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Chapter Text

It all started the first day of classes after, what most Gryffindors were calling, "The Best Day Ever," when the fourth-year Ravenclaw students were scheduled to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts. Normally that would have not raised too many eyebrows. But now that a swamp covered a good portion of second-floor corridor, attending class did raise some logistical concerns.

New Headmistress Umbridge, who was normally in an unpleasant mood, was now undeniably foul. Rogue magical fireworks and a swamp had pushed her to the edge, and she had demanded help from the staff. Professor Flitwick had calmly stood by the other teachers and claimed that he couldn't get rid of the random fireworks or the massive swamp. It was obvious to everyone, including Umbridge, that they were lying, but there wasn't anything that she could do. After all, she had tied her own hands when she created all of the Educational Decrees.

The only solution to the problem was to ignore the fireworks and have Filch ferry students across the second-floor swamp in a boat.

Needless to say, Filch was not pleased.

The fourth-year Ravenclaw students were among the first to be ferried across the swamp. Professor Flitwick was escorting the students and helping them get on and off the boat. Little Luna Lovegood moved to follow her classmates, but abruptly stopped at the edge of the boat. Quickly reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small, shiny, odd-looking coin and presented it to Filch.

Looking him in the eye, she said in an ethereal tone, "For safe passage, Ferryman." Filch eyed the coin suspiciously in Luna's hand. When Filch didn't take the coin, Luna pushed it towards him and repeated, "For safe passage, Ferryman."

Filch reluctantly took the coin (An obol, Flitwick realized) and Luna regally stepped onto the boat. Her simultaneous determined and morose expression nearly sent Professor Flitwick into hysteria. He barely made it to the professor's break room before he burst into laughter. Thankfully, only Professor McGonagall was in the room at the time.

"What is so amusing, Filius?" McGonagall asked, an eyebrow raised in question.

Through his laughter and tears, Flitwick tried his best to explain what had happened. The more he explained, the more lost McGonagall looked.

"But why is that funny?" she kept asking.

Finally, Flitwick sat down in a nearby chair and said, "It was her way of protesting the current climate in the school, Minerva."

"Oh," McGonagall could understand that, "well I can support that."

By the end of the day, the rest of the Ravenclaws learned what Luna had done and thought it was brilliant. They helped Luna transfigure a pile of pebbles into obols and also replicate them, so that they could be passed around the House. The story was explained to the younger students, who soon became excited to do something fun. Spirits were lifted in Ravenclaw tower.

By lunch the following day, Padma Patil had explained to Parvati what was going on and outlined her own plan. Convincing Parvati to agree with her plan didn't take as long as she thought it would. All Padma had to say was that it was a good way for Parvati to practice her divination skills and support a fellow DA member.

After lunch ended, the Patil twins started following Luna around school. Whenever Luna said something odd or handed Filch an obol, Parvati would begin to dramatically tell the future, while Padma would somberly begin to measure a piece of thread and threateningly hold up scissors. Luna was delighted with the support and the rest of Ravenclaw thought it was hilarious.

Of course, the fun ended after a week with a couple of Educational Decrees (something about not giving Filch money and not being allowed to own scissors). But every time Ravenclaw students had to cross the swamp, many would be fighting smiles and laughter. Professor Flitwick thought it was the most wonderful thing and that he had never seen his House so happy.

And that was the real reason why Professor Flitwick wouldn't remove the swamp.

Chapter Text

Painful
rapid tattoo,
the beat of my heart —
surely loud enough to hear. 

I
can
hardly
breathe …

Children
turned warriors,
adults far too soon,
waged war against the darkness. 

The
hour
grows
late. 

Battle-worn,
weary, ready
to surrender or die;
I refuse to stand down. 

Evil
requests
my
name. 

Confident,
I speak,
knowing this is the
only concession I give tonight.

I stand by my choice, long since made; so
listen well, for I’ve got something to say.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke to loud crashing thunder. Bolting upright in bed, he fumbled with the canopy curtains before he was able to pull them aside. Drenched in sweat, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and took a deep shuddering breath.

He had been back there, in the graveyard, and had been forced to watch Cedric die over, and over, and over. The memory of green light filled his mind and he shook his head. He wasn’t going back there again.

Looking up, he noticed that the room was unusually dark; someone had pulled all of the heavy curtains shut. He glanced at his watch and groaned when he saw the time. It was 3:23 a.m. He knew he should sleep, but he didn’t think he could. He knew that if he somehow did, he would dream of the graveyard. Not something he was eager to experience.

Suddenly, there was a simultaneous flash of lightening and bone-jarring clap of thunder. Harry sighed. He knew that with this storm, returning to sleep would be impossible — regardless of his nightmares.

“You okay, mate?”

Harry spun around and reached for his wand. The quiet voice had come out of the darkness in the room and had been entirely unexpected. He had thought everyone else was asleep. Relaxing slightly as he realized he knew the voice, he carefully stood up and put on his glasses. Picking up his wand, Harry murmured, “Lumos.” Light filled the room and Harry saw his yearmates.

Dean and Ron were sitting on the edge of one of the beds. Seamus was sitting across from them on another empty bed, while Neville paced nearby. As Harry looked as his yearmates, he noticed that all of them looked tense, as if they were ready for a fight. The fact that they were all holding their wands seemed to give credence to Harry’s assessment.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked warily.

The four boys looked at each other and seemed to come to an unspoken conclusion. Seamus nodded at Ron. Ron sighed.

“We didn’t want to wake you. Because, well … ya know. We thought you might need some sleep. After everything,” Ron stumbled through his words. “But Neville and Seamus woke up, then I did, and about ten minutes ago, Dean woke up, too. We’ve been explaining to him what’s happening.”

“Oh, great job, Ron,” Seamus said dryly. “Now he won’t have any questions.”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s happening’?” Harry asked, “You mean the storm?”

As if on cue, lightening streaked across the sky. The curtains blocked out most of it, but Harry could tell that the storm was raging outside.

“No, it’s not a storm,” Ron said, as if that was all the explanation that was needed.

Harry grew more frustrated as he felt like his questions were continually being dodged. He opened his mouth to give a short reply, but Neville cut him off.

“It’s not a storm, Harry,” Neville spoke in a soft, but determined voice. “What’s happening outside isn’t a storm. It’s the Hunt.”

“Huh?” Harry was too exhausted to think of a better reply. “The what?”

“The Wild Hunt,” Seamus picked up the explanation, “it’s also known as the Host. It’s a spectral horde. Some believe the Hunt is led by the dead, others think it’s the Fey. But if you’re outside when the Host rides out, or if they even see you, you are carried away to the Fey Court — never to be seen again.”

Neville must have been able to see that Harry didn’t believe them, because he quickly said, “Listen, Harry. Just listen and tell us what you hear.”

The four boys fell silent and watched Harry. Hating the feeling that he was being studied, he closed his eyes and listened. He listened to the howling wind and the pounding rain. Thunder rumbled ominously across the sky. And then after a few minutes, just when he was about to give up, Harry heard it. Deep in the crashing thunder, he heard the clash of metal and the baying of hounds. In the howling wind, he heard shouting and unearthly screams.

His eyes snapped open and the sounds of the Hunt faded back into the noise of the storm. Dean looked sympathetic and said, “It got me the first time, too.”

Ron was shaking his head. “I don’t get it. Why now? The stories always say they ride in mid-winter.”

“Not all the time, Ron,” Neville shook his head. “The Hunt is tied to the Old Magic. It obeys no one and follows no expectations.”

Seamus nodded. “Some legends also say that the Host will ride out before a war or some other catastrophe,” he added.

All of the boys looked at Harry. Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly and looked at the ground. He felt like he was being studied again.

Silence fell in the dorm, as all of the boys were lost in their thoughts. Each was thinking something along the same lines as the rest: Voldemort was back and a war was coming. There was no denying it any longer; not after what happened to Cedric and definitely not after listening to the Wild Hunt.

“So what do we do now?” Harry asked quietly.

“We wait,” Seamus replied. “We keep watch and wait.”

No one was sure if Seamus was talking about Voldemort or the Wild Hunt, but one thing was for certain: No one slept the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Morgana stared in disdain at the knight lying unconscious in the corner of the room. At one point in her life, Morgana might have considered the knight handsome. But now, the Camelot insignia adorning the knight's cloak filled her with disgust and unbridled rage. Her pathetic half-brother had stolen what was rightfully hers — and she wanted it back. She was going to take back the throne of Camelot and she now had the weapon, an unbeatable spell, that could defeat Arthur's pet magician. Merlin didn't stand a chance, but first things first.

She needed to test her spell.

"Rennervate," she said, waving her hand over the knight's body. She watched the knight as he slowly began to open his eyes. It took a second, but she saw the moment when everything registered for the knight — the moment he realized what had happened — and confusion was quickly replaced by fear.

The knight jumped to his feet and his training obviously took hold. He moved towards Morgana and unsheathed his sword in one fluid move. But before he could strike her, he was suddenly left empty handed. Bewildered, he glanced between his now empty hand and Morgana, who was grinning at him malevolently. She mockingly held up the sword and raised an eyebrow at the knight. She hadn't said a word when summoning it.

She drank in the panic and fear that filled the knight's eyes. It gave her a feeling of deep satisfaction, but she wanted more. Languidly, as if she had all the time in the world, she waved her hand again at the stunned knight. Ropes appeared out of nowhere and bound him. With another wave of her hand, the ropes pulled the knight back into the corner and attached themselves to the wall. He wasn't going anywhere.

"You will carry a message to Arthur," she commanded the knight. Before she could continue speaking, he spat at her feet.

"I do not answer to you, witch," he snarled.

Morgana's temper flared. Raising her hand toward the knight, she shouted, "Crucio!"

The knight screamed. Muscles all over his body began to tighten in pain and agony. The ropes held him securely in place; he could not move. He continued to scream as she held him under the curse.

Morgana waited. She wanted him to suffer, but his screams soon grated on her nerves and she lifted the curse. The knight's head fell forward against his chest and he drew in slow, agonizing breathes. Morgana walked forward and roughly grabbed his chin. She lifted his face.

"Do you want to know why you are here, knight?" She stared directly into his eyes as she spoke. "You are here because I am testing a new weapon. And you will pass that message onto Arthur."

"I … I …" the knight stuttered, his eyes clenched shut from the residual pain the curse left.

"Yes?" Morgana growled.

"I will … tell the King … the power … you have … wielded," the knight finished.

Morgana stared at the knight before she began to laugh. Her laughter slowly built and it echoed off the dark stone walls. The knight weakly lifted his head and watched her warily.

"This?" There was no mirth in her eyes, only dark fire. "You think that curse was my weapon? The curse was created long ago … by Merlin himself. He created it to be used against me, but now I have a weapon that will beat his."

She began to pace in front of the knight and continued to speak. "I will march against Camelot! And nothing, and no pathetic half-brother of mine or second-class sorcerer, will stop me."

"What do you wish for me to say to the King?" the knight asked, his voice filled with agony.

Morgana stopped pacing and stared incredulously at the knight. "Say? Say? Why, you do not have to say anything," she stated. "I think your corpse will speak volumes."

The knight's eyes opened wide in shock. "Wha— "

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light flared in the room and consumed the knight. Morgana released the dead man's bindings and he collapsed at her feet. Glancing at the body, she noted that there were no external signs of the spell that had killed him. It was as if he had simply collapsed and died.

Briskly chanting under her breath, the body glowed briefly and then disappeared. Morgana morbidly grinned as she imagined Arthur finding the dead knight sitting on his throne in the morning. She knew that the message would come across loud and clear.

All that Arthur had built, all that he held dear, would wither and die in front of him. And there would be nothing that he could do to stop it.

And with a single spell, the war for the throne of Camelot truly began.

Chapter Text

Little Lily Luna crept slowly around the corner of the dark hallway. It was the middle of the night and she had woken up because of a bad dream. However, it wasn’t until now — after she had gotten out of bed and was almost at her parents’ bedroom door — that she began to feel uneasy. The whole house was quiet, except for crying and muffled voices she heard coming from her parents’ bedroom.

Why is mommy crying? Lily thought. Warily, she raised her hand and lightly knocked on the door.

The voices abruptly stopped and the crying grew quieter. Lily heard soft footsteps walk to the door. It suddenly clicked open and her mother was peering down at her.

“Lumos,” her mother muttered, lighting up the tip of her wand.

Light bathed the hallway, causing Lily to squint at the abrupt change. Blinking, she briefly noticed her mother’s eyes were dry.

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” her mother said, as she gently tucked Lily’s hair behind her ear. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I had a bad dream,” Lily mumbled, staring down at her toes.

Smiling softly, her mother knelt down and opened her arms. “Come here,” she said.

Lily leaned in and fell into her mother’s embrace. She closed her eyes and thought hard. She was only five, but she was smart — Daddy always said so and he was always right. If her mother’s eyes were dry, that meant Daddy was crying. But he never cried. Suddenly, she felt scared and tightened her hold on her mother.

“Mommy,” Lily asked slowly, “why is Daddy crying? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother pulled back from the hug and looked Lily in the eye, “it’s okay. He just had a bad dream.”

“Like me?” Lily asked.

For a moment, her mother had an odd expression on her face, but it quickly passed. “Kind of,” her mother said softly.

“Right,” Lily said, nodding to herself. Standing up straight, and without another word, she marched into her parents’ room and jumped onto the bed. Her father was sitting on the edge, staring unseeingly at the floor. Without preamble, she flung her arms around her father’s neck and tightly hugged him.

“It’s okay, Daddy,” she said. “It’s just a bad dream. You’re okay.”

Her father didn’t move for a minute, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around her and returned the hug. Lily wasn’t sure what else to say or do, except to continue to copy what her parents had always done for her when she had a bad dream: say that it was okay and to give the best hug possible.

And she continued to do exactly that. “You’re okay, Daddy. You’re okay,” she repeated.

“I am now,” he replied, as he continued to hug her back. “I am now.”

Chapter Text

“It’s over, Riddle!” Harry shouted. The courtyard of Hogwarts was in ruins and the fighting had stopped, so that the participants could watch the two powerful wizards duel.

“It will never be over, Potter!” Voldemort spat at him. He threw a curse a Harry, which he simply dodged. Harry grinned.

