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Chapter Text

AVADA KEDAVRA

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Harry jolted awake, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The remnants of an otherworldly pain echoed in his chest, yet a twisted laughter escaped his lips, signaling he had not succumbed to the infamous killing curse. Or maybe he did. He was alone.

"King's Cross," Harry mumbled, his confusion and weariness evident as he picked himself up, surveying the bright surroundings. He appeared to be naked and unscathed. Yet he felt a persistent ache in his chest.

He began to walk, guided by an unknown force.

The mist was never ending.

Harry walks for a long time. Despite it all, the only thing he feels is the growing pain in his chest. An unexplainable loss gnawing at his being.

In the profound stillness, a faint whimper pierced the air, drawing Harry's attention. The pain in his chest intensified, but he pressed forward as his hand clenched onto his chest. He hears thumping and the pitiful whimpering noises coming from near it, the view still obstructed by the mist.

Harry approached the source of the sound cautiously, curious of what it could be—

He recoiled for a moment at the unexpected sight. The source had the form of a small naked child. Its skin raw and rough, as it layed curled up on the ground in a fetal position, whimpering, as shudders emanated from the tiny figure. Unwanted. 

Despite the uncomfortable sight, Harry felt drawn to it. The pain increased as he drew himself near it. But he didn’t care. He drew himself even closer–

“You can’t help him, Harry” A voice resonated, making Harry turn away from the pitiful scene. “You have to leave him.”

The sight of Dumbledore surprised Harry, but his gaze quickly returned to the whimpering child on the ground. The baby's cries grew more desperate, tugging at Harry's empathetic instincts.

Ignoring Dumbledore's warning, Harry gently scooped the baby into his arms, disregarding the blood that stained his hands and chest. The child continued to whimper, and Harry found himself lulled into a protective instinct. The pain in his chest reached a crescendo, but he paid it no heed.

“Harry. You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man.” Dumbledore started again. “It is something beyond either of our help. I already told you. You have to leave him. Let us walk.”

"It's him, isn't it?" Harry murmured softly, his voice a mixture of wonder and realization. The baby in his arms seemed to respond to the familiar tone, its cries gradually softening.

“Help will always be given to those who ask for it at Hogwarts, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his tone filled with a kind of sorrowful wisdom.

"Yet he was denied it, was he not?" Harry countered, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts.

“He was beyond help, Harry. You must understand. He was beyond saving. He is not capable of understanding,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes filled with a sorrow that seemed to reflect the weight of centuries.

"How am I different from him?" Harry asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

Dumbledore shook his head gently. “You are not Tom, Harry. You are nowhere near like him. Tom knew what he was doing, and where did it end him? It was just destroyed not many moments ago by none other than himself.”

It’s not fair.

“He was once like us, wasn’t he?” Harry said. “Like me.”

“No, Harry, no,” Dumbledore reached out, as if to hold him back. “He wasn’t. You know that.”

No, he doesn't.

Both his and Tom’s lives seemed set in stone. He had seen Tom’s remnants of memories, glimpses of a childhood that had shaped his destiny. They had both been driven by forces beyond their control. Harry was destined to be the hero who defeated the Dark Lord, guided by others until it was almost too late. Tom, on the other hand, had become a figure to be feared. Taught to be feared and powerful.All by those around him, and then it continued with Dumbledore. All because curiosity and kindness did not work for Tom. 

It was live or die.

Dumbledore tried to hold him back.

Harry did not let him.

“Leave him there. You don’t know what you are doing, Harry.” Dumbledore declares.

Harry gritted his teeth.

“I know exactly what I am doing,” he replied without looking back. He wrapped the tiny figure of Tom with his robe, positioning his gently against his chest, hugging him tightly.

Once he turned, he saw that Dumbledore was gone. In his place stood a chilling, cold figure that gently embraced him from behind. Harry turned to see a hooded figure, its presence both intimidating and strangely comforting. He had seen this figure before, once or twice, when he was a child.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I am Death," the figure replied, its voice like the rustling of ancient leaves. “But I think you know that. It’s nice to finally meet you, face to face. You, or well, I should say both of you.” Death smiles as it twirled around Harry. It looked at the small figure in Harry’s arm, gently yet sinisterly caressing the air around it.

Tom whined in fear and discomfort, as if facing pain and dread. 

“What is it you want?” Harry grew defensive, moving away.

Death looks at him with a grin, "A choice."

"A choice?" Harry repeated, confused. "What choice?"

"To go back or to move forward," Death said. "The choice is yours."

“And what’s the catch?” Harry asked, believing it’s not that simple, not with Death.

“Nothing.” Death said as they shrugged.

“You're lying” Harry stated.

“I assure you, there is nothing.” Death guaranteed. “Just a teeny weeny decision. Besides, nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide.”

Harry stared at Death with a blank expression. "And Tom?"

Death smiled knowingly. “He will not be allowed to pass. He is just a remnant, a piece of his soul. His soul must be whole in order for him to cross into the afterlife.”

Harry’s grip on Tom tightened. "I am not leaving without him."

“I know.” Death chuckled, amused. “That is why I am parting with you with a small gift. I know you are earnest, Harry Potter. You will do well”

“What do you–” Harry began to question, but before he could finish, he felt himself fading out of existence. Everything became too bright, and Harry panicked when he no longer felt Tom in his arms.

“You’ll understand soon, Master,” Death’s voice echoed as everything around Harry disappeared into light.

Harry regained consciousness as he remained lying in the courtyard. To his comfort, a feeling assures its presence in his being.

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He heard Narcissa ask about Draco. He nodded discreetly..

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“Dead” Narcissa’s voice resonated.

Chapter Text

Acting dead had been simple, but now the situation was different. The thought of Neville and everyone he cared about getting hurt was unbearable, especially as spells fired and explosions rocked the area.

Hidden by his Invisibility Cloak, Harry moved swiftly, taking advantage of the chaos. As others were distracted, he slipped through the battlefield and cast a Shield Charm between Neville and Voldemort, intercepting the curses that were flying in both directions.

He could hear shouts and calls for his name as his disappearance was noticed.

Desperately, Harry ran from one spot to another, placing Shield Charms over anyone he could reach. He even protected the house elves, who were bravely fighting back against the Death Eaters by hitting and stabbing their shins.

Spells, weapons, and arrows whizzed past him as he dodged and weaved through. He had to act quickly.

Harry pushed through the witches and wizards, the Death Eaters, and the frightened prisoners, making his way towards the Great Hall.

Voldemort stood in the center, surrounded by a swirling mass of allies and opponents alike. 

As Harry drew closer, he felt a familiar tickle in his scar, but this time, it was not in pain. 

He was about to charge straight at Voldemort when Bellatrix Lestrange cast the Killing Curse too close to Ginny. He realized he didn’t need to intervene there, as Mrs. Weasley had already stepped in to handle the threat. However, when Voldemort aimed a spell at Mrs. Weasley, Harry knew he had to act.

“ Protego !” he shouted.

The Shield Charm flared to life as Harry was revealed, his Invisibility Cloak slipping off as he dashed in front of Molly.

Yells of cheers, shock, and screams resounded all at once.

“Harry!”  “HE’S ALIVE!” 

“Don’t step in, no matter what!” Harry shouted.

Voldemort’s red eyes flashed with a sinister gleam as he sneered. “Potter doesn’t mean that,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “That isn’t how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?”

Everyone fell quiet when Voldemort spoke as Voldemort and Harry locked eyes, circling each other, each movement a careful calculation 

“Nobody,” Harry said simply. “You won’t be killing anyone else tonight. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good. I was ready to die to stop you from hurting my people—”

“But you did not!” Voldemort retorted, his voice laced with venom.

“—I meant to, and that’s what it did. But sometimes, things just don’t go as planned. You see, Voldemort , your attempts to kill me weren’t just about magic. They were about the will to live, and mine was stronger than you anticipated. You think you’ve mastered death, but you’ve only shown that you’re blind to the true nature of power. I’ve done what my mother did, and it was that protection that kept me alive.” Harry said, before probing. “Haven’t you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?”

“You dare—” Voldemort bared his sharp teeth in a snarl.

“Yes, I dare,” Harry said with quiet confidence.

“I know things you don’t know. I know lots of important things that you don’t–” 

“Is it about love again?” Voldemort sneered, his snake-like face twisted in disdain. “Love. Dumbledore’s favorite solution, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him from falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork. Love , which did not prevent me from stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter— and nobody seems to love you enough to step forward this time and take my curse. Nobody.”

As Voldemort spoke, Harry felt a burning pain in his temple, the Horcrux within him was suddenly reacting.

Voldemort seemed oblivious to its presence or existence.

“So what will stop you from dying now when I strike again and again?” Voldemort demanded, his voice filled with malignant conviction. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could somehow conjoin them. Somehow. Or even keep him. Some part of him. Show him he mattered. 

“It’s your one last chance,” Harry said steadfastly. 

He would die trying.

Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.

“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it, Tom?” whispered Harry, to which Voldemort scowled at his name in fury. “But Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does . . . I am the true master of the Elder Wand.” 

Shock and rage flared across Voldemort’s face, his eyes wide as he processed Harry’s declaration. And he roared.

One way or another.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"  

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The two spells collided in a blinding burst of green and red light. The impact was deafening, like the roar of a cannon, and golden flames erupted between them at the center of the circle where they had been circling. 

The crowd surrounding them recoiled in terror. Some were thrown back by the forceful magical wind, while others scrambled to escape, retreating from what happened in the midst. The air crackled with energy.

Voldemort and Harry fought fiercely, no defensiveness. Nothing. It was intense.Spells flew with wild abandon as the initial clash of their magic shattered the surroundings. The duel continued unabated, carrying them through the destruction to the Viaduct Courtyard. Their fierce battle destroyed everything in their path, tearing through the surroundings with relentless force. 

As Harry continued to fight, he realized that he could still understand Voldemort’s hisses. At the same time, Harry felt the same familiar warmth caressing his forehead.

As Voldemort and Harry’s spells clashed once more, the magic blazed brightly, illuminating the battlefield with a fierce, blinding light. The warmth Harry had felt earlier now turned icy and chilling, as though guided by a force. This cold, ethereal energy intensified his spell, making it stronger, brighter, and frighteningly white.

Harry felt disoriented. 

The spell overpower Voldemort’s, striking him directly. and hit him as then Voldemort it was Harry who emerged victorious. 

Harry saw his spell overpower Voldemort’s, striking him directly. The Elder Wand soared through the air, and Harry caught it with his free hand and he did, an indescribable pain surged through his body, causing him to collapse. The agony was too much as he laid on the ground, breathless gasping for air.

Voldemort hit the floor with a heavy thud, his body now feeble and shrunken. An ashy essence appeared to dissipate, barely to the eye. 

As Harry’s pain finally subsided, he lay there shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps, before raising his head.

Before there was chaos and now there was only silence.

Harry laid still, feeling a profound sense of loss. 

“No, no, no, no...” he murmured.

The tumultuous noise erupted around Harry as the screams, cheers, and roars of the onlookers filled the air. People who had been hiding or standing back now marched toward him.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Voldemort’s body or what remained of it. All he could see were the dark, tattered robes. He couldn't feel him. He couldn’t feel Tom’s Horcrux . 

What happened.

As he moved closer, Ron and Hermione reached him, their arms wrapping around him in a comforting embrace. Harry wanted to recoil from their touch, needing space.

He doesn't want to be touched right now.

Then the rest were approaching but Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were trying to seize him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him. The only thing he could hear was a palpable ring in his ears as he stared at Voldemort, lying lifeless. 

Harry could not help but feel sadness. No, not sadness, but grief. Amidst the cheers, a sharp sound captured his attention instantly and silenced everyone else.

It was a cry. A pitiful, fragile wail, emanating from within the folds of the dark robe, slightly moving. 

Harry stared with an intense focus as he began to move closer, despite the desperate attempts of others to hold him back, his friends' voices calling his name fading into the background.

As he reached the dark robes, what he was was not the defeated, ruthless body of Voldemort or what remained of him. Instead, lying there was a helpless, tiny baby, no older than two months. 

The infant's cries were the only form of communication it possessed, and the fear in its eyes was unmistakable. Volde— Tom had been reduced to a mere child, stripped of his malevolence and power. Harry's heart ached as he gazed at the infant, trying to come to terms with what happened..

What Harry could not deny is the magic that is tugging him toward Tom.  As he reached out to the child–

“Stand back, Mr. Potter. We’ll handle this,” one of the Aurors said, stepping in front of Harry and stopping him.

Harry hesitated, his gaze fixed on the infant who looked so lost and frightened. “That’s not necessary,” Harry protested.

“Mr. Potter,” another Auror, a younger woman with sharp eyes, interjected cautiously. “That is the Dark Lord. We can’t be sure if he has any remaining tricks up his sleeve.”

“He’s just a child,” Harry argued.

The tall Auror moved toward the baby with deliberate, careful steps, his wand ready. He muttered a spell, casting a glowing shield around the child to prevent any sudden magic or trickery. “Take him,” he instructed the other Auror.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Harry yelled, struggling as Ginny, Hermione, and Ron tried to hold him back.

