Enchanting Melodies (HP SI)

[athassprkr]

Chapter 342: The Morning That Follows

I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

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1 November 1995, Hogwarts (Earth 2)

He didn't have time to process the magnitude of Harrold's message—not fully. Save Dumbledore or not. The more logical choice was to save the man, and yet something niggled in his head. Of course, that was when Dumbledore sent a Patronus to everyone to gather for an order meeting.

Sirius spent a bit more time than he expected in the Order meeting room, waiting for the other members to arrive. He barely noticed the passage of time, as he pondered on his choice. The difficult part was over. Voldemort was dead and Harrold had left. He was strangely sad about the latter. He had grown to love the young man, his godson's counterpart. There was a cleverness to him, a sense of assuredness that reminded him strangely of his own grandfather Arcturus.

Merlin's beard, he hadn't thought about the man for years. He had died a few months after Sirius ran away from home, right after his wife perished after years of fighting dragon pox. He wasn't even allowed to come to the funeral, even if he wasn't particularly close to the man. His mother feared him and tried to limit their contact. But from the few days he got to experience with the man, he was scary and pretty expectant of his descendants. He was probably the only Black he knew who had a proper sense of humour.

Harrold reminded Sirius of the man. He was terrifyingly intelligent, had everything planned to every minute detail, and had a dry sense of humour that he only showed Sirius after they got comfortable with each other. Harrold played everyone like a fiddle, including bloody Voldemort himself, and that alone made him worth the friendship they built. He kept his promise; Harry was safe now. Voldemort and all his most powerful death eaters were dead. It was a massacre on a scale that Sirius had never seen before, an entire faction wiped out on a single night.

And yet, something still niggled in his mind. Why didn't Harrold just heal Dumbledore? If this really was an innocent mistake, then he would have just removed the curse himself. And if Dumbledore happened to be some hidden monster, then he wouldn't have given him the option to even save him. In the months since they met, Sirius had gotten a good picture of Harry. The young man would have killed Dumbledore if he was a threat, without even caring about anyone's opinion. That was how Harrold was.

So, why give him the option? Sure, Harrold might have been biased when it came to Dumbledore, but there had to be another way. At least, he didn't let Harry choose. That would have made Sirius mad; the boy had just gone through enough, especially sitting there and waiting for a killing curse to hit him.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn't notice Moony shake him slightly, "Oh, hey, Moony!"

Sirius turned and saw that almost everyone was there and had taken a seat. They were only waiting for Dumbledore to arrive.

The werewolf tilted his head with a worried expression on his face, "Are you alright, Sirius? I don't think I've ever seen you so focused. Ever."

"Very funny. It's been a while, mate. I have some butterbeer in the fridge if you want to hang out later. It's the good stuff. With the kids in Hogwarts, Molly finally stopped yelling at me whenever I put some alcohol in there."

Remus snorted at that, "You did have it coming. Seriously, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that it was my fridge and that maybe the kids deserved a couple of nights of fun."

"Well, you certainly made an impression. I didn't know Molly could turn that red without some kind of magic. So, why do you think Dumbledore called us here?"

Sirius shrugged, "If I had to guess, it would be the fact that Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters were found dead in Azkaban."

Lupin choked, "What?"

"I know. I had the same reaction this morning," Sirius replied while tossing him an issue of the Daily Prophet.

He watched, suppressing the urge to burst into laughter, as Remus' eyes got wider and wider the more, he read the article, until he mumbled, "Greyback's dead."

"Yeah, so are most of his captains and Voldemort's entire inner circle. And well, Voldemort too."

That seemed to be the exact time Dumbledore showed up. He entered the room with an intense look on his face, and sat down, "Good morning, everyone."

The murmurs in the room died down instantly as Dumbledore raised a hand. "Thank you all for coming," he began, his voice carrying a weight that drew everyone's attention. "We are here to discuss the article in today's Daily Prophet. As many of you have read, last night, there was a disturbance in Azkaban."

"Is it true, then?" Kingsley asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "Did... Voldemort really die?"

Dumbledore sighed and folded his hands on the table. "Let me explain. Late last night, a surge of magic from Azkaban alerted both the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When they arrived, they found the prison in chaos. The Dementors had vanished without a trace, leaving the place... eerily empty."

Gasps rippled through the room, but Dumbledore pressed on. "More concerning, the maximum-security wing—the one housing the highest-ranking Death Eaters—was destroyed, almost as if by Fiendfyre. They found the remains of many Death Eaters, some were inmates, but many were people who were found innocent under the Imperius defence after the first war."

"They wanted to break out the rest of his inner circle?" Moody growled, his magical eye spinning wildly.

"It would make sense," Dumbledore replied gravely. "However, this entire situation makes me feel nervous. The DMLE is still working on identifying every victim and will continue investigating the scene. Even the Department of Mysteries have agreed to lend their hands, but they're having trouble using their time-turners to get past the magical surge. However, this did confirm that whatever that magical surge was, it happened after the massacre occurred."

"And... Voldemort?" Tonks asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Dumbledore nodded. "The body of a man bearing a striking resemblance to Lord Voldemort was found impaled and chained on top of the fortress. The DMLE is running every test they can, and so far, the bodies, including his, appear real—at least as far as their scans can tell."

"Is he really dead?" Bill Weasley asked, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Could it be over?"

Dumbledore's expression darkened. "I fear it is not," he said slowly. "Though this appears to be Voldemort's body, we must remember that the prophecy foretold that only Harry could defeat him. That has not yet happened, and until it does, we cannot assume that Voldemort is truly gone."

Sirius, leaning forward, snapped, "So you're saying he might still be out there? Do you have any proof beyond a prophecy, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore met his gaze. "The prophecy is not to be taken lightly, Sirius. It has guided us through these dark times. Until Harry has fulfilled his role, fate will not be so easily thwarted."

"Then he's not dead," Remus said quietly. "No matter what the Prophetsays."

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, his eyes sweeping across the room. "It is impossible to stop fate, especially when prophecies are involved. We must prepare for what comes next."

Sirius couldn't believe it. Was Dumbledore really not going to address this? "You're joking, right? Voldemort's body was found dead by everyone and you're not even considering the fact that he might be dead."

"I hope he is dead, my boy," Dumbledore replied, "But I don't find it likely that luck was so much on our side. We already got extremely lucky fourteen years ago, when his curse rebounded on him. I do not think we can afford to rely on luck once more."