“Oh, but it is,” he said. “See, I’ve been going around the countryside for the last nine months on a camping trip from hell, destroying every single Horcrux you ever had — ever last one, Riddle! And that wand in your hand? I am the rightful owner of the Elder Wand! That’s why it hasn’t been working for you. It’s time to end this.”

Harry dramatically raised his wand, ready for Voldemort to attack. But Voldemort didn’t move. Instead, he stared at Harry in confusion. As the silence stretched on, Harry began to fidget slightly.

“You found and destroyed every Horcrux?” Voldemort asked in disbelief.

“Every last one, Tommy boy,” Harry declared triumphantly.

“But ... but …” Voldemort began to mumble incoherently and pace anxiously back and forth. Some of the Death Eaters began to back away slowly, more than a little freaked out their leader was no longer in control. As one Death Eater apparated away, everyone could hear Draco shout at the rest of them.

“Oh, calm down! At least he didn’t hug you!”

Meanwhile, Voldemort was still mumbling incoherently. Harry looked over helplessly at Hermione and mouthed, ‘What do I do?’

‘FINISH HIM!’ Hermione mouthed back, while miming what only could be the act of ripping someone’s spine out of their body.

Not sure what was more disturbing, Voldemort or Hermione (Definitely Hermione, thought Harry), Harry tried to get Voldemort back on track.

“Um, Tom?” Harry asked hesitantly, “I think we’re supposed to have our final battle and fight to the death now.”

“Did you get Hufflepuff’s Cup?” Voldemort asked, ignoring what Harry had said.

“Yeah.”

“The Locket?”

“I hated that one.”

“Nagini?"

Neville jumped out of the crowd and, in graceful slow motion, decapitated Voldemort’s pet snake with Gryffindor’s sword.

“Yeah, we seem to have that one covered. Can we fight to the death now?” Harry asked.

“But … how did you get the one on the moon?” Voldemort questioned.

Silence descended over the courtyard. Harry stared at Voldemort with a horrified expression, his right eye twitching slightly.

“What did you say?” he asked in an alarmed tone.

“What?”

“I said,” Harry repeated, “What did you say, Riddle!”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin! Did you, or did you not, create a Horcrux and put it on the moon, Riddle?” Harry shouted.

“… Maybe.”

“Noooooo!” Harry theatrically yelled as he fell to his knees.

“Yes?” Voldemort replied.

“But … how?” Harry asked weakly.

“I may hate all half-bloods. And Muggleborns. And anything relating to Muggles. But in the mid-sixties, I took advantage of them and was able to put a Horcrux far out of anyone’s reach. I used,” Voldemort shouted the last bit and struck a heroic looking pose, which caused Bellatrix to faint, “Tea-no-logy!”

For many of the witches and wizards in the Hogwart’s main courtyard, they had never had of this … tea-no-logy and those that had, simply hung their heads in exasperation. How could wizards discount something like this? Or mispronounce such a simple word? The only one who seemed okay with this development was Mr. Weasley, who bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet.

“Oh my gosh! You love tea-no-logy?” he shouted in a high-pitched voice. “I love tea-no-logy!”

Harry slapped his hand to his forehead.

Chapter Text

Lily appreciated having some alone time. Throughout the week, she found that she needed time for herself in order to relax and feel refreshed. But now she was wondering if leaving James and Sirius alone together with Harry had been a horrible idea.

It had been unusually quiet for too long. An hour ago, she had told James that she needed some time by herself and asked him to decorate the Christmas tree with Harry. He had smiled and nodded, eyes understanding. Being in hiding with a five-month-old child and never able to leave the house was not easy. So, when Sirius had apparated into the entryway, Lily had gone upstairs to rest without a second thought.

That had been an hour ago.

She carefully walked down the stairs, her anxiety and stress reappearing with each step. It was completely silent and the door leading to the main family room was shut. Right now, she wished she could hear James and Sirius laughing and planning some ridiculous prank on Dumbledore, or some other poor, unsuspecting Order member. At least then, she knew everything would be okay.

Carefully pressing an ear to the door — wand held at the ready in her hand — she heard nothing … except for a faint buzzing. Recognizing the sign of a privacy charm, she lightly tapped the door with her wand.

"Finite."

Immediately, it was as if a switch had been thrown and a cacophony of sound erupted from the other side of the door. Rushing into the room, Lily was stopped abruptly at the sight before her.

Harry was sitting on a fluffy blanket in the middle of the floor and appeared to be in a fit of giggles. He was clapping his hands and, each time his hands met, an ornament or string of tinsel or fairy lights were thrown at James, who was currently in his animagus form. Prongs was prancing and jumping around the room, apparently trying to get the decorations off, only to become more and more untangled in the process.

Meanwhile, Sirius was on the floor clutching his stomach, his body spasming violently. Knowing the antics her husband and his friends got into, she expected the worst and rushed to Sirius' side first — ignoring the pitiful look Prongs gave her as more fairy lights were draped over his antlers. She reached out and touched Sirius' shoulder, only to be waved away.

That's when she realized he was laughing so hard, he was crying and couldn't breathe.

"H-Harry! P-ongs … thought goo- idea … enter-ain –arry! Acc-ental magic! N-N-Now P-P-Prongs belongs to Santa!" Sirius finished dramatically, finally finding his breath.

Lily glanced over at her husband, hand covering her smile. She knew she wasn't getting the full story, but wasn't too worried about it at the moment.

"You decided to help Santa this year, dear?" she said, as she gently started removing tinsel from Prongs' antlers. Prongs hung his head and huffed, which sent Sirius into another round of laughter. Shifting out of his animagus form, James met Lily's eyes.

"I thought it would be fun for Harry, ya know. Especially after we read him that story about the Santa Claus bloke," he mumbled.

"And the privacy charm on the door?" Lily asked lightly.

"I knew you needed rest, Lils," James replied. He pulled her into a tight hug, before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her lips. She quickly realized two things. One, James was uncharacteristically thoughtful sometimes, which was incredibly sweet. Two, as much as she need some time to herself, she really loved her husband — and his kisses.

The moment was quickly ruined, however.

"Yeah, we knew things would get crazy, Lily," Sirius interrupted with his characteristic grin and swagger.

Lily smiled. "It always does, doesn't it?" she said to Sirius.

Returning her attention back onto her husband, she took a half step back and waved her wand, neatly collecting the rest of the decorations. With another flick, she sent the ornaments, tinsel, and lights all over the room, easily decorating the entire area in under ten seconds.

"That's my girl," James told Sirius proudly.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Was she?" he said sarcastically. "I wasn't aware."

"Now, promise me one thing," Lily said in a casual tone.

"Anything, Flower," James immediately replied, fully focused on his wife once again.

"Next time, try to be more accurate to the original story and remember: Santa's favorite reindeer had a bright, shining red nose!"

Sirius dissolved into another fit of breathless laughter, as James' face froze in shock. He quickly joined in the laughter, though, when Lily quickly corrected Sirius, primly informing him that a mangy dog was forced to wear sticks on his head and act like a reindeer in another classic Christmas tale.

Laughter filled the house and for one moment, everything was okay. Voldemort didn't exist, Harry was safe, and none of the three young adults in the room were soldiers. They were just a group of 20-year-olds hanging out, and the problems of the world ceased to exist in the room that was currently filled with joy and love.

For Lily, it was truly beginning to feel like Christmas.

Chapter Text

Muggle Camping Grounds

3:37 p.m. on August 25, 1978

Remus watched his friends gather around the campsite, trying to complete the various tasks they had been assigned. Morale was quickly deteriorating. The drive over to the campsite had been fine (except for that slight hiccup in which Sirius revealed that he may, or may not have, "borrowed" the vehicle they were using for the weekend), but now he was maybe regretting suggesting this particular adventure at all.

"Oh, yes. This was a great idea. Let's go on a Muggle-style camping trip," Sirius said sarcastically. He tried, for the fourth time that afternoon, to pitch one of the tents they had brought, only for it to immediately collapse.

"It's not that bad," Peter said, as he dropped some firewood onto the ground. He quickly deflated under the glare Sirius sent him.

"Well, it's not," he muttered. "At least, we get to get away from the War for a bit."

"Gentlemen!" James stepped in, grinning at each of his friends, "it's going to be fine! Look, we have water, food, and firewood. As soon as we get these tents set up, everything will be perfect!"

"Can't we use magic? Please! Just to set up these tents!" Sirius whined.

Remus swiftly grabbed the rest of the supplies from the truck and deposited them by the firewood. Brushing the dirt off his hands, Remus tried to resolve the building tension.

"It will be fine!" he reassured Sirius. "Look, let me help you. Maybe we can figure it out together."

Sirius grumbled, but looked slightly happier as they worked on getting the sleeping accommodations built. It took a few tries, with Peter snickering at their failed attempts, but after another forty minutes, they had successfully managed to get both tents to stay upright.

"Is anyone hungry?" Remus asked. When he got a nod from the three other Marauders, Remus formed a plan.

"Okay, while there is still light, maybe we should get a fire going?" Remus suggested. "Then we can make dinner and s'mores."

"What are s'mores?" Sirius asked curiously.

"Muggle desert," James replied, "I'll show you how to make one later."

"How do you know Muggle deserts, James?" Peter questioned.

"Well, it sounds like a good idea, Moony!" James said loudly, elbowing Sirius — who was trying to disguise laughter as coughing — in the ribs. "Do you have matches?"

"Peter was supposed to bring them."

The three Marauders turned and stared at the fourth, who was not looking at them and trying to appear busy.

"Peter? Did you remember to bring the matches?" Remus prodded.

"Um, no?" Peter looked down and scoffed the dirt with his toe.

Sighing, James asked, "Do you know how to make a fire?"

"Besides rubbing two sticks together and hoping for the best?" Remus asked rhetorically.

"Right. Can we please use magic now?" Sirius said.

Muggle Camping Grounds

11: 29 p.m. on August 25, 1978

They ended up using magic for a bit more than starting the fire. Sirius pointed out that maybe the should put up Muggle repellant wards (after all, they didn't want Muggles hearing any conversations about a magical school or Dark wizards terrorizing the country, right?) and James added extra privacy charms. Remus gave in to using magic on the trip and cast insect repellant charms over the campsite. Nobody likes mosquitos.

Sirius had passed out the Firewhiskey after dinner and it had quickly made the rounds, leaving Sirius, James, and Peter completely drunk. Remus had chosen to stick with s'mores. While the marshmallow was alright, the chocolate was his favorite part.

Peter had passed out on a blanket next to the fire about an hour ago, leaving the three other Marauders to contemplate the big questions about life.

"H-How do you go about wooing someone?" James slurred.

Sirius snorted and took another swig of Firewhiskey. Remus tried to look serious and thoughtful, but ultimately failed. They both knew exactly who it was James was trying to impress.

"'Woo'?" Remus asked, laughter sneaking into question.

"Hell if I know, mate," Sirius said at the same time.

"Don't laugh! I really need to know," James glared at the other two boys. "How would you woo someone? Sirius, how would you woo Moony?"

Everyone froze.

"What? Why would I want to woo, Moony? You're wasted, Prongs!" Sirius declared. Sirius shot Remus a half glance and quickly looked down at the bottle in his hands.

"But seriously, how would you do it?" James pressed.

When Sirius refused to answer, James shrugged and got up. "I'll see you guys in the morning," he said casually, walking into one of the tents and closing it behind him.

"Be brave," Remus shouted after him, "and be yourself!"

Sirius and James heard a muffled acknowledgement came from the tent. The sounds of the forest and Peter's snores soon filled the void. After a minute, Remus and Sirius both looked up at each other. Remus was unsure of what to say — what had James really meant by that question? — but Sirius spoke first.

"Be brave and be yourself?"

Remus shrugged, still trying to catch up with were the conversation had led.

"I think it will help him," he replied.

Sirius nodded to himself, before slowly grinning. He stood up and stumbled over to Remus.

"Moony! Moo-ny! I shall woo you!"

Remus raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure where this was going, but it didn't sound good.

"And how, my I ask, are you going to do that?"

Sirius struck what Remus assumed he thought was a dashing pose and said dramatically, "How else, but with poetry, my fair prince?"

What?! Did he just say my fair prince? And did he say poetry? Oh, this definitely wasn't good.

"There's a bottle of Firewhiskey in the trunk of the…" here Sirius peered at the back of the truck, which was parked nearby, "Chevy! Hey, this fits the poem!"

"Are you reciting Muggle poetry?" Remus asked, completely bewildered.

"—and a dead man at our feet!" Sirius continued, gesturing to Peter, who was still passed out on the ground. Sirius had either ignored or simply did not comprehend that Remus had asked him something.

"Oh my god."

"—Staring up at us like we're something interesting—"

"You're something interesting, all right."

"Shhh!" Sirius said in a loud stage whisper. He waved at Remus to quiet down. "This is where the evening splits in half, Henry—"

"My name is Remus."

"—Love! … Or death! Grab an end and pull hard," here Sirius knelt down, holding something in his hands that Remus couldn't quite make out in the light of the dying fire, "and make a wish!"

The silence descended over the campsite, only broken by Peter's erratic snores. When Remus didn't move, Sirius — like a young child — nudged what he was holding closer to him. It was then that Remus saw that he was holding a small twig.

"Why do you want me to break a twig?" Remus asked, using the same tone he would use to speak to a small child.

"For love! And for wishes!" Sirius said, looking up at Remus with a confused expression. "Don't Muggles break sticks to make wishes?"

"But we're not— Never mind. Anyway, I think you mean wishbones," Remus said, fighting a smile.

"Wishbone? Where can I get one?" Sirius asked quickly.

"Um, I think a chicken or a—" Remus began to explain, before quickly being interrupted by a loud gasp.

"A chicken?" Sirius' eyes grew wide. "What?! Really?!"

"Yes…" Remus said slowly.

Without warning, Sirius jumped to his feet and bolted into James' tent with surprising agility. Remus heard Sirius shout at James, as he also most likely started violently shaking their best friend awake.

"James! JAMES! We have to find a chicken! CHICKENS GRANT WISHES! James!"

Remus collapsed in breathless laughter. Seconds later, Sirius stumbled out of the tent, with James shooting jinxes at the fleeing, drunk Marauder.