“Mr. Potter, you don’t seem to understand the situation,” the Auror cut him off. “That is the Dark Lord. We can’t afford to take any risks.”

“Harry, I’m pretty sure they know what they’re doing,” Hermione said, trying to calm him, even though the situation does make her concerned.

The tall Auror, using a levitation charm, lifted the child and guided it. “We’ll transport him to a secure location,” he said.

Harry’s frustration flared as Tom was being treated like an object. “He’s not a threat! He’s just a child! You can’t—”

“Harry, why are you acting like this?” Ginny asked, her voice tinged with concern.

The crowd parted to let them pass, whispers of disbelief, curiosity, and anger trailing in their voices.

Harry rushed forward, his wand drawn, and blocked the Auror. 

“Mr. Potter, stand down,” the Auror said firmly.

“I won’t let you take him like this!” Harry insisted, his voice a mix of desperation and anger. “He’s no longer a threat. He’s just a baby!”

Harry tried to push past, but the Auror stood resolute. “Think about what you’re doing!” Harry pleaded. “He’s not the Dark Lord anymore. He’s just a child who needs help.”

Some other Aurors exchanged glances, clearly conflicted, but their duty to ensure safety took precedence  as they received stern looks from their superior. At that moment, Kingsley Shacklebolt, emerged from the shadows of the battlefield. His eyes quickly assessed the situation, taking in the sight of the infant Dark Lord being carefully handled by his colleagues and subordinates. News of the situation had spread swiftly, and he had made his way to the scene.

“Report,” Shacklebolt commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority and experience.

The grizzled Auror who had been in charge of the operation stepped forward. “The situation is under control. We’ve contained the Dark Lord and are preparing to transport him to a safe location.”

Shacklebolt’s eyes moved to Harry whose expression harbored a mixture of frustration and desperation. “Potter,” Shacklebolt said, his tone both firm and reassuring.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “He’s just a baby now. You don’t need to treat him like a threat. We should be helping him, not imprisoning him.”

Shacklebolt’s gaze softened slightly, but his resolve remained firm. “I understand your concerns, Harry. But we have to follow procedure. The Dark Lord’s actions and the nature of his magic make this situation highly complex. We can’t afford to make mistakes.”

“But he’s not the same person now. He’s vulnerable, and we’re treating him like a criminal!”

“Because he is a criminal!” a wizard from the crowd shouted.

“Get rid of him!” another voice yelled.

“Have you lost your mind? That’s a child!” a woman, likely a mother, cried out.

“It’s the Dark Lord!” a wizard retorted. “He took my brother from me!”

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of yells, insults, and defensive remarks.

“I understand this is hard, Harry,” Shacklebolt said with a sigh. “However, until we fully understand the situation and ensure there are no lingering dangers, we must take every precaution.”

The Aurors continued their work, carefully moving the infant to a secure area set up for containment and observation, away from Hogwarts.

Harry started to follow them but was stopped.

“Listen, Harry,” Shacklebolt said quietly, “We need to make sure there’s no residual threat. I promise you, we’ll handle this with care.”

Harry's did not believe him one bit. “What will happen to him?”

“That’s yet to be determined,” Shacklebolt replied. “We need to consult with the department to decide the best course of action. The Ministry will likely be making decisions about his future, much less if the Wizengamot is involved. ”

Chapter Text

It's been two weeks.

Two weeks and five days.

That’s how long it’s been since Harry last saw Tom.

Harry had waited, working tirelessly in the aftermath. Helping others, healing wounds, guiding people to St. Mungo’s, and using Reparo on areas to fix the damages as much as possible. 

He had barely slept, but the one thing that stayed on his mind was Tom.

He knew he shouldn’t feel this way. This concern for this… mass murderer. And yet, he couldn’t help it. He felt loss for Tom. For who he was, for what he isn't, and what he had become.

For who he could have become.

Then, the turn of events baffled him. It shouldn’t have been possible. There were no spells, no incantations, no potions among the ones they used that could have caused such a change. No time-turning magic, no age-altering charm that was permanent unless only temporarily. And yet, here they were. 

The memory of Death’s words resounded in him.

“ I am parting with you with a small gift.” Death smiled knowingly and amusingly. 

Harry was stunned.

Fortunately, the Wizengamot was too preoccupied with the damages and the overwhelming losses to notice much else. Their focus was on the Ministry, its deliberations, and the aftermath of the war. They assumed that the Ministry, now without the infiltration of spies or dark influences, was competent enough to handle the task at hand. Especially with Kingsely’s efficient lead.

At least Kingsley is now the Minister for Magic. 

Hopefully that made it simpler for himself, as long as he tried enough to reach Tom.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in,” Harry called.

Hermione entered, looking much more put together than before. She was still pale, her expression grim, but at least healthier than she had been.

“Harry, you really should eat something,” she said gently.

“I’m fine, Mia,” Harry muttered.

“You haven’t eaten at all.” she pointed out.

She was right. He hadn’t. He hadn’t eaten or drunk since it all ended. 

He did not have the appetite.

Hermione’s visible irritation softened into something more like concern as she walked over and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. She sighed, her voice quiet but steady. “I might not fully understand what you’re going through, Harry, but I know it’s hard.”

Harry groaned, slumping further into the pillows. “I just need to see him. I don't know how to explain it.”

“There are repercussions, Harry. But yes, I agree, The Dark Lord is a child now, and the way they handled it could have been better.”

“He’s an infant,” Harry insisted, his tone sharp. “What could an infant do?”

Hermione’s expression wavered, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. “They wouldn’t hurt him, right? He’s just a baby, even if he was the Dark Lord. There should be some morals… even if it ended up like this.”

Harry exhaled, his frustration mixing with uncertainty. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Hermione’s face fell, and she fidgeted with her hands.

Harry sighed again, running a hand through his hair, sitting up this time. “I thought you were planning to visit your parents soon? Are you still going?”

“Oh,” Hermione stuttered, clearly caught off guard. “I decided to delay it. I thought it would be better to deal with everything here first. They’re safe, so there’s no rush.”

Wait. Something didn’t seem right. Hermione had been so eager to see her parents before the war ended.

“Mia?” Harry asked, concern in his voice.

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with grief. Her gaze seemed to glaze over, as if she were searching for the right words. She opened her mouth, then shut it, only to open it again.

“I’m not going back, Harry.”

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” Harry pressed, his worry deepening.

“I—I can’t,” she said, her voice cracking. “I did visit them. It’s… not working.”

“But you said—” Harry began, but she cut him off.

“I know. I know. I—I've tried. I tried everything, but it’s not reversible. I thought I could. Even though the chances were low, I thought I could. I was wrong. Obliviation isn't easy to reverse, especially without the original memories. I hoped I could, but I was wrong.” Her voice trembled, but her logic remained firm. “T-they didn’t recognize me. They were so confused. I had to obliviate them again before leaving or they would have called services for home intrusion.”

“I’m sorry…” Harry furrowed his brows, his heart sinking. “You said… You knew the chances were low… Why would you do that, if...?”

“Because there was so much else going on,” Hermione said, her voice thick with emotion. “And I’d rather have them alive, even if they never remember me, than worried and dead because I didn’t try.”

“Have you told Ron?” Harry asked quietly.

“No..” Hermione whispered. “I didn’t want it to be a distraction. Other people have it worse, and adding my grief to it wouldn’t help anyone.” She smiled, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“She was pregnant,” Hermione’s voice cracked. “Mom was expecting. I heard her call it–her Hermione... the baby, Hermione.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “They thought I was a threat when I wouldn’t leave. I just needed to try. I just had to. I—” Hermione let out a sob, a hiccup escaping her. “When I heard Mom call her… I wished she wasn’t there. How could I—? To my unborn sister.” 

Harry scooted closer and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Does that make me a horrible person, Harry?” Hermione whimpered against his chest.

“No,” Harry replied, his frown softening into something akin to sadness. He knew he’d be a hypocrite if he said otherwise. “But it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to grieve.”

He felt her smile against his shoulder, but it quickly turned into another sob as Hermione broke down, crying into his chest.

Everyone was grieving, Harry knew, but no one had checked on her. Not even Ron. His chest ached with the realization. He knew Ron and Hermione had their own struggles, but they were all in this together.

Aren’t they?

As Harry held Hermione, he felt the weight of everything crashing down on him, the battles fought, the lives lost, the lives saved, and the lives forever changed. The war was over, but its aftermath was just beginning. Everyone was trying to put the pieces of their lives back together, but those pieces didn’t always fit the way they used to.

Harry knew he had to do it too, but what? Go back to Hogwarts? Then what? 

This whole time he did what was needed but never had the moment to pause and think of what he wanted to do in the future. Never thought this thing with Voldemort would be over.

Hermione’s sobs were quiet but heartbreaking, her pain raw and deep. Harry kept his arms around her, giving her the space to let it out. She had been so strong, so determined, so focused on helping others that she had pushed her own grief aside.

But now, in the quiet of the room, it all came flooding out.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione choked out, her voice muffled. “I should be stronger. I should—”

“No,” Harry interrupted gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to grieve, Hermione. You did everything you could. You protected them, kept them safe. That’s what matters.”

Hermione pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes, but her gaze remained distant. “But it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t bring them back. I—”

Harry shook his head. “You gave them a chance at life, even if it’s not the one you hoped for. That’s more than most people can do.”

Hermione nodded. “I just… I thought I could fix it. I thought I could undo it.”

“Sometimes we can’t fix everything,” Harry said softly, his voice gentle but resolute. “But that doesn’t make what you did any less important. They’re alive because of you. They’re safe because of you. You saved them, Hermione.”

Hermione sniffed, a small, sad smile appearing on her face. “Thank you, Harry. I…I think I needed to hear that.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. When finally, Hermione took a deep breath and looked at Harry with determination. “I am working on a potion and a spell. Maybe it will work, maybe it will not, it maye take a while, months, maybe years with the experiments. But I want to try.” her breath shuddered. “What about you? Any news?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Kingsley is still overseeing it but I was not allowed attendance with him just yet. They’ve kept him under tight security at the Department of Mysteries. I’ve tried to get permission. Even sneaked in, but the Aurors made it clear, they’re taking every precaution. I don’t even know where they’re keeping him—which area, especially without access.”

Hermione frowned, her brow furrowing with concern. “Do you think they’ll let you?”

“They have to,” Harry said, his voice firm with a conviction that surprised even him. “I need to see him, Hermione. I need to know what’s going to happen to him.”

“You’re not giving up on him, are you?” Hermione’s gaze hardened. “Even after everything?”

“I can’t,” Harry replied quietly, not voicing the emotions and connection he felt. “He’s just a child now. Whatever he was before… that’s gone. Voldemort is gone. If there’s a chance to help him, I have to take it. The other Death Eaters will be sent back to Azkaban.”

Hermione nodded, her expression cautious but understanding. “Just be careful, Harry. This isn’t going to be easy. A lot of people won’t see things the way you do. They want vengeance.”

Harry nodded. 

“You’re a good person, Harry,” Hermione squeezed his hand, her eyes warm with sincerity. “Don’t ever forget that. I’ll be on your side. If you need me to be.”

Harry smiled faintly.

Am I though?

“Same for you,” he replied softly.

Hermione’s smile grew a little stronger. They both knew the road ahead would be difficult, but they would face it together, just as they always had. She had been the first friend Harry made on the Hogwarts Express, and though so much had changed, that bond remained unbroken.

They talked for a while longer, discussing plans and possibilities. Hermione asked him whether he discussed his thoughts with Ginny and he hasn't responded. She gave him a pointed look, then sighed, realizing it wasn’t her place to press.

Last time she had pried, it led to a huge argument between Harry and Ginny, and between Ginny and herself. Ron had told Hermione to give Ginny space and not interfere, reminding her it wasn’t her place to interfere in their relationship even as friends, though he understood her concern. It had caused a rift within their group and they hadn’t spoken much until Dumbledore’s death.

Eventually, Harry and Ginny had parted ways, Harry prioritizing the hunt for the Horcruxes and Ginny’s safety. Ginny wasn’t happy, but Harry had remained firm in his decision, and in the end, Ginny had reluctantly understood.

After some time, Hermione stood to leave. Research, no doubt, but before she reached the door, she turned back to Harry.

“If you need anything—”

“I know where to find you,” Harry finished for her, offering a reassuring nod.

As the door clicked softly behind her, Harry’s thoughts shifted to the task ahead.

It's always been like that, her checking up on him. And he trusts Hermione's ability to listen without immediately reacting emotionally. She allows him to speak.

How would he convince the staff to let him see Kingsley? He didn’t have much time to waste.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him of his own needs, so he stood up and left his room. As he walked down the hall of Grimmauld Place, he collided with someone.

“Remus!” Harry gasped, his voice stumbling out in shock as he stumbled forward into him. Without hesitation, he pulled Remus into a tight hug. Remus, despite his own injuries, held him just as tightly.

“How are you holding up, cub?” Remus asked, his voice rough but kind.

