar crushing sensation of Apparition left Harry disoriented, Ron at his side instantly. Harry waved him off, fighting to regain his feet without assistance. Vulnerability was a luxury he couldn't afford in this setting, whatever it might be.

Once upright, Harry surveyed their surroundings. They stood in what appeared to be Kingsley's office, a functional space devoid of personal touches, dominated by a desk buried beneath official parchments and correspondence.

"Please, sit," Kingsley gestured to chairs positioned before his desk. "We'll receive the summons shortly and proceed from there."

Ron's face darkened with frustration. "Summons to what, exactly? You've brought us to the Ministry without explaining anything."

Harry felt the alien presence in his chest pulse in agreement, though he remained silent, waiting to see where this would lead. Kingsley went behind his desk and sat down heavily. The normally put-together man looked at the end of his rope. It wasn't surprising since he was now acting Minister and had to deal with war reconstruction plus a boatload of things they probably weren't aware of.

It was a marvel to both of them as Kingsley pulled himself back together, becoming the strong man he was known for.

"First off, I am sorry that I am pulling you two into this mess. I am cognizant of what you two have done for us."

Ron interrupted, "And Hermione too."

Kingsley glanced at him, "Yes, and Hermione. But we are now dealing with the very foundations of wizarding society. In fact, we are now dealing with one of them—or we suspect we do."

Ron cut in again, "You are being very vague, Kingsley. If you insist we are to help you, you have to be straight with us. We will not be pawns." The "not like last time" went unsaid.

Kingsley sat back in his chair, really looking at the impressive young man Ron had become. He'd have to keep an eye on him in the future. Though he remained worried for Harry, who had been quiet this whole time.

"Okay. We are dealing with an individual who has declared the doppelganger clause. Plus they have sworn themselves to the way of old magics."

Ron and Harry looked at each other, confused. "And how is that our problem?" Ron asked.

Kingsley continued, "We have two problems here. First, this is the first instance of old magics and its council in many, many years. There aren't many people who even remember them. It's not too surprising that they come out now to play, but still we are cautious of their involvement."

Harry had no idea what old magics were, and it seemed like Ron didn't either, considering how he was tapping his fingers. He always seemed to do that when he was thinking.

"Second, the doppelganger clause has been invoked. It's old dark magic. Technically it's been banned to make the body, but not to invoke it. Our best people and representatives of old magics have come and confirmed the individual, but because of their old magics vow, they have their face and body covered."

Harry had many questions, but mainly: what was the doppelganger clause? He was about to ask his question when a small piece of paper came flying into the office. Kingsley quickly snatched it out of the air and unfolded it. He frowned and then stood up.

"We don't have much time, follow me." The two of them quickly got up and followed the man who seemed to be flying through the halls of the ministry, despite them still not knowing exactly what they were doing there. Ron could keep up, but Harry not so much, though he really did try.

Ron noticed that Harry started to flag and slowed his pace. Harry looked at his friend and made a choice. "Ron, why don't you go and help Kingsley? I'm sure he really doesn't need me specifically."

Ron cut in with a sad tone, "Harry..."

"No, stop that. You go. I'll just be around here. When you're done, we'll meet at Kingsley's office." Harry grabbed a piece of paper from a person's desk and transfigured it into a cap. "I'll stay low so no one recognizes me."

Ron stared at his friend and considered his words. Eventually accepting, "Fine, but no scheming, no surprises, and absolutely no adventures."

"Yes, yes, Hermione. Now go." Harry lightly pushed his friend. And then Ron was off, and Harry was alone.

Harry took a minute to himself and looked around the empty office space. He sat at the edge of a cubicle and stared at the hat he'd just made, his hands, and his legs. He wasn't sure what he felt at the moment. Well, it was more like he felt many things at once which all canceled out. In one part, he was at odds with his mind and body. He wished he could keep up, but his body wouldn't allow it. At the same time, he wasn't sure he even wanted to help Kingsley. Not because Kingsley wasn't a good man who genuinely helped people, but because of the principle of pushing himself for a cause he really didn't understand—the reasons for the how and why.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when he heard the entrance of the office space open. He froze at the sight, not sure what he was looking at. The figure commanded the doorway with an otherworldly presence, impossibly tall and draped in layers of flowing black fabric that seemed to drink in the ministry's harsh fluorescent light.