"Moony! What have you done?"

Remus continued laughing as Sirius drunkenly tried to explain to James why chickens were important and just why exactly he need one. James was tired, but was able to work out one key detail. Turning, he shouted at Remus.

"Moony! Just make a wish with the bloody stick and let the rest of us sleep!"

"But it was sad poetry! I can't be properly wooed with sad poetry!"

At James' pointed glare, Remus gave in.

"Okay, okay!" he waved his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Okay!"

He turned to Sirius, who held out the twig, and gently broke it in two. Sirius grinned at Remus, eyes shining.

"For love and wishes?" he asked hopefully.

There was something that stopped Remus from brushing his question aside. Maybe he didn't want to be cruel to a friend, but that wasn't completely it… Determined to figure it out in the morning, he shook away the confusion.

"For love and wishes," he replied.

"You're my favorite!" Sirius shouted, and gave Remus a hug.

Laughing, Remus hugged Sirius, before pulling back. "You're not going to remember this in the morning, are you?" he asked, surprised at the amount of sadness in his heart at the thought.

"Of course, I will! I don't forget things about you!" Sirius replied happily.

"Great. Sirius doesn't forget things, you broke a stick for love and wishes, and poetry is only good for wooing if it is happy," James rapidly summarized. "Now can someone please grab Peter and put him in a tent, so we can all sleep?"

As Remus was the most coherent of the three, he levitated Peter into one of the tents. After he took care of Peter, Remus changed into pajamas and heard Sirius chide James in a loud tone.

"Use happy poetry, Prongs! Sad poetry is bad!"

Remus smiled to himself as he finished getting ready for bed. Maybe this camping trip would work out in the end after all.

Chapter Text

The days had long since blurred together, leaving nothing but a mixture of grey skies and endless trees in her memory. Of course, certain events stood out in her mind, but she could not say on which day they had happened, or at what time they had occurred.

And that bothered her. Not due to her perfectionist tendencies, but because she didn't know exactly when her heart had broken.

Ronald had left them. She had tried, so hard, to make him feel more comfortable while he had traveled with them. But it ultimately hadn't been enough. She, Hermione Granger, hadn't been enough for him.

She was so caught up in her thoughts and hurt, that she hadn't noticed Harry until he had walked up and sat down right next to her.

"Why?" he asked. He didn't explain, but she knew exactly what he meant.

"Because I love him." It was the first time she had admitted it out loud and despite what had happened, it was not difficult to say.

"How," Harry demanded. "How can you still love him after he left us? After he left you? He hurt you, Hermione."

Hermione looked up at Harry, tears running down her face. She desperately wanted — no, needed — him to understand why she had chosen him, and always would. How she saw the man he would become more and more everyday.

She would always wait for Ronald Weasley.

"You don't stop loving someone just because you hate them."

Chapter Text

He had promised her forever. They had both known that was a promise he would not be able to keep — they were in the middle of a war, constantly being hunted by dark wizards and chasing Dark artifacts — but deep in the forests of England, they had tried to make it work. And, despite all odds, they had been happy.

But they quickly learned that forever did not last as half as long. To be exact, forever had lasted exactly 5 months and 16 days.

It had all fallen apart with a letter from the newly reconstructed Ministry. A marriage law, determining the futures of all eligible witches and wizards. They were to be paired with a partner of the Ministry's choosing. The only way out would have been an established engagement, which Harry and Hermione did not have. No one had even known that they were dating; they hadn't been ready for people to know, and now they never could.

The law was incredibly restrictive and, due to political pressures, they ended their relationship.

And now she was marrying Ron.

Ron Weasley: his best friend and brother in all, but blood. Here he was, standing at the front of the gathering, standing next to Ron as his best man. He was the best man and he only had eyes for the bride.

She was stunning. He watched as she recited her vows, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and looked on as she kissed her new husband. He felt betrayed. Not by her, of course, but by the entire Wizarding World. He had sacrificed everything for them — he had died for them — and his last chance at true happiness had been snatched away.

You can't always get what you want, but as the wedding transitioned into the reception, Harry wished, just for once, that he could.

Chapter Text

"I can't keep doing this!" Sirius shouted.

He paced relentlessly outside the Hospital Wing door, clearly distraught and not likely to calm down any time soon. Remus Lupin and Amelia Bones, who was present in both her official capacity as the Head of the DMLE and also as a friend to the family, watched Sirius' progress. A quick glance between the two confirmed that they were both thinking along the same lines: They had to intervene, before Sirius decided to break down the door.

Remus tried first.

"Sirius, he's going to be fine—"

"Fine? Fine?! Bloody hell, Moony, he is not going to be fine! Who knows what happened to him in the maze! He comes back with the Diggory kid's body and saying Voldemort — don't flinch, Amelia — has returned and then collapses. Then Madam Pomfrey says he collapsed due to Dark magic and a sacrificial ritual! Whatever the hell happened in there, Moony, is not fine! He almost died!"

Sirius finished his rant and was breathing heavily, his eyes unnaturally bright. Amelia and Remus watched him warily, waiting for the next tirade to be unleashed.

It never came.

Instead, any remaining reserves of strength Sirius had left apparently broke, and he started crying.

"He almost died, he almost died," he whispered repeatedly. "Why can't I keep him safe?"

Amelia looked at Remus, who was clearly in shock, and rolled her eyes, promptly deciding to take charge of the situation. She walked over to Sirius and without saying a word, pulled him into a hug. She waited until he calmed down before speaking.

She also made sure to use her best Auror voice — the one that demanded someone's full attention and left no room for nonsense.

"Sirius Orion Black, listen to me. You have been an amazing father to that boy and have kept him as safe as you possibly can." Sirius opened his mouth to protest and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You were the one that got him out of that house on that terrible night; you taught him Defense; you were the one who was always there for him, teaching him what it meant to be a man, as well as a Black and a Potter. There is only so much a parent can do to protect their children. And you've done far more than what the rest of us would ever have been capable of providing."

"It just seems like every year, there's something," Sirius muttered, roughly wiping at his eyes. "First year with that Voldemort-possessed professor—"

"Quirrelmort," Remus supplied.

Amelia glared at Remus, but Sirius grinned at his friend. "Yeah," he nodded, "that useless idiot. Not to mention the troll and giant three-headed dog. Then you've got his second year with his weirdly adept professor, who was only good at Memory charms and nothing else, attacking him and the Weasley kid."

"How can you mention Lockhart before the giant killer snake with a death gaze?" Amelia wondered.

"That, too," Sirius nodded distractedly, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "Then last year: Soul-sucking dementors that attacked him on three different occasions and that spineless, no-good betrayer Wormtail, who broke out of Azkaban and went after Harry. And I don't think I need to rehash all that happened this year."

"Harry has the worst luck," Remus commented.

Sirius nodded wearily and sat down on a chair outside the door.

"Tell me about it."

The doors suddenly opened and Madam Pomfrey briskly walked out. When she saw the anxious looks, she gave each of them a gentle smile. The three concerned adults immediately relaxed.

"He's fine," said Madam Pomfrey. "He's tired and will have to stay under my care for another week, but he will be fine."

Sirius sat staring at her, without moving or speaking, and Amelia read him like an open book. Relief, fear, and worry all flickered across his face, before it settled on weariness. Amelia reached over and gave Sirius' hand a small squeeze.

"Sirius," she whispered, "he's okay. I'm sure he wants to see you."

That was apparently all he needed to hear. Sirius moved so fast that he seemed to apparate out of the chair and into the Hospital Wing. Remus and Amelia swiftly followed him into the room.

Mostly likely hearing their rapidly approaching footsteps, Harry started and glanced towards the door. Upon seeing who it was, he immediately let his guard down. Amelia recognized the look in Harry's eyes and knew he was no longer a child. He had the same look her Aurors had after a battle with causalities.

No one ever walked away from that without being changed.

"Dad," Harry whispered.

That was all that was needed, and the two immediately embraced. Sirius spoke words of comfort, while Harry cried into his shoulder.

"I couldn't save him, Dad. I couldn't save him!"

There was nothing anyone could say to make it better, but the presence of love in the room helped to start the long and slow healing process. And Amelia knew that for now, it would be enough.

Chapter Text

Narcissa was worried.

Perhaps it was due to her Black family upbringing, or by simply being near her husband's … friends for so many years, but she knew a plan had been put into motion.

And, since no one had bothered to tell her anything about it, there was a thick tension in the air.

Nothing about the day had felt right. Lucius had not been the same since they had seen Draco off for his fifth year at Hogwarts that morning. Lucius, of course, had put on a good front, but she had easily seen through it; she always did.

She had tried, unsuccessfully, to gain his attention upon returning to Malfoy Manor. Without a word, Lucius had gone straight into his study — where he had locked himself in for the remainder of the day.

And now the hour was late and he had yet to acknowledge her.

Tired of waiting for him to come to her, Narcissa made her way down the darkened hall to his study. Glaring at the door before her, she unlocked it with a tap of her wand and a few whispered counter-charms. Softly, she pushed the door open an inch.

"Lucius?" she murmured.

Hearing the lone sound of a scratching quill, she frowned to herself. He customarily did not like it when others interrupted his work. Growing more concerned, Narcissa fully opened the door and regally stepped into the room.

The study, typically pristine and well-organized, was currently in a state of disarray. Papers and books were haphazardly strewn across the desk. Her husband was hunched over a book, one written in Ancient Runes, she noted, and was agitatedly tapping a quill against a scrap of parchment.

"Lucius—"

"The Dark Lord has given me a task, Narcissa," he interrupted. "I cannot speak of it."

"You cannot or choose not, Lucius," she questioned, a sharp tone in her voice. She may appear more even-tempered than her sister, Bellatrix, but she also had inherited the infamous Black temper, which was now rapidly bubbling to the surface.

Lucius sighed and set his quill down. "Narcissa," he said slowly, "you know that I cannot—"

"Do not patronize me, Lucius," Narcissa spat. "I know you. And I know the things you do for the Dark Lord. Whatever this is, it is clearly bothering you."

As she spoke, Narcissa made her way across the room and picked up the book Lucius had been fervently reading. She casually picked it out of his loose grip.

"What, my dear husband, are you unable to solve without my help?" she whispered, reading the page Lucius had been studying. He remained quiet as she read and watched as she grew more and more horrified.

"But this is—!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," Lucius nodded. "The Dark Lord wishes for me to figure out a way to undo Fate."

"The magic here is very Dark," she stated. Narcissa knew her family history and practiced Dark magic herself. But this was something that even she felt violated reading.

"I know," Lucius said, as he stood up. He pulled her into a tight hug. "I have convinced the Dark Lord that I must first retrieve the Prophecy, before anything else can be done."

"But—"

"He threatened to use Draco the next time he needed something done. We both know Draco would fail — he is not meant for this," Lucius spoke without regret. "I will protect my family."

Narcissa reached up and gently cupped Lucius' face in her hands.

"You foolish, man," she murmured. "We will protect our family.

What must I do to help?"

Chapter Text

“Absolutely not!”

Dumbledore gazed at the Deputy Headmistress over the rim of his glasses, his eyes twinkling.

“Why, Minerva, surely this would be an excellent way for the students to get in the holiday spirit?” he asked genially. “I thought you would approve!”

“Why on earth would I approve the interruption of classes and the public embarrassment of students?” she asked, outraged he would even think for one moment that she would want to be a part of … this.

“But my dear, Minerva …” the simpering voice of Gilderoy Lockhart — Minerva refused to acknowledge that he was a professor of Hogwarts — objected from the corner of the room.

She swung her irate gaze to the pompous man-child.

“First — and let me very clear about this — I am not your ‘dear.’ Is that understood?” Minerva spoke in a low tone, one that left no room for argument. She waited until Lockhart nodded fearfully, before continuing.

“Second, Valentine’s Day is hardly a holiday for everyone. Not everyone has a significant other — or even a crush! I will not have them humiliated or embarrassed in such a public way because of that.”

Lockhart opened his mouth to say something, but Minerva cut across him. “And last, but certainly not least, having dwarves dress up as cupids and deliver love letters is highly insensitive to them. Don’t you think?”

When Lockhart didn’t speak, Dumbledore spoke up.

“I think, Minerva, that you will find that Gilderoy has put a lot of thought into this event. I’m sure he was thought of your objections and has found ways to overcome them."

Minerva felt her eye twitch and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

“Fine … fine. Please just have my objections on record and also that I am not one hundred percent behind this event,” she sighed.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore said. Lockhart smiled happily and Minerva thought that they were both acting far too gleeful for the situation. Just as she was making a mental note to inform Poppy to have counseling and love potion antidotes ready, Dumbledore said something that brightened her day.

“Minerva, could you please send Severus in? He should be waiting outside. We still have to inform him of the holiday preparations.”

“Albus, I know you are busy and I’m sure Lockhart has classes to … teach. Please,” Minerva allowed a small smile to grace her features, “allow me to update Severus on the holiday plans.”

“Ah, thank you, Minerva,” Dumbledore smiled.

“Anything to help a fellow professor,” she replied demurely. Inside, she was ecstatic. She loved antagonizing Severus and knew that this bit of news would really irritate him.

“Oh, Minerva!” Lockhart shouted excitedly. “I forgot to mention that the dwarves will be reciting the love letters — maybe even singing them!”

Valentine’s Day was going to be terrible, but maybe Severus’ reaction to the news would be worth it.

Chapter Text

“Mum? Dad? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Rose Weasley, fresh from her third year at Hogwarts, quietly stood in the doorway. Her mother and father had just sat down in the living room to rest for the remainder of the evening. Her mother had a book propped open and her father was hunched over an experimental new product from his brother’s shop.

Everything was normal.

So why is my heart beating so fast and painfully? she thought.

“What is it, Rose?” her mother said with a small frown on her face, immediately sensing something was wrong. She set her book down on the coffee table. “What’s the matter?”

At that tone, her father picked his head up. Casting a quick finite on the WWW product that was now trying to bite him, he walked over and gave Rose a hug.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked. “Why are you acting like the world is about to end?”

Rose tightened her grip around her father and tried to not cry. A few tears escaped, though, and she was soon bawling into his shirt.

“You would never leave us, right, Dad?”

A shocked silence filled the room following Rose’s question. Rose felt her father tighten his hug and she quickly felt the need to explain.