Everyone agreed and Sirius was getting frustrated. It might be because he knew for a fact that Voldemort was dead, that they were free of the monster forever. It might be because he knew how the dark lord cheated death and knew that his Horcruxes were destroyed. But this entire meeting was rubbing him the wrong way. He was going to blow up at him, only for the unexpected to happen.

However, of all the people who spoke up for him, Snivellius wouldn't have made the list in a thousand years. However, the potion master of all people spoke up, "The dark mark is gone. It was burned off yesterday, in the middle of the night. I knew that there was a raid last night and I was told that I was to be called in afterwards with dozens of healing and nutrition potions ready, yet I was not summoned. The Dark Lord might have perished. Even after Godric's Hollows, the mark had simply faded but was not fully gone. Not, like it is now. As much as I hate to admit it, Black might have a point. The Dark Lord might be dead."

Dumbledore gave the man a dirty look, "I have had the misfortune of assuming that Lord Voldemort made mistakes in the past and I have paid heavy prices for those assumptions. This could very easily be a trap, a way for Voldemort to get us to lower our guard, making us think that he is dead, that his followers are gone, only to take us all out at once. This might be a trap, not for the ministry, but for us, for the Order of the Phoenix. Another proof of this is the disappearance of Harrold Smith."

Wait what? Almost all order members were looking around in confusion, but a few had incredulous looks on their faces, "Harry's friend in school?"

"Yes, a new student. He also happened to be a very powerful seer. He was hoping to run away from the conflict that he predicted would start in June, by moving to France. He was an extremely hesitant young man, but I was able to get him to open up about a few of his prophecies, which greatly aided me when it came to anticipating Voldemort's movements. However, yesterday was the last time the boy was seen by his classmates and my attempts to find him were very unsuccessful. This brings us to two possibilities, either the boy ran away, knowing that something bad was coming, or he was taken by someone who knew of his abilities and was powerful enough and knowledgeable enough to kidnap him from Hogwarts itself. There is no reason for him to give up on his OWLS, which he needed to be accepted as a citizen in magical France."

It was a very nicely constructed argument. It was completely wrong but pretty logical. Harrold was a seer, but getting his OWLS was just his pretence to be in Hogwarts to make sure that everything went according to plan. He had no plans on actually staying until the end of the year, and that alone brought down Dumbledore's arguments in seconds.

He could see everyone slowly starting to be convinced.

Unfortunately for Dumbledore, Sirius wasn't having it, "You're telling us that because some teenager disappeared, that Voldemort is still alive. We're talking about a teenager. They're not exactly the most stable bunch. I ran away from home when I was around his age and Voldemort attacked Diagon Alley right after. That doesn't mean I was some kind of seer. You need to accept that we might just be that lucky, Albus. Someone might have killed Voldemort, or he got himself killed in some kind of ritual."

"Voldemort is still alive," Dumbledore retorted loudly, his magic slowly suffocating the room, "He's still out there and I will refuse to even entertain the possibility of him dying until I have personally seen Harry Potter slay him himself."

"You're serious about that, aren't you?" Sirius asked, feeling his breath leave him at the realization.

"The prophecy is very clear. My main purpose is to prepare young Harry for that confrontation and perhaps even weaken Voldemort beforehand. Harry Potter must strike the final blow. Fate has mandated so."

Sirius nodded and the magical pressure lessened, and the rest of the meeting was barely more than a haze. He understood now why Harrold left it up to him. Harry's safety was his responsibility. Sirius had promised James and Lily that he would protect him. He would have fought Voldemort to save him and sacrificed his life for him. But that was easy, that was what he expected. He never thought that he would ever need to betray the trust of a man he genuinely respected to make sure that his godson was safe.

He couldn't let Dumbledore keep pushing Harry to become the martyr he was building him up to be. He couldn't let the man influence him, making his life revolve around Voldemort once more, especially since the dark lord was dead. As long as Dumbledore lived, he would meddle in Harry's life, and push him to become the saviour he wanted him to be.

After the meeting was over, Sirius took out the piece of parchment that held the counter curse to the one Dumbledore was suffering from and burned it with a flick of his wand.

He would protect Harry from everyone, light and dark alike. It was his duty as his godfather.

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AN: I know that some of you are excited to get back to Harry, and I was planning to next chapter. However, this one kinda got away from me a bit. I promise the next chapter will be the final epilogue for this arc (which will be after a time skip) and we'll go back to the EM Harry. Anyway, I sort of wanted to portray Dumbledore as obsessive over the prophecy and Sirius realizing that he'll never leave his godson alone. I hope I pulled it off and that the chapter came out like I wanted it to. I was really tempted to have Sirius just try to tell Dumbledore about EM Harry, to put it in his face, but I thought that this was more satisfying, a bit of a sign that Sirius grew a bit and isn't as reckless as he used to be. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

 

[Arimai]

There we are. There's the asshat Dumbledore from Canon too stupid to live. Albus just killed himself with his incessant need for total control.

 

[DaGeek247]

AN: I know that some of you are excited to get back to Harry, and I was planning to next chapter. However, this one kinda got away from me a bit. I promise the next chapter will be the final epilogue for this arc (which will be after a time skip) and we'll go back to the EM Harry. Anyway, I sort of wanted to portray Dumbledore as obsessive over the prophecy and Sirius realizing that he'll never leave his godson alone. I hope I pulled it off and that the chapter came out like I wanted it to. I was really tempted to have Sirius just try to tell Dumbledore about EM Harry, to put it in his face, but I thought that this was more satisfying, a bit of a sign that Sirius grew a bit and isn't as reckless as he used to be. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, this whole chapter was needed, and very well done. Dumbledore needed to prove his obsession to sirius, and sirius needed to choose harry over him. It's a great way to show the character growth (and stagnation) before the epilogue happens.

 

[Inv1ctus6243]

I think you should still write a chapter where Sirius tells-all to Dumbledore about EM Harry. Just at Dumbledore's deathbed. Clear the air, and reveal that there was a cure for Dumbledore, but Sirius knew Dumbledore would never leave local Harry alone. Sirius's character always struck me as someone willing to give one last FU to others.