The stranger wore what appeared to be an elaborate ensemble that spoke of both ancient tradition and immense wealth. A hooded cloak cascaded from their shoulders, its fabric so fine it moved like liquid shadow with each breath. Beneath it, Harry caught glimpses of an intricately embroidered robe that swept the floor, its hem adorned with patterns that seemed to shift and dance when the light caught them just right. The garment was tailored with precision that suggested master craftsmanship, every fold and drape deliberate and elegant.

Over their head, they wore a veil that fell to their shoulders, its gossamer material seeming to move in nonexistent currents of air. The veil was no simple covering but appeared to be woven with threads of silver that caught and reflected light like captured starlight. Through its translucent depths, Harry could discern no features, only the suggestion of a face that remained tantalizingly hidden.

The entire outfit was held together by what appeared to be an ornate brooch at the shoulder, though Harry was too far to make out its details from where he sat. The stranger's bearing was regal, almost ceremonial, as if they had stepped from the pages of an ancient text describing forgotten nobility.

The individual walked toward him but seemed to glide rather than walk, their movement so fluid and silent that Harry found himself questioning whether their feet touched the ground at all. Every gesture spoke of careful cultivation, of someone accustomed to being watched and measured. The very air around them seemed to thicken with unspoken significance. Harry knew he should be scared or at least cautious of this individual, but he wasn't. He just watched them until they noticed him. After they did, they started moving toward him. Soon they were a good two or three steps from each other.

This close, Harry still couldn't see their face through the veil, but did notice how their cape shimmered in the light like stars. The two of them took each other in until the individual spoke.

"Hello, do you mind helping me? I'm looking for Kingsley's office."

Their voice was way deeper than Harry expected and caused a small itch in his brain. He knew that voice but couldn't pinpoint where.

Should he be taking a literal shadowy figure to the Minister's office? No. But honestly, it wasn't the craziest thing he'd done. It seemed he was going to break his promise with Ron and go on an adventure.

"Sure. I know the way."

A beat, and then, "Thank you."

Harry slowly got down from his perch on the desk, regretting his poor sitting choices.

The deep voice interrupted his musings, "Excuse me, but do you need assistance?"

Harry smiled, "No, I'm quite all right. Just takes longer, that's all." Soon he was down, moving toward the individual. Standing next to them, he realized the huge height difference. He knew he was on the shorter side, used to looking up at Ron and all his friends, but this individual seemed to tower over him. Though it didn't feel stifling.

"Okay, I'll walk you over," Harry said.

"Thank you, but no rush, we can take our time. It's not that important," the stranger said.

Harry didn't quite believe them since any meeting with the minister tended to be important, but he kept that to himself. The two walked in comfortable silence as the stranger walked beside him at his pace. It felt nice.

Just as they reached Kingsley's office doors, the main doors at the end of the corridor opened with a slam. Harry spun around at the loud sound, ready to attack.

The stranger came in front of him, blocking him from the view of the newcomers. Harry looked at their broad back and finally was able to see their unique cloak up close. Like before, he noticed the tiny twinkling among the blackness, but this close up he was able to see that not all of them were uniform. Some of them were brighter and bigger than others. Also, they all seemed to shift as they moved slowly on the cloak.

He could hear his friend, Ron, from the distance and his fast approach. He didn't know why he decided to stay behind this stranger and not reveal himself. The stranger too didn't seem to want to move to reveal who was behind them. It was strange hearing his friend talk to different people. He didn't sound very different, it was just the tone that struck him. It sounded so formal, something like a pureblood would sound. Harry sometimes forgot that Ron was technically one.

Ron said to the stranger, "May the gods shine down on you."

Now Harry was confused. Who exactly was this person? He'd never heard his friend talk this way before.

The stranger didn't say anything but did nod their head.

In a very formal tone, Ron continued, "May you forgive the grievance. Kingsley and I were under the impression that you'd be at the chamber. We can start the conversation in Kingsley's office if you approve."

Once again, the stranger nodded.

"May you excuse me, I have to go fetch him." With that, Ron turned away and went to get Kingsley.

Harry didn't move from his spot until he heard the door in the distance close. The two of them stayed still for a moment, making sure no one was coming. Then the imposing figure turned around and faced Harry.

Harry was struck, not too sure what to say. He had questions about who this person was, why they didn't give him away, and why they were there in the first place, but they just stayed in silence. Though Harry couldn't see their eyes through the veil, he did feel the weight of their gaze. For a moment, everything in him was silent and still, even his magic.

The individual was the first to break their weird connection when they took out their watch. Its long chain connected to the person glistened in the ministry light as they clicked the top to open the face. It was strange to see a person, even a wizard, carry a pocket watch since a quick Tempus could suffice. There was only one person that Harry was absolutely not going to think about who carried one.

