Chapter 31
A Promise Given
Authors Note - I seems my authors note at the end of the last chapter saying wait for it with Harry and his dueling went right over some peoples heads. Originally this was going to be one big chapter …
But here you go, you’ll be more satisfied for the remainder for a fight im sure …
……
Chapter Thirty-One
Harry deflected a Bombarda from Nott, the explosive curse ricocheting into the building opposite. Windows shattered, glass raining down as screams echoed from within. Before he could catch his breath, Avery launched a piercing hex —it grazed Harry’s thigh, slicing through flesh like fire. He staggered with a grunt, warm blood soaking through his jeans.
“Harry!” Hermione cried, as she was held behind him.
“ Chosen One? ” Avery sneered, his wand raised, voice mocking. “A pathetic child who disarms, stuns, and tickles? How you’ve survived this long is beyond me. Maybe you really are just lucky, boy.”
A voice echoed in Harry’s mind—not Avery’s, but another, calm and resolute.
“When you face Voldemort or his followers, Harry, you must be prepared to meet them with every strength you possess… They will expect you to hold back. That will be your advantage.”
Dumbledore’s warning rang loud in his memory. And he knew—if he kept dueling like this, trying to outlast them with restraint, he would lose. He would be captured. Hermione would die. Habit in the heat of the moment had him revert to what he was used to, his old style of dueling and it wasn’t going to be enough anymore.
He clenched his jaw, deflecting another curse as pain flared in his leg. Malfoy was circling, his expression cold and predatory. Nott flanked from the left.
Then time slowed.
He saw it— Avada Kedavra, the sickly green flash that had taken so much from him arcing toward Hermione. Everything inside him screamed.
He didn’t think. He acted.
The ancient magic in his blood surged, breaking free like a storm. He flung a cutting curse over Avery’s head, a wild arc of white light that sheared through a lamppost. Avery stumbled back in confusion as the top of the pole came crashing down missing him by mere inches.
Harry turned, still gripping Hermione and spinning her away from the curse, shielding her with his own body instinctually.
“NO!” Malfoy’s voice cracked like a whip, his wand moving rapidly.
The ground behind them cracked and shifted—something massive exploding into motion.
Harry didn’t look. He didn’t need to, he only knew the curse hadn’t hit him..
The rage inside him flared, pure and blinding. He opened himself fully to the magic coursing through him. No more hesitation. No more holding back.
“ Reducto! ” came his silent cast, racing from his wand, a crackling energy channeling the spell.
The curse struck Nott square in the torso. There was no scream—just the sickening sound of flesh tearing, the sharp metallic scent of blood, and a spray of red mist.
Nott’s upper body vanished in an instant. What remained—his legs—collapsed lifelessly to the stone.
Lucius stared, lips slightly parted, at the steaming, blood-soaked stone where Matthias Nott had stood moments before.
He hadn’t screamed. There hadn’t been time.
The fog of red mist clung in the air, swirling faintly in the crosswinds of stray magic. It settled onto shattered cobblestones and the half-destroyed shopfronts like a veil of war. Even the flickering light from the overturned lamps seemed dimmer, more hesitant in the aftermath.
Lucius’ jaw clenched. In a way he respected it, the violence. He wasn’t the boy the dark lord made out it seemed.
“Remarkable,” Lucius finally murmured, eyes narrowing as he took a slow step forward, his polished boots crunching over fallen glass and charred parchment. “Is that what you’ve been hiding all this time?”
Harry stood just ahead, his breathing ragged. Blood streamed freely down his leg and over the fingers pressed to the wound, his shirt was torn a little. But he didn’t waver. His wand was raised, and behind him, the mudblood crouched near the wall of a half-destroyed bookstore, her own wand shaking, yet ready.
Lucius’ voice cut through the smoke. Smooth. Cold. Controlled.
“You’ve become a killer Potter, it's almost like looking in a mirror, what have you changed into?” he taunted a little more, he needed to end this quickly, make Potter react.
Harry tilted his head. “The guy who just turned your friend into modern art?”
Lucius’ expression darkened. He flicked his wand.
“ Os fractura! ”
The bone-breaking curse screamed through the alley. Harry reacted in a blur, twisting, wand raised to deflect— CRACK —the curse struck Avery’s hand instead. A sickening crunch followed, and the man howled in shock, crumpling to the ground, his wand skittering across the cobblestones, his hand a shattered mess of digits and knuckle.