Particularly if Dumbledore still won't do anything to prove Sirius innocent.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 343: An Interesting Life

I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

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5 May 1997, Hogwarts (Earth 2)

Harry watched as the sun set before his eyes. He was at the exact place where he and Sirius hung out the morning after Voldemort died. He liked to sit there and remember that for as much as life could suck sometimes, it could have easily been worse. If Harry hadn't trusted a boy he had just met, then Voldemort could have been out there, alive, threatening people, killing innocents, and going after Harry again and again, until one of them was dead.

It was funny how even almost two years afterwards, no one believed that the man who perished on top of Azkaban was actually Lord Voldemort, other than the Order of the Phoenix and a few people who were well-connected to Death Eaters, that is. But with most of the high-ranking death eaters dying in the Azkaban massacre, the remaining Death Eaters didn't have anyone to bail them out.

Funnily enough, Harrold's disappearance was relatively unnoticed in the entire thing. The only ones who seemed to care were Hogwarts' staff and Dumbledore. They kept investigating the boy's disappearance for months and Sirius even told him that he had Order members hunting down any leads that could help them find him. Harry didn't know why they cared more about his counterpart than Voldemort and his Death Eaters dying, but he stopped really listening to the Order after the Azkaban massacre.

Still, there was something freeing about Voldemort finally being dead. It was hard to put it into words, but it felt like a weight had come off his shoulders. Ever since his first year, when he realized that the man who had made him an orphan was still alive and would still hunt him down, he knew deep down that he would be in danger until either of them died. It was something that he knew in his bones and when he woke up and saw Voldemort's corpse on top of Azkaban, it was at this moment that he knew he was free, that no one would hunt him down.

It was strange to be grateful to another version of himself. He wished he knew properly from the beginning so that they could compare their lives. For example, Harry wanted to know why the other boy didn't have a scar on his forehead, or how he was so good at magic. He might be a bit envious about that. The boy had killed a Dark Lord, a man that fought Dumbledore to a standstill, at his age. That sort of power was just inconceivable. Not that people accepted the fact that Voldemort was back in the first place. But Harry didn't care. After all, nothing could ever compare to the feeling of freedom he felt whenever he thought about his enemy's demise.

Even though everyone agreed that the body didn't belong to Lord Voldemort, Fudge was still removed from office. It was very simple, even if Voldemort hadn't come back, Cedric Diggory had died and they should have investigated Harry's claim, if only to be thorough. The death of Hogwarts' champion was attributed to the fake Voldemort and Fudge, in his paranoia, had allowed the boy's murderer to go unchecked and cause the death of dozens of upstanding citizens.

Apparently, the Death Eaters who died were considered victims of the Voldemort copycat, and they were under the Imperius Curse and were ordered to attack Azkaban. They broke free of the man's control and tried to rebel. They fought valiantly and were able to kill him, but they all perished. The man was also responsible for banishing the Dementors using some supposed dark magic. That was the story, anyway. Harry still burst into laughter whenever he thought about it. The sheer incredulity he felt at the thought of any of those cowards, who kneeled before Voldemort, kissing his robes, actively defying him, was just so outlandish.

Either way, there was a lot of political tension since many of the traditionalist families were ended, or significantly culled in the aftermath of the attack. He still felt bad when he remembered seeing Draco Malfoy breaking down when he got a letter from his mother telling him about his father's fate. The ponce stopped bothering him afterwards, thankfully. Harry never considered how killing Death Eaters would impact their families.

Anyway, Amelia Bones ended up being voted in as minister, and she quickly rounded up whatever remnants of Death Eaters, the ones that were too low ranked to participate in Azkaban's raid yet still held on to the rhetoric and tried attacking people. It seemed like a golden age in Britain was upon them, with a competent minister. Dumbledore's death, however, shocked the world. It was a few months after the Azkaban massacre, and it came out of nowhere.

The cause of death was attributed to a very old and dark Egyptian curse, one that couldn't be countered. It seemed like Dumbledore was able to resist it, but eventually succumbed to it. Harry did remember seeing the man's hand turned to barely more than bones with blackened skin on it. He had asked the headmaster about it, only for him to touch this ugly ring with a weird black stone and say something about him foolishly letting his guard down, changing the subject right after.

To be honest, the headmaster kept avoiding Harry until around a month before his death, when he saw him around once a week, asking if his scar hurt and if he had dreams of Voldemort. Harry had confusingly told him that Voldemort was dead, but the man remained resolute in his convictions and told Harry to always keep his guard up.

Anyway, the man's funeral was an international affair. Everyone from all over Europe came to see the man off, having made more than a few acquaintances over time. People spoke of him, of his bravery against Voldemort and power against Grindelwald. No one spoke of the sad regretful old man that Harry could see beneath the eccentric grandfather façade. No one really cared about the headmaster's death, not him as a person, but as the second coming of Merlin. Still, why the man left him a golden snitch of all things in his will, Harry had no idea. He still played with it sometimes whenever he was bored. The headmaster had also asked him to pick up a prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, but when he went there, he was told that the prophecy orb had mysteriously disappeared. He didn't really give it any thought after that. He never really liked divination all that much.

The only good thing was that Snape disappeared after the funeral, and Professor Slughorn returned to teaching out of respect. The man was a bit too interested in Harry's fame, but he was a good teacher and that was more than enough for him.

A few weeks after, Sirius surprised the world by revealing Peter Pettigrew's survival and after months of expensive court proceedings, he was a free man, and he immediately adopted Harry. The decision was met with some resistance from both the ministry and the Order who wished to follow Dumbledore's wish of leaving him in Privet Drive, but Sirius was an adult, and he was Harry's godfather. That was the start of a split within the Order. Most had given up after months of inactivity and became convinced that Voldemort was either dead or had given up. There was no reason to up-end their lives if there wasn't going to be a threat, after all. A few decided to follow Moody and kept running useless missions, hoping to find a trace they could follow. In two years, they found nothing.

It was also when Harry started distancing himself from the order. There was no reason to stay with his hateful relatives if there was nothing to protect himself from. And Harry did remember Harrold saying that he reduced its duration for a year, so it wouldn't have been working anyway.

That decision alone was the reason for many of the fights he had with Ron and Hermione, who wanted him to follow Dumbledore's orders, even when the man was dead, and that also ended up with a lot of visits beneath the shade of the tree by the Black Lake. He tended to come here whenever he got frustrated because as he imagined the future that could have been, he couldn't help but feel grateful for what he had. Which brought him to the subject of his current ire, Ron Weasley.