The individual spoke with a smooth cadence.

"They should be back soon. Is there anywhere you are supposed to be? I can take you there if you'd like. It would be no trouble."

Harry smiled slightly, it wasn't every day that he was treated like a young lady in need of a chaperone.

"I'm supposed to be in the Minister's office not causing trouble, but trouble always seems to find me." The stranger chuckled a little at the joke.

"But no, you don't need to lead me. I can do just fine on my own."

The stranger breathed out with a smile in their voice, saying, "Of that I have no doubt."

With that, Harry was about to turn when the stranger began to bow.

In a low voice, they said, "Well met, Mr. Potter. May the gods fall to their knees in your wake."

Harry's eyes widened at this. It was strange to see this seemingly important figure bow to him. Harry wrung his hands behind him, not too sure what to do or say.

Eventually he went with, "Well met, Mr. Stars. May your clock always keep ticking."

Notes:

Me writing the second half of this chapter → XD
Hoped you liked this chapter and can't wait for what's next.

Chapter 14: I Know Him, That Can’t Be

Summary:

In the depths of the Ministry, a veiled figure from the ancient "old religion" materializes, having invoked the mysterious doppelganger clause, power that grants extraordinary legal protections through forgotten magic. While Ron protests against placing another burden on Harry's shoulders, Kingsley reveals this enigmatic stranger requires a guide for Hogwarts' reconstructed eighth year. Despite his fragile recovery, Harry feels inexplicably drawn to the figure. But who lies beneath the star-woven veil, and what ancient forces have they awakened? Harry's decision will unleash consequences no one comprehends.

Notes:

Hello everyone back with another chapter. I’m trying to experiment with my writing style so the chapter might read different. Besides that enjoy! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Harry retreated to Kingsley's office, the weight of solitude settling around him. The space felt cavernous without its usual occupant. The stacks of parchment creating mountainous landscapes across the expansive desk, each pile a testament to the bureaucratic aftermath of war. He lowered himself into one of the visitor chairs, muscles protesting with the sharp reminder of his limitations.

In the ensuing quiet, his thoughts drifted to the stranger. They had been otherworldly, draped in shadows that seemed to drink light, their very presence a riddle wrapped in expensive fabric and something strange. Something in Harry rebelled against suspicion. Perhaps it was the careful way they'd matched his pace in the corridor, or the unexpected gentleness in their voice when they'd offered assistance. In a world where everyone wanted something from him, the stranger had simply existed beside him without expectation.

Harry's fingers found the frayed edge of his jumper, worrying the loose threads with unconscious precision. The fabric was soft from countless washings, stretched and faded. Another hand-me-down that had never quite fit properly. When had he last chosen his own clothes? The realization struck him with unexpected force. Even his school robes had been necessities purchased with reluctant efficiency, never selections made for comfort or preference.

The alien presence in his chest stirred restlessly, responding to his introspection with that now-familiar pressure against his ribs. Harry pressed his palm flat against his sternum, willing the sensation to subside. Whatever had taken root there since the battle seemed to pulse with its own agenda, awakening at moments when his defenses were lowest.

The office door opened with deliberate precision, admitting the returning trio. Ron's gaze found him immediately, relief and concern warring across familiar features as he approached with barely restrained energy.

"See?" Harry said before Ron could voice his worry, injecting lightness into his tone that he didn't entirely feel. "No trouble found me while you were gone."

Ron's expression softened into something resembling exasperation, though his shoulders remained tense with protective vigilance. He claimed the chair beside Harry, positioning himself as a deliberate barrier between his friend and the mysterious stranger, a gesture so characteristically loyal that Harry felt his chest warm with genuine affection.

Kingsley moved behind his desk with the measured grace of a man carrying the weight of impossible decisions. The stranger settled into the chair farthest from the others, their movements still fluid as liquid shadow. Even seated, they commanded attention through sheer presence, the elaborate folds of their cloak arranging themselves with impossible perfection.

"Gentlemen," Kingsley began, his voice carrying the formal cadence reserved for matters of state, "I am pleased to introduce you to a member of the old religion."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications that Harry couldn't quite grasp. Ron's posture shifted beside him, wariness replacing curiosity as his gaze fixed on the stranger's concealed features. The veil that obscured their face seemed to move with phantom currents, its silver threads catching and scattering the office's harsh magical lighting.

Harry found himself studying the figure with renewed intensity, searching for some hint of identity beneath the ceremonial concealment. Behind the vail, the stranger's attention swept across the room's occupants with methodical precision, cataloguing, assessing, measuring each person against some internal criteria known only to themselves.