Harry pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning Remus’s battered form. Bloodstains marred his clothes, his limp was unmistakable, and his face was drawn with exhaustion.

“Could be better,” Harry replied, still reeling from the sight of him. “Are you okay? Where have you been? We thought... everyone thought...”

Remus sighed, his face etched with exhaustion. “I got separated from Tonks during the battle. A group of Death Eaters spotted me, and I had to draw them away—thought I’d have a better chance leading them off the grounds. By the time I made it back... it was all over.”

He swallowed, his eyes haunted. “I was too weak to get back right away.” He paused, glancing at his foot to indicate the injury. “And...” His voice cracked, and he looked away, his expression tightening. 

Harry nodded, his throat tight. “I’m so sorry, Remus. We didn’t know. Remus... Tonks is... she’s...”

Remus shook his head, his expression filled with sorrow yet oddly calm. He placed a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know,” he murmured, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable heaviness. “I found her, Harry. I saw her.” He took a shaky breath, his eyes distant. “I know”

Harry’s heart clenched, and he swallowed hard, his own emotions threatening to overtake him as the weight of Remus’s grief settled over him.

“Any changes?” Remus asked.

“Not much.” Harry replied. “Well, they’re setting up funerals—everyone is. Still waiting, still trying. Haven’t received any... direct answers.”

Remus sighed deeply. “I know, cub. I know...” He hesitated, his eyes searching Harry’s face. “But that’s not what I mean though.”

Harry furrowed his brow, waiting for Remus to continue.

“Are you sure you want to take this responsibility?” Remus grimaced, his voice low. “About... the Dark Lord.” He paused, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of it. “It’s a huge burden, Harry.”

“How did you—” Harry began, but Remus interrupted.

“Some people weren’t being discreet about it,” Remus said quietly.

Harry took a moment to process, then met Remus’s gaze. “I’m sure.”

Remus looked sad but didn’t push it. “It will be difficult, cub.”

“I know.“

“Not everyone will accept it easily.”

“I don’t expect them to.”

Remus huffed with a smile and patted Harry’s back. “You’re so stubborn,” he said, his voice soft but affectionate. “But I’m proud of you. Sirius would be proud of you. And your parents too.”

“Would they?” Harry said quietly as they walked down the stairs. “That’s not what anyone else would think.”

“Who cares what they think?” Remus responded with a firm, comforting tone. “Just do what you believe is right. I’m not much of an example, but your parents and Sirius would stand by you, even if your mum had to beat some sense into him and your father.”

Harry let out a small, uncertain laugh. “Thanks, Remus,” he said, attempting to shift the conversation. “How’s Teddy?”

“Teddy’s doing great. Healthy,” Remus replied, his face softening with relief. “He’s with Andromeda, in France. I don’t want to risk anything just yet, but I’ll be visiting when everything’s settled.”

Harry nodded, feeling comforted by the thought of Teddy being in safe hands. “That’s good to hear.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ginny appeared, closing the entrance doors. Turning, her faint smile barely reached her tired eyes, and Harry could tell she had been up all night again. 

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey, Gin,” Harry replied with a tired smile. “You holding up?”

She nodded, but there was a weariness in her gaze. “Trying,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. “And you?”

“Same,” Harry muttered.

“I need to head out, Harry,” Remus said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Need to get a check-up and my foot’s still giving me trouble. Glad you’re alright.” He nodded toward Ginny. “See you around, Ginny.”

Ginny gave him a quiet nod.

Remus clapped Harry on the shoulder, his hand warm and steady before heading toward the fireplace. “I’ll be back soon, Harry. Take care.” With that, he went toward where Floo was.

Harry watched him go for a moment, then turned to Ginny, who was standing nearby. They locked eyes. Ginny tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve eaten, haven’t you?” she asked, eyeing him critically.

Harry hesitated before answering, “Yes..?”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Liar.”

“I was about to,” Harry amended.

“Good,” she said, stepping aside as they moved toward the dining area, specifically the table. Harry asked Kreacher for some food, but eventually ended up picking at a plate with roast chicken, bread, and a steaming cup of tea. Ginny leaned against the table, her arms crossed loosely.

“It’s been a long day,” she said after a moment.

Harry nodded, chewing slowly. His thoughts wandered to Fred and Tonks but eventually trailed back to the battle and Tom. His thoughts pressed on him in the silence. Ginny’s gaze flickered, and she shifted uncomfortably before speaking again.

“Harry,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “thank you for coming earlier. It—it meant a lot.”

“Of course,” Harry replied, his voice thick with emotion. “Fred deserved that, and so much more.”

The funeral had been for all the fallen heroes, wizards and witches, but there was so much more to come.

“There’s going to be an official funeral for him separately, just family,” Ginny added, her lips moving into a grim smile. “Fred would’ve wanted something absurd for his funeral. Fireworks, or maybe enchanted gnomes dancing in the aisles with some music. George is already planning it, trying to, at least.”

Harry chuckled softly, though the sound was hollow. “Sounds like Fred.” 

He understood loss all too well. But Merlin, Fred was George’s twin, his other half. 

“I need to go for now,” Ginny said, straightening up. “But come by the Burrow soon. Ron keeps asking when you’ll stop hiding in here.”

That was why she’d come. Harry nodded, his gaze distant. “I’ll come by,” he promised, though his mind was clearly elsewhere.

Ginny tilted her head slightly, studying him. She paused before speaking again, her voice quieter. “Harry… do you think we could, you know,” she hesitated, then added, “continue where we left off?”

“I think so,” Harry replied, his voice soft but tinged with uncertainty. “But after everything’s settled. There’s so much to do.”

Ginny’s frown deepened for a moment, but she quickly replaced it with a smile. “Alright. We’ll talk about it later. Don’t forget to drop by.” She stepped back, and before leaving, leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Take care, Harry,” she added, squeezing his hand briefly before turning toward the door.

Harry tried to smile back, but the gesture felt heavy, almost forced. As he heard the Floo activate, Harry let out a sigh. The weight of his thoughts pressed in on him, and he stared at the food he hadn’t really touched. He pushed the plate aside, his thoughts drifting to the fallen heroes—Fred, Snape.

While Harry had never been in Professor Snape's good graces, the revelations of his father's cruelty—especially the bullying—disgusted him. He didn't know the full story about Severus’s relationship with his mother, and he doubted he ever would. Sirius had always been quick to insult Severus, and Remus had defended him, but it didn’t make Harry feel any better about the decisions they’d made. And Sirius occasionally forgetting and calling Harry "James" only made things more frustrating, especially when Dumbledore told Harry to stay put and did not inform him of other changes.

Harry had helped Professor McGonagall, now headmistress, with Severus’s grave. He was the smartest and bravest person Harry had ever known, truly. He understood now what Severus had been trying to do, and he was eternally grateful for it.

Yet, despite the closure that came with honoring Severus, Harry felt regret for the man he had so often misunderstood. He now saw how much Severus had sacrificed, the difficult roles he had played in the war and dire escapades.

Even Severus' death had been painful, and Harry couldn't help but wish that, in the end, Severus had died without regret, without sorrow. 

Harry sighed, again, a habit he had found himself repeating more often than he'd like lately.

Additionally, this feeling, the tugging in his chest was still there.

Harry groaned as he ruffled his curls out of frustration and then stood up, grabbing his jacket from the chair, and heading for the Floo himself. Most of the Order were either grieving or preparing for funerals, laying the fallen to rest, or occupied with work of the war. Harry had been to Fred’s grave earlier, but something still gnawed at him, a sense that something or someone was calling him.

Without thinking, he threw the powder into the flames and stepped in. The world spun, and the next thing he knew, he was at the entrance of the Ministry of Magic.

The pull in his chest seemed to grow stronger the farther he walked.

Desperate.

He knew he couldn’t stay still. He couldn't ignore it any longer.

Harry’s fingers brushed against his Invisibility Cloak in his pocket.

Harry crept through the lit corridors, the weight of his Invisibility Cloak making his movements feel heavier than usual but confident. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, only that something—some unshakable pull—was leading him deeper into the heart of the building.

Please, let it be Tom.

He wasn’t even sure why the thought struck him with such desperation. Having Voldemort as a baby was strange enough yet innocent. He wanted to be able to help him.

But could there really be hope for him, even now? Would anything change?

The corridors were eerily silent, but every so often there were distant murmurs and the clatter of boots against stone . A group of Aurors passed nearby, their voices growing louder. Harry cursed under his breath, flattening himself against the wall as they drew closer. His heart raced as one of them turned, their gaze seeming to linger just a second too long. But then they were gone, their footsteps fading into the distance.

He exhaled slowly, clutching the cloak tighter around him.

The tugging sensation grew stronger, as if the very air was urging him forward. He rounded a corner, and that’s when he heard it—a deep, familiar voice speaking in low, authoritative tones.

Kingsley.

Harry’s breath hitched as he spotted Kingsley standing at the end of the hallway, deep in conversation with a small group of Aurors and department heads. Though he couldn’t hear the discussion, the urgency of his situation drowned out any curiosity about their words. All he caught were fragments: something about tightened security measures, rising public concerns, and a file labeled “Special Cases.” None of it mattered, not right now.

This was his chance.

He waited, leaning against the cold wall, his patience thinning as the conversation stretched on. Kingsley nodded at something one of the others said before dismissing the group with a firm gesture. As they departed, Kingsley stood alone for a brief moment, then turned and began walking directly in Harry’s direction.

Taking a steadying breath, Harry stepped forward. “Kingsley.”

The Minister froze, his head snapping up and his wand drawn in an instant. His sharp gaze swept the seemingly empty corridor, suspicion etched into every line of his face.

“It’s me,” Harry said quickly, pulling the Invisibility Cloak off just enough to reveal his face. Kingsley’s wand didn’t lower immediately, his instincts still on high alert.

“Harry?” Kingsley said the moment recognition flickered in his eyes lowered his wand, but his expression was a mix of surprise and disapproval. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in? You are not allowed in here.”

Harry hesitated, glancing around as if even the walls might betray him. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

“Harry–” Kingsley began, but Harry cut him off, stepping closer.

“I’m begging you, Kingsley,” Harry said, his tone trembling with desperation. “I was denied an audience with you. I can’t wait any longer. This–this can’t wait.”

Kingsley sighed heavily, a trace of frustration flashing in his eyes. With a brief glance down the corridor, he motioned for Harry to follow him without a word. They entered a nearby office, and Kingsley sealed the door with a flick of his wand, locking it and muttering additional silencing spells.

“This better be important,” Kingsley said, crossing his arms.

“It is important.” Harry’s voice was firm, pleading, with urgency. “Please, Kingsley. Let me see him.”

Kingsley’s eyes darkened with understanding, and he let out a slow, measured breath. “Harry,” he began, rubbing a hand over his temple, “you know what you’re asking. I’ve already tried multiple times to even bring it up with the council. The mood in the Ministry right now is... volatile. They don’t trust anything that isn’t under their full control.”

“But you’re the Minister,” Harry pressed, stepping forward. “If anyone can override them, it’s you. I know it’s complicated—”

“It’s more than complicated, Harry!” Kingsley interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind. “If I act without the council’s consent, it could jeopardize everything. My position, their trust in me, your standing, and the overall ministry in front of the Wizengamot. If I allow even the appearance of bending the rules for you, it would—”

“I don’t care about appearances!” Harry burst out, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “It’s been weeks, Kingsley. Weeks.“

Kingsley’s gaze softened slightly, but his tone was strong. “And if I let you see him? What happens then? The council already believes he’s a threat. You showing up emotional, desperate, will only confirm their suspicions that he’s dangerous, or that you’re too attached to be objective. More or less that you’ve been compromised. You could make things worse, not better.”

Harry’s frustration boiled over, and he took another step closer. “So what? We just leave him there to rot? I’m not asking you to set him free or make a speech to the Wizengamot. I’m asking you to let me check on him. Just to check on him. To know he’s okay.” Harry ended in a quiet tone.

Kingsley stared at Harry for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry... I can’t promise you’ll get what you want. I can’t even promise I won’t regret this.”

“Just let me see him,” Harry whispered. “That’s all I’m asking for. Please.”

Another heavy pause. Then, with a reluctant nod, Kingsley muttered, “Alright. But this has to be quick. No one else can know. Not the council, not the press, no one . If word gets out—”

“It won’t,” Harry assured him, relief washing over his features. “I swear.”

Kingsley held his gaze for a moment longer before sighing again, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his decision. “Follow me. And for Merlin’s sake, stay quiet.”

‘Merlin's beard, I’ll definitely regret this,’ Kingsley thought.

Kingsley led Harry through the corridors of the Department of Mysteries. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. There were rooms, yes, but was it really necessary for Tom, if he was a baby, to be kept here? He was torn between doubt and concern with what was happening.

As they veered off toward a different set of rooms, Harry’s unease deepened. They weren’t heading in the direction he thought they would, and before he knew it, they were descending into the dungeons. The cold, sterile air hung heavy with the scent of damp stone. Harry’s stomach turned. They were approaching the bullpen and the jail cells, where the most dangerous and mysterious prisoners were usually kept.