It had to do with Quidditch of all things. Harry had been the captain of the team since Angelina retired, but he decided to step down from the team entirely for his last year to focus on becoming an Auror. Bones' new requirements were pretty strict, and he would need to dedicate a lot of time to get the scores he needed. Ron hadn't liked that, but what drove him absolutely mental was the fact that he recommended Ginny as captain over him.

The redhead had his sights on becoming a professional Quidditch player, but honestly, while Ron was good for a school game, he wasn't exactly professional material. Ginny was good, scarily good, and it would bring more attention to her when the scouts came during the school matches. It was just more practical, but Ron saw it as a betrayal. Hermione didn't want to get between them and just avoided the matter entirely.

It was just so stupid. Ron could apply himself a bit and get a proper career. Quidditch was a short-term career, and it only paid off if you joined the bigger teams, something that was unlikely to happen.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, "Something on your mind, Potter?"

Harry instinctively raised his wand before relaxing at the familiar voice. "Nothing much, Greengrass. Ron's just being a prat."

"So, business as usual, then," Daphne snorted.

He hadn't paid much attention to Daphne Greengrass before. One of his biggest regrets was how closed off he'd been during his years at Hogwarts, especially toward the Slytherins. Malfoy was a bit of a prat when they were younger—though he'd mellowed after his father's death—but the others? They were just regular witches and wizards, albeit from wealthier families.

The only notable thing he remembered about the girl standing before him was the gossip about Malfoy asking her out and getting rejected. There were rumours of her brawling with Parkinson afterwards, but he wasn't sure how true they were. Still, Harry could see why Draco had been interested—Daphne was striking, with her smooth skin, wavy blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes.

Feeling awkward around pretty girls, as usual, Harry stammered, "So, uh, what brings you here?"

"Not much. I come here to think. Looks like we both had the same idea."

"Care to share what's on your mind?" Harry asked, trying to shift the focus away from his awkwardness.

"Only if you go first," she replied with a teasing smile.

Harry sighed. "Nothing too dramatic. Ron's trying to go pro in Quidditch, and I gave up my spot as captain to focus on Auror training. I recommended Ginny for the job instead of him."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you're discouraging him from the Quidditch dream. Makes sense. Even if he gets picked, he'd probably end up with a short career on a low-ranking team, while Ginny's got real potential. That's… actually quite cunning of you. I'm impressed."

Harry smirked. "Hey, don't sound so surprised. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, you know. I can be cunning when I need to be."

That seemed to catch her off guard. "Seriously? You?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Back then, I didn't know much about the houses, except that no one seemed to like Slytherin and Malfoy was in it. So I asked the Hat to put me anywhere but there."

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't really told anyone about that before. It wasn't a secret, but it wasn't something he went out of his way to share either. It felt strange, how easily he could talk to Daphne, someone he barely knew.

"Your turn," he said, turning the conversation back to her.

Daphne hesitated for a moment before speaking. "My parents want me to join the family business. We're in trading, and my father expects me to take over one of the branches in France. But… I want to be a healer. I can't do both—they're both too demanding."

"That's rough," Harry said sympathetically. "How badly do you want to be a healer?"

She met his gaze with determination. "More than anything."

"Then go for it," Harry said firmly. "If you follow your parents' path, you'll always wonder what could've been. What you could've become. The family business will still be there if you ever want to come back to it. But being a healer… that's something you'll regret not chasing."

Daphne gave him a soft smile. "Thanks, Potter. I needed to hear that. You're not half-bad, you know."

Harry grinned. "Neither are you, Greengrass."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Daphne broke it with a question. "I have to ask… was the Dark Lord really back, like you said?"

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "He was."

"And he's… dead now? For good?"

Harry nodded. "He was the body they found chained up after the Azkaban Massacre. No impostors. He's dead. And he's not coming back."

Daphne looked thoughtful for a moment. "What really happened? In the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, I mean."

Harry exhaled slowly. "You know, after I told Dumbledore that night, I never really talked about it. Not properly. Only Ron and Hermione know the full story."

Daphne's smile turned playful. "Are you going to tell me, then?"

"Maybe… over dinner," Harry said, surprising even himself. "There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, after all."

For a split second, Daphne looked taken aback, but then she smiled widely. "Are you asking me out, Potter?"

"Why yes, I am, Miss Greengrass."

"A story and dinner," she mused, her tone light. "That sounds like a good deal. I'll see you on Sunday, Potter."

With that, she stood up and walked away, leaving Harry sitting there with a dumbfounded grin. He murmured to himself, "I can't believe I just did that."

As he sat there, the crisp breeze tugging at his hair, Harry felt a strange sense of relief. The weight he usually carried—of past burdens, of responsibilities, of losses—felt a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't just "the Chosen One" or "the Boy Who Lived." He was just… Harry, a boy who had just asked out a pretty girl. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

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AN: I put in this scene because I saw it recommended in your comments and I thought it would be hilarious

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Saul Croaker had been the head of the Department of Mysteries for nearly a decade, and it often felt like he was trying to herd a flock of magical chickens—except these chickens had the potential to accidentally unravel reality and cause untold chaos. That was the price of gathering the most inquisitive witches and wizards in Britain and keeping them from rocking the proverbial boat too much. Surprisingly, it worked. Ever since the department's founding, there had been fewer Dark Lord uprisings, and even when one did crop up, it didn't come with a horde of researchers dabbling in forbidden magic.

The Azkaban Massacre, however, had been one of the department's most infamous unsolved mysteries. Nearly half the department had transferred to the Time Room in the aftermath, obsessively working to create something that could bypass the space-time anomaly that had occurred there. Croaker had his doubts. To him, it seemed like a lost cause, but it kept them busy—and most importantly, kept them from accidentally destroying the world.

It had been over two years since the massacre, and they were no closer to answers. Until today.

One of the Unspeakables assigned to the Time Room entered Croaker's office, his face pale but excited. "Sir, we've found something."

Croaker suppressed a groan. "What is it this time?"

"We found a way to bypass the anomaly—by observing a mirror plane we anchored with time sand. It's still hazy, and there's some residual interference from the anomaly, but… we can finally project what happened during the Azkaban Massacre."