Kingsley's fingers drummed against the desk's surface, a nervous habit that betrayed the gravity of whatever request was coming. The sound echoed like a countdown in the charged atmosphere.

"In order for this conversation to continue," Kingsley said, his voice carrying the weight of bureaucratic necessity, "we need to establish a vow between the four of us. Nothing discussed in this room can be shared with anyone outside these walls, unless we mutually agree to modify those terms later."

The proposal hit the air like a physical blow. Harry felt Ron's entire body coil beside him, muscles tensing with the predatory alertness of someone who'd learned to recognize traps through bitter experience. The easy camaraderie that had characterized their entrance evaporated, replaced by the sharp-edged wariness that war had carved into their reflexes.

Ron's attention snapped to Kingsley with laser focus, his casual posture transforming into something harder, more calculating. When he spoke, his voice carried the aristocratic edge that emerged only a handful of times since Harry has known him.

"You expect us to agree to a binding vow when we don't even know its precise terms?" Ron's eyebrow arched with practiced disdain, each word precisely enunciated. "When we haven't been told why we're here, what you want from us, or what consequences we might face? That seems remarkably irresponsible on both your part and ours."

The accusation hung between them like a blade, cutting through any pretense of friendly cooperation. Harry watched Kingsley's jaw tighten, saw the minute calculations flickering behind the Acting Minister's eyes as he prepared to defend his position, to apply pressure where he thought it would be most effective.

But before Kingsley could marshal his arguments, before the conversation could spiral into the kind of political maneuvering that Harry had grown to despise, something shifted in the room's dynamic.

The stranger's hand rose. Not dramatically, not with obvious intent to interrupt, but with such subtle authority that the very air seemed to crystallize around the gesture. It was a movement that spoke of absolute confidence, of someone accustomed to being heard without needing to raise their voice or demand attention.

The effect was immediate and total. Kingsley's prepared words died in his throat. Ron's building tirade cut off mid-breath. Even Harry found his attention drawn inexorably to that gloved hand, suspended in the space between diplomacy and something far more fundamental.

"The vow is unnecessary," the stranger said, their deep voice carrying an authority that made Ron's objections seem suddenly juvenile. "I trust them."

The simple declaration hung in the air with surprising weight. Ron's mouth opened, then closed, his prepared arguments dissolving under the stranger's quiet certainty.

Kingsley cleared his throat, visibly recalibrating his approach. "Very well. Then I can explain more directly." He moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the bustling Atrium below. "Our guest represents the old magics. Ancient traditions that predate the Ministry itself. They've invoked something called the doppelganger clause, which..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Which allows for certain legal protections in extraordinary circumstances."

Harry's attention sharpened more despite his exhaustion.

"They'll be returning to Hogwarts for the reconstructed eighth year," Kingsley continued, "but given the... unique nature of their situation, they require a guide. Someone trusted, someone who understands both the school and the complexities of post-war integration."

The request crystallized with terrible clarity. Harry felt that familiar weight settling on his shoulders. The expectation, the assumption that he would simply step forward because stepping forward was what Harry Potter did.

"You want me to babysit," Harry said flatly, surprising himself with the bitterness in his voice.

"I want you to help," Kingsley corrected gently. "Just as you've always helped."

Ron exploded from his chair with such force that it scraped against the floor. "Are you having a laugh? Harry just defeated the most dangerous dark wizard in history, he's barely recovered from injuries that nearly killed him, and now you want to saddle him with another responsibility?" His voice rose with each word, years of watching his best friend carry impossible burdens fueling his anger. "He's done enough, Kingsley. More than enough."

"Ron..." Harry began, but his friend's protective fury had found its stride.

"And another thing! Eighth year!? When exactly were you planning to mention that Hogwarts was reopening? Were we supposed to just guess? Read it in the Prophet like everyone else?"

Kingsley had the grace to look uncomfortable. "The letters from Headmistress McGonagall should arrive within the week. The decision was only finalized yesterday, and with everything happening...”

"Everything happening?" Ron's laugh was sharp and humorless. "You mean the aftermath of the war we fought while you lot were hiding in safe houses?"

[Harry's POV]

Harry watched this unfold with a mixture of appreciation for Ron's loyalty and exhaustion at being the center of yet another argument about his life.

The familiar sensation of being discussed rather than consulted washed over Harry like a tide he'd grown tired of fighting. Ron's defense was fierce and loyal and completely beside the point. This wasn't about whether Harry deserved rest, it was about whether he could bear to watch someone else navigate Hogwarts alone, especially someone who carried mysteries as deep as the stranger before him.