The guard at the entrance nodded in respect as Kingsley passed, Harry following close behind. They stopped at the first door, which was fully enclosed and guarded by two figures, one short, the other tall.

“What the hell is To– Voldemort doing in a cell?” Harry asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

The tall guard flinched while Kingsley grimaced. Harry caught the look he gave him and didn’t miss the subtle warning.

“There are regulations, sir,” the short guard replied as he and the other guard nodded to Kingsley. He moved forward to unlock the door.

“What bloody regulations put a baby in a cold cell?” Harry exclaimed incredulously, his frustration rising.

“Calm yourself, Harry,” Kingsley said, his voice low. “Otherwise, I’ll have to walk you out.”

Harry huffed, trying to temper his anger. He didn’t know why he was so on edge, but the thought of Tom being in a cell didn’t sit well with him. He had expected it, yes, but…

“I’m sure they’ve placed a warming charm,” Kingsley added, trying to soothe him. “A medwitch has been assigned to oversee his care, along with the guards. All possible traces have been checked, but there may have been something missed. We’re still trying to figure out what caused this.”

Harry didn’t respond, but a flicker of relief passed through him at the mention of the medwitch. The tall guard finally unlocked the door, though he seemed tense, his movements were sharp and cautious, 

Harry’s steps faltered as he crossed, his mind racing as he took in the stark room. The hallway was narrow, barely long enough to accommodate more than a few steps, but it was the crib that caught his attention first. It sat in the center, isolated, as he scanned the space.

“Where are the others?” Harry asked, his voice tight with rising concern as he stepped farther inside, glancing around for any sign of the medwitch or anyone else. 

It was not very cold but not warm either, Harry noted.

The tall guard moved to block him for a moment, but Kingsley lifted a hand, gesturing for him to allow Harry space. “At this moment, there are no others, Mr. Potter,” the short guard responded, his voice even, though there was something in his tone that felt off. He shut the door behind them with a soft click

Harry’s brow furrowed, and his stomach churned. “What do you mean by that? You’re not being serious.” His voice rose, disbelief washing over him.

“We are the only ones here,” the short guard said again, his tone flat but carrying a subtle unease. The tall guard stood still beside him, arms crossed, his face unreadable but tense.

Harry barely acknowledged them as he moved forward, his focus entirely on the crib at the center of the room. There was something wrong. His every instinct screamed at him, urging him to approach. The air felt heavier, colder somehow, and his steps were drawn to the crib almost involuntarily.

The silence, the stillness—it was suffocating.

It was oddly quiet. 

Far too quiet.

“Where’s the medwitch?” Kingsley inquired, strained with dubiety as he, too, surveyed the room. 

He could feel it the moment he took another step forward and proceeded much quicker. The smell hit him. A sour, sickly foul odor that burned his nostrils, something wrong as his gaze drifted in the crib. 

His heart stopped. His body froze.

“Last time I heard,” the short guard continued, his voice distant and flat, “she said her work for her was done. There are more injuries that require assistance.”

The words barely registered. Harry’s hands trembled as he reached out, his fingertips brushing the edge of the crib. His heart pounded in his chest, the fury creeping up his throat. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. He’d expected this, he prepared himself, he had braced himself for the cold reality of the situation—but nothing had prepared him for this.

Harry’s throat tightened. 

The blanket that was supposed to offer warmth had been tossed aside, and the sheets beneath him were soaked, heavy with waste. The nappy, far too soiled, clung to his skin and the sheets below. No dummy in sight, and the feeding bottle beside the crib lay abandoned, cold and untouched, its contents long gone.

Harry’s vision shifted to Tom’s face.

He was crying. His whole face was red, swollen, and wet from tears. His mouth opened in a scream, his tiny body trembling violently as if the very air was choking him, his tiny hands balled into fists.

But the worst part? The part that made Harry’s breath hitch and his stomach twist in horror?

Tom was silent.

Silent.

Silencio .

“What kind of people are you?” Harry growled, his voice low and deadly, dripping with disgust as he fixed the guards with a glare that could burn. The two men remained still, nerves written all over their faces, but Harry's magic, wild and untamed, lashed through the room like a serpent, tightening, suffocating, as the temperature dropped, freezing the air around him. The guards were slammed against the stone walls in an instant, held there by an invisible force. They struggled, trying to break free, but their efforts were futile, as Harry’s rage only tightened its grip on their beings. 

His eyes, however, never left Tom. His attention was solely on him.

“HARRY—” Kingsley’s voice cracked through the tension, as he moved towards Harry.

“~HE’S A CHILD~!” Harry snarled, his voice full of anguish and rage. The weight of everything was too much, barley realizing he was actually hissing.

“Harry, cease it this instant!” Kingsley commanded, but before he could finish, Harry undid the Silencio.

The room was filled with the broken cries of the baby. Tom’s cries, strained, rang through the room, a sound so raw and desperate it tore at Harry’s very soul. The child’s body trembled violently as he gasped for air, cries echoing off the cold stone walls.

Harry’s magic was seething.

Tom’s cries were desperate, his little body wracked with pain, and Harry could hardly stand it. 

How long had he been left like this, alone and unheard? Without any help?

Harry cleaned Tom with magic, the best thing he could do at this moment. Then Harry gently brushed his cheek, soft and tender, then wiped away the hot tears with the handkerchief from his jacket. He dabbed at Tom’s eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, and his neck. Each movement was slow, trying to soothe the little one the best he could. At the touch, Tom’s cries faltered for a moment, confusion flickering across his face, followed by more soft whimpers as he let out a cough.

“Harry,” Kingsley warned again, his tone tight with concern. Harry’s eyes, green and sharp as the Killing Curse, locked onto Kingsley’s for a brief moment. Then, Harry turned, his gaze returning to the guards, whose faces were flushed red, on the verge of suffocation, their bodies jerking with struggle.

“Release them,” Kingsley commanded.

Harry eyes narrowed. 

The guards fell to the ground, gasping for air, their faces pale and filled with fear as they scrambled to catch their breath. They looked at Harry with a mix of wariness and terror, no longer so confident in their authority.

Kingsley didn’t comment on Harry’s use of magic without a wand, though the tension in the air was thick with unspoken words.

“What is the meaning of this?” Kingsley demanded, filled with frustration. He couldn’t fully mask the disbelief in his tone as he witnessed the scene before him.

“We didn’t know! We were just doing our job!” the tall guards stammered as he and his companion stood up, his voice faltering under Harry’s intense scrutiny.

“She said she cast spells, that they would take care of everything,” the shorter guard added, his tone defensive yet trembling.

Cast spells, as if that would do the job. Childcare magic doesn’t work like that, Harry knew it all too well. He had researched it thoroughly whenever he could find the time and his own neglected upbringing was enough common sense. 

Care and attention couldn’t simply be replaced with a flick of a wand.

“You didn’t even bother to check on him,” Harry growled, his voice rising in volume and venom with every word. His anger surged, consuming him as he stepped closer to the two guards.  “Didn’t even find it odd that a baby would be that quiet for an unreasonable amount of time?” His eyes burned with fury, his words heavy with accusation.

“These specific rooms are enchanted,” the shorter guard coughed. “We wouldn’t have known either way…”

“And you didn’t even have the decency to ask anyone else or inform a higher up,” Harry snapped back. The anger coursing through his veins made his hands shake. He turned away from the guards, his attention back on Tom, who still layed limp in the crib. He removed his jacket, folding it carefully and placing it beside the child. His movements were gentle, his hands contrasting the smallness of Tom’s fragile body as he caressed the child’s head and bottom, lifting him up with extreme care.

“Where is the medwitch? She was supposed to check on him every—” Kingsley began to ask, but Harry cut him off sharply.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Harry asked, his voice sharp as a blade as he wrapped Tom in his jacket. He softened the jacket with his magic with a gentle spell, inculcating it with  warmth. Tom hiccupped weakly in his arms, his whimpering continuing, though quieter now, as if he were exhausted from crying.

Tom’s tiny form seemed to instinctively seek the warmth of Harry’s hands, his small head nuzzling closer, pressing against the warmth as if trying to get as close as possible.

As if it was new .

He carefully reached for the empty feeding bottle beside the crib. With a flick of his wrist, he cleaned it with magic, the residue of neglect disappearing and transfigured it into a dummy.

“Hey there, I’m sorry it took so long,” Harry whispered softly, his voice quiet and regretful. He gently placed the dummy near Tom’s mouth, coaxing him to latch onto it. Tom’s tiny lips parted almost immediately, his face scrunching as he latched onto the dummy with a desperate, furious sucking motion. "You're okay now. You're safe, " his voice soft and soothing.

When was the last time Tom had eaten? 

Harry’s magic cracked like a whip against the walls, the sound reverberating through the cold room. The two guards flinched, their faces pale and drawn.

“We… we switch shifts with other members. They take our place,” the tall guard stammered, his voice trembling.

The shorter guard hesitated, exchanging a nervous glance with his companion before mumbling, “The medwitch… she was last here about a week ago. Maybe more?” His voice faltered, uncertain.

The room fell silent, the weight of their negligence was suffocating.

There was no excuse for this.

None.

Harry’s voice was cold and resolute as he spoke. “I’m taking him.” Harry held Tom wrapped comfortably against his chest, he pulled the edge of his cloak’s hood over Tom’s head to shield the child’s fragile form from any possible prying eyes.

“Wait!” the shorter guard’s voice cracked with alarm. “The Dark Lord isn’t allowed to leave this cell! It’s under protection and reflective spells, those are the orders!”

Kingsley turned sharply toward the guards, his expression unreadable but his stance and position leaving no room for argument. He gave Harry a long, long look, as if considering every consequence of what he was about to do. Then, with a short grunt and a weary sigh, he nodded, lifting his hand in a commanding gesture.

“Let him through,” Kingsley ordered.

“But Sir—” the shorter guard began, his voice filled with panic. “That’s the Dark Lord! We—”

“ I said, ” Kingsley emphasised, brooking no dissent.  “ Let him through .”

The taller guard, who had been silent until now, glanced nervously at his companion. Reluctantly, he opened the door and stepped aside, his expression a mix of fear and resignation.

Harry didn’t wait for further argument. Holding Tom close, he strode toward the exit, the faint whimper of the child in his arms made Harry hold him closer. 

“You—” one of the guards began bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper, seething with frustration and hate.

“You two are dismissed from your post,” Kingsley cut in, his voice commanding and cold. “Report to my office immediately and  bring the rest of your rotation. Any inquiries from the department heads will be handled by me personally.”

The guards hesitated, their faces pale with dread, but one was visibly furious , eventually they nodded and also shuffled out of the room. Kingsley followed, shutting the door. Looking at harry with a grim look.

The guards hesitated, their faces pale with dread. The shorter one looked visibly furious, his jaw clenched, but both nodded begrudgingly and shuffled out of the room without another word. Kingsley followed shortly after, shutting the door behind him.

Harry cradled Tom in his arms, his gaze falling on the child’s face. Tom’s wide, frightened blue eyes stared back at him, innocent yet knowing eyes. Tiny fingers, one hand managing to slip free from the warmth of the jacket, clung to Harry’s shirt.

Harry gently rocked Tom, his mind racing.

What now? He couldn’t bring Tom to Grimmauld Place—it wasn’t safe for him.

He has no choice. He needed advice and head home.

With a flick of his wrist, Harry conjured his Patronus, whispering a message, sending it off swiftly.

“Harry,” Kingsley’s voice broke the silence.

Harry turned to face him, his expression blank but serious.

“I’m truly sorry,” Kingsley said, his voice low and filled with genuine remorse. “I never imagined it would come to this.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his gaze softening only slightly as he looked at the man. “Neither did I.”

"I'll handle the rest," Kingsley said. "You take care of him. Merlin knows he needs it."

Harry nodded, grateful for the understanding.

Kingsley hesitated before continuing. "Also, I need to discuss the trials with you."

Harry’s gaze remained steady as he replied, "Let’s talk about that later, Kingsley."

Kingsley nodded, acknowledging the delay, but his tone grew serious. “Just this, Harry. The trials will be held one way or another. Many have already been set for Azkaban, no doubt. Furthermore—”

“I will vouch for the Malfoys," Harry said, adjusting his hold on Tom and repositioning the dummy that had slipped from the baby's mouth. Tom whimpered softly.

Kingsley’s brow furrowed, a flash of concern crossing his features. “Are you certain about this? It will be controversial, Harry. People will question your motives.”

Harry met his gaze, his expression unwavering. "They'll question me no matter what." His voice softened as he looked at Tom. “But Narcissa saved my life. And Draco did too. His father may have set much of this in motion, but Draco turned away in the end. They deserve a chance to move on, especially Draco.”

Kingsley studied Harry for a long moment, weighing his words carefully. Finally, he nodded, his voice resolute. “Very well. I’ll include your testimony when their trials begin.”

Harry nodded, but then pressed further. “What about the others?”

“We’ve gathered the necessary information, but only one has been vouched for. Blaise Zabini.”