Croaker raised an eyebrow, doing his best to mask his surprise. He never expected they'd get anywhere, not with this mess—much like the hopeless mystery of the Veil Room. But curiosity gnawed at him. "You've watched it?"

The Unspeakable shook his head. "Not yet. We're waiting for your go-ahead."

Croaker stood, heart beating a little faster. "Right. Let's see this."

An hour later, half the department gathered in the ritual chamber, a room made entirely of time sand. The sand was consumed within seconds, swirling in the air like mist, before coalescing into a hazy projection of Azkaban. Croaker watched, feeling the tension thicken in the room as the image sharpened.

There he was—Lord Voldemort, striding through the prison with his followers, freeing Bellatrix Lestrange. Then it happened. A figure appeared, stepping into the scene with a casual, terrifying grace.

Death itself.

Croaker's stomach twisted as he watched the figure methodically slaughter every person in its path with a detached efficiency that made his skin crawl. The carnage was too smooth, too effortless until only Voldemort remained.

What came next defied everything Croaker thought he knew. Voldemort cast a Killing Curse—only for the spell to stop mid-air, as though frozen in time and it was somehow absorbed which also knocked Voldemort unconscious. And then, with almost disturbing ease, the figure chained the Dark Lord on the roof of Azkaban like a puppet. What followed was a ritual so foreign, so eldritch, that Croaker's mind struggled to grasp its intricacies. A spear of energy materialized, piercing through Voldemort, and snuffing out his life in a single, final blow.

The moment the projection ended, every Unspeakable in the room was violently thrown back, the magic radiating from the scene too much for even the most seasoned of them to bear.

Croaker staggered to his feet, his mind spinning. He had never seen magic like that—something beyond comprehension, beyond reality itself. And then the realization hit him like a sledgehammer: the figure's face.

It was Harry Potter's face.

One of his subordinates, pale and trembling but at least not vomiting, approached him shakily. "What… what do we do now, sir?"

Croaker's voice felt heavy in his throat as he responded, "We have no choice. We make it our mission to ensure that this… creature is never awakened again. Harry Potter must be protected at all costs. We must ensure he lives a long and peaceful life."

The Unspeakables nodded, though their expressions were filled with dread. They understood the gravity of the situation. But Croaker wasn't fooled. He knew his team. In a few weeks, they'd be back to creating abominations, poking at the very edges of existence, forgetting the lesson they'd just witnessed.

He sighed inwardly. Really, being the head of the Department of Mysteries was a curse in itself. No wonder the last director had gone mad.

---

AN: So, this is it. The end of the arc. I've enjoyed writing it immensely, to be honest, and it ended up being a bit longer than I expected. I hope you liked this ending and I'm really looking forward to getting back to the main storyline now. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

 

[Neko-tama]

That last scene was hilarious

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 344: The Land Between

I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

---

Unknown place, Unknown Time

With a final surge, Harry was pulled through the shimmering rift, vanishing into the swirling storm of colours beyond, leaving behind a prison devoid of dementors, the chained corpse of a Dark Lord impaled in the heart with a black spear, and corpses all over the maximum-security wing.

It was impossible to describe his journey home. Reality itself was unravelling around Harry, slipping through his grasp as he struggled to make sense of the chaos. He had a plan—though calling it a plan was a stretch. Really, it was a gamble. He was using his own magical signature as an anchor, trying to trace it back to its origin. But it was guesswork at best. If he was being honest, he didn't fully understand the bizarre magical event that had hurled him into another universe in the first place, not after just a few months of work. Oh, he was going to study it mercilessly when he got home if he got home. As for now, he was doing his best to replicate the event to guide him back. It was reckless, insane even. But if the only other choice is a slow and painful death in another universe, then it was the best he could do.

The universe twisted around him, bending in ways that defied logic like the very fabric of space was being torn apart. Blinding colours, some too intense to look at, others muted and dull, streaked past him in a disorienting blur. Shapes morphed into otherworldly forms that seemed wrong as if they shouldn't exist. It wasn't just strange; it was disturbing like his mind was rejecting everything it tried to process. He closed his eyes, deciding to let his Arcane Hearing fully guide him. It was oddly comforting that even as the laws of space and time were rendered useless in the void between worlds, his single most valuable skill, the ability to analyse the workings of magic, of the universe itself, as songs, made sense.

He followed his soul's song, trying to see anywhere it could resonate. He was using it as a magnet, as it tried to return to its source, to its home. He didn't know if he was moving. Space and Time were meaningless in this cursed place, and yet he felt the pull get closer and closer, he heard his very soul sing in a way that it hadn't had ever since he found himself in another universe.

His presence in the void was an anomaly and it showed as his protections were slowly eroded by the chaos around them. Harry gripped the Elder Wand tighter, the ancient wood scorching his palm as he used it to power through them, enhancing his own magical circuits, which burned with agony. The pain was unbearable like every nerve in his body was set ablaze. He felt like he was being torn apart from the inside, but he couldn't stop. He had to focus. Home. He clung to the thought of Daphne, of everything that had brought him this far. That was his anchor, the only thing holding him to any semblance of reality.

Then, just as he thought he would lose himself to the madness, the chaos around him began to fade. The storm of colours dulled, the lights dimming into softer, muted shades. The wild motion slowed, becoming a drifting haze, like a dream fading on the edge of waking. The strain on his body lifted, the searing pain fading into a dull numbness. The furious buzzing of the wand diminished until it was just a faint hum. Everything...quieted.

Harry finally opened his eyes and noticed that the kaleidoscope of colour had disappeared, giving way to an expanse of cold, lifeless grey. Not the comforting grey of a foggy morning, but an empty, oppressive void that stretched out endlessly in every direction. No sound, no shapes—just a bleak sea of mist and ash. It felt like the universe had simply stopped. Even time itself seemed frozen.

Harry floated there, suspended in this strange nothingness, the weight of his journey pressing down on him. As the silence dragged on, an unsettling thought crept into his mind. This wasn't home. This wasn't anywhere. No warmth, no life, no sky, no ground—just endless grey. For the first time in his life, Harry opened up his Arcane Hearing and found utter and complete silence.

He sighed, the sound oddly echoing in the stillness. "Brilliant," he muttered, glancing down at the wand in his hand. "Absolutely brilliant."