He studied the veiled figure, noting the perfect stillness that spoke of practiced control. The stranger's earlier words echoed in his memory: *May your clock always keep ticking.* Such an odd phrase, almost like a prayer for continued existence rather than a simple pleasantry.

The arguing voices faded to background noise as Harry made his decision. It wasn't about duty or expectation, it was about understanding what it meant to be seen as dangerous, to carry secrets that isolated you from everyone else.

{Draco's POV]

Behind the concealing veil, Draco watched the argument with growing unease. He hadn't known they would ask Potter to be his guide. The irony was sharp enough to cut, the boy he'd spent years tormenting now being asked to shepherd him through his return to the world of the living.

Potter looked fragile in a way that made Draco's chest tighten with unexpected concern. The golden boy of Gryffindor had always seemed indestructible, arrogantly confident in his ability to save everyone. This version, thin, careful in his movements, shadows beneath those impossibly green eyes was human in a way that made Draco want to call off this entire charade.

But the charade was necessary. The old magics demanded their tribute, and Draco's return required witnesses who could vouch for his reformation. Still, watching Potter's friends argue over his right to choose his own path felt like observing a familiar play with the roles reversed. How many times had Draco sat silent while his father and Snape debated his future? How many times had his voice been secondary to the plans others made for him?

The difference was that Potter had earned his friends' protection. Draco had earned only their suspicion.

There’s no way you can know that

The argument might have continued indefinitely if not for the sudden, commanding silence that fell over the room. Harry had simply looked up, and somehow that single gesture carried enough authority to stop both Ron and Kingsley mid-sentence.

"I'll do it," Harry said quietly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade through silk.

Ron spun toward him, betrayal written across his features. "Harry, you don't have to...”

"I know I don't have to." Harry's tone was patient but final. "I want to."

Kingsley straightened, relief evident in his posture. "Excellent. Now, there are several protocols we'll need to discuss, and arrangements for...”

He was interrupted by movement from the stranger, who rose with fluid grace and extended a gloved hand toward Harry. The gesture was simple, almost mundane, but it carried the weight of something special.

Harry looked at the offered hand for a long moment, feeling the weight of choice settling around him like a familiar cloak. Then he reached out and grasped it, their hands meeting in a handshake that seemed to resonate with more than simple agreement.

The moment their palms touched, something shifted in the air, a subtle realignment of possibility that only the two of them seemed to feel.

"Well met," the stranger said softly, their voice carrying notes of formality and something deeper, more personal. "I accept your guidance."

The handshake lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary before they released each other. Kingsley watched the exchange with obvious relief, while Ron sat back down heavily, resignation replacing his earlier fury.

"Right then," Kingsley said, his voice carefully neutral. "Shall we discuss the arrangements?"

But Harry wasn't listening. His hand still tingled where it had touched the stranger’s. Draco felt similar and somewhere in the back of his mind, a pocket watch ticked steadily forward, counting time toward an uncertain future.

Chapter 15: Into The Woods

Notes:

New Chapter - New Me

Enjoy! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

Originally Posted: Aug 29, 2025

Harry tried to pay attention to what the three of them were discussing, but is eyes grew hazy and his body slumped when the conversation seemed to drag on. He was only brought back to the conversation when the stranger asked him a question. Realizing that he missed it the first time, Harry straightened up just a bit to show that he was somewhat following the conversation.

He cleared his throat, “Sorry can you repeat that?”

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Kingsley nervous expression. Maybe he was being a bit too casual with this seemly important person, but frankly he didn’t care. He did kill a mad man for wizarding society recently.

The stranger replied, “Are you amendable to meeting 4 times before the start of the school year?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “O yea that should be fine” he causally replied.

There was silence for a second before Kingsley and the rest continued the conversation. Harry once again sunk into the background and somewhat listened to plans being made.

**⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆**

The sterile conference room in the Department of Mysteries felt more like an interrogation chamber than a meeting space for there first outing. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Not the modified one the twins had made, but a standard Ministry-issued seat that offered no accommodation for his still-healing body. The room's walls hummed with magical surveillance, wards so thick they seemed to press against his skull like a physical weight.

Across the polished table sat his mysterious stranger, more statue than person in their elaborate veils and flowing robes. The stranger's posture was rigid, formal, every gesture calculated for an audience that made no pretense of hiding their observation. Floating quills scratched notes in the air while magical recording devices pulsed with soft blue light from every corner.