“It’s just, that, some of us at school were talking about the war and one kid mentioned that you had abandoned Uncle Harry and Mum while you were trying to defeat Voldemort,” she said in a rushed voice, which was steadily growing louder. “But that’s not true, right? I told that kid he was wrong. Because you would never do that, right?”

Rose paused for a breath and was hoping that her mother or father would quickly interrupt her, explaining that she was right and the other student had been so very wrong. But instead, there was a heavy silence followed by her mother sighing.

“Rose …” she began, in a tone that said it all.

It was in that moment that she knew the other student had been right. That her dad had abandoned her mother and uncle when they had needed them most. She felt her world shatter.

She pulled out of her father’s hug, slowly shaking her head. She saw that her mother was crying softly and her father had a distraught expression on his face.

“Who told you—?” he began, before she interrupted him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she spat. “How could you?! How could you, Dad?!”

“Rose,” her mother tried, and failed, to get her attention.

Rose was now shouting and glaring at her father. “There are so many stories saying that you three are heroes! And that you were brave! But you’re not. You left them when they needed you the most. You’re a coward!”

An unease silence filled the room as Rose spun around and ran up the stairs.

(Rose wasn’t the only one to cry themselves to sleep that night.)

Chapter Text

As Sirius fell through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, Harry watched in detached horror. Sirius wasn’t dead — he couldn’t be — until one moment, when his body didn’t fall through the other side of the Veil, he was.

Sirius Black was gone.

And something inside Harry snapped.

He shot a ferocious Reducto at Bellatrix, who had been too busy taunting him to block it. Sidestepping the body — or what was left of it — he walked over to Kingsley, who was rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, and began to shout at him.

“Where is he?! Where is he!”

Rage blossomed inside Harry’s chest and, inside of pushing it aside like he had been taught, he welcomed it. Harry took another step forward, still shouting, and Kingsley’s eyes widened. Kingsley held up his hands in a pacifying gesture and tried speak, but Harry was too consumed in his anger to listen.

“Tell me where he is, Kingsley!”

In his fury, Harry never saw the jet of red light hit him.

He awoke some time later in the Hospital Wing, under the ever-observant gaze of Madam Pomfrey. He was briskly subjected to a series of exams before he was released from her care. The rage he had previously felt had grown during her tests, to the point where it was bubbling just beneath the surface. As soon as he received the okay from Madam Pomfrey, he immediately left the Hospital Wing. In hindsight, he should have checked on his friends, but in the moment all he wanted to do was confront the one person responsible for this entire mess.

His feet carried him along the semi-familiar path to the griffon guardian. The statue promptly and silently moved aside, seemingly not wanting to stand before Harry’s barely restrained rage. He moved up the stairs and slowly and deliberately knocked on the ornate door.

.oOo.

Albus looked up at the sound of knocking on the door. He sighed. He had hoped that Harry would take some time and talk with his friends, but alas, it seemed as if he had left the Hospital Wing and had headed straight for his office.

“Enter,” he called out in a grandfatherly tone.

The door burst open. Harry stormed inside, wand raised, and shouted, “Stupefy!”

Years of dueling and teaching students had honed Albus’ reflexes and he was able to easily block the spell. But he was in shock. He hadn’t expected Harry to start throwing spells the moment he walked into his office! Albus had expected him to be angry, but this was beyond anything in which he had been prepared.

“Harry, my boy—”

“Stupefy! Incarcerous! Relashio! Stupefy! Reducto! I am not your boy! Expelliarmus!”

Albus had blocked the barge of spells with powerful shield charms or by using objects in the room, but he had been caught off guard by the last spell. Harry declaring that he had no connection to him broke his heart, leaving him unprepared for the disarming charm.

Albus watched the Elder Wand sail through the air and land in the outstretched hand of the last person he ever wanted to possess it — literally. This moved up so many of his plans.

He’s not yet ready for this responsibility, Albus thought, regretfully and somewhat naively.

“Harry—” he tried again, only to be interrupted.

“I’m going to lead this discussion, Dumbledore,” Harry spat. “You’re going to answer my questions and, in the name of Merlin and Morgana, you will accept responsibility for what you’ve done!"

“Harry,” Albus said slowly, “I understand what you’re feeling. To be even partially responsible for the death of a loved one is difficult to accept—”

“Silencio!”

The powerful of the Elder Wand, combined with Harry’s magic, left Albus abruptly silenced. With growing unease, Albus watched Harry pace around the room. There was something in his eyes, something Albus had only seen once before, that caused him the most concern.

He’s different, Albus thought. He’s not Tom…

“Here’s how it’s going to go, Dumbledore. You’re going to explain the Durselys and why I have to live in an abusive home. You’re going to explain why you’ve been avoiding me since summer and have been feeding me half-truths since first year. But most of all, you will tell me why you weren’t there in the fight at the Ministry.”

It was in that moment, that Albus realized he had made terrible, terrible mistakes. That the child in front of him could no longer be molded and shaped into the savior the wizarding world needed. That the boy standing before him, with fury in his eyes, was something else entirely — and Albus was seeing that clearly for the first time.

What have I done?

Chapter Text

“But Rowena—!”

Rowena Ravenclaw — formidable enchantress and one of the Founders — spun around, fury etched across her face. The few students left in the corridor quickly scattered out of the way.

“Do not,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “give me the ‘poor me’ routine right now, Godric! This is your fault!”

“I do not know what happened back there, Rowena!” Godric said, gesturing wildly back towards her classroom. “But that was not my fault!”

Enraged, Rowena moved forward and shoved Godric in the chest.

“By the Goddess, can you please take responsibility for what you have done, Godric?” she shouted. “Just this once?”

Godric Gryffindor — warrior, the hero of many battles, and powerful wizard — took a sharp step back from her ire. He slowly raised his hands in surrender, a hurt look in his eye.

“That was uncalled for,” he replied in a low tone.

“Was it?” Rowena said stiffly. She felt hot tears fill her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

“I swear, in the name of the Triple Goddess, that I did not ruin your work,” Godric pled softly. “Please, Rowena … you must believe me.”

Rowena inhaled sharply. A vow to the Triple Goddess was not something to be taken lightly. For the first time since this whole mess had started, she felt a twinge of doubt.

Could I be wrong? It is possible, she thought indecisively. But I saw him …

As if sensing her hesitation, Godric lowered his hands. She watched as his eyes quickly darted from her face to her own hands. One hand loosely gripped her acacia wand, while the other still held a mangled piece of delicate, entwined silver strands — the root of this mess.

“Rowena, I am sorr—” Godric began, before a shape rapidly materialized between the witch and wizard, cutting him off.

“AHHHHH! WEE LITTLE CHILDREN HIDING IN THE HALLS; CONFUSED REDHEAD HAS NO—”

“Silencio!”

“Stupefy!”

The two spells soared through the air — and straight through the materialized being — and instead collided with each other. The resulting explosion knocked Godric and Rowena off their feet. Slowly, Rowena stood to face the new addition to their conversation.

The being hovered in the air. It took the shape of a man, dressed in a jester’s outfit, and appeared to be semi-corporeal — and suddenly, Rowena knew what had happened.

Reaching down, Rowena pulled Godric to his feet.

“Well,” she said, “it looks like we have a poltergeist on our hands.”

“A poltergeist?” Godric repeated, before understanding dawned on his face. Stepping forward, he raised his wand.

“Godric, don’t—”

“Poltergeist!” he bellowed. “Are you responsible for this?” He gestured toward the tangled silver still in Rowena’s hand.

“Peeves has done nothing! Peeves done nothing!” the poltergeist said.

“Peeves, huh?” Rowena said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure you have done nothing?”

“Peeves has done nothing,” the poltergeist repeated.

“Peeves,” Rowena said, while taking an ominous step forward, “do you know who I am?”

The poltergeist nodded and muttered something about ‘scary enchantress.’

“Good,” she said. Twirling her wand in her hand, she nonchalantly continued, “Are you responsible for ruining my work?”

When Peeves didn’t answer, she turned to Godric, who was staring pleadingly at her.

“Rowena—”

“GOT YOUR CONK!” Peeves shouted, yanking on Godric’s nose before zooming away.

“Ouch!” Godric growled. “We just opened a school … of course, there would be a poltergeist … we will never be rid of him …”

“Of course not,” Rowena said gently.

Sighing heavily, he turned to look at her. “But you believe me now, right? It was not my fault.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Really, Godric. Now that I know the facts, I believe you. ‘Peeves has done nothing,’ indeed.”

Godric sighed.

“Thank the Goddess,” he muttered.

Smacking him lightly on the back of his head, Rowena grinned.

“Just wait until Salazar hears you tried to use a Silencing Charm on a poltergeist,” she teased.

Godric stared resolutely at his feet and didn’t respond — although, his cheeks reddened slightly.

“What were you working on?” he asked, pointedly changing the conversation. “Will you be able to fix it?”

“Fix it? No, must likely not,” she said, looking at the tangled silver. “It was supposed to be a diadem. But I can make another…”

Chapter Text

“You should know better than to try and trick me, youngster. After all, I can read your mind.”

Fred slumped a little on the wooden stool and scowled. The oh-so minor addition of a talking, mind-reading hat thoroughly scrapped every prank the two of them had thought of to try during their Sorting.

“Well, now that we have that sorted. Let me see… Where do you belong?” the Hat murmured in Fred’s mind.

Obviously, Gryffindor, Fred thought, perhaps a bit too smugly for the Sorting Hat’s taste.

“Oh, I would not be too quick in assuming that, lad,” the Hat replied mildly.

Fred froze, cold fear washing over his body in waves.

What do you mean? My whole family is in Gryffindor!

“Ah, but is that were they truly belonged? I had half a mind to Sort your brother Percy into Slytherin—”

Figures.

“—and you are quite like him—”

WHAT?

“—maybe I should Sort you into Slytherin—”

No!

“—since you are very cunning and ambitious. No? Are you sure? You could do well there.”

No, no, no, no, no!

“Well, if you insist. I never understand why people think being cunning and ambitious is wrong. Life is all about having balance and a little ambition never hurt anyone— Still no? Well, you are a good candidate for another House.”

Gryffindor.

“Hufflepuff.”

Merlin, why? Hufflepuff is a load of duffers!

“You mean loyal, hardworking, close-knit people? Who will quickly become your friends and family?”

…

“Yes, I can see why that is just simply terrible. You know, you are very much like your brother Charlie.”

Cool! He’s the best! And he’s a Gryffindor!

“Yes, a Gryffindor … who I almost Sorted into Hufflepuff.”

I can’t win today, can I?

“No, you cannot. I am the Sorting Hat. I know where you belong.”

Will you tell me?

“Are you going to ask me nicely?”

… Will you please tell me where I am going to be Sorted?

“But it is such a hard decision… I am having such a hard time choosing…”

Sorting Hat! Please!

“My name is Arthur.”

Wait… What?

“You never asked my name. That is quite rude, you know. I do not call you ‘Small Ginger,’ Fred.”

I’m sorry, Arthur.

“Arty. My friends call me Arty.”

I’m sorry, Arty.

“It has been such a long time since I have had a friend…”

Um, Arty…?

“…friends are nice …”

…Arty.

“…I love having a friend again …”

Arty!

“Yes, Fred?”

Please Sort me!

“Of course, Fred. But before I do, I just want to say one thing.”

…Yes?

“You were just pranked.”

Uh?!

“You were just pranked by a talking hat.”

Is your name really Arthur?

“Of course not, Fred. I am a hat. Despite being sentient — ask Percy what that means later — enough to read your mind, I am still a hat.”

You pranked me! So I’m a Gryffindor then?

“Of course, I pranked you! You were going to prank me. It is what you get. Now, do not let your brother in on this before I Sort him next and go enjoy life in GRYFFINDOR!"

Chapter Text

Amos Diggory anxiously paced while waiting for his eleven-year-old son, Cedric, on Platform 9¾.

The Hogwarts Express was due any minute. Amos was both excited to see his boy and also worried. The letter Cedric had sent his parents a couple of weeks’ prior had been surprising.

Cedric had, quite adamantly, requested to come home over Christmas break.

It was an unusual choice for a first-year student at Hogwarts — most children wanted to experience the freedom the castle offered with no classes. But then again, perhaps everything was fine — although a little voice in Amos’ head said it wasn’t; it wasn’t unusual for new students to miss home.

And since Cedric had offered only vague explanations for his desire to leave Hogwarts over the holidays, Amos was simply resigned to wait until he arrived to discuss it.

It wouldn’t be too much longer.

A few short minutes passed when a sharp whistle cut through the frosty air. Amos picked his head up and watched the familiar scarlet train gracefully roll into the station. As soon as the engine came to a halt, children started running off the train to their parents, dragging their trunks and other belongings behind them.

Amos watched as many parents began to chide their forgetful children, quickly pulling cloaks around them. Earlier that morning, the temperature had dropped to an all-time low; London was cold, but Ottery St. Catchpole — out on the lonely hills — was far colder.

Cedric was one of the last students to leave the train. At first, everything appeared fine. Cedric was his usual bubbly self. As Amos helped him get his trunk to the Floo connection, he began to relax.

Everything was fine.

He ruffled his son’s hair and helped him with the Floo.

But if he had paid just a little bit closer attention, Amos would have noticed that his son didn’t talk about his House or friends. As they stepped into the Floo, he didn’t see the sadness enter his son’s eyes.

.oOo. 

There had been a big welcome home dinner that night. Cedric’s mother had prepared all of his favorites, but Cedric barely touched anything. He wasn’t hungry. Instead, his stomach was twisted into tight, angry knots.

It wasn’t until much later, when his mother left the living room to turn in for the night, that Cedric worked up the courage to talk with his father.

“Dad,” Cedric said, nervously walking up to him. They were in his father’s study.

“Yes, Ced?” his father asked, a warm smile on his face.

“You know how you always brag about me to your work friends?” Cedric mumbled. “And always tell me I’m meant to do great things?”

Growing serious, his father set down his quill. Cedric now had his undivided attention.

“Well, what if I wasn’t? Dad, I have no friends! Older students pick on me. I can’t do it! I won’t stay at Hogwarts where no one wants me,” Cedric exclaimed, words growing more agitated the faster they spilled out of his mouth.