Lucius didn’t even glance at him. His pale eyes locked on Harry with growing focus.
“You’re faster than I thought”
“You’re slower than I expected,” Harry bit back, sweat trickling down his temple.
Lucius didn’t answer. He struck again— Confringo —a blazing burst of fire exploded against the remnants of a stone column, scattering hot debris. Harry ducked left, flanking wide, drawing Lucius into motion.
The duel quickened from there.
Lucius sent a line of purple flame twisting like a whip—Harry countered with a wall of water conjured from thin air, the two spells hissing violently as they met in a cloud of steam.
A slashing curse came next— too fast —it tore through Harry’s left sleeve and into the meat of his shoulder. He hissed out, staggered, but stayed upright, his wand swinging wildly up—
Red sparks exploded from the tip. Something Lucius could not identify.
Lucius deflected, but his wrist faltered at the force of it. The shock of it echoed up his arm. That spell had weight. Momentum.
Lucius circled, wand ready, breath thin.
This wasn’t dueling. This wasn’t defense.
This was war.
And Potter—bleeding, staggered, half-protecting the girl behind him—was starting to push him back with his two allies either dead or incapacitated.
Lucius could feel it: the shift. The balance of power teetering on a knife’s edge. He had underestimated the boy, again, like so many others had, lulled by mutterings of the Dark Lord and his fool of a son, of noble disarming spells and unlikely victories.
Yet the boy who duelled with him now was not holding back.
The heat from a scorched stone wall warmed his back as he stepped lightly over debris, his wand never lowering. His eyes flicked to Avery—still clutching his hand, barely conscious—and the sound of disapparating cracks in the distance began to echo faintly, a sign of crumbling Death Eater discipline. The plan was unraveling, dreading gnawing in his chest at the idea of failure.
A faint whine built in the air, then shattered—crackling like electricity—as a fresh volley of spells lit up the southern edge of the Alley, followed by the familiar cries of his death eaters that remained. Auror reinforcements.
Lucius didn’t hesitate, retreat was better than capture he reasoned. He pivoted, launched a trio of spells in rapid succession—one for Harry, one wide to obscure vision, and one fast and sharp —right at Hermione.
“NO!”
Harry’s voice tore through the air as his wand moved instinctively, slicing the sky with a golden shield charm that crashed against Lucius’ curse mid-flight, shattering it like glass. The fragments of burning magic scattered harmlessly, sizzling into the cobblestones. Just as Lucius had predicted the boy would.
But the distraction worked.
When the smoke cleared and Harry's eyes snapped back up—Lucius was gone.
The spot where he’d stood was empty, only the tattered hem of his black cloak drifting in the wind, caught on the jagged edge of a lamppost.
Silence crept in, broken only by the crackle of settling debris and the ragged pull of Harry’s breath, the pain in his leg burned and he stumbled to his knees..
Hermione ran to his side, nearly slipping in the dust as she dropped to her knees beside him.
“You alright?” he asked hoarsely, his wand still half-raised, eyes sweeping the alley like he didn’t quite trust it was over..
“I—I think so. Harry, your leg, a-and, why on earth would you throw yourself in front of the Killing Curse, you complete idiot? ” she snapped, voice trembling as tears sprang to her eyes.
“Thought I’d chance surviving it again,” he muttered, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—just before she slapped his arm. Twice.
“ Oi! Ouch—bloody hell, Hermione! ”
“Do not joke about this Harry Potter!” his friend pointed her finger at him. “You would’ve been killed!”
“But I wasn’t-”
“Because they wanted you alive,” she said, ignoring his protest as she pressed her hand to his thigh, trying to stem the bleeding. “Malfoy summoned that slab to block it. He did.”
“I was trying to keep you alive Hermion-” he tried to protest.
“If you had been killed what do you think would’ve happened to me next?” she reasoned. Harry knew she wasn’t angry, she wasn’t lecturing him. He could see in her eyes she was terrified of losing him and that that nearly happened today.
He blinked. “You’re right, im sorry”
Her fingers stilled briefly over the torn fabric, his blood coating her hands. “It was too close.”
The crack of more Apparitions snapped through the alley, as Aurors flooded in, wands drawn and robes flaring with movement. A few immediately moved to shield civilians behind overturned stalls and shopfronts, but three of them advanced toward the wreckage near Harry and Hermione, eyes scanning the chaos.