"Mr. Potter," Kingsley began, consulting a lengthy parchment with the air of a man following a script he hadn't written, "this initial meeting is to establish protocols for your ongoing interactions with our... guest."

Harry's attention drifted to the window, where a large raven perched on the sill with unnatural stillness. Something about the bird nagged at him. The way it held its head, the particular gloss of its feathers. His enhanced magical senses, sharpened since the battle, picked up something distinctly unnatural about the creature.

"Are you listening, Harry?" Kingsley's voice carried a note of strained patience.

"The bird," Harry said suddenly, causing several Ministry officials to exchange glances. "On the windowsill. It's been there for twenty minutes without moving. Ravens don't do that."

A moment of uncomfortable silence stretched before one of the observers cleared his throat. "Maintenance has been dealing with... persistent wildlife issues in this sector."

The veiled stranger's head turned slightly toward the window, a movement so subtle Harry might have imagined it. When they spoke, their voice carried its usual measured cadence, but something underneath suggested amusement.

"An understandable concern, Mr. Potter. Observation often creates its own complications."

The double meaning wasn't lost on anyone in the room. Harry found himself studying his stranger with renewed interest, noting the way they held their shoulders, the particular rhythm of their breathing. There was something almost familiar about their presence, though he couldn't place what.

"Perhaps," Kingsley interjected with diplomatic firmness, "we should focus on the matter at hand. Your ...” Kingsley paused not sure what to call the stranger who’s name he haven’t even asked for yet.

He continued, not filling in the blank, “will be attending Hogwarts for the reconstructed eighth year program. The Ministry requires regular reports on their... integration process."

"Reports from whom?" Harry asked, his voice sharper than intended.

"From both of you, naturally," came the smooth reply. "This arrangement serves multiple purposes."

The alien presence in Harry's chest pulsed with what felt like irritation, responding to his growing frustration with the entire charade. The temperature in the room rose by several degrees, causing the magical recording devices to emit warning chimes.

Without hesitation, the veiled figure leaned forward, their gloved hand hovering near Harry's arm without quite touching. "Perhaps we might discuss the practical arrangements," they said, their voice carrying a calming quality that seemed to settle Harry's magic like a blanket over flames. "Dormitory assignments, class schedules, safety protocols."

"Yes," Kingsley said, relief evident in his voice. "The practical matters."

As the meeting dragged on through bureaucratic details and official protocols, Harry found himself watching who he’ll be guiding more carefully.

Every personal question was deflected with skilled evasion, every inquiry about their background met with carefully constructed non-answers that gave the impression of cooperation while revealing nothing substantial.

"The identity revelation," Kingsley said as the meeting wound toward its conclusion, "will be delayed until the start of term. This allows for proper integration without premature complications."

The stranger's posture shifted almost imperceptibly, tension flowing through their frame like water. "If that arrangement is acceptable to Mr. Potter," they said, their voice carefully neutral.

Harry caught the subtle stress on his name, the way the question was directed specifically to him rather than the Ministry officials who had been making most of the decisions. It was a small gesture of respect for his autonomy in a room full of people treating him like a resource to be managed.

"It's acceptable," Harry replied, meeting what he assumed were eyes behind that concealing veil. "I understand the need for... careful timing." Though Harry grew even more curious who this person was. Maybe he’ll find out in there meetings.

As they prepared to leave, Harry noticed the raven had vanished from the windowsill, replaced by what appeared to be a maintenance worker adjusting the external wards. The coincidence was too convenient to be natural, another piece in a surveillance network that was becoming increasingly obvious to anyone who bothered to look.

The stranger seemed to notice his observation, their head tilting in a gesture that might have been approval. As they rose to leave, they moved with a fluid grace that Harry found oddly mesmerizing, as though they existed slightly outside the normal constraints of physical space.

"Until our next meeting," the stranger said, their voice carrying warmth that hadn't been present during the formal portions of their conversation.

"Looking forward to it," Harry replied, surprised by how much he meant it.

**⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆**

The invitation to the second meeting was a mysterious one. This was the first time he would see them outside of the ministry so he was quite nervous. In the first two meetings, he doesn’t remember if he can bring anyone, so he decided to invite Ron and Hermione to go with him anyway.

The invitation quite literally just appeared one day in his room. The parchment was sealed with a shifting colored wax and a seal he didn’t recognize. When Hermione realized that he opened it without checking it for any ill-intentioned magic, he got quite the lecture.