That caught Harry’s attention. He had always known that Draco’s group tried to stay out of trouble, despite the darker connections their families had. Nott’s father had died the same day as Sirius. Nott had distanced himself for a while, avoiding talk of Death Eaters, never participating in their actions. He had loved his father, but it was his father’s choices that had led to his death.

Pansy, on the other hand, had been outspoken in her support for Voldemort, even if she hadn’t been an active follower. Harry could still remember her disdain for him. She had fled Hogwarts with her housemates and hadn’t returned. She had been unwilling to fight, though she had hidden her fear well.

Blaise, though... Harry had always thought his family had little to no ties to the Death Eaters despite being immersed in Dark Arts. Blaise was quiet, keeping mostly to himself. Harry didn’t remember having many conversations with him, just the occasional passing moment since he had been part of Draco’s group.

“Who vouched for him?” Harry asked.

“Hermione Granger.”

Harry noted that before proceeding.

“Where's the nearest Floo?”

Chapter Text

After checking up on Harry, Hermione finally tore herself away from Grimmauld Place and gone to the Burrow. Her hands were still shaking. She hated that they were shaking.

She had been even more terrified ever since the battle.

When Voldemort had vanished into thin air in front of thousands of horrified eyes, only to reappear as a small bundle wrapped in the burnt scraps of his own robes. Yes, it was Voldemort. Yes, it was a child. But would they hurt a literal child?

Hermione hadn’t been so sure. And that small, awful shiver of doubt made her stomach twist every time she remembered the way people stared at the little boy on the ground. Their fear. Their rage burning in their eyes. Yes, she despised Voldemort… but now it was a child. Now, she doesn’t know what to think. Was it still Voldemort in the form of an infant..? Or something else? But she hoped, Merlin she hoped, she was wrong. The disbelief hadn’t been familiar to her for years, and she despised how easily it settled back into her now.

And then there was Harry… Harry who had barely reacted before doing so as if everything happening was wrong. Then he switched into something like autopilot, barely functioning but moving and existing yet barely eating, barely sleeping, barely himself. 

She was grieving too. But how could she leave him like that? Alone in the middle of so much fear and unanswered questions and whispers that all stopped whenever he entered a room? It felt like this was all just the beginning of whatever will come next. Riot? Demands for repercussion? Justice?

She doesn't know. 

So she had faced the fallout of her own choices, her mistakes, the selfishness she regretted more by the day and confronted Harry, because she couldn’t keep pretending things were fine. And when she finally cracked in front of him, she realized just how thin she had stretched herself trying to keep everyone together. It was exhausting. It was too much.

Now she needed to talk to Ron.

About everything.

Her parents.

Hogwarts.

Their future.

She already felt guilty that Harry knew first, but Harry had always been her very opposite, the one she turned to when she doubted herself, not when she did not even trust her own judgement. The one she went to when she feared her “logical” choices were actually wrong. Ron… Ron needed care, gentleness and timing, the right words. And she hadn’t known how to give him any of that lately.

Arriving at the Burrow, she found only Molly inside. Molly hugged her so tightly Hermione felt her ribs creak, and she didn’t protest. Molly really needed the comfort. Honestly, Hermione needed it too.

She also noticed Ginny’s absence.

“Ginny went to visit Harry,” Molly said softly, leading Hermione inside. “I thought she’d be back by now. Perhaps you two missed each other on the way.”

A strange little thud landed in Hermione’s chest. Ginny was grieving Fred and clinging to anything familiar. And Harry… Harry was the center of so many of Ginny’s feelings.

“Oh,” Hermione murmured. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I only needed to speak with Ron.”

“He’s either in his room, dear, or out by the big tree. He spends quite a lot of time there. It was where…” The mention of Fred was not spoken.

“I understand. Thank you so much, Molly.” Hermione said, giving another hug.

The air felt heavier as Hermione made her way toward Ron’s room. She would check there first. 

She knocked gently. “Ron?”

She pushed the door open.

Ron sat at his desk, shoulders hunched, staring at the scratches in the wood. The dim light made him look smaller.

“Hey, Ron,” she tried softly.

He didn’t move.

She took a few steps toward him. “Ron?”

He jolted slightly, as if dragging himself up from underwater.

“Mione? I didn't know you dropped by.” Ron said, rubbing his face.

“I noticed,” she whispered when his breathing stuttered, his gaze still unfocused. The truth was written all over him with red-rimmed eyes and exhaustion carved into every line of his face.

“So… how have you been..?” She tried, as she sat beside him.. “Sorry.. I know.. it ‘s a stupid question.”

“No, no… it’s fine,” Ron muttered, which was the biggest lie in the room.  “Just… adjusting. Resting. You?” He glanced at her briefly before looking back down at his collapsed hands.

“Same,” Hermione said, even though they both knew she wasn’t. “Molly said you might be here. Or by the tree.”

“Oh.” His voice faded out again, drifting somewhere far she couldn’t reach. “Yeah.” 

Silence stretched between them.

“Ron,” Hermione ventured quietly, her tone gentle. “You should really talk to someone, you know.”

“It’s not that simple.” Ron didn’t look at her. His voice came out low, tired. “Nothing’s going to change.”

Hermione swallowed. Her heart felt too heavy for her chest.

“I’m here,” she said quietly. “For you. Always.”

Ron nodded, but his eyes were empty.

“Maybe… maybe we should go back to Hogwarts for our final year,” she tried gently. “After everything is–”

Ron let out a jagged breath, running a shaking hand through his hair. “Hogwarts is a joke now,” he muttered bitterly. “A bloody joke. It hit me when it was over— What’s the point? It’s our last year, and everything’s already ruined. Everything’s a mess. And I don’t— I don’t feel like going back.” 

His voice cracked.

“Fred’s gone,” he whispered. “And Mum’s running around pretending everything’s normal when she’s falling apart. Everyone’s acting differently. Everything’s different. What am I supposed to do, Hermione?”

“I know you’re hurting,” she said, her own voice trembling despite her effort to control it, leaning with a side hug, rubbing his back. “But please don’t stop trying. You have to keep going. For your family. For yourself. For Fred.”

The bedside table was slammed before Hermione could react, Ron standing.

“You don’t get it!” he burst out. “I can’t, Hermione! Nothing feels the same. How am I supposed to go back and pretend everything’s normal when it’s not? Fred’s dead. Everything reminds me of him. Every bloody thing! And I’m stuck here— stuck with all of it, while everyone else keeps acting like we’re just supposed to move on.”

Hermione followed, breath caught in her throat. “I get it,” she said quietly, her voice filled with quiet sincerity. “I do. But shutting yourself off from everyone won’t help. Maybe we could go out with everyone— just a small gathering. It might help you breathe. Even if just a little. We have barely seen you!”

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Ron said. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like that.” Hermione's chest tightened. Why can’t I say something right? Why am I always making it worse? “And you’re always so bloody calm. Always the one with all the answers. I don’t know how to be that, I can’t be like you Hermione! ”

“Ron…” She gritted her teeth. “I’m not perfect. I don’t always know what to do. I make mistakes — huge ones. Fred was my friend too! And I’m trying. I’ve been trying for—” her voice cracked “ I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But you just have to meet me halfway.”

Ron’s face scrunched in frustration “What do you want me to say? That I’m alright? I’m not. And you can’t fix it. You can’t fix m—” He cut himself off abruptly as Hermione tried to reach out instinctively, gently trying to take his hand…. but Ron pulled away. “Just…” His voice dropped. “I need space. Okay?”

Hermione froze for a moment before nodding. Just as she inhaled to say—

KNOCK KNOCK

“Ron? Hermione, loves?” Molly’s voice drifted through the door. “I heard shouting. Is everything okay?”

Hermione stood quickly, opening the door. “Everything’s alright, Molly. We were just talking.”

Molly’s face appeared in the doorway, lined with grief she was trying so hard to hide. “Alright.. Would you like to stay for supper, dear?”

Hermione managed a small smile — genuine, but tired.

Hermione managed a soft, tired smile. “Thank you, but I should get going. I promised to….”

She didn’t even know what excuse she was reaching for. She just needed to leave before she broke apart completely.

Molly nodded sympathetically. “Of course, dear.”

Hermione gave Ron one last look with a mixture of affection, hope, regret, and anxiety and slipped out the door before either of them could say anything else.

And left the Burrow with her chest tight, her eyes burning, and a thousand unsaid words clawing at her throat.

He stalked through the cold stone corridors, body feeling heavier than it ever had, even without his uniform or weapon weighing him down. His head was in a knot. Too many thoughts. Too much anger.

He clenched his jaw until it hurt.

He’d really believed that monster would be locked away longer. Much longer. He should’ve forced the medwitch out of the cell. Should’ve stood in the way. Should’ve done something before that boy interfered.

Instead he’d been the one punished.

He descended the narrow staircase toward the meeting room, the one the guards used for nightly briefings. Tonight it was dark and empty.

Except for the two men waiting at the table. One of them didn’t look up from the papers spread in front of him while the other older one asked, “So?”

The suspended guard dropped into the chair beside him, the breath leaving him in a sharp, bitter exhale. “Suspended. And put on cleaning duty for the length of six bloody months.”

The man occupied with the papers finally lifted his head. “Cleaning duty? Is he out of his mind? Do they not understand that’s the Dark Lord they were keeping in this castle?”

The suspended guard scoffed. “Just ’cause he became the new Minister of Magic, he thinks he’s all high and mighty. They’re all being fooled.” Leaning in he asked. “Any news?”

“Not yet,” the older soldier grumbled. “Do you have any idea where the Boy-Who-Lived could be hiding him?”

“Only common guesses,” the suspended soldier shrugged. “Just get the boys rallying up.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loud against the floor. “We’re finding that kid. And we’re ending this before it starts.”

Tom whimpered.

“I know, I know…” Harry murmured, rubbing his back as he finally stepped through the familiar threshold. “It’s alright. We’re home. Promise.”

Apparition had made Tom sick. The Floo wasn’t much better. Neither method was ideal for a magically unstable toddler whose magic sometimes flickered in unpredictable little sparks against Harry’s chest. And the crying… Merlin, the crying always broke him a little. It took a while to get back, too long honestly. If only magic could conjure necessities out of thin air. Diapers. Bottles. Blankets. Anything. But no, magic theory didn’t work that way. And even if it did, everything conjured was temporary. Unsustainable. Useless in the long term. Harry knew that logically. Currently he was emotionally exhausted enough to wish for miracles anyway.

His mind drifted back to what Kingsley had said.

Hermione vouched for Zabini. Hermione and Zabini. That was… new. Strange. But also somehow not surprising.

Harry remembered seeing them across the library once. They’d always had some sort of unspoken understanding. He’d thought nothing of it at the time.

He faintly recalled Hermione mentioning something… a panic attack. Blaise had snapped at the sound of too many people whispering, quills scratching, footsteps echoing off stone. Someone bumped him and he spiraled. Hermione had been the one who knelt next to him, voice low, gentle, talking about her parents, dentists of all things,  until Blaise looked at her like she grew a second head but was able to breathe normally again.

Harry was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to know that, weird timing for it to come back now.

Then the war hit and Blaise basically vanished from his radar. Harry wasn’t even sure when Hermione and Zabini started talking. Or what pushed it. But if Hermione believed he deserved a second chance, then… maybe she was just caught in the same wave Harry was. That impossible wish that some of them could start over. Even when everyone knew it wasn’t really possible.

Harry blinked the memory away.

Tom whimpered again, this time the beginnings of a real cry. Harry shifted him higher against his shoulder.

“I know, you must be famished. Let’s get some food in you.”

The wards washed over them as they crossed into the entrance hall,  a brief pulse of warmth of his own magic, recognition almost like a hug. The cottage always greeted Harry like this.

“Nibsy!” 

A soft, familiar pop.

“Welcome home, Sir Potter!” the house-elf squeaked, big eyes sparkling. “It has been quite so long! Nibsy has prepared and cleaned the house during your absence. How may Nibsy assist?”

“Milk for him, please,” Harry said, adjusting Tom’s blanket. “And… anything an infant needs. As much as you can manage.”

Nibsy’s ears perked. “Already on it, Sir Potter! Nibsy will gather the blankets, cleaning cloths, potions for calming little tummies, and—”

Harry felt the wards shift again.

A faint static.

He turned sharply glancing around. Nothing out of the ordinary nor out of place. No magic he could identify. Probably just nerves… but the feeling lingered. It was familiar yet not? 

Tom sniffled, his little fists clenching themselves earning Harry’s attention.

“Hey,” Harry whispered, bouncing him lightly. “You’re safe. I promise.”

“Nibsy,” he said quietly. “Can you… do some perimeter checks? Just for tonight.”

Nibsy’s ears twitched. “Of course, Sir. Wards will be tightened. No one enters without Sir Potter knowing.”

“Good.”

She lay curled on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Earlier, she’d checked if Harry was still in the house but he wasn’t there. His room had been empty. Hermione released a shaky, stuttering breath as tears slid down the sides of her face, soaking into her pillow. She pulled the blanket over her head, trying to muffle the quiet sounds because she didn’t want anyone to hear. It’s not like anyone is around to hear anyway. But still.. she didn't want anyone to worry.. didn’t want to face anything anymore.