He took a deep, shaky breath in to continue, but his father got up from his desk and cut him off with a hug.

“Ced,” his father murmured, as he held him in a warm hug, “you are wanted; here and at Hogwarts. But what those boys say, doesn’t define you. Be the better man, I know you are.

And remember: You are always welcome home.”

Chapter Text

Whoever was trying to poison him needed to step up their game.

Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody scowled at his tea. He had just left his kitchen for a minute because he had heard a disturbance outside. Hoping that it was a Death Eater (or an assassin, he hadn’t had one of those in a while!), he had gone to investigate.

Unfortunately, he had discovered that the source of the ruckus was just a scrawny, old cat scrambling through nearby bushes. (But constant vigilance never hurt anyone … that mattered to Alastor… Okay, they were fine now! People only really need one leg…)

Grumbling to himself about nothing exciting ever happening anymore, Alastor had stepped back into his kitchen and had carefully taken in his surroundings. Nothing was wrong; everything was in its place. Except, that is, for one tiny detail: his tea. The teacup had been moved a centimeter to the left.

He was sure of it.

Muttering a spell over the cup, the liquid glowed a soft blue, indicating that there were no known poisons or potions in it. Grumbling again, he picked up the cup and turned around—

—to find himself face-to-face Peter Pettigrew.

“My master,” Pettigrew said, reaching for his wand, “wishes—”

“Incarcerous!” shouted Alastor.

It was a credit to his training and skill that Alastor was not only already casting a spell before Pettigrew had even raised his wand, but that he didn’t spill his tea in the process. The rat-faced traitor quickly fell to the ground, bound in magically conjured ropes, while Alastor continued to rain hexes, curses, and some of the more … unsavory spells on him.

The fight — if one could truly call it a fight — ended before it ever began.

“Dumbledore will be glad to see you, Pettigrew,” Alastor growled. “We might finally be able to get Black free.”

Satisfied after checking the Death Eater’s pulse — he wouldn’t be any good to him dead — Alastor raised his wand.

“Expecto—”

I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

The calm thought entered Alastor’s mind like a summer’s breeze and the old Auror felt at peace. Lowering his wand, he studied the bloodied traitor at his feet. Maybe—

You should sit down for a moment.

Alastor baulked at the thought. He couldn’t! There was a job to do… He needed to do something… He had to tell Dumbledore! A Patronus should—

He’ll know soon enough. You should sit down.

Panic suddenly broke through the peaceful fog in his mind. He knew what this was; it was the Imperius Curse! He had to fight it, but his attacker was so strong…

You should sit down. Drop your wand.

The voice became more demanding and Alastor was forced to sit. His wand dropped out of his loosened grip and clattered to the ground. Alastor heard footsteps behind him — he hadn’t checked for multiple intruders! — and his wand was picked up. The person stepped into Alastor’s line of sight and for the first time in over a decade, he was truly stunned.

He was face-to-face with a man that he personally knew died years ago.

Barty Crouch Jr. grinned maliciously at him.

“Stupefy!”

Chapter Text

“Um, Harry? Why is there a baby griffin on your shoulder?”

The aforementioned griffin, no bigger than a kitten, squawked loudly and ruffled its feathers from its new favorite perch. Wincing at the loud sound, Harry tried to push the griffin away, only for it to painfully scramble over his head and sit on his other shoulder.

Morosely, he turned to stare at his best friend, Hermione, from across the Gryffindor table. She looked torn between intense curiosity and concern. Strange things seemed to always happen to Harry — even by wizarding world standards — and a griffin on his shoulder shouldn’t have caused anyone to think twice.

But this was Hogwarts and it always defied expectations. All of the students in the Great Hall were shooting him less-than-subtle glances, as were most of the staff. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but when nothing came out, he closed it and picked up a piece of bacon from his plate instead.

“Harry?” Hermione prompted gently. “It’s okay. What were you going to say?”

Harry sighed and slumped further into his seat. “I was going to say— Ouch! Stop that!”

The griffin, who had apparently decided that it was bored with the conversation (or there lack of), stole the piece of bacon out of Harry’s hand. In the process, however, it also bit one of his fingers. Hard.

And by the way the creature contentedly ate the meat and ruffled its wings, Harry could tell it wasn’t too concerned.

“Episkey,” Hermione said, casting the spell off-handedly. “Harry, why is there a legendary magical being on your shoulder?”

“Because she likes being there,” Harry responded sarcastically. Glaring at the griffin, he deliberately picked up another piece of bacon. Maintaining eye contact, he took a bite.

The griffin narrowed her eyes at Harry, as if to say, “Enjoy that piece. I let you have that one.”

“She?” Hermione repeated. “How do you know?”

Harry pointedly tapped the side of his head. “She told me,” he explained. “She then explained what a female was; she apparently thinks I’m clueless.”

The griffin squawked loudly and nipped his finger again.

“They really are quite fascinating creatures.”

Hermione let out a small yelp and Harry spun around. Dumbledore had silently appeared behind them. If Hermione hadn’t already explained to Harry and Ron — on multiple occasions — that a person couldn’t apparate inside Hogwarts, he would have said that was exactly what had just happened.

“Sir?” Harry questioned.

“They really are magnificent. No one has seen a griffin in over hundred years,” Dumbledore explained in a grandfatherly tone. “And it’s been a thousand since one has bonded to a witch or wizard.”

“Great,” Harry drawled, rolling his eyes. Just another way for him to stand out.

“You really should be more excited, Harry” Hermione gently chided. “It’s said that they are incredibly powerful and natural adversaries to serpents and basilisks.”

At this pronouncement, Harry looked at the griffin.

“And where were you, four years ago?” he asked pointedly.

The griffin let out a low hissing sound and Harry lowered his eyes.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Miss Granger is correct,” Dumbledore continued to explain. “They are very powerful creatures. Centaurs hunt them for their feathers, which are said to aid arrows in always finding their mark. The feathers can also break through any enchantment or spell. And I believe Mr. Potter has already discovered that you cannot lie in a griffin’s presence.”

Hermione looked at Harry, her eyes sparkling with mischief and an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

“Is that true, Harry?” she said, leaning forward slightly.

Harry gulped.

This couldn’t be good.

Chapter Text

“No way that piece of Muggle junk went to space!”

It was the longest sentence Hermione Granger had ever heard Gregory Goyle speak. Despite the accomplishment, however, she still grimaced at the loud comment. For the umpteenth time that morning, she questioned if she had truly lost her sanity when accepting this job.

What she was doing was important. She had been personally charged by the Minister of Magic himself to oversee the ‘Rehabilitation of Dark Wizards and Reintegrate Them into Society’ program — or R.E.D.W.A.R.T.S. for short. (Not that anyone was willing to call it that, for obvious reasons. Harry had said, and Hermione readily agreed, that it was a million times worse than S.P.E.W.) And critical as it may be for this job to be done well, it wasn’t like she had been given a choice in the matter.

Still … it was always entertaining to see bigoted, pureblood witches and wizards be forced to learn about Muggles and how to interact in, as Hermione liked to call it, ‘the real world.’ Malfoy’s reaction to seeing a movie in the theater had been priceless.

But just exactly how the Wizarding World maintained the Statue of Secrecy, especially with idiots like this walking around, was beyond her.

The tour guide cleared her throat.

“I can assure you, sir,” she said clearly, “that the Space Shuttle Atlantis has made more than thirty trips to space over the course of over twenty-five years. Eleven of those trips were to the International Space Station.”

As Crabbe and Goyle stared stupefied — or just stared, Hermione couldn’t really tell the difference — at Atlantis, the tour guide gave her a questioning look.

“They grew up out in the country,” Hermione explained, using one of the pre-established cover stories. “Their families didn’t use a lot of modern technology.”

“You mean they’re Amish?” a man in the group questioned.

Hermione suddenly noticed the growing interest from most of the tour group and began to feel uncomfortable. She shrugged noncommittally.

“They didn’t get out much,” she replied evenly. Turning to the tour guide, she decided to redirect the conversation.

“Do you also have models of the Mars rovers here? I’m sure they would love to see them as well.”

As the tour dispersed to take a closer look at the Shuttle, the tour guide explained how to get to the Mars exhibit. Thanking her, Hermione led Crabbe and Goyle out of the exhibit.

“They went to space,” Crabbe stated, still sounding in a daze.

Hermione nodded, firmly steering the two taller boys toward the exit.

“Yep,” she said. “Muggles have even put men on the moon.”

Crabbe and Goyle stared at her. The three of them stepped out into the bright Florida sun.

“Mars?” Goyle slowly asked next.

“Well,” Hermione said, going into teacher mode, “no people yet. But we have put robots on Mars, which are controlled from Earth. Mars isn’t really hospitable to humans, so we would need special equipment…”

At the unusually glassy-eyed looks she was receiving, she slowed to a stop and started again.

“Muggles are smart. They put robots on Mars because Mars is not a nice place for people,” she explained slowly.

The silence stretched out for a minute, before Goyle — who appeared to be talkative today — asked another question.

“What’s a robot?”

Hermione sighed. Today was definitely going to be longer than most.

Chapter Text

“We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?”

—“Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti

It was a bright and sunny day in May, but lonely, little five-year-old Harry Potter was stuck inside Mrs. Figg’s house. He had finally, after what felt like hours, received a break from listening to stories about her cats.

He stretched out on the couch, which was near the large window overlooking the garden, and listened to his elderly neighbor rummage in the kitchen. She had told him that she would make tea and cookies — a rare treat for Harry.

Needless to say, he had enthusiastically accepted her offer of sweets.

“Come away with us, child of magic! Come away!”

The whispered voice reached the small boy’s ears, despite being softly spoken. Harry tilted his head curiously.

It didn’t sound like Mrs. Figg. No, she normally had a slightly raspy voice; this voice was different. The best comparison Harry thought of was that it sounded like a gentle rain. The voice was sweet, but there was something … else. Some other quality that made the hair on the back of his head stand up.

Cautiously, Harry looked over to the window and quickly scrambled to his feet. Standing before him, on the opposite side of the glass in the garden, was a young woman. Despite his young age, Harry knew that she was very, very pretty. The woman’s hair was golden and perfectly framed her face and eyes — they were a deep blue, in which Harry felt inexplicably drawn.

“Come away with us, young wizard! Take my hand and let go of all your worries.”

Blinking, Harry realized he had crossed the room and was standing in front of the window. Shaking his head, he started to panic. How did he get here?! He didn’t remember walking towards her!

“Will you not allow me to come inside, child of magic?”

This was an unnerving situation and, despite her friendly appearance, Harry found it hard to trust the woman. He never let anyone get too close. Too many people had hurt him in the past. Even his teachers — despite their smiles and ‘good mornings’ — turned a blind eye to his tears and bruises.

He looked down, his black hair shielding his gaze, and shuffled his feet. His entire posture radiated anxiety.

He was about to run away, when the voice, once again, stopped him in his tracks.

“Let me inside, Harry Potter.”

Harry snapped his head up. Gone was the friendly, pretty woman with the soft voice. Instead, she now looked like ice and her voice was sharp. He was once again drawn into the depths of her blue eyes …

“No!” Harry shouted. Tearing his gaze away from the woman, he ran into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Figg! Mrs. Figg!”

 A spoon clattered onto the counter, as Mrs. Figg clutched her heart.

“Harry, dear, you’re going to give an old woman a heart attack!” she chided.

“Mrs. Figg, there’s a scary lady in the garden!” Harry shouted.

Harry watched as Mrs. Figg rapidly grew pale and set the tea aside.

“Is that so?” she asked, her eyes darting to the room where Harry had just been. “And what did she want?”

Harry looked at her, hardly daring to believe that someone took him at his word.

“She wanted to come inside,” Harry said, once again staring at his feet. “But I said ‘no.’ She was scary!”

“I’m sure,” Mrs. Figg murmured. “How about we enjoy the tea in the kitchen? You can also help me bake, if you want.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he had hoped that Mrs. Figg would have done something.

Sighing, he silently nodded and moved to help Mrs. Figg with the baking.

Needless to say, an hour later when they finished their tea and returned to the other room, there was no one standing in the garden.

Chapter Text

He could clearly feel her presence, dark and deadly, despite being on opposite ends of the ballroom floor. Guests of King Arthur casually mingled in groups, idly chatting and gossiping … completely oblivious of the dangerous sorceress in their midst.

Merlin clenched his fists in frustration. He watched her be gracefully swept across the dance floor, smiling and laughing in the arms of a wealthy nobleman. Her violet dress flared as the gentleman carefully spun her, before pulling her back into his arms.

“It is good to see you, Merlin,” a soft voice said.

Merlin turned to see Rowena Ravenclaw standing behind him. Relaxing his tense muscles, he politely bowed. Even though she had not been his Head of House while at Hogwarts, the powerful witch had taught him much. She deserved his respect.

“Rowena,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to see you here tonight.”

“Likewise,” she replied. “It has been a while since you graduated from Hogwarts. What have you been doing with your time?”

The young warlock grinned amiably.

“Whatever needs to be done,” he responded. “But I have been here the past year, working at Court and as a mediator of sorts between magical and non-magical people.”

“An admirable, though challenging, task, to be sure,” Rowena said. Her eyes flickered past Merlin and he suddenly felt weighed down by an oppressive aura.

“Morgana, I was not expecting to see you here!” the Founder continued, a smile on her face. “I hope you have been well.”

Merlin, filled with dread, turned and found himself face-to-face with Morgana. Her features had drastically changed since their school days. Her cheeks had lost their sweet glow and her gaze was no longer soft. Now, her face and eyes were sharp; the pins holding her black hair back barely controlled the chaotic curls.

She was more fay than human.

The two witches chatted for a few moments, while Merlin fought not to panic. His instincts screamed for him to run, that she was a predator — a ravenous wolf masquerading as a lamb.

How can they not see? Merlin fought to hold his ground. He would not run; he could not.

“What do you say, Merlin?” Morgana unexpectedly asked him. “One dance for old times sake?”

“Oh, I— well,” he stuttered, hoping to think of a quick way to decline.

Rowena held back a smile, as Morgana shook her head.

“Now, now,” she chided. “I know we didn’t get a long at Hogwarts, but that’s no reason to say no to a dance. After all, you will be seeing more of me in the future. You can’t wish me away.”