One—a tall man with a dark beard and the hard eyes—spotted Harry first. His gaze swept from the boy’s bloodied leg and shoulder to the smoldering wreckage behind him, to the collapsed remains of what had once been Matthais Nott.
“Merlin’s breath...” the Auror muttered. “That... is that—?” He turned, calling back to a woman moving behind him. “Callahan! You see this?”
Callahan approached and froze when she caught sight of Nott’s remains. Her face was grim, eyes flicking back to Harry. “Who is that and what happened?”
Harry resisted the urge to say what does it look like before reminding himself the auror was just trying to work out if he was the threat or not.
Harry, still leaning against a cracked wall with Hermione half-holding him up, met her gaze steadily. “Matthais Nott, he, Lucius Malfoy and Avery cornered us in the attack, he tried to kill Hermione and I stopped him”
Callahan’s eyes lingered on the blood-soaked ground, the crumbled stone, and the red mist still drying on the wall behind. “ Stopped him ,” she echoed softly, not with disbelief—but with something closer to unease. “Lad he is only a pair of legs”
“You killed a man, Potter,” the first Auror said, voice tight with the weight of official duty. Though Harry noted the look of conflict in his eyes “I’m going to need to get a statement and possibly-”
Hermione bristled, stepping forward despite her shaking hands. “He was protecting us! You can’t—”
“Oi, Wescott,” came a gruff voice behind them.
A second group of Aurors was approaching from the southern end of the alley—three of them, dust-covered and worn, but walking with purpose. One of them, a stocky man with a long scar across his jaw and a scowl that reminded Harry of Moody, stepped between Harry and the questioning Auror.
“I know your new but some common sense lad,” the scarred Auror said firmly. “We saw it. The whole thing.”
“You were holding the southern edge of the Alley,” Wescott replied, surprised. “You saw this?”
“We did, but the death eaters blocked the north end, we couldn’t cover the whole street” the man nodded, jerking his thumb to the two others behind him. “Avery, Nott, and Lucius bloody Malfoy had Potter boxed in. We saw them getting overwhelmed and honestly I thought they were going to die. If he hadn't done what he did, they and likely us would be the ones getting carted off in pieces.”
Callahan exchanged a look with the others, then turned her gaze to Harry again, softer now. “Sorry Potter, this … well we haven’t see this for some time”
“Tell you what lad, you’ll make a fine auror when you finish Hogwarts. Blew the guy to bits!” The auror who had stepped in spoke. “Tibius Knowsley” he held out his hand and gave Harry’s a firm shake. “Lets get you to saint Mungos lad, that shoulder and leg looks bad. You too young miss”
…
The moment Sirius stepped through the Floo into Diagon Alley, the acrid tang of smoke hit his nose and his heart seized in his chest.
By Merlin Sirius thought. The place was wrecked. His stomach dropped, Harry had been here!
Dust hung in the air, hazing everything in a grim, golden fog. The cobblestones were cracked, scattered with the remains of market stalls—splintered wood, torn canvas, crates of crushed fruit now soaked in ash and blood. Aurors in deep red robes moved in organized chaos, casting temporary healing charms on the wounded and trying to shepherd a few dazed civilians from behind overturned carts and through shattered shopfronts.
Sirius barely took it in.
He was already moving, weaving between medics and floating stretchers, his eyes searching every face, every prone figure, his voice loud and unsteady. “Harry! HARRY!” He looked around desperately.
Remus came up behind him, slower, scanning the surroundings with the wary tension of a man who'd seen war before though his own desperation was evident on his aged features. His gaze flitted to the scorched stone and the broken glass, the outline of a massive scorch mark near one wall, a pool of blood drying against the base of a shattered lamppost. The sight of .. fingers and knuckle bones?
But Sirius didn’t pause.
“Harry!” he shouted again, louder, grabbing at the sleeve of a rushing medic. “I need to find my godson? Harry Potter—sixteen, dark hair—have you seen him?” he urged, he didn’t need to explain who Harry was in reality but his desperation clouded everything.
The medic barely glanced at him. “I—I don’t know, sorry—try that group—”
Sirius was already off, moving through the crowded street as best he could, he made his way toward a pair of Aurors coordinating near the the apothecary which was leveled to the ground. His heart beat wildly in his chest, every second without an answer stretching tighter like a bowstring. He can’t be gone. I’d know. I’d feel it. I promised!