Suddenly, the ground beneath him solidified. He was no longer floating but standing on something unnaturally flat and cold. A voice echoed from the void, soft but ancient, as though worn down by centuries of time. "That you are, Peverell... that you are."

Harry whipped around, eyes darting in every direction. "Who's there? Where am I?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady.

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a low chuckle trailing behind it. "You are everywhere, and nowhere. You are at the beginning, the end, and the middle, all at once."

Harry rolled his eyes, frustration bubbling up. "Vague riddles? Really? Could you just—not?"

There was a pause, and then the voice chuckled again, this time sounding amused. "I suppose you're right. It's been an eternity since I've spoken to anyone. Sometimes I forget mortals prefer things more... straightforward. Very well. You are in the borders of your material plane, the shield that protects your realm, and I am its protector. Did you truly think that you could just come through when the Light and the Dark failed to do so for aeons?"

A figure materialized from the mist. It wore a black hood, that seemed to swallow the very little light that was in this place. It was thin, almost bony, really. The air grew colder, just a bit, and Harry felt this intuitive sixth sense, one that warned him of danger against his person. Even to his Arcane Hearing, he only heard hundreds of small whispers and a coldness that he knew no fire could ever stave.

There was only one thing he could think of that could make him feel like this, "Are you Death?"

The figure tilted its head in amusement more than anything, "Death? Did you seriously think that Death would ever come to meet with you? You're just a single soul, that belongs on a single planet, that's in a single realm of existence, that's in a single universe. You've seen a fragment of the multiverse, just a cup of water to the eternal ocean of existence and possibilities. Sure, you navigated it quite well, even if you bumbled around like a child. Still, you're pretty young to have achieved that. Hmm… Not bad for the Lord of Space and Time, I suppose. Nevertheless, Death is a primordial being, the very concept of the end given form. You're still some uppity mortal. It'll be like you trying to see a bacteria. To be fair, there were legends about the first one having actually met the entity, but that doesn't matter, not anymore."

"So, who are you then?" he asked.

The black cloak morphed away and revealed a face that made Harry's blood turn cold. He stared at a familiar face, black hair and striking green eyes that glowed with power. The resemblance was unsettling. They looked alike, almost too alike, except this man was older, his face sharper, a bit more angular, in a way.

Harry tensed, "It's not polite to wear someone else's face."

The figure raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not. This is what I looked like before I ascended to this... place. I might have had a bit more muscle on me, but brute strength means nothing in this place anyway. Still, you should be more respectful, considering I'm your ancestor."

"Ancestor?" Harry frowned. "You called me Peverell, but Ignotus had grey eyes, not green."

The man looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ignotus? Now, that's a name that I haven't heard in a while. I was around your age when I first met him, just as you are meeting me. Back then, I still thought I could escape my fate."

Harry's mind raced. "Who are you, then?"

The man's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "I was once known as Mordred Pendragon, though that name holds little meaning now. I'm simply this realm's guardian."

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Mordred? As in Arthur's son? The knight who betrayed him at Camlann?"

Mordred's face darkened. "The same. Though the tales don't tell the whole truth. The Battle of Camlann wasn't about a throne or betrayal. It was a war between Light and Dark—between Merlin and Morgana. And I was caught in the middle."

"The battle that destroyed Camelot," Harry murmured.

Mordred nodded. "It was more than that. It was a fight for the fate of the world. My mother tried to break open the prison of the World Serpent, and Merlin refused to stop her, even at Arthur's behest, too busy trying to bind the fey to his will as he prepared for what he thought was the start of Ragnarök. I worked with the Lady of the Lake to trap them both. She fought for her people's freedom, and I hoped to delay the end of times. In the end, I made a choice. I let Arthur kill me as I killed him. My victory was prophesized, you see, and yet I sacrificed it, sacrificed everything, to power the fey's ritual. I wasn't supposed to have died, you know. I was prophesized to rule over Camelot. My mother thought me to be nothing more than he pawn, to be her general in the coming war. She never expected me to defy her, and my sacrifice broke one of the greatest prophecies in history. It was enough for the Fey to seal both Champions' connection to the Light and Dark. They fey killed them in their weakened form, empowered by my sacrifice, but not before they were banished from this material plane. We sacrificed much to kill the Champions of Light and Dark, to wipe the slate clean and stave off Ragnarök. I paid the price with my very life. That should have been it, but fate… fate had other plans."

"And now you're here," Harry said, understanding dawning on him.

Mordred's gaze softened. "Now I'm here. And so are you. We share the same curse, Harry—the curse of heroes bound to Ragnarök."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "I'm no hero."

Mordred smiled knowingly. "I said the exact same thing. But destiny doesn't care for what we think we are. The path you're on... it's the same as mine. You're following in my footsteps, whether you like it or not."

Harry protested, "And how is that?"

"You're fighting the Champions of Light and Dark as I did. You hold the Peverell crest as I did, you gathered most of the Deathly Hallows, as I did, as Ignotus Peverell did, as his predecessor did. We were all given a choice. We were to bow to fate's wishes, to let Ragnarök occur, purging most of humanity. We all refused, and we all ended up here, in this place, protecting the barrier the gods created against the Light and Dark, waiting for the next hero of Ragnarök to take our place, or the cycle to end."

"I refuse," Harry replied with a dry tone.

"Oh, my dear. Fate doesn't take no for an answer, especially since you killed the World Serpent. Ragnarök will happen. The prophecy is now in effect. My predecessors as I just circumvented it, made sure it didn't begin. For you to escape it, you'll need to break it, and I don't think there's anything in the material world that can do that. I don't think your planet will survive from the backlash alone either."

Harry prepared to say anything, only for a raspy voice to speak up from all around him,

"When the serpent falls and silence reigns,
A war of shadows and light shall start again.
The sky to fire, the world to rend,
A legacy reborn as the gods descend.

From death's embrace and broken vow,
A child shall rise, marked by the raven's brow.
Master of ruins, of ashes and dust,
In their hands, a future we fear to trust.

Death and Fate, now intertwined,
A tapestry of existence, misaligned.
Only ash will remain, the final scene,
A silent world, cold and unforgivingly serene.

This prophecy, in whispers cold,
Of Ragnarök, cruel and bold.
Not an end, but a cleansing blow,
For from the ashes, a truer world may grow.
A necessary purge, the past swept clean,
So the new may rise, untainted by what has been."