At some point she drifted off, that is until a cold shimmer ran along her arm which made her eyes snapped open.

A stag appeared right in front of her.

Hermione bolted upright, heart thundering, tears forgotten.

A stag stood at the foot of her bed. It dipped its head.

Harry’s voice.

“I— I really need your help. Meet me in Diagon Alley. The inn. There will be an elf waiting for you… it’ll take you to where I am. I'll explain everything then.”

Then the light flickered, dimmed, and dissolved into silver dust. Message delivered.

Hermione stared at the empty space where it had stood. Harry sounded wrong. He sounded urgent. She didn’t like the tone. She didn’t like the secrecy. Why couldn’t he just say where he was? Why did he even have an elf with him?

Was Harry hurt?

Was he running?

Hermione pushed off the blankets and stood so fast she felt dizzy. She wiped her face with her sleeve, grabbed her jacket, and tied her hair up into a messy bun that kept falling out.

She bolted down the stairs.

“Kreacher?” she called.

Pop.

Kreacher appeared, nose twitching, eyes narrowed like he had been woken up from the best nap of his life. “The Mud—Miss Granger asking for Kreacher?”

“Yes?” Hermione ignored the beginning. She knows that Kreacher is trying to change the way it has been.. “Is Harry—did he come through here? Do you know anything?”

“Kreacher does not know where Master Harry master is hiding,” Kreacher muttered. 

“Oh. Alright. Thank you, Kreacher.” Before she could ask more, the elf vanished.

Hermione didn’t waste another second as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace.

“Diagon Alley!”

The flames whooshed up and curled around her, spinning hit her immediately, and she stumbled out into the cold air of a back corner fireplace behind the closed shops. Night. Fog curling low. Lanterns dim. She walked until she went to the inn. There is only one local inn in Diagon alley that Harry has mentioned before and that is the only thing Hermione knows. She is unsure whether she has to go ahead inside or wait outside until— right outside the corner was a small, nervous-looking elf wringing its hands. It was wearing a tea towel with a stitched symbol she didn’t recognize.

“Miss Granger?” it squeaked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s me. Did Harry send you?”

The elf bobbed its head so fast its ears flapped.

“Then… please take me to him,” she said, already stepping closer.

The elf reached out a tiny hand.

“Hold on tight.”

Cries could be heard from the living room.
Harry sat on the couch, rocking Tom, trying to calm him. Tom's tiny face was scrunched, flushed from crying. “I know bud.. But I needed to clean you up first.” Harry wiped a tear from Tom’s cheek with his thumb, then the saliva dribbling down his chin with his index finger. Before he realized it, Tom latched onto that finger, tiny gums sucking and biting as much as he could.

Harry wished he could do more right now. But what could he do?

“Sir Potter, sir! Nibsy has brought young sir some milk, yes she did!” chirped Nibsy, clutching a warmed bottle.

“Thank you, Nibsy,” Harry said, giving her a tired but grateful smile.

Nibsy immediately turned red, flustered, covering her eyes with her ears. “Please call Nibsy when you require, Master Potter. Nibsy loves serving sir.”

“Of course,” Harry replied and she disappeared with a pop.

No one knew about this place. Everyone assumed Harry would rebuild Godric’s Hollow, return to his roots. But that would have been a foolish idea. So he built something new, using every concealment spell he’d ever learned. Invisible to everyone unless he let them in. Godric’s Hollow didn’t have any elves. He knew his parents preferred their own involvement in their child’s life. That did not mean that there were not several elves still bound to the estates. Loyal. Waiting. He freed them and they chose to follow him here.

“Come on,” Harry murmured softly as he coaxed the bottle toward Tom. Tom accepted it immediately, crying fading instantly as he drank quickly with little grunts, exhausted eyes drooping as he stared up at Harry.

The door opened.

“Mr. Potter, Tiffy brought Lady Hermione as you instructed,” Tiffy announced as she opened the door for Hermione before disappearing again.

Tiffy wasn’t the social type, but she loved to work. Harry paid all his elves even though they claimed not to want nor need it so he secretly kept piggy banks for each of them anyway. Just in case.

Hermione looked like she’d run a marathon barefoot. Hair slipping from her bun, cheeks flushed. Her eyes were swollen but he did not question it as she looked at her surroundings. Warm lights, jars of potions, bookcases.

Then her gaze landed on Tom and she froze.

“Harry,” she breathed.

“Mia,” Harry answered quietly.

“I… came as fast as I could. Is—is that..?”

“Sorry,” Harry said, shifting Tom as the baby fussed again. “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“I’m glad you called,” Hermione said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes flickered. “Where… where is this place?”

Tom whined again, turning his face away from the bottle. Harry gently lifted him to his shoulder patting gently.

“It’s my home—” Harry answered finally as Tom gave a combination of a burp and spit-up of curdled milk.

“Oh—okay—right—” Harry muttered, startled. He grabbed the nearest cloth and wiped Tom’s chin, then wiped himself.

Hermione’s lips twitched the tiniest hint of a tearful laugh. “Is he alright?” she asked, stepping forward a bit.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know anything about taking care of a child. I held Teddy once. That’s it.”

“Harry… what happened?” Harry didn’t look at her, he knew she was cautious.

Harry didn't blame her. But god, he was grateful she was here.

“He was alone,” he whispered. “Alone for weeks. Cold. Hungry. And…” His voice cracked. “He was Silencioed. His cries—he couldn’t—Hermione, he couldn’t even cry loud enough for anyone to hear.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. She sat beside him slowly like her legs had given out.

“Oh, Harry…”

“I just… took him,” Harry muttered, staring at Tom. “Kingsley didn’t stop me but I also know he didn’t approve. I don’t know what to do, Hermione. I only know I couldn’t leave him.”

She closed her eyes, shaking.

“You did the right thing.”

Harry swallowed. “Is it enough? Keeping him—-”

“For now?” Hermione said gently. “Yes.”

Tom hiccuped.

Tom hiccuped and burrowed into Harry’s shoulder

“I’m not taking him back there,” Harry said firmly.“

“I know..” Hermione cautioned, “but you can’t hide him forever.”

“Can’t I?” The words slipped out. “I’m not hiding him forever. Just until… I figured things out. He adjusted Tom slightly again. He wasn’t sure if Tom was comfortable or not. “He’s not dangerous. He’s not. ”

‘He won’t be’ was left unsaid.

Hermione took a slow breath. “We stay here. We use Grimmauld if needed. We put up the best wards possible. Anti-tracking, anti-Apparition, anti-scrying, everything we could think of”

Harry made a noise of agreement.

“And we need a cover story,” Hermione continued, rubbing her temple. “So no one will suspect anything until you’re ready.”

Harry blinked and contemplated. “Hermione.. I can’t lie to the Weasleys.”

“Not lie,” Hermione corrected firmly. “Just… don’t tell them everything yet.”

“Still feels wrong.” Harry hated the idea. But she wasn’t wrong.

Hermione sighed before she asked hesitantly, almost a whisper.

“Harry… can I meet him?”

Harry angled Tom so she could see him. Supporting his head as Tom’s tiny face was red from crying, eyes half-open but curious, tiny fingers fisting Harry’s robe. He gave a small, sniffling grunt.

Hermione stared as she slowly reached out and brushed Tom’s arm with two fingertips—barely a touch.

Tom’s little hand twitched… then curled around her finger.

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath.

He held on.

“Oh… Harry…” Her voice cracked as everything inside her knotted at once, bowing her head due to the conflict inside her.

Don’t do this to me.

Because this was complicated. Because everything about Tom Riddle should have been complicated.

But at this point…this was a child. An innocent baby.

Harry watched her, chest tight, bracing for rejection, judgment, or fear. Anything

But Hermione didn’t pull away. She didn’t let go of Tom’s tiny fingers.

She exhaled shakily.

Harry closed his eyes in relief because he needed her understanding.

Chapter Text

It came two days after Hermione first arrived when the blue flicker of light shot through the window. The stag burst forward first, Harry’s magic reacting instinctively to protect them. Then the second Patronus, a lynx, appeared right behind it.

“That’s Kingsley's patronus," Hermione muttered. “But why would he–?”

The lynx spoke in Kingsley’s voice before she could question it. 

“Harry. We need to talk.. There have been… complications. I am not here to collect him. But we need to talk.”

Then it faded.

“Harry… that didn’t sound like a threat,” she said softly.

“It doesn’t,” Harry muttered. “But I’m not risking it. Not after everything.” He paced once, then stopped, jaw ticking. “What would make Kingsley go back on his word unless—”

Harry frowned.

“—unless he’s getting cornered. Or unless they’ve decided what to do with Tom and they want me out of the way.”

“Let’s… let’s not answer yet,” Hermione cleared her throat. “Not until we know more. I’ll be on the lookout.”

Harry nodded.

The next few days dragged on,  the kind of days where it felt like time didn’t really move so much but actually passed quicker than anticipated. Harry barely slept. Tom cried often. Sometimes they were small tired whines while other times they were loud and purposeful. The second Tom made a sound, Harry was sitting up, reaching, already shushing him. And when he did it, he saw those small arms reaching for him.

“Alright, alright… I’m here. I’m right here.”

And the moment Tom was in his arms, the crying stopped.

Just like that.

Tom clutched the front of Harry’s shirt with tiny fists and stared up at him like nothing else in the world existed. Pacifiers did nothing for him — unless he was exhausted to the point of giving in. Otherwise, he rejected them stubbornly every time.

The first time Tom ever reached for him on purpose, it was Hermione who noticed.

She sat at the small table, research notes scattered across the wood while Harry paced the length of the room with Tom balanced against his shoulder, every step dragged with fatigue.

Tom blinked slowly, eyelids drooping.. then suddenly snapped wide open before tiny fingers stretching to Harry’s face.

Hermione froze mid-note, tapping quill suspended in the air. “Harry…”

Harry just hummed in a way she rarely heard as he guided Tom’s fingers to his jaw to let him explore.

Hermione murmured, “He’s very perceptive. Maybe more understanding than most infants.”

“It’s just instinct,” Harry replied, though with no conviction. “Teddy was curious too.”

But the spell of the moment broke the first time Hermione needed to hold Tom while Harry needed to step away.

Tom’s lip trembled, face scrunched, and he screamed.

Both Hermione and Harry panicked instantly. The moment Harry took the baby back, Tom cut off mid-wail, blinking up at him with wet lashes then let out a delighted squeal.

It happened again.

And again.

Every time Harry had to leave the room, Tom erupted. Hermione eventually learned how to soothe him, but the second Harry came back into view, Tom saw him and went ballistic all over again, tiny weak body flailing.

Finally Hermione held out a hand to stop Harry from rushing forward.

“Harry, wait. Stand there.”

“He’s crying, Mia.”

“I know, I know.” She kept her voice low.. “But as much as you want to scoop him up, he needs to see that you’re not going anywhere. Even if you’re not holding him.”

“Mia..” It was painful for Harry. A baby couldn’t understand why their person wasn’t coming to them.

Tom hiccuped through his sobs, staring at Harry with quivering lips…and slowly these ceased only followed by another hiccup and tremble.

But he stayed with Hermione, eyes locked on Harry the whole time.

Tom whined again, eyes following Harry with intensity.

Hermione stood still. She had been unbelievably helpful by running errands, keeping up with Ministry whispers, giving Harry space when he needed it and grounding him when he didn’t know he did. Maybe she did it to distract herself too… but either way, it kept them both steady.

Harry stepped closer and Tom perked up with the unmistakable excited wiggle Harry had come to recognize but Hermione shot him a look.

A “do not pick him up yet” look.

Harry swallowed hard… and stopped where he was.

Tom made a soft coo of confusion followed by another whine which indicated the beginning of a cry. But he didn’t spiral into a full bawl this time. He kept staring at Harry. Frustrated, yes, but watching and waiting.

Both Hermione and Harry watched him with intrigue and when Harry still stood in place, let another discontent whine when—

“Aa!” 

Harry and Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Oh… well. That is unexpected.”

Harry moved at once and Tom kicked wildly in delight, tiny legs flailing. When Harry finally scooped him into his arms, Tom squealed, slapping his own body with uncoordinated hands before trying to eat his own hands in excitement.

It was a first for everyone.

Grimmauld Place still ended up becoming part of their routine, even though Harry wished he could avoid it. It was safer that way, safer than leaving long absences where people might start to question too closely. People drifted in and out, filling the old house with a strange imitation of life when it was usually quiet. Even though the place was used as a meeting place formerly, others still came here for closure. Molly fussed over feeding everyone. Ron lingered because being alone at the Burrow felt too quiet. Remus stopped by sometimes, checking in, but he always left quickly, and then one day he simply stopped coming at all. George came once, stared at nothing in particular for a long moment and then slipped out before anyone noticed.