Eventually that turned into curiosity as the two of them figured out a series of increasingly cryptic directions. Eventually, the instructions led the three of them to a forest somewhat in Europe.

Ron and Hermione flanked him as they walked into a forest and then into a path.

"This is mental," Ron muttered as they pushed through another seemingly random gap between trees. "Following mysterious directions from someone we've never properly met."

"The directions are quite precise, actually," Hermione observed, consulting the parchment with academic interest. “The person who wrote them has extensive knowledge of the local terrain and magical properties."

The path led them deeper into woods, trees growing too thick and too old for the space they occupied. Harry's enhanced senses picked up layers of magic woven through the very air—protection spells, concealment charms, and underneath it all, something far older and more primal than ordinary wizarding magic.

"There," Hermione breathed, pointing ahead to where the trees opened into a perfect circle.

The grove was beautiful in a way that made Harry's chest tighten with unexpected emotion. Ancient oaks formed natural walls around a space carpeted with moss that seemed to glow with its own soft light. Flowers bloomed out of season, their colors more vivid than should have been possible. At the center, a spring bubbled up from nowhere, its water so clear it might have been liquid crystal.

The stranger stood beside the spring, their elaborate veils and robes somehow harmonizing perfectly with the natural magic of the place. They'd been waiting, Harry realized. Not just for minutes, but as though they belonged here, as though the grove itself had been expecting their arrival.

"Welcome," the stranger said, their voice carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate with the ancient trees. "This place remembers when magic flowed more freely through the world."

Hermione stepped forward, her scholarly instincts overriding her usual caution. "It's a wild magic grove," she said with wonder. "I've read about them, but I never thought... how did you find this place?"

"It found me," came the cryptic reply. "As such places often do, for those who know how to listen."

Harry noticed movement in his peripheral vision, the same raven from the Ministry meeting, perched on a branch that overlooked the grove. His guide followed his gaze and made a subtle gesture with their left hand, fingers moving in a pattern that looked almost like sign language.

He responded with a slight nod.

The stranger's posture shifted almost imperceptibly.

"The water," Ron said suddenly, breaking the spell of silent conversation. "It's moving strangely."

They all turned to look at the spring, where the water was indeed behaving oddly, flowing upward in spirals, forming brief shapes in the air before cascading back down.

"You know a great deal about magical theory," Hermione observed, settling onto the soft moss with obvious fascination. "Where did you study?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before the stranger responded. "Knowledge comes from many sources. Books, teachers, experience, necessity."

Harry found himself studying the stranger's posture, noting the way they held their left shoulder slightly higher, the careful way they moved their right hand. Small details that spoke of old injuries.

"The grove," Harry said, changing the subject when he sensed their guide's discomfort. "Has it been here long?"

"Longer than Hogwarts," came the immediate reply. "Longer than the Ministry. Longer than most of what we consider modern magical society." The stranger moved toward one of the ancient oaks, their gloved hand trailing along the bark with obvious affection. "Places like this were gathering spots for magical communities before we learned to build castles and establish governments."

As they talked, Harry found himself relaxing in a way that had become foreign to him since the war. The grove's natural magic seemed to settle his own surges. For the first time since the final battle, he felt like himself rather than a collection of injuries and expectations.

"Thestrals," their guide said suddenly, pointing toward the edge of the grove where a pair of winged skeletal horses had materialized from the deeper woods. "This place calls to creatures that exist between worlds."

"You can see them too?" Harry asked, unsurprised but somehow pleased.

"Death," came the quiet reply, "leaves its mark on all who encounter it. The question is whether we learn to carry that mark with grace or allow it to define us entirely."

The philosophical observation hung between them, heavy with implications none of them were quite ready to explore. Harry found himself thinking about the final battle, about the moment when Voldemort's killing curse had struck him, about the strange white space where he'd encountered both salvation and temptation.

"Sometimes," he said carefully, "survival changes you in ways that make it hard to recognize yourself."

"Yes," their guide agreed, the single word carrying volumes of shared understanding.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry noticed their guide making subtle mistakes. References to specific locations at Hogwarts that were too detailed, too intimate for someone who had attended "some time ago." When Hermione mentioned the moving staircases, the stranger unconsciously gestured toward where the Slytherin common room entrance would be. When Ron talked about Quidditch, they displayed knowledge of team dynamics and player statistics that went far beyond casual interest.

Most telling was their reaction when Hermione mentioned Professor Snape's fate. For just a moment, the carefully controlled posture cracked, revealing grief so profound that Harry felt it like a physical blow. The recovery was swift, professional, but not swift enough to escape notice.