The last Potter couldn't help but shiver as he heard it, "What the fuck was that?"

"The full prophecy is Ragnarök. The fates wish to cleanse the world, to start over. We all refused. And now it's your turn. You'll be faced with the same choice. I have to say I'm not envying your position."

Harry shook his head, his voice low but firm. "No. I'm not going to play along with some prophecy, and I won't let myself be dragged into a war that promises nothing but ruin. Dumbledore and Grindelwald can go fuck themselves. It's not my problem."

Mordred's smile was sympathetic but weary, as though he had heard it all before. "I said the same. We all did. But this isn't just a war, Harry. It's a cycle, a curse that binds us all. You think you can refuse, that you can walk away. But the moment you activated your crest your fate had already been predetermined. The fact that you killed the World Serpent doesn't really help."

Harry's fingers tightened around the Elder Wand, his mind racing. "There has to be another way. I won't let the world burn because of some ancient script written by gods that don't care what happens to us."

Mordred stepped closer, his presence imposing yet almost comforting in its familiarity. "There's always a choice, Harry, but none of them are easy. You either break the cycle or let it consume you. Refuse, and you'll end up here, like me, watching the world teeter on the edge, powerless to stop it. Or you'll let Ragnarök happen, and the world will burn. My song is ending, Peverell, whether the story continues or not will be up to you."

Harry felt the weight pressing down on him again. He wanted to scream out his frustration at the world but he restrained himself, "I'm not like you," Harry muttered, half to himself. "I don't have to follow your path."

Mordred's eyes softened with a deep sadness. "No, you don't. But every path you take will always lead to this place. There's no running from it. You'll always have to make that choice eventually. I personally, don't really care all that much, to be honest. Either way, my watch will end, and I'll be at peace in Death's hands."

Harry stood there in the grey void, the oppressive silence around him somehow louder than the prophecy that had just been recited. The world seemed smaller and darker, as the weight of inevitability pressed harder. He wanted to fight it, to scream against the injustice of it all. But for the first time in a long time, he felt truly powerless.

And yet, in that powerlessness, something stirred. Wasn't he also powerless when he stood up to Dumbledore as a first year? Wasn't he also powerless when he was imprisoned in the Gardens of Avalon? He would figure a way out like he always did. He must.

A spark of defiance, burned deep within him, "Do you think I'll just bow to the whims of fate?"

Mordred simply shrugged, "I don't care. I did my job. I told you your destiny, as Ignotus told me mine. Do with it what you will and eventually, you'll learn, as I did, about the futility of circumventing fate. Go forth, oh lord of Space and Time. I am curious as to how you'll fare against it. At least this promises to be entertaining."

Harry barely had any time to think about those worlds until he fell down some weird hole, and everything went white. In a blink of an eye, he found himself in a familiar series of mountains, surrounded by snow. He was in Durmstrang. He could feel it, the sense of belonging, the familiarity of the world. He was back home.

---

AN: I'll be honest here, I'm not sure about this chapter. It's kinda hard to get back to the original story after the previous arc. I thought about making Mordred speak in old English, a bit like in Elden Ring, but I decided against it. Still, since this is the beginning of a new arc, I'd rather it lands well, so I don't mind rewriting it if you don't like it. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 345: Finding Home

I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

---

28 March 1995, Durmstrang

In a blink of an eye, he found himself in a familiar series of mountains, surrounded by snow. He was in Durmstrang. He could feel it, the sense of belonging, the familiarity of the world. He was back home.

Harry laid there in the snow for what felt like hours, just relishing how it soothed his burning magical circuits. The journey alone was gruelling, but it had been worth it. The slow deterioration of his magic because of the sheer wrongness of living in another universe was finally gone. It had been an experience and a half, one that he didn't wish to repeat anytime soon. Perhaps after a few decades, he would try again and find a way to bypass this side effect, to finally explore what's out there, to see a glimpse of the infinity of the multiverse.

For now, he simply relished just not being under some kind of slow Death sentence. After all, there was a reason why he took such a high risk as his method of travel. It could have so easily gone wrong. Replicating a complex magical incident, an accident really, from what he could remember from the magic, was definitely a gamble. Oh, it took months of work and experimentation to make things stick, and a lot of planning just to simulate the similar forces that were at play.

Still, now that he had no death sentence on his head, he could finally appreciate the small vacation he had in another universe. It was hard to see his counterpart being this painfully naïve, but it was expected from a boy essentially raised as a pig for slaughter by Dumbledore. It was nice to actually get to know Sirius though. The man was a bit childish and more than a little damaged from his stay in Azkaban, but he was very loyal and generally just nice to be around. It was a shame that his version of Sirius had been an insane serial killer. The dog Animagus had a point; if he compared both universes, then Harry's was definitely on the crazier side.

Anyway, his stay in another universe, while thankfully brief, was a breath of fresh air. And he liked to think he left the country better than it would have been if he hadn't appeared. He stopped a war, killed Voldemort's supporters who had killed dozens of people each, and ensured that his counterpart would live a long and happy life. It was exactly what he hoped someone would do for him.

And wasn't it ironic that he had just freed his counterpart from a prophecy, only to find out that he was saddled with one of his own? He sincerely hoped that meeting Mordred was some kind of hallucination that he experienced from the sheer chaos in the void between worlds. He refused the idea that he was destined to chain himself as some protector for refusing to let the end of the world happen. No, he had enough of prophecies intact or broken. His mere presence in the world was an aberration. He knew that ever since he found out he could remember his previous life. His mere existence was a crack in the wall, an unforeseen variable in the tapestry of existence, and that gave him options.

But now was not the time to think about useless prophecies and the end of times. It wasn't the time to think of Dumbledore or Grindelwald. No, he wanted something far more important, far more primal. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Daphne.

He didn't know where she was. He didn't even know how long he was gone. The rules of Space and Time mean very little in the void between worlds. Deciding to bite the bullet, he grabbed the Elder Wand and flicked it while muttering, "Tempus."

Huh, he had been gone around four months, which was around the same duration he stayed in the other universe. There had to have been some kind of magical implication to that, but he was too drained to really make them. Instead, he focused on Daphne and decided to go to the best place he could find her, Hogwarts.