He stopped short in front of the Aurors, breath short and wild, both looked at him, though they seemed to recognise him. “Harry Potter. Do you know where he is?”
One of them—tall, youngish, dark-skinned with tired eyes and soot on his red collar—paused for a moment, conflict behind his eyes.
“I'm his godfather!” Sirius pressed.
“Yeah. We pulled him and a girl—Granger—out of the mess just up by where you came. Potter was injured. Bad leg and shoulder. Shaking like mad but still on his feet, last I saw.”
“Where?” Sirius demanded, already moving.
“Taken to Saint Mungo’s. Standard protocol for magical trauma—”
But the Auror was speaking to air. Sirius had turned on his heel and was already storming toward the nearest Floo access.
Remus caught up, his face tight but his tone calm. “Sirius—go. I’ll tell the Greengrass family what happened, they will likely be concerned”
Sirius glanced at him, breathing hard. “You sure?”
Remus gave a single nod. “Yes, I won’t be long, I’ll come straight after.”
There was gratitude in Sirius’s eyes—but it was brief, overtaken by the need to move . With one last glance down the alley he entered the Leaky which was filled with people being interviewed by aurors, he didn’t fail to note the shattered window and collapsed table, he stepped into the fireplace, shouted “Saint Mungo’s!” and disappeared in a whoosh of green flame.
Remus exhaled slowly, alone now in the broken alley. He looked back at the devastation. Aurors crouched beside a collapsed wall where someone was still being pulled from rubble. The remains of a building facade listed to one side. Off to the left, someone had thrown a blanket over a body that was missing half of itself. Judging by the shredded robes with silver thread he assumed it was one of the death eaters.
Remus closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. He turned away from the wreckage and began the walk back to the floo to make his way back to Greengrass residence, his stride steady and shoulders set, the war’s opening salvo had begun.
The emerald-green flames roared to life in the hearth of the Greengrass drawing room, casting flickering shadows against the high-panelled walls. A house-elf near the fireplace gave a startled squeak, nearly dropping a tray of delicately arranged petit fours as the figure stepped out of the Floo.
Remus Lupin brushed a bit of soot from his sleeve, straightening with a weariness that went bone-deep. The room was quiet save for the faint tick of a mantel clock and the crackle of the flames. Outside the wide bay window, Thomas Greengrass stood stiffly, posture composed but betraying tension in the way his fingers flexed behind his back.
At the sound of the arrival, Elizabeth Greengrass entered from the dining room, a folded napkin still in one hand. Her brow creased as her eyes flicked to the hearth—then tightened, wariness rising like mist before a storm. Daphne followed just behind, the girl’s knuckles white around the edge of a chair. She looked like someone trying not to breathe too deeply, as though the very air might give way under her.
Remus stepped forward, offering a nod meant to be reassuring but felt heavy with the weight of what he carried. “I thought it best I came in person.”
Thomas turned, his footsteps soft against the polished wood floor. His face was unreadable, carved from the same stone as the ancestral portraits on the wall, but there was a flicker of urgency in his eyes—controlled, but undeniably there. “What news? How bad was it?”
Remus hesitated for a breath. “Aurors are still on-site. The area’s being secured. Harry and Hermione were there when it happened.”
Daphne flinched—not visibly, not enough to draw attention from anyone but as her former professor, a man who had taught hundreds of students to keep calm while facing monsters and dark wizards, he noted it. Her hand gripped the back of the chair tighter. Astoria had slipped in behind them now, standing behind her mother.
“That’s why he didn’t show. He wasn’t late, he—”
A faint, involuntary sound escaped Astoria. A sharp inhale, barely audible. Daphne’s jaw clenched, the colour draining from her face.
Elizabeth took a step forward. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “Are they—?”
“Alive,” Remus said quickly, the word leaving his mouth with something close to relief. “I should’ve started there. I’m sorry. Harry was taken to Saint Mungo’s—his leg and shoulder were hurt. Hermione’s physically unharmed, but shaken. Sirius is with them now.”
Thomas didn’t blink, but his hand dropped from behind his back, hanging loose at his side as if someone had cut a string. “Do you know the extent of his injuries?”
“We weren't told. Only that he was still on his feet when the Aurors got there.”
A long silence followed, the kind that prickled at the skin, where no one wanted to be the first to breathe too loud. Remus felt it press against his ribs.
“I came back because… well. You deserved to hear it directly, especially after us running out like that” Remus said quietly.