Merlin slowly met her gaze and swallowed nervously. All he saw was darkness, a future of misery and torment. He knew that his destiny and hers were forever entwined; it seemed fate would not allow him to escape even a dance.

With a nudge from Rowena, he led Morgana out onto the ballroom floor.

Now all he had to do was survive.

Chapter Text

Music — a haunting countermelody drifting lost without a primary melody to support — filled the tiny, bare apartment above Diagon Alley. In the middle of the room, Harry sat at a piano completely absorbed in the song he was playing.

After the war, he had thought this would help him start to heal — creating something instead of destroying it — but the black and white keys only mocked him. His fingers danced across the them, manipulating them into working together. Light and Dark; good and evil. Always one or the other without any middle ground.

He had fought for the Light. He had even, against all odds, won.

So why, now more than ever, did he feel like he didn’t truly belong…

Bringing the notes to a stop, he sighed.

“It’s not like you to linger and not say anything, Hermione.”

Looking up, he saw his best friend standing silently in the doorway. She was dressed in Muggle clothes — something Ron never understood, despite the countless times Hermione had explained that they were more comfortable. She was staring at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You’re very good,” she said eventually, nodding towards the piano. “Especially since you’ve only been playing for year.”

“Thanks,” Harry said stiffly.

Hermione walked across the room and sat down on the edge of the bench next to him. They sat like that for a few minutes in companionable silence, not needing to say anything to one another.

Hermione was the one to ultimately break the silence.

“No one blames you, Harry.”

Harry clenched his hands into fists. The anger and guilt he constantly carried with him rapidly boiled to just below the surface.

“You don’t understand.”

“The Weasleys don’t understand either,” Hermione responded gently. “No one seems to understand.”

Harry abruptly stood up and glared at the woman in front of him.

“No one?” he asked harshly. “Not even you?”

Hermione looked up, tears quickly filling her eyes. Harry felt a pang of regret. This wasn’t supposed to go like this.

“Tell me why you’re leaving, Harry,” she whispered.

Harry froze. The anger that had flashed to the surface quickly fled.

“What?” Harry replied weakly. “How—?”

“It’s obvious,” Hermione replied. “At least, to those willing to look. Most people don’t seem to want to bother. They want to pretend everything is okay. But it’s not, is it, Harry?”

“No,” Harry said, collapsing back onto the bench, “it’s not.”

“Harry, no one was expecting you to heal overnight,” Hermione said quickly, as if she were afraid that he would disappear in front of her. “You’ve made progress! You invited me over today, didn’t you? It takes time… There are people willing to support you! You don’t have to do this alone.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that statement. From his experience, the wizarding world seemed to always want him to do things on his own. Hermione seemed to catch his expression.

“Neville and Luna both noticed and are concerned. And besides,” she finished softly, “you still have me." 

“Hermione,” Harry said slowly, “I’ve never had a normal life. I never will. Ever since I was an infant, I was tasked to defeat an all-powerful, evil Dark Lord in order to save the wizarding world. And guess what? I did save it. Just no one saved it for me.”

Harry watched as tears fell freely down Hermione’s cheeks.

“I’m hurting, Hermione,” Harry continued to explain, his voice now tired. “There will always be people looking to me for rescue and leadership. Worse than that is the fact there are still Death Eaters out there! People who still believe in Riddle’s message! I will always be looking over my shoulder, always having to think two steps ahead to just stay alive, and I don’t want that.”

“But where will you go?” Hermione cried.

Harry grinned at the thought, a little bit of the pain lifting.

“The Unspeakables offered to help,” he explained to his now confused friend. “They didn’t say too much, I’m not sure that they could. But they did say something about portals and parallels. It would be a new start, Hermione. I can find a place to heal. I can finally just rest.”

Harry suddenly felt arms latch themselves around his middle. After a second, he returned the hug.

“I’m never going to see you again, am I?” Hermione wept into his chest.

“No. I’m sorry, Hermione, but I have to go.”

Pushing back, she stared at him.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Now?”

Harry nodded. “Why do you think I asked you to come over today? I wanted to say goodbye. There are letters in the other room for the others. Please make sure they receive them.”

As Hermione nodded through her tears, Harry leaned in and softly kissed her on the cheek.

“Take care, my friend.”

And with a crack of disapparition, he vanished.

Chapter Text

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK, RON! You have no idea of what my life is like! I have suffered more than anyone should ever have to! And you know what? I’m done! The two of you can go on Dumbledore’s bloody suicide mission alone!”

“Harry—!”

Harry rounded on Hermione in a blind rage. If he had paused, he would have noticed that she looked torn between heartbroken and furious, while Ron was downright murderous.

“But nothing, Hermione! I’m out!”

He wrenched the locket off and threw it on the ground. Before he could think of a better plan — or any plan at all — he bolted out of the tent and ran into the dark woods.

Harry staggered through the brush. Minutes slowly passed, before the fog eventually lifted from his mind.

I’m done. I’m not staying—

—What have I done?

Oh, Merlin! What’ve I done?

What’ve I—!

Harry suddenly tripped over a root and tumbled down a small slope. Coming to an abrupt stop, he landed on his hands and knees in an icy stream. He tried to stand, but fell to his knees once again.

I can’t do this, he thought despairingly.

With that thought, a cold, pale hand shot out of the muddy water and grabbed his wrist. Shouting in fear, he tried to yank his arm out of the unearthly grip. It tightened and then sharply pulled him down.

Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe; he was surrounded by infinite water. There was a dim glow around him and beneath him, her grip still tight around his wrist, was a young woman.

A young woman Harry knew to be dead.

She wasn’t wearing the pale blue robes she had died in, nor did she look exactly the same. Her features were sharper and older than before and her perceptive eyes seemed to stare through him. Or perhaps she was staring into his soul.

He felt the weight of her judgment.

You must bravely walk down the path laid at your feet. The path so many have paved before you; so that you could be able to stand, instead of fall.

Her midnight blue dress fluttered and fanned out around her, providing the illusion that she melted into the dark water.

You are meant to rise above, Harry Potter.

You must choose to accept this destiny. For if you do not, the whole world will fall to Darkness.

His eyes widened at the thought. Everything he loved … destroyed at the hands of his enemy…

Stand, Harry Potter, and accept the weapon of those who came before you.

And lean on those who would follow you into hell.

“HARRY!”

Harry’s eyes suddenly opened. He found himself in the creek, still on his hands and knees. Hermione and Ron stood around him.

“Harry?” Hermione questioned, a gentle hand on his shoulder. But Harry wasn’t paying her any attention because there was something still in his grasp, just beneath the water’s surface.

Uncertainly, he began to lift it out of water that was no deeper than three inches.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said in awe.

Harry stood, the shining Sword of Gryffindor in his hands.

“I— I don’t understand,” Hermione stuttered. “How—?”

Harry looked up at her, pain and conviction piercing his heart.

“Gabrielle Delacour gave it to me.”

Chapter Text

It was past curfew by the time Hermione Granger snuck back into the Gryffindor Common Room. She had volunteered to stay an extra hour in the Room of Requirement, in order to plan out the next month’s worth of meeting times, and she was exhausted. Thankfully, Harry had been kind enough to lend her the Map and Cloak or else she wouldn’t have made it back undetected.

Pulling off the Cloak, she rippled into existence and began the climb up the steps up to her room. She was ready to fall into bed and snuggle under her fleece blankets! Arriving at the fifth year girl’s dorm, she put away the cloak in her bag and opened the door…

…only to immediately step right into an ambush.

A few lanterns softly illuminated the room. Lavender and Parvati were both sitting on the edge of her bed, apparently waiting for her to arrive. There were some books and notes scattered on their desks. Hermione guessed that they had either tried to keep themselves busy while waiting, or wanted the appearance of that. The façade hadn’t worked.

Hermione sighed and suddenly felt overwhelmed. She was too fatigued to properly be able to deal with her bubbly roommates at this hour.

“Hello, Lavender,” she said wearily, “Hello, Parvati.”

“Hello, Hermione,” Parvati said just a little too sweetly. “Everything okay?”

“How was you-know-what?” Lavender abruptly asked. Parvati nudged the other girl in the ribs.

“You’re not supposed to just ask that,” she hissed at Lavender. Although she was a bit perplexed by the byplay, Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Parvati’s right, Lavender,” Hermione replied gently. “It’s just too dangerous to talk about it in the open. She has ears everywhere. But just so you know, everything went fine. I have a schedule planned out for the next month.”

“That’s great, Hermione!” Parvati said, as Lavender frowned slightly. The older Patil twin suddenly caught Lavender’s look. “Right, Lavender?” she asked pointedly.

“Yeah, but … are you happy, Hermione?” Lavender asked. “Normally, I would be ecstatic, but it just seems like an odd choice. How do Ron and Harry feel?

Hermione cocked her head. She wasn’t sure if it was just her exhaustion, but she suddenly felt very confused. Why would they care? They trusted her to make the schedule for the DA meetings.

“They’re fine with it?” she said, the statement ended up being phrased as a question. “I mean, Harry wanted to help, but I told him it was fin—”

“Wait. Harry wanted to help?” Parvati asked in a shocked tone.

Hermione frowned slightly. She knew she was the bookworm, but honestly Harry was in-charge and more than capable of planning things! She just liked to help and know the schedule ahead of time.

“He is in charge of the group, Parvati,” Hermione said slowly. “It is kind of his thing.”

“Wait…” Lavender said, her eyes sparkled with delight at the piece of seemingly new information. “You mean Harry and … no way!”

“Um, we are talking about the,” Hermione looked around and whispered the next bit, “DA, right?”

Lavender and Parvati both looked at her curiously.

“Are you using the group as a code word for your secret sexy get-togethers with Malfoy?” Lavender questioned. “Because that is going to get confusing.”

“WHAT?” Hermione shrieked. She clapped a hand over her mouth. The three girls waited in tense silence to see if anyone would come to check on them. After a few minutes passed uneventfully, Hermione slowly lowered her hand.

“What did you say?” Hermione demanded, albeit much more quietly.

“Are you dating and sleeping with Malfoy?” Lavender asked.

Hermione groaned and closed her eyes.

Not again, she thought.

By now, Hermione knew that she shouldn’t be surprised about the kind of gossip constantly being spread around the school — about her or otherwise. After all, she was friends with two of the biggest troublemakers (or trouble-finders as Ron and Harry argued) in Hogwarts. It also didn’t help that one of her best friends was a wizarding celebrity. One way or another, she always seemed to find her way into the middle of the biggest rumor of the year.

This year was appeared to unfortunately be no different.

“Okay,” she said, reopening her eyes, “I need you to slowly repeat what you just said. Please. I think I misheard you.”

Lavender took a deep breath, her worry over Hermione’s possible relationship with Malfoy long forgotten. She was practically giddy and went straight into gossip mode.

“Are you sleeping with Draco Malfoy,” she repeated dutifully. “Or more specifically: Did you, or did you not, go on a date with Malfoy last night and then have your dirty way with him in the Room of Requirement tonight?”

Stunned, Hermione just stared at the other two girls and slowly sank onto the edge of her bed. How did this happen? Who would spread this rumor? This was way worse than second year when someone had spread around the story that she and Harry had used aging potions, went to Hogsmeade and illegally gambled, won a rare dragon egg, escaped the Aurors (who, of course, had been the people they had unknowingly been gambling against), and got caught sneaking back into Hogwarts — only to vanish before Filch’s eyes.

Parvati apparently took her stunned silence as confirmation she was right.

“Yes!” Parvati shouted, causing both Hermione and Lavender to flinch at the loud noise. “It’s about time you two got together!” Lavender slapped her arm, as Hermione glared up at her.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s about time’?” Hermione snapped. “I don’t even like him!”

Parvati calmly patted Hermione on the head. “It’s okay,” she said sympathetically. “You don’t have to admit it just yet.”

Hermione stood up and brushed the other girl’s hand off.

“There’s nothing to admit,” she said firmly, “because I don’t like him! Who knows about this?”

Lavender and Parvati glanced at each other, before looking back at her.

“Everyone,” they said simultaneously. Hermione groaned.

“Well, how did you hear this rumor then?” she asked in a resigned tone. The other two Gryffindors eagerly jumped in with the explanations.

“It all started at breakfast,” Parvati enthusiastically clarified, “which you happened to miss—”

Lavender sharply shook her head. “No,” she interrupted, “it started last Monday, remember? When Ernie walked in on Dean and Daphne Greengrass in an unused classroom? They said they had just been talking, but … well, I guess they weren’t very convincing because then…”

Hermione listened to the two girls for the next hour. By then end of it, she knew a lot of rumors about everyone in the school, but not how any of them applied to her situation.

Oh, well, she mused. Maybe if I break his nose tomorrow morning, everyone will know that I don’t like him.

She smiled and fell asleep at the thought.

Chapter Text

Sixteen-year-old Albus Dumbledore sat on the deck of a small sailboat, which was currently anchored in the warm waters off the coast of Greece. He waited somewhat impatiently, his foot tapping restlessly, until there was a large splash of water off the port side. Albus watched as a woman pulled herself onto the deck. Her pale skin shone like mother-of-pearl in the sunlight. As she dried her red hair, her lower limbs swiftly transformed from a fish-like tail into human legs.

“Asherah,” Albus curtly greeted. He stood up and handed her a nearby towel, which only caused her to roll her eyes.

“Really, Albus,” Asherah teased, nevertheless accepting the towel. “Do you not like what you see?” The siren’s voice still fascinated Albus, even though they had met multiple times over the summer. If sunlight dancing on the clearest, bluest water had a sound … well, that was the only way he could describe it.

“I didn’t come here for idle chat,” he deflected. “I’m here because—”

“You still have not mastered the language of my people,” Asherah finished. “And you and your … partner are leaving the day after next.” She stood and wrapped the towel around her.

“I don’t understand,” Albus responded, frustration clear in his voice. “I’ve diligently studied every text and have practiced pronunciation daily. Why is this still beyond my reach?”

He looked up and met Asherah’s aquamarine gaze. She seemed to be searching for something, but for what, Albus could not guess.

“Maybe,” the siren said slowly, “this is not for you to learn.”