Hermione covered for Harry so often she started doing it without thinking. More than she realized. “Oh, you just missed him” she’d say. Or, “He’s just taking some space.” Most nodded, accepting it. Ron usually shrugged and muttered something about Harry being Harry, nothing new there. Some evenings Harry came anyway, Tom tucked under his cloak, pressed quietly against his chest. Hermione was the only one who knew. Harry would sit in the attic room or the top library, room silenced, bouncing Tom gently while Ron and Ginny chatted downstairs. Though Ginny mostly came searching for him which made Harry and Hermione panic and pass Tom over to avoid suspicion. Other times Harry disappeared entirely, and Hermione learned to carry the weight of excuses in her throat.

At least he had that extendable bag. He’d gotten it during the war, something that had saved his life more times than he cared to admit. Now it served as a baby bag, stuffed with all of Tom’s things, especially the bottle and pacifier.

With Harry, Ron was the usual, though they did not spend that much time together to actually talk about the recent stuff. With Hermione, Ron was… neutral, after their talk. Not perfect, but not strained. They’ll work it out, Hermione suspected. She walked into the sitting room one night to find him staring at the fire, knees drawn up to his chest.

“Ron.”

He blinked and looked over. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

That was it. There was awkwardness but they sat there like that, not talking, letting the fire crackle between them. When he finally spoke, it was only to say, “Mum made that beef casserole you like.”

“Oh,” Hermione smiled a little. “Tell her I said thanks”

He nodded again. 

The next afternoon, Hermione was putting away plates when Ginny appeared. 

“Hermione… Harry’s disappearing again,” Ginny said, voice shaking despite the bite she tried to put in it. “I’ve tried talking to him. I really have.” Her voice cracked. “Do you know if….,” she paused, rephrasing her question. “Is he avoiding me?”

Hermione froze for half a second before forcing herself to shake her head gently.

“No. He’s just… tired. And grieving. Like all of us.”

Ginny looked away. “I miss him.”

Hermione didn’t know how to answer that. So she didn’t. She sat with her in silence after preparing her some warm tea. Lost in her thoughts, she wondered if Harry was doing the research she’d asked about—relocating, safety measures, anything to keep Tom protected.

But it was Harry she was worried about.

“Any leads?”

“No.” A pause. Paper shuffled, someone huffed in frustration. “But we’ve got someone who might be able to help. If we play it right.”

A second voice answered, low and urgent. “Good. When the time is right, you know what to do. We can’t cans afford to lose him.”

“Understood.”

“Did you sleep?” she whispered.

Harry shook his head without looking up. “He cries when I put him down. Every time.”

“I read that it is normal among infants who were not used to basic paternal affection,” she said. “Or.. he’s scared,”

Some nights were like this. Heavy, unmoving, as if they were both trapped in a stalemate neither could break. She saw it in Harry’s shoulders, always tight, always braced. She saw it in the way he held Tom like the boy might vanish if Harry blinked too long. And Tom… Tom reached for him every time he woke. Hermione wanted to tell Harry he was doing everything right. She wanted to reassure him, to speak certainty into a situation where none of the things speculating and stirring existed. But the words stuck the further days passed. Because in the end, she didn’t know what she was doing either. All she knew was that this, helping him, was right.

She had her own beliefs.

Then came another Patronus from Kingsley, streaking through the window like a warning flare.

“Harry… hold steady. I’m working on it. Just—don’t act rashly.”

The voice was strained, too strained, and the words rashly weren't Kingsley at all.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, Hermione finally said what had been pressing at her for days. “We should tell them soon Harry, I think we can ignore it any longer. They are suspecting at this point.” 

Harry’s fingers tightened around Tom’s little rattle he had been shaking. “Do you think they’d let it go?”

Hermione held her tongue. Her silence said everything.
No. They wouldn’t. Not easily. Not after everything they’d lost. Not with what was at stake.

“But I’ll have to try somehow, won’t I?” Hermione pointed out. “Harry…. about relocating..?”

“I haven’t really searched on that,” he admitted.

“Just think about it,” she urged softly. “Even without Tom, even if it were just you, they’d still seek you out. Your magic, your history… everything. And now with Tom…” she shook her head. “You’re not safe from attention.”

“Where else would I go?” Harry exhaled. “This is all I have. Grimmauld Place doesn’t feel like home. It has never been one and that’s why I have this place. I wanted somewhere I could exist without being chased, or monitored, or… or kept away from.” He paused. “And now what? Do I have to run again?”

“I’m not saying you should abandon this place, Harry,” Hermione said quickly. “You set up protective wards I didn’t even know you could cast. I thought you hated runes.”

“I do,” Harry muttered. “But learning and forming them are two completely different things.”

“And that,” Hermione said, jabbing a finger in his direction, “is exactly what I mean. You didn’t just copy something, you applied the fundamentals in your own way much more than what was scripted. You understood them.”

Harry shifted, embarrassed. “The way the Peverells explained it was just simpler than the books.”

Hermione froze mid-retort, mouth open, then shut it slowly.

“You will explain more later,” she said, eyes narrowing with interest. “But for now just know relocating is an option. Perhaps the States. It is not the exact solution I want to happen but… if push comes to shove… Apparently the rules and even culture regarding magic contrast with ours. ”

She shrugged helplessly.

Harry smiled. He did need a voice of reason when he was stuck and that was Hermione. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind and take a look into it sooner or later.”

Meanwhile, the Weasleys kept meeting at Grimmauld Place for dinner. Molly insisted, softly but stubbornly, that “family should stay close.” So everyone drifted when he could, George with his hollow smiles, Ron and Ginny always. They needed it, the closeness and the sense of normalcy. But the empty chair at the table kept reminding them who wasn’t there. Harry missed more gatherings than he attended, and it had only been a week, especially now with the funeral preparations weighing on all of them.

“Why can’t Harry just tell us himself?” Ron asked, not angry, just confused. “If he needs space, fine. But why not say it? What’s so hard about that?”

That made Hermione frustrated. As if Ron hadn't done the same thing. She wiped her hands on her sweater. “Ron… you know Harry. He needs time. You know this.”

Ron looked down, shrugged. “Yeah… yeah I guess.”

And he left it at that.

They also had a stupid argument about laundry one afternoon and it ended when Ron tossed her a biscuit and she didn’t throw it back. 

Ginny, however, wasn’t fine. Hermione felt it every time she said something on Harry’s behalf. Ginny’s eyes would sharpen, her shoulders go tight, like she sensed something wrong but couldn’t name it. She watched every empty chair Harry should have been in.

In the evening Hermione was in the library while Ron had wandered off to talk to George about something. Hermione was doing her own research about wards and more. Ginny waited until Hermione was alone.

“Hermione. Talk. Now.”

“Ginny? What—”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Ginny said sharply but underneath it was fear and agitation. “Harry is not available again and every time someone asks, you answer. Not him. You. I’m over it.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ginny wasn’t finished.

“I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve asked Ron, Dad, even Percy. He won’t let me in. He won’t even look at me half the time.” Her breath trembled. “I get he needs time, but… how much? How much am I supposed to give him before he just slips away entirely? Unless—” her voice dropped, small and pained, “—unless something’s going on between you two.”

Hermione's eyes widened, stunned, standing up from her work. “What?? Ginny—no. No. I'm with Ron. And Harry is like my brother. Merlin no.”

Ginny’s shoulders sagged like she’d been holding those words for days. She rubbed her face and muttered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just… everything’s been horrible and I’m not thinking straight. He feels so far away and I feel like I'm losing him..”

Hermione stepped close and gently hugged her. She didn’t know everything about Harry and Ginny, not deeply, but she knew what she saw. “You’re not losing him. He’s just carrying something heavy right now. Something he doesn’t know how to talk about yet.”

Ginny’s eyes flicked up, red around the edges. “So there is something.”

Hermione hesitated, just a heartbeat too long, and Ginny caught it immediately.

“…Hermione.”

“He’s coming later tonight,” Hermione whispered. “He said he’d explain.”

Ginny nodded slowly, silently, as if she wasn't sure she believed it but needed to.

Hermione led her out and toward the staircase before cleaning up in the library and walking off to her room, briefly imagining the room she used to have back home. What was even home anymore?

Is it really better to just leave her parents be? But she had to try. She can work on it, it may take time.. But still

Hermione pressed her forehead against the doorframe with a shaky sigh.

One thing for certain is that Kingsley was stalling for Harry and that the Ministry was watching.

Chapter Text

Harry felt nervous. Of course he did. He doesn't expect anyone to understand this. He's only fortunate enough that Hermione stayed. Lucky she didn’t walk out the moment she realized who he was holding even though he could see that she was apprehensive at times, the fact that she even agreed to hold Tom astounded him. He knew that Hermione deeply hated Voldemort because she is fully aware of his cruelty and the threat he poses. She had seen the worst of him the torture, the terror, the cruelty. She knew exactly what he had done to her. But Tom wasn’t Voldemort. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Not if he could prevent it.

Harry has thought about it. Voldemort would always be despised for the monstrosities he committed. That would never change. But Tom… Tom hadn’t been given anything. Not a choice. Not a chance. And there was a connection Harry couldn’t deny. He couldn’t leave Tom. Couldn’t look away. 

His chest tightened as Grimmauld Place came into view. He arrived later than he meant to. Much later. Tom was already half-asleep against him, bundled in a charm-warmed blanket, his tiny breaths puffing against Harry’s collar. Harry had him strapped close under his cloak. Tom hated being covered, but Harry wasn’t risking anyone seeing him. He adjusted the blanket, leaving just enough space for Tom to breathe.

The warmth of Grimmauld washed over him the moment he stepped through the door. Voices drifted through the hallway—Molly’s soft hum, Arthur’s low murmur, Ron’s voice, Ginny’s tone, George’s distant comments, Charlie’s deeper voice.

Another family dinner.

Harry swallowed hard. Guilt twisted in his stomach. Hermione had covered for him too many times already. He hadn’t actually sat with everyone together in days. He hadn’t meant for it to happen but it did. And every time he told himself he’d fix it tomorrow, tomorrow never came.

He closed his eyes for a moment, holding Tom a little closer, and stepped into the living room.

Ginny was the first to see him. Her expression went from worried to relieved to something determined. “Harry.”

Everyone turned.

“Hey,” Harry said, quiet, trying to force a smile. It didn’t really work.

They greeted him. Molly’s face softened in that way moms did. “Oh, Harry, sweetheart, there you are. We were starting to worry. You haven’t been eating properly, your letters have been so short—”

“I know. Sorry.” Harry shifted Tom gently, hoping no one would question the tiny shape in his arms until he was ready to start. He eased himself onto the couch. “I-I’ve been keeping some things from you. Which is why I’ve been… distant. Lately.”

“Harry, dear, you know it’s alright to share with us,” Molly said softly. “We wouldn’t judge you for anything. Everyone needs time.” Molly was being sympathetic and that is when Tom shifted again.

“I was curious from the moment you walked in,” Ginny cut in, her eyes narrowing. “But… what..what is that?”

Harry stiffened. “It’s complicated but before that I just wanted to explain that–”

A small, unhappy noise came from under the blanket. A soft, wavering aaaah, the kind Tom made when he wanted to see Harry and couldn’t. He must have woken up when others began talking. Tom wasn't used to other people’s voices nor noises.

“Oh, um, I—” Harry glanced down and he loosened the blanket just a little so Tom could look up at him. Just enough so the baby could see his face.

Enough for everyone else to see the baby.

Dead silence hit the room.

Ginny’s expression cracked. “A baby,” she whispered. “You… Harry, you have a baby?”

“I guess— wait,” Harry said quickly. “It’s not— he’s not—”

“So who is he then?” Ginny demanded, voice climbing with hurt and disbelief. “You vanish for days and now you show up with a baby? You didn’t think that was something I deserved to know?”

“Ginny, that’s not what’s happening— I didn’t—”

“What else could it be?” she snapped. “Is that why you’ve been gone? And you couldn’t have just told me—? Whose is it?”

“Ginny—” Molly tried at the same moment Arthur said gently, “Sweetheart, let him speak.”

But Ginny wasn’t listening, her eyes were bright, wounded, and angry. Harry opened his mouth again only for Ron to whisper hoarsely,

“Oh Merlin.”

Everyone turned to him.

Ron was staring at the tiny face peeking from Harry’s arms, the color draining from his own. “Harry… mate… why… why is the Dark Lord with you?”

Molly’s hand flew to her mouth. Arthur took a step forward, confused, horrified, both. Charlie swore under his breath. George blinked hard like he genuinely thought his eyes were tricking him.

Ginny whipped toward Ron. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ron, that’s not —”

“That’s him,” Ron said, voice cracking. “I—I saw enough. That’s him.”

Tom gave a small hiccup-like whine and nuzzled into Harry’s neck, completely unaware of the storm around him.

“…Harry,” Ginny whispered, voice trembling. “Please tell me Ron is wrong.”

Molly whispered, “Sweetheart… why do you have him?”

Harry swallowed hard.

“He was left alone,” Harry said, voice hoarse. “At the Ministry. For two weeks. No warmth, no food, nothing. They wanted him to die. So I took him.”