Thomas nodded once—measured, deliberate. A gesture of respect, not warmth. “Thank you, Mr. Lupin. That was… decent of you.”
Elizabeth moved closer to her husband, “Will you return to Saint Mungo’s?”
“I will be going over now,” Remus replied, forcing a small smile. It flickered at the corners of his mouth before fading.
A pause.
“I want to go.” Daphne’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a scalpel.
Thomas turned to her. “No, Daphne. You’ll stay here.”
The look in her eyes sharpened. She didn’t raise her voice—but there was a steel edge beneath the calm. “But—”
“No.” His tone was firmer now, and her face twisted—not in anger, but in hurt. “Working together at school is one thing. His training here is another. But going to Saint Mungo’s? That puts things into public view. Indicate that something is there”
“Because there is something!,” she said, voice cracking like splintering ice.
“I know you care Daphne, I know.” Thomas’s sigh wasn’t exasperated. It was heavy. “But we cannot let the Prophet twist this. If you’re seen there, the questions won’t stop. About you, about him. About all of us.”
Her lip trembled, just barely, but she bit it quickly, turning her face toward the window so no one would see.
“Is that all you think it is?” she asked after a beat, quiet and bitter. “Just care?”
“I’ve said all I will on the matter.” His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The wall was up.
Daphne’s chin lifted, defiant even as her eyes shimmered. She turned and strode from the room, her steps clipped and fast, as though fleeing before the tears could fall.
“Daphne—” Elizabeth called softly, but the girl didn’t stop.
Astoria, eyes narrowed and jaw set in a perfect mirror of her sister’s fury, muttered something under her breath and followed. She glared at her father as she left, small shoulders bristling.
Elizabeth turned to Remus with an apologetic tilt of her head, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Remus shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologise for. I understand completely.” He glanced toward the hall Daphne had disappeared down. “I’m sure Harry will write to her as soon as he’s able.”
“We’d appreciate that,” Thomas said quietly.
Remus gave a polite dip of his head, then stepped back into the emerald fire—and was gone.
…
The doors to the Accidents and Emergency ward of Saint Mungo’s slammed open, and Sirius Black strode through them with the kind of force that drew glances even in a place used to panic. The chaos hit him like a wall — the harsh scent of spell-burn and antiseptic mingled with the metallic tang of blood in the air. He stepped aside just in time as two mediwizards rushed past with a stretcher, a man writhing atop it, his face half-melted from some corrosive hex Sirius couldn’t name.
He barely had time to register the shouting. Healers were calling spells like orders on a battlefield. Blood-replenishing potions floated by, diagnostic incantations, pain-numbing draughts. The air was thick with the shimmer of active magic and the raw sound of suffering.
“Sir, you can’t stand there—”
“I’m looking for Harry Potter,” Sirius snapped at the orderly who tried to intercept him. “He was brought in from the Alley incident. Aurors brought him in, leg and shoulder hit.”
The man flinched slightly at Sirius’s tone but nodded. “Bay Seven. Down the left corridor, past triage. You’ll need clearance to go further, but—”
Sirius was already moving.
He ran each step had purpose, cutting through the chaos like a blade. He passed a child whimpering in her mother’s lap, blood seeping through bandages wrapped around one tiny arm. A trainee Healer was trying to staunch the bleeding from a wizard’s stomach wound while another cast diagnostics in a frantic loop, his face ghost-white. Someone screamed.
And then Sirius saw her.
A woman crumpled beside a bed, her hands shaking as she clutched the limp fingers of the man lying there. He was grey-faced, unmoving, a gash across his chest barely held together with thick layers of magic-soaked gauze. His eyes were half-lidded, his breath shallow and whistling through his lips like it had to fight for space in his lungs. She was whispering to him — over and over — as though her voice could drag him back from wherever he was going.
Sirius didn’t need to be a Healer to see it. He’s not going to make it.
The thought hit hard, colder than expected. Not because he knew the man — he didn’t — but because the woman’s grief was so sharp, so bare, it sliced through the protective numbness Sirius had been gripping like a shield.
It could be anyone . Any husband. Any friend.
It could be Harry.
Memories of the first blood war came racing back.
He tore his gaze away and moved on, his pace quickening as dread clawed higher in his chest.
Bay Seven was tucked behind a shield charm, faintly humming in the air like static before he reached it however he felt a strange tingle over his skin, detection charms . Two Aurors stood outside, eyes sharp and unsmiling.