Albus bristled. “Gellert says that this is a foolish pursuit,” he said. “But I think all knowledge is worth pursuing, especially for the Greater Good.”

“Be careful, young wizard,” the siren’s voice was now like light snowfall over icy waters. “You are destined for great things. But all knowledge has a price … and I fear you will pay heavy ones on this journey of yours.”

“Then when the time comes,” Albus said, “I will pay them.”

Asherah closed her eyes and backed toward the edge of the boat. She shook her head, in sorrow or frustration — or perhaps a bit of both — Albus did not know.

“Your foundation of the language,” she said, “is flawless. But have you not wondered why Mermish underwater sounds like English to you, but “screeching” above water?” Albus felt like she would have placed air quotes around the word screeching; it had been said with disdain. He nodded in response.

“That is because, young wizard, Mermish is a language of a magical race. Above or beneath the water our language can sound like screeching — or whatever we want it to sound like.”

Albus looked at her in confusion. She sighed.

“The secret, Albus,” she whispered, “is magic. Draw upon your magic when speaking the language of my people and you will speak it flawlessly.”

And with that she dropped the towel and dove into the water, leaving a dumbfounded and victorious Albus behind.

Chapter Text

“But Muuuuuum! Pleeeassse!” 

“No, Fred. How many times do I have to say ‘no’?” Molly Weasley threw her hands up in exasperation before hurrying about the kitchen in the Burrow. Her seven-year-old twins were driving her up the wall — and that was saying something. She took a breath and focused on the ingredients on the counter. Waving her wand, they flew about the kitchen to various locations; bread dough to the oven to bake, fish to the stove to cook, and an assortment of berries into the nearby pie crust (the object of her twin’s attention at the moment).

“But Mum—”

“George…” Wait a moment, Molly thought. Was it really George speaking? Glancing in her son’s direction, she internally sighed in relief. Yes, that was definitely George. “I just said no to your brother. Why would I say ‘yes’ to you?”

“We’ve been really good all day—”

“—and haven’t even pushed anyone into the pond.” Molly rolled her eyes at the last statement. These two were impossible, especially when they started finishing the other’s sentences.

“You pushed Percy into the pond this morning,” she reminded them. She waved her wand again and the vegetables started dicing themselves.

“Was that this morning?” Fred asked, trying to sound innocent.

“I thought that was yesterday,” George added.

“No, it was this morning.”

“But it was so long ago! We’ve been good all day after that! Right, Fred?”

Molly looked up and saw both her sons nodding fervently. They had been good all day… She shook her head, laughing slightly to herself. That really wasn’t saying much. It was only the early afternoon, and barely even that.

“Boys,” she said, “if you are hungry, there are plenty of fruits and vegetables to eat. The pie is for after dinner.”

“But we want it now,” Fred said, as if that explained everything in the world. Molly felt her nerves begin to fray. She was about to tell them to go play outside, when George spoke.

“What if,” he interrupted, a thoughtful look in his eye, “we help you in the kitchen? You know, finish making the food and all? Could we have a slice of pie then—”

“A slice of pie each,” Fred quickly corrected, his little voice firm. George nodded and Molly, despite her mild irritation, looked on in amusement.

“A slice of pie each,” George amended. “Because we helped out and stuff?”

“Boys, this isn’t a debate.”

And as much as Molly hated to admit it, she didn’t trust her two prankster sons in the kitchen around their food, even if she was supervising them. Oh, it wasn’t as if they would do anything harmful, after all they were only seven. But she somehow knew that little, chaotic things would happen — like there would suddenly be too much salt in the bread or the fish would catch on fire — all while her sons would disappear along with the pie.

“But Muuuuuum!”

“Go play outside, Fred,” she ordered. Wait… She looked her son in the eye and once again internally sighed in relief. Yes, she was speaking to Fred. “And take your brother with you.”

Her two sons grumbled in unison and stomped outside. Finally, she could finish making the food— A horrible thought entered her mind. She rushed to the doorway and shouted after them.

“AND NO PUSHING ANYONE OR ANYTHING INTO THE POND!”

Chapter Text

Luna stood anxiously, waiting with the other first years, in what some of the older students had affectionately called "The Sett." To the rest of the school, however, it was simply the Hufflepuff Common Room.

"Alright, first years!" the Hufflepuff prefect, Anna, shouted. She stood in front of the fireplace, the male fifth year prefect next to her. "Listen up!"

The first years huddled closer, while the rest of the House gathered around the edges of the room. Luna wondered why they would do that. After all, they didn't need a welcoming speech. But then again, she supposed there was a reason. Strangely, Hufflepuffs barely had any Wrackspurts fluttering around them.

"By now, you've probably heard things about Hufflepuff House," Anna continued, once everyone had settled down. "And if you haven't already, you most likely will."

The male prefect — Benjamin, Luna suddenly recalled — nodded.

"You'll hear that we're the leftovers," he said. His quiet voice seemed to ring loudly in the Common Room. "You'll hear that we're nothing but a load of duffers."

At this statement, the students hanging around the edge of the room hissed and booed. The hair on Luna's arms stood up.

"You'll hear that we're useless," Anna shouted.

"You'll be forgotten."

"Overlooked."

"And," Ben said, his voice barely audible over his housemates' displeasure, "you'll constantly be asked, 'What House do you belong in again?'"

The House seemed to reach a fevered pitch. It was a little more energetic than Luna would have preferred, but she was swept up in the emotions, regardless.

"But," Anna said quietly, forcing everyone else to quiet down in order to hear her, "that is all lies."

"Here in Hufflepuff," Ben stated, "we firmly believe that Helga Hufflepuff was the smartest Founder."

Luna raised an eyebrow at this last claim. Everyone knew that Rowena Ravenclaw was the smartest … right? Ben noticed her incredulous look and smiled at her.

"We value you," he explained gently, "for who you are. You can be brilliant—"

"—or brave," Anna interjected, nodding at a blond boy, who looked to be in his fourth year. Luna smiled a little when she realized that it was her neighbor, Cedric Diggory.

"Or ambition," Ben continued. "You are not limited to one characteristic the Sorting Hat saw when you were eleven years old. There is no pressure to always uphold one aspect of your personality. You have the freedom to be yourself … and time to figure out what that means."

"This is your family now," Anna said. "For the next seven years, and beyond, we will be there for you. Hufflepuffs are loyal to the last. Some of you might need a family and will accept that fact right away. Others will need proof that we won't turn our backs on you."

"There's no need to hide here," a voice announced.

Luna turned with the rest of her House to see Professor Sprout standing behind them. She looked like she had just stepped out of the greenhouses. The Head of House smiled at them all, radiating warmth and love.

"You are loved, and have the freedom to love who you will," Professor Sprout said, while attempting to juggle something in her hands. Luna peered closer. Was … was that a baby badger? It was so cute! "You have the freedom to learn. Whether you choose to go to the library or explore the grounds, is entirely up to you. Just be in bed by curfew."

An appreciative chuckle rippled through the crowd, and Luna felt her heart painfully constrict.

I miss you, Mother, Luna thought sadly. But would you be mad at me, if I grew to love this woman, like I loved you?

"Welcome to the family," Professor Sprout said, proudly looking at the first years. "Welcome to Hufflepuff. Now, who wants to pet little Betty?" She held the tiny badger out in her hands.

"Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff!"

The cheer was taken up by the students in the room, and Luna couldn't help but grin widely. As she took a step towards her Head of House and the adorable badger, she felt that maybe — just maybe — she had found a home. She could learn and be smart. Maybe she could find some of her creatures, as well. Maybe her new family could help her!

Yes, Luna thought happily. This will do quite nicely.

And there aren't even any Wrackspurts!

Chapter Text

Harry sat in the chair, absolutely stunned. His heart beat painfully in his chest, and he wondered if this was the start of a panic attack.

Voldemort did what to him?

“I’m sorry, Headmaster,” he said, trying his best to be polite, “but could you repeat what you just said? I think I misunderstood.”

“It is alright, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “It has been a trying day.”

“Try ‘year,’” he muttered under his breath.

“I was just saying that the reason you are able to speak Parseltongue,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring his mutterings, “is that on the night you he gave you that scar, he must have given you some of his powers. Quite by accident, I should think.”

Right. So it was as bad as he thought.

“What do you m-mean, Professor?” Harry asked, terror making his voice shake. “H-How could he have d-done that? How could he have given me some of his powers?”

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses, and Harry briefly wondered if he could read his mind. The Headmaster had that kind of look; the kind that people described as seeing into the soul of a person. Could magical people read minds? Didn’t Muggles say that the eyes were windows to the soul?

He shifted in his chair, feeling uncomfortable.

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Dumbledore sighed, leaning back into his chair. “But I do have some theories—” The Headmaster held up a hand, halting his question before he could ask it. “—none of which I am able to share at this time,” he finished.

“But you said he gave me some of his powers!” Harry protested. “He- He put a bit of himself inside me! He—”

Harry broke off mid-thought, his mind racing. Voldemort put a bit of himself inside him. For him to be able to speak Parseltongue, there surely would have to be a deep connection. Something on the level of a…

“Oh my god,” Harry whispered in horror. “Do I have a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside me?”

Now unless he was much mistaken — which he wasn’t because he wasn’t an idiot or blind — Dumbledore flinched at the question.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said, waving his hands in a placating manner. “That is… uh, not what I’m saying at all! If you would—”

But Harry shook his head and jumped to his feet.

“No!” Harry shouted. “That’s exactly what you’re saying, isn’t it? I-I have to go see Madam Pomfrey! Or go to a hospital! Do you know how to get his soul out?”

Through his panic, he watched Dumbledore visibly pale. That was so not comforting.

“Harry, please. Take a seat.”

Feeling numb, Harry sat back down.

“Before we panic any further,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, “there is something I want you to remember. It’s an ancient Muggle saying; one that, I believe, will bring much peace and enlightenment.”

“Really, Professor?” Harry asked, a bit dubiously. “What is it?”

“Hakuna Matata,” the Headmaster said, nodding sagely. “Hakuna Matata, Harry.”

Harry stared at the Headmaster in anger and shock. That is all that the great Albus Dumbledore had to say? He knew that the professor was a bit … odd, but this was just too much! With a heavy sigh, he got up and walked to the office door.

“Where are you going, Harry?”

“To the Hospital Wing,” he replied over his shoulder. “I’m going to see if Hermione is awake yet. She’ll know what to do.”

Chapter Text

She looked into the eyes of the Warrior King, the enemy of her people, and saw nothing but contempt and rage. Despite a heavily bleeding cut, one that stretched from his right shoulder to left hip, he still found the energy to spit in her face. The crow on her shoulder cawed furiously and flapped his wings.

"I demand to be healed, sorceress," the King snarled, "and be taken to … Queen Maeve. I will submit to a meeting and agree to hear her demands."

The woman raised her eyebrows. Even now — lying in the mud of a war-churned battlefield, surrounded by his dead army — he still clung to his pride. Did he seriously think that this was how it worked? Ignoring the fact that he no longer had any bargaining power, she healed her own and when she pleased.

Then again … the Queen had requested that she take care of him. Quickly coming to a decision, she reached into her pack. Pulling out a water canteen, she selected a packet of herbs. She carefully mixed them in, and then handed the container to the man.

"What is in here?" he demanded, tentatively accepting the offered drink.

"Something to stop the bleeding," she replied stiffly. "It is also acts as a cleansing potion, so that I may then begin my healing."

The King sneered and greedily drunk the cocktail. The sorceress watched dispassionately, while the crow on her shoulder shuffled anxiously. It took a minute, but the woman saw the exact moment when the mixture took effect.

The King paled and began to claw at his throat, violently wheezing and choking.

"Wh-What did y-you do to m-me, d-doxy!"

"I assume that you are thinking," the sorceress casually replied, "that I have violated the Magical Oaths — the ones you blackmailed my people into taking — and that my magic will exact the price of betrayal. I can assure you that I will not be the one dying on this field today."

The man rolled to his side, his eyes bulging slightly. He was barely able to draw in a breath.

"I did what I promised," the mage continued. "I added too much Henbane to that mixture you drank, which is the reason why you are dying right now. It is incredibly toxic, if you were not aware. But the bleeding will stop, just as I promised — for the dead cannot bleed."

She knelt down next to the defeated King, and viciously whispered to him.

"You will never know how I stole your battle plans — with magic — and that was how you were so easily defeated today," she said. "My name is Morrígan and I am the last face you will ever see. I am finally able to cleanse the problem of your arrogance and hatred of magic. Your time is over."

The Warrior King took one last, long shuddering breath. As he did so, Morrígan grinned savagely.

"Long live the Witch Queen, you bastard."

Her crow familiar cawed in victory.

Chapter Text

"Prophecies have a lot of potential meanings, Harry."

Harry snorted in disbelief. "Really, Hermione? Because this one seems pretty straightforward."

The two Gryffindors were sitting next to each other on one of the couches in an empty Common Room. The fire had gone down to just glowing embers. Harry found himself staring at the fireplace, his thoughts drifting to a week ago — Was it really just last week? — that he had desperately tried to get a hold of…

He swallowed hard, tears threatening to fall again. It was his fault that Sirius had died, and that his friends had been hurt. No matter what Dumbledore or Remus or anyone else said, he knew that it was his fault. And he would carry that guilt for the rest of his life.

"Harry?" Hermione gently prodded.

"What else do you want me to say, Hermione?" Harry asked wearily. "It's me, or Voldemort. 'And either must die at the hand of the other … for neither can live, while the other survives.' That sounds pretty obvious to me."

The was a few moments of silence, and then Hermione asked a question out of left field.

"Harry, are you happy?"

He felt himself bristle at her question. How could she—? His godfather just died! She seemed to feel his anger and quickly backtracked.

"What I mean is: Have you ever been happy?" she questioned softly. "Have you ever felt like you were alive?"

"Well, I am breathing, so…" he replied sarcastically.

"If that's all that being alive means to you," Hermione said, "then I feel sorry for you. I know that Voldemort will never leave you alone — he's attacked you almost every school year. But he's made mistakes that, I believe, he will never learn from."

"Are you talking about how the 'power that he knows not' part is love?" Harry asked dryly. He expected her to dismiss that idea, but, instead, she grew thoughtful.