With a flick of his wand a portal opened to Hogwarts. It had been far easier than it had been during the Gringotts heist. He had to set up an entire space-time anchor in both schools to cut down the cost of making a portal, especially between two points of space that were so far apart. But now, he wasn't even thinking as he cast the spell. He instinctively knew that he could do it and it worked. His growth in understanding of space and time had reduced the cost of opening the portal, and of course, there's the fact that his magic just felt denser, more potent for the lack of a better word, since he came back.

He would get enough time to analyse the effects properly, once he saw Daphne again. He missed her terribly. Her counterpart in the other universe looked so much like her, but there was also so much that was just different. She wasn't as hardened, for the lack of a better term. Her sister was still cursed, and she wished to become a healer, but she wasn't willing to sink to the depth of magic and experiment with things she did not fully understand, not like his Daphne. It was probably because she didn't have access to any kind of really dangerous magic, and to be honest, he didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Would Daphne have been the same if Harry hadn't met her? Would she have become as jaded, as obsessed with saving her sister, if he hadn't given her hope that she could do just that in the first place?

He didn't know and to be honest, there was nothing he could really do to affect any of this. His Daphne was still her own person. She made her own decisions, even if she was influenced by his presence. There was nothing he could do to undo whatever harm that might have caused. He wasn't sure he even wanted to. There were many things he admired about Daphne, and her willingness to dedicate herself fully to a singular goal was admirable, to say the least.

Harry wondered how she fared without him. He had disappeared after entering in a fight, severely outnumbered. He didn't know what conclusions she could have jumped to, and how she might have felt. He would have been devastated if he was on the other side.

Still, there was nothing more he could do but try to find her as quickly as he could. He jumped into the portal, arriving in Hogwarts, relishing returning to the castle. Oh, he had missed it very much. There were small differences between it and the one he stayed in the other universe. It didn't feel as alive, as filled with magic as this one did. There was a distinct lack of history there, not so much magical, but the sheer conceptual idea that this was a place of protection, a place of education, a true safe haven for all magical children. That was the message imprinted in every stone of the castle, one that was probably enhanced by both Gryffindor and Slytherin who were Champions of the Light and Dark at the time.

And yet, there was something muted as he arrived. The students ignored him, of course; he didn't think most of them could see past his privacy charms, but there was a lack of joy that was spread around the castle, a lack of wonder and amazement. Students just walked around with their books, silently, with a very few faintly speaking to one another discreetly.

What the hell had happened there?

The incident in Durmstrang, if it could be called that, should have happened in another school. It shouldn't have affected them at all, and yet it somehow did. No, something else happened, something that made people wary of speaking with one another, made people afraid of standing out, something that sucked the happiness out of Britain's magical children.

He felt it in the air, a tension that clung to every corner of the castle like a fog. The warmth of the Great Hall, the usual hum of excitement over Quidditch matches or upcoming exams, was absent, replaced by an eerie silence. Even the portraits seemed subdued, whispering to one another in hushed tones as if they too were afraid to be overheard. Whatever had cast this shadow, it wasn't just the usual fears of a dark spell or a cursed artefact—it was something deeper, something that had struck at the very heart of their world.

Harry walked around to his common room, seeking to speak with either Blaise or Tracy. They would know where Daphne would be. He was so preoccupied that he didn't realize that someone had noticed him, someone who he definitely didn't expect.

As he entered one of the deserted corridors, he heard a yell, "Harry? Is that you?"

He turned and saw who spoke up to him, "Longbottom?"

"I can't believe you're alive. Everyone thought you were dead. You just vanished during the task and Greengrass looked unconsolable for some reason. What happened?"

"It's a long story, pretty complicated, but to be brief, I was involved in a magical accident and was trapped someplace. I was just able to get back. Speaking of Daphne, where is she? I'm guessing she's with the tournament delegation, but shouldn't you have been there too?"

Neville looked uncomfortable for some reason before speaking up, "It's a bit of a long story too. Gran decided that she wanted me back home and since I already did the task in Durmstrang, my contractual obligation is technically gone. Well, I had to pay a hefty fine, but people didn't really mind me leaving anyway, especially because of the ruckus I caused."

"What did you do now, Longbottom?" Harry spoke up, feeling slightly exasperated by the other boy's consistent antics. Well, that wasn't really fair. Longbottom seemed to have become fate's stress ball, especially when he compared him to Harry's counterpart, who also happened to be the boy who lived. He would be a hypocrite if he said that Harry didn't have a hand in what happened to the boy, especially after the mess that was the Chamber of Secrets. Now, he realized how much of a fuck-up that was. He shouldn't have killed the World Serpent. He could have probably managed something. Well, not really. He didn't really know about its existence in the Chamber in the first place and dealt with it the only way he could at the time. If he could go back in time, he would have done things differently, but unfortunately, actual time travel was far beyond his reach and was most likely impossible.

The boy who lived gave Harry an incredulous look, "You really don't know. I thought you might be messing with me or something."

"You're probably the first person I spoke to since I came back and the castle just feels wrong, depressing, even. Everything is quiet, there aren't any students messing around. People don't laugh anymore, not really. And the pranks, the duels in the courtyards, they've all stopped. It's like everyone's waiting for something bad to happen."

"Well, you're scarily right. Ever since the war picked up, things haven't been the same here. A lot of people lost their parents in the war."

Harry gave the boy a confused look, "War? What war? I was only gone for a few months. How was this enough time for a war to start here?"

"Well, the night you disappeared, Voldemort came back. Dumbledore refused to come back to Britain, even after the ministry cleared him of all charges that were pending against him. But then Voldemort found himself being opposed by an army of weird werewolves that called themselves the Lycans. They could turn to wolves at any time and are stronger, though they don't infect people. They're led by this woman they call the Red Witch. Ever since she came out of thin air, this entire country has been in an all-out war."

The last Potter froze at that. Seriously? What the fuck had happened in the last few months?

---

AN: Again, I'm not really sure about this chapter. It's weird to say it, but I feel kinda rusty when I write the original storyline. The Earth 2 arc felt more like a vacation than anything. Anyway, I hope you like it and if you don't, then I don't mind rewriting it. For those asking about Daphne, I have something special in mind with their reunion, and I thought that having her explain what happened would have made it less impactful. Don't worry, you'll get to see it soon. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

 

[Golden Eyed King]

His mum don't wait around.