“Name?” one barked.
“Sirius Black. I’m his godfather.”
A pause. A look exchanged between them.
Sirius’s jaw tensed, but he forced himself to nod. “Could you please move?” he all but snapped. The one of the aurors raised an eyebrows and made to say something before his partner tapped him on the arm and shook his head.
“Apologises Mr Black, go on in”
The shield charm parted with a soft hiss as Sirius stepped into the bay, heart in his throat.
The sounds changed instantly — from chaos to something gentler, more contained. And then he saw them.
Harry was propped slightly up on the hospital bed, a deep bandage wrapped across his left shoulder, another snug around his thigh. His skin was pale, too pale, and his glasses sat askew on the bedside table, but his eyes — tired, unfocused — were open.
Hermione sat beside him, perched on the edge of her chair with both hands curled around Harry’s wrist like an anchor. A faint bruise shadowed her temple, and her cardigan looked half-soaked with healing potion, but she was murmuring something to him in a soft, steady rhythm.
Harry glanced toward the door, eyes catching on Sirius — and tried to sit up instinctively. “Sirius—”
“ Don’t, ” Sirius said roughly, voice cracking as he crossed the space in three fast strides. “Don’t even try to move.”
Hermione stood quickly, moving aside to make space, her eyes shining with both exhaustion and unmistakable relief. He briefly placed his arm on her shoulder and looked at her to assess her state. Shaken but unharmed.
Then Sirius was there, kneeling awkwardly by the bed, one hand finding Harry’s wrist before the other wrapped around his shoulders — careful, but firm. He buried his face in Harry’s hair, voice raw and muffled.
“I thought I’d lost you.”
Harry stilled in the hug, startled — not because it was unwelcome, but because he could feel the tremor in Sirius’s arms. A rare, unguarded quake. Slowly, Harry lifted one hand — the one not wrapped in gauze — and pressed it weakly to Sirius’s back.
“I’m alright,” he whispered, though it was only half true.
“Barely” Hermione muttered.
Sirius exhaled hard, something between a laugh and a sob. “Bloody hell, kid, you scared the life out of me.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, and looked away — just for a moment — as if she couldn’t bear to see them like that without breaking herself. She wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her sleeve.
“It was horrible” she said shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “The attack was so fast
“Tell me what happened” Sirius asked gently.
The Healer, still hovering at the foot of the bed, cleared her throat gently. “No sudden movements. And keep talking if he’s awake. He lost alot of blood so I’m keeping him here for a bit for observation, I’ll be back shortly”
“It was Lucius Malfoy who led the attack,” Harry started, his voice strained but steady. “They were trying to capture me, not kill me — they didn’t use anything lethal.”
He recounted the events in quick, disjointed bursts, his gaze dropping to the bandages on his leg. Sirius noted how Hermione stiffened, her gaze flicking to the floor when Harry mentioned the word lethal . It wasn’t lost on him that she wasn’t just shaken by the attack but by the fact that their lives had been so deliberately spared... for now.
Sirius clenched his fists, his voice low and dangerously controlled. “I’ll kill him myself,” he growled, fury surging through him like wildfire.
Before anything else could be said, the raised voices outside reached them, muffled but sharp enough to slice through the warding charms Sirius had set up.
“Sir, I said this area is restricted—”
“I’m not here to get in the way. I need to see—”
“I said stand back!”
The scuffle of boots echoed louder, coming closer, until it sounded like a dozen feet were storming their way. Sirius stiffened, every muscle tense, as his head turned toward the door.
Another voice — louder and more commanding — barked, “If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to escort you—”
Sirius didn't wait. With one swift motion, he stood, ignoring the distant shouts from the Aurors. He walked purposefully toward the curtain and charm barrier, voice steady, but a slight edge of impatience creeping in. “Don’t bother. He’s with me.”
The Aurors turned, visibly startled, as Sirius stepped out into the hall. Standing there, in the midst of the commotion, was Remus, his expression calm but shoulders tight, betraying his own tension. His wand was nowhere in sight — a conscious choice.
“He’s family,” Sirius said firmly, his gaze unflinching as he dared any of them to challenge him. “Let him in.”
The Aurors, unsure but reluctant to argue, stepped aside. Remus didn’t waste a moment. He moved past them, his eyes scanning the room before meeting Sirius’s with a flicker of silent relief. His gaze darted quickly to the bed.