"Yes," she said finally. "And also, no. I don't think that it's just about your capability to love, Harry. I think it's that your friends and family love you, too. It's an equal relationship. Yes, Voldemort will never be able to understand love and thus his followers will never truly love him. They admire him, in a sick sadistic way, but they will never truly support him."

"You love me?" Harry asked astonished.

"Yes … we all do, Harry," she said quietly. "And I know that I would follow you into hell and back."

He winced at that statement. If there was anyone willing to do that for him, it was Hermione.

"How … uh, how are you feeling?" he asked. She shrugged slightly.

"I'll feel great. The fact that he was silenced took a lot of power out of the curse. I'm fine, as long as I don't take too deep of breaths … or move quickly … or move at all," she said. He knew she was trying to lighten the situation, but that only caused him to feel guiltier.

"Hermione, I'm—" But she cut him off.

"To hell and back, Harry," she reminded him. "And besides we were talking about you."

"And how I'm not really alive?"

"Harry, when — not if, when — we win this war, people are going to expect things from you. You are going to take down Voldemort and become even more of a legend than you already are. Don't let anyone stop you from living the life you want."

"What if I want to become a Quidditch player," Harry asked.

"Then do it," she replied firmly. At his surprised look, she rolled her eyes. "Harry, go out and live the life you want, doing whatever you want. All I ask is that it's at least legal."

The two chuckled at that, before once again growing serious.

"In life or death, don't let that devil win," she said, wincing as she slowly stood up. Harry jumped to his feet and gently held her steady.

"You honestly think there's more to this prophecy?" he asked, feeling a spark of hope.

"I do," she said firmly. "Promise me you'll try and live."

"For you, Hermione, I would go to hell and back."

Chapter Text

“Harry? Uh, aren’t you forgetting something?”

She knew it was early in the morning; Harry normally didn’t get up at this hour. But since the first Task of the Triwizard was later that day, Hermione assumed nerves had kept him awake all night. Despite fatigue and anxiety, however, that didn’t explain why he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Or was talking to Ron. But one thing at a time.

How could he forget something so important?

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied nonchalantly. “Ron, what’s that?”

“Pancakes, mate! Want some?” Ron asked, as he piled some onto his own plate. Harry grinned. He patted around the table, before finding his plate and offered it to Ron.

“Harry,” she said a little more firmly, “is there any reason why you are not wearing your glasses? Don’t you think it’s important for the task later?”

“Oh, I don’t need them,” Harry said, as he tried to spoon porridge into a bowl with a fork. “I’ll be fine.”

Hermione felt her eye begin to twitch, as Ron stopped Harry from pouring orange juice into his porridge. She opened her mouth to argue when she was cut off by an irritated redhead sitting down next to her.

“Hello, Hermione. Good morning, idiots,” Ginny snapped, as she grabbed breakfast.

“What’s going on?” Hermione demanded, her patience finally running out.

“Oh, didn’t you hear, Hermione?” Ginny said scathingly. “Apparently, Cho Chang doesn’t like guys that wear glasses. Our resident Boy-Who-Is-An-Idiot over there figured that he could play the hero and beat everyone in the first task — without his glasses.”

“What?” Hermione shrieked.

“Oi, you wouldn’t understand, Hermione!” Ron snapped. “You’re just a girl!”

Instead of arguing, she pinched the bridge of her nose and heavily sighed.

“Same here, Hermione,” Ginny said sympathetically, patting her on the back.

 .oOo.

The dragon roared as Harry walked into the arena. Well, walked was too kind of a word. It was more like he stumbled and ran into every boulder — some even twice in a row. The Slytherins in the crowd were laughing and jeering.

Hermione just watched in terror, sure her best friend was going to be eaten.

Harry continued to walk around, aimlessly running into things, before he looked up and shouted to the judges — or that’s what Hermione assumed. He was facing the wrong direction — honestly, just how bad was his vision?

“So where’s the dragon?”

Hermione wasn’t the only one to smack her forehead with her hand. The judges didn’t answer him, as they all appeared to be in a state of shock. Her stupid friend was going to die. This was the end.

Harry shrugged and started walking around the arena again. The dragon tilted its head before shooting forward. It grabbed Harry by the collar — Hermione and many of the women in the stands shrieked — and placed him next to her in the nest. Harry stopped frantically waving his hands and looked on the ground next to him. Obviously able to see something shiny, he picked up the golden egg.

“I don’t believe it, folks!” Bagman shouted. “Our youngest champion has not only gained the dragon’s trust, but also recovered his egg in the shortest amount of time! Unbelievable!”

“He’s never going to wear his glasses again, is he?” Ginny questioned, appearing out of the crowd next to Hermione. “The dragon obviously just felt bad for him!”

“Maybe I could convince him to wear contacts,” Hermione muttered.

“What are contacts?” Ginny asked, looking curious.

Hermione sighed. It was going to be a long year.

Chapter Text

Blood traitor.

The words followed her around, haunting her through the corridors, in the classrooms, and when they assumed she wasn’t listening. Honestly, people shouldn’t be so surprised. Her parents had even known of her more … sympathetic attitude toward Muggleborns and Muggles. Of course, to them it was just a phase. This, though, would definitely put them over the edge. Thank Merlin that after today, she would never have to set foot in Hogwarts again. She could live on her own. Maybe she could even find an apartment in the Alley, or more ideally in Muggle London.

Because if she went home, she knew, deep in her heart, that she wouldn’t live to see the sun rise.

Despite the darkness surrounding her, both figuratively and literally, Andromeda Black walked confidently through the corridors. It was her final nightly patrol as a prefect, and she wanted to do it right. After she was done, she would find a secluded corner of the library or maybe an abandoned classroom in which she could sleep for a few hours. The thought of sleeping in the Slytherin dorm scared her more than she would ever admit out loud.

She turned the corner, entering the last stretch of her patrol, and ran into the biggest surprise of her life. It was a frazzled-looking Professor McGonagall. The professor’s hair was loosely held back, but hung down to her shoulders. She wasn’t even wearing shoes!

“Ms. Black!”

Instinctively, Andromeda straightened and looked directly into the eyes of the Deputy Headmistress. Perhaps it was a tad defensive, but it was habit. After seven years of teachers overlooking her bruises and injuries — especially after the summer holidays — she was not expecting help.

“Yes, Professor?” she asked, her tone borderline icy. “How may I help you?”

“Follow me, please. Immediately.”

Confused and trying not to show it, Andromeda followed the professor down the hallway and through side corridors — ones that even she didn’t know. Minutes passed and they eventually reached their destination. Eyebrows raised, she looked questioningly at Professor McGonagall.

The Deputy Headmistress simply opened the door and gestured Andromeda into her office.

It was uncomfortable: sitting across from a woman who had been in her life for seven years, but had also been so distant. Andromeda settled into a chair, as Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk. What she said next, surprised Andromeda even more.

“I am so glad I found you.”

“Professor?” Andromeda asked, completely thrown off balance. Out of everything she had been expecting — being blamed for something just because she was a Slytherin, or … no, that was it really — this was definitely not that.

“I hear you’re are going to train as a Healer at Saint Mungo’s, after graduation,” Professor McGonagall said, while waving her wand. Two cups and a pot of tea floated over to her desk. The Deputy Headmistress began pouring tea into the cups; Andromeda noticed her hands shaking.

“Yes,” she replied bluntly, “but I hardly think you ran through Hogwarts, in the dark and without shoes, to talk about my career plans.”

Professor McGonagall sighed. She reached into her desk and pulled a box out, opened it, and offered it to Andromeda.

“Have a biscuit, Ms. Black.”

She was going to protest — maybe even walk out — but something in the older woman’s tone kept her from leaving or refusing. Silently, she accepted the offer and took a teacup.

“There was a plot tonight, Ms. Black,” Professor McGonagall said heavily, “to…” She trailed off, tears in her eyes.

“Let’s not be vague, Professor,” she responded, surprisingly calm. “No point in adding fluff; just tell me. Was it a plot to kill me?”

“Yes.”

The room grew icy, but Andromeda’s resolve grew stronger. She asked the next logical question.

“Was it my sisters? The ones who planned it?”

Silence, and then…

“Yes.”

And then she felt herself break. Magic crackled around her. She wanted to lash out and destroy something. How dare they! How dare they! They would kill her — their older sister. The one who told them bedtime stories; held them when they were sad.

How dare they!

She suddenly felt a hand on her arm. Andromeda looked up, startled to find tears in her eyes. Professor McGonagall’s eyes were not dry either.

“All we did was kiss,” Andromeda whispered. “Why does it matter who I love?”

At that proclamation, McGonagall smiled.

“I am truly sorry, Ms. Black,” she said softly, “for letting you down all these years. You are truly the strongest and brightest witch I have ever had the pleasure to meet. If you ever need anything — you or Ted — my door is always open.”

“Can I stay here tonight?”

The question, desperately asked, just spilled out of her mouth. But for first time in seven years, she was met with hope.

“Yes, Ms. Black. Of course, you can.”

Chapter Text

Alecto watched as her older brother was doted on, praised by her parents for something that had originally been her idea.

It didn’t matter too much to her, though. He had recently graduated from Hogwarts, and she was projected to do the same next spring; they were both adults in her mind. It didn’t really matter what their parents thought. Amycus could show off his Dark Mark and new devotion to the Dark Lord, while she would continue with her plans. Instead of leaving on the Hogwarts Express next month, she would run away and join the Dark Lord, too.

After all, the most important things to the Dark Lord are not taught in Hogwarts, she thought with a sneer.

Yes, she already knew what would please him — and knew how to do it quite effectively, too.

“Good man, son,” their father said gruffly, clapping a hand on Amycus’ shoulder. “You’ve done well.”

Alecto felt like she wanted to throw up — not because of the praise, but due to her brother. Amycus’ eyes had lit up at the praise from the rigid old man. The compliment and non-violent physical touch were both high praise coming from the man, but her brother had just set a new standard for himself. A standard which she knew he might not be able to reach. He would constantly have to work harder, be much crueler and more ruthless, if he wanted their father to look at him like that again.

She would enjoy watching him fail.

“Congratulations, Amycus,” the mother said with a smile. “We are so proud of you. Right, Alecto?”

“Yeah, congrats,” she said offhandedly. Their parents frowned at her tone, but did not reprimand her.

She would have hardly cared if they had.

.oOo. 

It was later that night when Alecto slipped down the corridor like a shadow and arrived at Amycus’ room. She undid the spells on the door — Really, brother? she thought harshly. Standard locking spells? You’ll have to do much better in the future — and snuck inside the room. Closing the door behind her, she quickly cast silencing charms around the room. Turning, she was met with a surprise.

Her brother was standing in the middle of the room, apparently waiting for her.

“You will join the Dark Lord once you graduate,” he said without preamble. “It is his wish that we become a team. I am to get you ready for initiation.”

Alecto felt her heart soar, then abruptly crash with her brother’s second sentence. A team? With her brother? Of all people, the Dark Lord wanted them to work together. She was so disappointed with that information that she had almost missed his last statement.

“You’re to prepare me for initiation?” She sneered when her brother glared at her tone. “I know everything I need. And anyway, I hate you.”

“Trust me,” he replied. “There’s no love lost. And you think you are ready right now? Prove it.”

“Expelliarmus!”

She shouted the spell, before her brother could block it. Alecto plucked his wand out of the air, as it sailed toward her.

“You think that’s good enough, baby sister? That’s child’s play!”

Alecto grinned savagely at the boy standing across from her. She knew what would please the Dark Lord — and she could already do it quite well. Raising her wand again, she decided to prove it.

“Crucio!”

(His screams could not breach her silencing charms.)

Chapter Text

Magic was real, and her already terrible day just went from bad to worse.

After her rushed escape across the barren hills of the Highlands early that morning, her silk dress, as well as her emotions, were in tatters. She had not stopped running all day, her uncontrolled magic violently transporting her further and further into the wilds. The sun had just started setting when she had barely managed to restrain the power inside her. All she had wanted at that point was to find a safe place to spend the night; a safe place to spend the night alone.

Fate had provided her a sanctuary. A castle — that was honestly more ruin than welcoming home — had appeared on the horizon. She had wearily fought the beating magic that was trying to escape her, and had begun the trek to the structure.

But her luck had apparently long since run out. She currently found herself facing down the dangerous glow of a lethal wand tip. The wand pressed against her heart, forcing her to take one step back, then two; she felt herself become backed into a corner. The crumbling stone sharply pushed into her back.

She held her head high and glared at the dark-haired young man, who had dared threaten her.

Rowena Ravenclaw bowed to no one.

“What are you doing in my castle?” he snarled. When she did not answer, the wand glowed a brighter green. “I said: What are you doing in my castle?”

“Nothing,” Rowena snapped back. She was tired and hungry; she had lost what little patience she had long ago. “And I will gladly leave! I would rather take my chances in the cold and with wildlife, than deal with your poor attitude.”

The man narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, when he was cut off by the sound of running footsteps. Seconds later, a young man — taller than both of them and with flaming red hair — burst into the corridor. He held a gleaming sound in his hands. A woman, perhaps a year younger than Rowena’s own fifteen years of age, appeared off to the side.

“Salazar!” the younger woman gasped. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to take care of this nosy Muggle,” he replied waspishly. The man with the sword moved to stand behind Salazar, and Rowena felt something inside her snap.

Magic brutally lashed out. Salazar’s wand flew out of his hand, his eyes widened in shock, and the two men were thrown back into the opposite wall. A second pulse of magic pushed them up the stone, until they were suspended a few feet off the ground.

There was shocked silence, and then the red-haired man started snickering.

“Godric, I fail to see how this is humorous,” Salazar muttered petulantly. The other man just laughed harder.

“A new witch got the drop on you!” he chuckled. “And it looks like she might be more powerful than you, too!”

“No one is more powerful than me!” Salazar retorted, his eyes narrowed.

“Fine,” Rowena interrupted. “Then get yourself down. I simply need a place to sleep. This is the second time someone has tried to kill me today, and I am tired.”

And with that, she turned and left the corridor. She heard footsteps behind her, as the other woman ran up.

“My name is Helga,” she said warmly. “I can show you a place to sleep. Just tell me one thing: Why leave them up there?”

“I cannot get them down,” Rowena admitted to her new friend. “I do not know how. Yet.”