“You—” Ron started horrified but Ginny beat him to it.“You— took him,” Ginny repeated, shaking. “You took him. Without telling us? What on earth were you thinking, Harry?!”

“I wasn’t going to walk in and say I need to get him out of there. I tried that, but it didn't work, did it? What else was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ginny snapped, her voice rising sharply, “maybe NOT go after the Dark Lord who was locked up for a good, bloody reason!” She continued. “I’ve been trying for weeks. Trying to talk to you. Trying to make us work. And you kept pushing me away, and now— now I find out it’s because of this? This— monster.”

“Stop,” Harry said sharply, pulling Tom closer, body instinctively curling around the baby. Tom let out another soft cry.  

“Watch your words,” Harry warned. “You’re scaring him.”

“I’m scaring him? Me?! Are you—”

George stepped forward carefully, palms raised. “Ginny, hey. Let’s think a bit—”

“Think?” Ginny spat, twisting on her heel to face them all. “Fred is dead, and Harry brings him into our house?! My brother is dead because of that monster!”

Hermione was worried. This is all going not the way they wanted.

“That’s exactly why,” George said softly, but firmly. “But don’t let it make you do something you would regret. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Ginny screamed. “He was your brother, George!”

George said quietly. “But you’re hurting. You’re angry. And maybe don’t aim all of that at Harry.”

Ginny shook violently, chest heaving. “I can’t, Harry. I can’t do this with you. Whatever we were trying… no. I can’t.”

“I’m sorry…”

“That’s it? You’re holding Voldemort,” Ron hissed. “You’re protecting him. You’re….Harry, have you gone mental?”

“Are you serious, are you giving us up just like that?” Ginny interrupted. “If you were actually sorry, you wouldn’t have done it. You wouldn’t spit on everyone who died because of that thing.” Her voice took a tone of disbelief. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

She turned and stormed out, the door slamming behind her.

Harry’s throat tightened painfully. “This is not how I planned to bring that up,” he muttered.

Ron shot him a furious look. “And how did you plan to bring it up? When were you going to tell us that you—”

“I know who he is,” Harry interrupted, voice firm. “I know exactly who he is. And I’m not pretending otherwise. But this..this isn’t Voldemort. He has no memories. No power. He’s just a baby.”

“And how are you so sure?” Ron demanded. “How do you know he’s not dangerous? Admit it, Harry…he’s manipulating you.” The room fell dead silent again. “You weren’t planning to tell us, were you? Tell me? Neither of you?”

“Ron, it’s complicated–.” Hemrione began.

“Oh, so he tells you everything now, does he?” Ron snapped.“Complicated. Yeah, it’s bloody complicated. ‘Hey, by the way, I took and am raising the former Dark Lord turned child’—was that the plan, Harry? To just drop that on us sometime? What the hell, man. What about me? I’m your best mate too!” Ron said. “Could’ve talked to me, you know. I get I’m not as good with words as Hermione, but still—I’m there too. Why couldn’t you tell me? Trust me? What, Hermione’s the only person you trust now?”

“Ron—” Hermione said sharply.

“No, don’t ‘Ron’ me. He couldn’t talk to me? Since when were we not all in this together? Since when is it all Hermione, all the time?”

“I needed immediate advice, Ron. I was out of my mind.”

“But you couldn’t come to me? “Even once? It's always like this.. Even back then.”

“Ron!” Hermione cut in. “You’ve barely been talking to anyone. Not to Harry, and not to me. And whenever I try with you, you shut me out.”

Ron’s jaw clenched, eyes burning with a different kind of hurt. “I’m trying.”

“At what?” Hermione shot back, tears gathering but refusing to fall. “Ignoring me? Pretending I’m nagging you every time I ask if you’re alright?”

Ron flinched. “I’m not good with— with words— like you are—”

“You don’t have to be good with words,” Hermione said, her voice finally cracking. “You just have to listen. Sometimes. Just once.”

He looked away, pained, but she pressed on, years of frustration slipping through.

“You tell Harry he needs to talk things out, but when I try, you push me away. Or tell me ‘not now, Hermione,’ or ‘stop worrying so much.’ You cut me off before I even finish a sentence. I keep trying to explain how I feel, what I think—but do you ever listen?”

Her breath shook.

“No. Because you always think I’m lecturing you, or overreacting, or being paranoid. I know I can be too much sometimes. I know that. But can’t you just— just hear me out once in a while?”

Ron remains silent, eyebrows burrowed in a grimace.

“And there you go defending Harry again.”

“Because it’s not fair!” Hermione’s restraint finally snapped. “Why is it that when I try to speak, really speak, someone always pushes me aside? Like my feelings are an inconvenience? I expected an apology from you. Or… or at least for you to hear me out.” She breathed in. “Sometimes even a small gesture is enough. Something that shows you’re there. That I’m not alone. But I can’t even rely on that from you.”

Ron dragged both hands down his face, exhausted. “We’re a mess, Hermione.”

“We don’t have to be,” she said. “Just… try with me. Just once.”

Ron hesitated. Then shook his head slightly. 

“I think… we should… take a break.”

Hermione stared at him, breath leaving her chest like she’d been punched. “What?”

“With everything going on,” Ron said, avoiding her eyes, “it’s not the right timing for us. It’s better if we stay friends. Before we ruin even that.

Hermione’s voice rose, cracking. “Why won’t you just talk it out?! Why is it that every time we inch toward something real, you shut down and push me away?”

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. “Again with this. I assumed you’d need space like you always do!”

“And you keep assuming things! Assuming I need space. Assuming I’ll calm down. Assuming everything will magically fix itself later. But you never actually stay. You never talk. You never ask. You just— assume, assume, assume, Ronald.” Hermione shot back. “Even now, you’re running away. From me. From us. Whatever this is, whatever it was.”

“Running away?” Ron barked defensively. “I’m trying! Bloody hell, Hermione, I’m trying! What do you want from me?”

Hermione blinked hard, rolling her eyes upward to keep tears from falling. “Fine,” she said, voice thin. “If that’s how you want it. Fine.” She will not cry. Her arms crossed. She must stay strong, if not for others, for herself.

“See you at the cemetery,” she said.

Ron swallowed. “Take some time for yourself, alright? We can talk later. Spend time with your parents. I’m sure things will get settled here soon enough.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that, Ronald.” Hermione responded exhausted. “They’ve irreversibly forgotten me.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Hermione–wait–”

But the emerald flash filled the room, and she was gone before he could get another word out.

Harry stared at the empty grate. When Ron turned to him, his expression was stricken, almost frightened.

“Is it true…? Did you know?”

“Yes.”

Ron gave a small, bitter scoff. “Of course you did.” He marched up the stairs without another look and a second later his door slammed hard.

No one spoke.

Arthur finally cleared his throat and stepped forward with slow, careful movements, as though approaching a frightened creature.

Molly looked around at the shaken faces, then placed a hand over her heart, eyes wet. “Alright, everyone,” she whispered, almost pleading. “It’s been a very long night. Let’s… try to get some rest.”

Harry didn’t answer.

By the time they quietly dispersed, Harry was left alone with Tom in his arms.

The next few days passed in a way that didn’t feel like they did at all. More like everyone was stuck in the same hour, stretched too thin, too long. As much as everyone wanted to talk about the main issue in the room, or in Harry’s arms, no one dared. No one wanted to start that conversation before Fred’s funeral. It was wrong. Or maybe they were all scared of what they would say if they let themselves start.

So an unspoken rule formed.

Avoid the topic.

Avoid the tension.

Avoid Harry most of all.

Molly still checked on him, of course. She would bring him food or a cup of tea, even though she barely looked at Tom except for an uncertain glance. Her hands would fidget with her apron, her shoulders tight. She didn’t say a word about Tom, not a single one, but she didn’t need to. The look in her eyes every time she saw that tiny dark-haired baby in Harry’s arms… it said everything. Fear. Confusion. Something like grief tangled inside it.

Arthur spoke even less than usual. When he did, his voice stayed gentle, polite, but carefully distant, like he was afraid one wrong phrase might unleash something in Harry he couldn’t take back. Ginny didn’t speak to Harry at all. Not once. She didn’t even show up for meals anymore. And if she did, her eyes slid past him as if he were just another empty chair. As if he’s not there.

Ron… tried. Sort of. He lingered one step behind conversations, or hovered at the edges of rooms. He would open his mouth like he wanted to say something to Harry then his face would pinch, his throat bobbing hard, and he’d stand up abruptly and leave.

Hermione kept herself busy, almost desperately so. She cleaned corners that were already clean, rearranged books in alphabetical order by author, then by subject, then by color as if that made sense. She practiced refreshing wards that didn’t need refreshing, paced through the hallway muttering checklists under her breath. She checked on Harry quietly, never prying, but she was quieter than she had ever been.

Harry tried to tell himself it didn’t bother him. That he was used to it. That it was just like the Dursleys, or like class when he didn’t quite get along with the group. That distance was normal. Expected. Fine.

But it wasn't fine.

Only George acted like… George.

Not exactly how he used to be but the closest anyone in the house came to normal.

George was curious, of course. He eyed Tom every time he walked by, but he didn’t recoil or look horrified. He didn’t go stiff like Arthur did, or flinch like Ginny when Tom let out a small coo. He just… looked. Tilted his head. Studied the baby the same way he used to study a half-finished prank prototype, quietly analyzing. Like the fascination itself grounded him.

Tom seemed to like him too. Or at least he stared at George’s hair with this intensity like the bright orange assaulted his eyes and he wasn’t sure if he should cry or laugh.

Fred’s funeral was only a few hours away.

Everyone was dressed in black or dark formal robes, moving slowly through the preparations in the way people do when they’re trying not to rush grief. It had been set up with flowers and wreaths. Harry watched from the stairs for a moment, Tom asleep against his chest, tiny fingers curled to themselves.

Harry wasn’t sure if he should, can, even attend. Or if he had the right. What if Tom cried? What if someone suggested he shouldn’t have brought him? What if Tom being there disrespected Fred’s memory?

He was thinking about all of this, spiraling quietly, when George approached him.

George nudged his shoulder against Harry’s. “Alright there, Harry?"

Harry blinked. “Not really.”

“Yeah,” George said. “None of us are. Suppose that’s fitting.”

Harry tried smiling. It didn’t stick.

George tilted his head toward Tom. “So. What’s his name?”

Harry froze. “You… want to know?”

“Well, yeah,” George said, like it was obvious. “I’m going to end up calling him something, aren’t I?”

Harry hesitated. “It’s… um. Tom.”

George blinked. “…Is that his real name or are you doing that thing again where you simplify horrific things into one-syllable words so you don’t have a full breakdown?”

Harry flushed. “It’s his real name.”

“Huh.” George scratched his chin. “Honestly expected something posh. Like… I dunno. Fabian. Septimus or something with too many syllables. But Tom. Very normal. Didn't expect that. It's a bit disappointing for Voldy, if I’m being honest.”

Harry let out a snot at the nickname though he tried to cover it as Tom’s eyes shifted to stare up at him before returning his gaze to the orange-haired distraction.

“So. This is the part where I ask whether you’re angry at me or not..”

“Hmm?”

Harry stiffened. “Well. Are you?”

George squinted at him. “Harry. Mate. If I was gonna be angry, I’d have yelled at you days ago.”

“But— but Ron— and Ginny— and—”

“Ron’s scared,” George said simply. “Ginny’s hurt. Mum’s grieving. Dad’s trying not to make things worse. Everyone’s… in pieces. And you—” He poked Harry’s forehead. “—keep thinking everything you do is going to make it worse.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry whispered.

“No,” George said, firm enough to leave no room for argument. “Not you. You’ve done reckless things before, sure. Merlin knows. But not this. You wouldn’t bring Vol—Tommy here unless you thought it mattered.”

Harry swallowed hard. “But what if it was selfish? What if— I didn’t want him to die but that doesn’t mean I— what if it’s all the wrong reasons—?”

“Harry,” George interrupted. “Even if your reasons were selfish — which I doubt they were — you still saved a baby from being left to die. That’s it. That’s the whole story. No one else did. You did. And that’s why I’m not angry. I just can’t be angry at that.”

Harry stared at him, stunned. “Really?”

George snorted. “I want to be. That’d be easier. But I can’t. Not when you’re holding him like that.” He nodded at Tom. “And not when he’s making that face at me.”

Harry looked down.

Tom was staring at George with a tiny scrunched offended expression as if George had personally insulted his existence.

“He, uh…” Harry cleared his throat. “He might not like the nickname.”

“Well, that’s the privilege of being adopted,” George said cheerfully. “He’ll just have to deal with it. Every Weasley has gone through worse.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “He’s not a Weasley.”

“Not yet,” George said, walking backward toward the yard with a grin that was almost real. “But considering you’re collecting strays, it could be in the cards.”

Harry blinked. “What— I— no, I’m not—”

“Come on,” George called. “It’s about to start.”

Harry adjusted Tom in his arms. The baby stared at George’s retreating form before tipping his head back up at Harry with a soft, questioning “ahh.”

Harry sighed before following George out.