“Is he—?” Remus’s voice was soft but laced with an undercurrent of fear.
“He’s alright,” Sirius answered, his tone both reassuring and tight with emotion. “In one piece. Tired. Hurt. But alive.”
Remus took a slow, measured breath. The tension in his posture seemed to release as he stepped into the room.
Harry, hearing the shift in the atmosphere, blinked open his eyes. His gaze landed on Remus, and for a moment, the faintest smile tugged at his lips despite the exhaustion in his face. “Hey, Remus.”
Remus’s expression softened instantly. “Harry.”
He moved forward slowly, careful not to crowd the bed, taking in the bloodied bandages and the pallor that still clung to Harry’s face.
“You gave us quite a scare,” Remus murmured, voice thick with the weight of his own relief.
“Didn’t mean to,” Harry replied, his voice hoarse, the familiar wryness creeping back in. “It’s kind of my thing.”
Remus let out a small, fond sigh. “You never do, I know.”
His eyes flicked to Hermione, and for a brief moment, the room felt more full with unspoken gratitude. “You alright?” he asked softly, a quiet concern behind his words.
Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes still glassy but steady. “A few bruises. Nothing else.”
Remus’s expression softened further, and he glanced at Sirius, meeting his eyes. A silent exchange passed between them, a wordless understanding of just how close they’d come to losing Harry that day.
Harry shifted in the bed, his body still sore but the sharp pain in his leg now dulled by the healing charms. His face, however, remained tense, his brow furrowed with thoughts he hadn’t been able to shake since the battle. The quiet hum of the hospital outside seemed distant compared to the noise in his own mind.
Sirius sat at his side, watching him carefully, the concern evident in his eyes. “What’s on your mind, Harry?”
Harry hesitated, then let out a breath, his eyes falling to the bandages wrapped tightly around his leg. “One of the death eaters. Matthias Nott. I... I killed him.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unsettling. Sirius didn’t react immediately, though Remus, who had been standing near the door, looked over at Harry, his face softening.
“You did what you had to,” Sirius said, but there was a caution in his voice, as though he wasn’t sure how Harry would take that reassurance.
Harry’s eyes flickered up to meet his, but there was a weariness there, a deep, gnawing uncertainty. “Then why doesn’t feel right. I killed him, Sirius. I killed a person.”
Hermione, sitting at the edge of the bed, her bruised face still pale but steady, leaned forward, her hand gently resting over his in comfort. “Harry, you were protecting yourself. You were protecting me,” she said softly, her voice comforting but firm. “You had no choice.”
Sirius watched him with an intensity that was both knowing and patient. “You did what was necessary. He was going to kill Hermione and take you Harry. That’s the reality of it. You didn’t have a choice.”
There was a long, heavy silence before Remus spoke, his voice steady but full of an understanding that Harry could only hope to grasp. “Harry, you’ve been fighting this war for so long, the choice was taken from you long ago. The moment Voldemort marked you. You made a choice to protect Hermione, to protect yourself, the right choice. You didn’t want to kill him, but sometimes, in war its you or them. It’s between saving the ones you love and losing everything.”
You had no choice.
You didn't have a choice.
The choice was taken from you.
Harry closed his eyes again, the knot in his chest not loosening but tightening. “I still can’t shake it, though. It feels wrong. I feel wrong.”
“I would be concerned if you didn’t feel this way Harry. But I promise you this, it is better to kill a threat than to let it live and give them a chance to kill someone else, that you would never recover from”.
Harry nodded slowly, though the words didn’t quite settle in him. He wanted to believe them, truly, but there was a dark, uncomfortable truth that lingered in his heart. This wasn’t just about surviving. This was about becoming something he didn’t know if he would ever be the same again at the end of it, if he even survived.
Remus’s voice was quiet, but firm. “War... it changes people. It changes us all. But remember, Harry, you are the one who decides what kind of person you’ll be in the end. Not the war. Not the people you fight. You.”
…
Don't come at me for Harry feeling conflicted about killing someone even when it's justified. To many keyboard warriors online think that killing someone is easy and that it doesn’t do anything to you. You’d be a psychopath not to feel something.
Interest is touch and go on this so there will be a bit of a pause on updates as I go back to the drawing board as there are a couple of plot lines that I need to explore a bit, I have the ending confirmed and the curse confirmed I just need to tie the story to get to these points.
I hope you enjoyed.