"Did you know him?" Harry asked gently, recognizing the particular quality of loss that came from personal connection.

"Many people were affected by the war," came the carefully neutral response. "Professor Snape's sacrifice touched lives in ways that may never be fully understood."

The evasion was skillful but incomplete. Harry filed the observation away, adding it to the growing collection of details that suggested the stranger’s connection to the war (and to Hogwarts) was far more personal than they were willing to admit.

As they prepared to leave the grove, Harry noticed the surveillance had intensified. The raven remained in its watching position, but now he could sense other presences in the woods beyond.

Whatever network was watching them was escalating their interest, which meant complications were approaching whether they wanted them or not.

**Time Stop**

The interrogation came, as predicted, the following morning.

Harry was barely through his breakfast when two Ministry officials arrived at the Burrow, their expressions carrying the particular blend of authority and nervousness that indicated they were operating under orders they didn't entirely agree with.

"Mr. Potter," the senior official began, settling into the chair Mrs. Weasley offered with obvious reluctance, "we need to discuss your recent meeting."

"What about it?" Harry replied, his voice carefully neutral despite the irritation building in his chest.

"The location was... unexpected. We had difficulty maintaining adequate security protocols."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Security protocols? I thought these were supposed to be getting-to-know-you meetings, not military operations."

The officials exchanged glances, clearly debating how much to reveal. Finally, the junior member spoke up.

"Mr. Potter, we have reason to believe that the person you are guiding has knowledge of certain... sensitive locations which may indicate connections we weren't previously aware of."

"Connections to what?"

"That's classified," came the predictable response.

Harry set down his tea with deliberate precision, the sound sharp enough to make both officials flinch. "Then I'm afraid I don't have much to contribute to your investigation."

Mrs. Weasley, who had been listening from the kitchen with increasingly obvious disapproval, chose that moment to intervene. She swept into the sitting room carrying a tray of biscuits that she set down with enough force to rattle the china.

"Perhaps," she said with the particular sweetness that preceded her most devastating verbal attacks, "you gentlemen could explain why you feel the need to interrogate a young man who's already given more than enough for our world's safety?"

The senior official straightened, attempting to assert authority in the face of maternal fury. "Mrs. Weasley, this is a matter of national security—"

"Harry Potter IS our national security," she interrupted, her voice rising. "That boy defeated the most dangerous dark wizard in history, and now you want to harass him about having conversations with someone who's been nothing but helpful?"

The argument might have escalated further if not for the arrival of Percy, who entered through the Floo with the brisk efficiency that characterized all his movements. He took in the scene at a glance. Harry's defensive posture, his mother's protective fury, the officials' uncomfortable authority and moved smoothly into damage control mode.

"Gentlemen," he said with professional calm, "perhaps there's been a misunderstanding about the scope of this inquiry?"

The senior official turned toward Percy with visible relief at encountering someone who spoke his bureaucratic language. "Mr. Weasley, we're simply trying to gather information about potential security concerns."

"Of course," Percy agreed smoothly. "However, I believe the proper protocols would involve scheduling formal interviews rather than unexpected home visits, particularly given Mr. Potter's ongoing medical treatment."

The reminder of Harry's status as a recovering patient rather than a Ministry resource was subtle but effective. Both officials looked uncomfortable at having their methods questioned by someone who understood the system from the inside.

"We could schedule something more formal," the junior official conceded. "Later in the week, perhaps?"

"Excellent," Percy replied. "I'll coordinate with the appropriate departments to ensure proper procedures are followed."

As the officials departed with poor grace, Harry found himself studying Percy with new appreciation. The intervention had been perfectly timed and diplomatically phrased, defusing the situation without creating additional enemies within the Ministry bureaucracy.

"Thank you," Harry said once they were alone.

Percy's smile was rueful, touched with the wisdom of someone who had learned the cost of choosing politics over family. "I spent too many years watching bureaucrats push people around," he said. "I won't make that mistake again."

Mrs. Weasley swept her wayward son into a fierce hug that he returned with unexpected emotion. Watching them, Harry felt a pang of longing for the kind of unconditional support that came from family bonds rather than public gratitude.

"There's something else," Percy said once his mother released him. "I've been hearing whispers through my contacts. There's increased interest in the old religion situation at very high levels. International attention, even."

Harry's stomach tightened. "What kind of interest?"

"The kind that suggests your stranger represents something more significant than a simple doppelganger clause," Percy replied grimly. "Be careful, Harry. Whatever you're involved in, it's bigger than just educational integration."