Slipping Through My Fingers

Harry woke to the soft light filtering through his bedroom window, casting gentle shadows across the walls. The remnants of sleep clung to him like a thin veil, and he blinked against the brightness, still feeling the warmth of the blanket wrapped around him. However, a strange noise broke the early morning stillness, pulling him fully into consciousness. He furrowed his brow, trying to identify the sound echoing from the bathroom.

With a soft groan, he rolled over and buried himself deeper into his father’s blanket, letting its familiar scent—woodsmoke and a hint of something sweet—wrap around him like a protective shield. For a few minutes, he drifted halfway between sleep and wakefulness, enjoying the tranquility of the moment.

Eventually, the noise of the shower turning nudged him to get moving. Reluctantly, he pushed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, letting his feet dangle for a moment before he finally planted them on the cool floor. He took a deep breath, gathering the last remnants of sleep before shuffling over to his wardrobe.

Dressing quickly, Harry slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and an old t-shirt emblazoned with a Quidditch team logo. He grabbed a hoodie, pulling it over his head as he headed downstairs, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation for breakfast.

Harry made his way to the kitchen, determined to help himself. He retrieved the bread from the cupboard and set the toaster, watching as the slices transformed from pale to golden brown. As he waited, he opened the jar of jam and spread it generously on the toast, letting the sweet scent fill the room.

Once the toast popped up, he plated it, satisfaction swelling in his chest as he admired his breakfast. He took a seat at the small wooden table, savoring the first bite and letting the sweetness of the jam dance on his tongue.

As he chewed, his mind wandered back to the night before, the blend of emotions swirling around in his thoughts. He felt a little more at ease now, the worries of the previous evening receding like shadows in the light of the morning sun.

As Harry finished the last bite of his toast, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed down the staircase. He turned to see Remus coming into the kitchen, his hair damp and slightly tousled from a quick shower. The sight brought a smile to Harry’s face; his father always seemed to glow a little more in the mornings, despite the lingering exhaustion in his eyes.

“Good morning again!” Harry greeted, feeling a sense of normalcy returning to their home.

“Good morning, Harry,” Remus replied, a tired smile creeping onto his lips. He moved over to the kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove to heat. “How was your night?”

“Not too bad,” Harry said, feeling a bit of warmth in his chest. “I fell asleep again after you checked on me.”

“That’s good to hear,” Remus said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I was worried you might have trouble after... well, you know.”

Harry nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and understanding. “Do you want some toast? I can put some more in the toaster.”

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, I’m alright, but thank you. I’m just going to make some tea.”

As Remus turned his attention to the kettle, the familiar, comforting sounds of water bubbling began to fill the kitchen. He poured the loose tea leaves into a small infuser and set it aside, allowing the steam to rise in gentle wisps.

Just as he reached for a mug, a sudden fluttering noise echoed through the open window, drawing Harry’s attention. An owl swooped in gracefully, landing on the countertop with a soft thud. It was a sleek, grey owl with bright amber eyes, and it clutched a small, rolled-up parchment in its beak.

“Looks like we have a visitor,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow in curiosity as he approached the owl. He gently took the letter from its beak, glancing at the Ministry seal stamped on the wax.
As he unfolded the parchment, the tension in the room thickened, and Harry felt his stomach knot again.

Remus began to read the letter, his brow furrowing as he scanned the words. Harry watched intently, trying to decipher the expressions flitting across his father’s face. “It’s from the Ministry,” Remus said slowly, looking up. “It concerns the investigation that was started when the glamour was removed from you at Gringotts.”

Harry’s heart raced at the mention of the investigation. He had tried to push the memories of that day to the back of his mind, but the repercussions of the truth still hung over them.

Remus continued to read, his expression growing more serious. “They’ve discovered something important,” he finally said, looking directly at Harry. “And they’re requesting us to appear at Gringotts later today.”
“What did the Aurors discover?” Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart racing as anxiety flooded his chest.

Remus sighed, folding the letter carefully. “It doesn’t say,” he replied, his brow furrowing deeper. “Just that they found something significant related to the investigation. They seem to believe it’s urgent that we discuss it in person.”

Harry frowned, his eyes fixed on the letter, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He could feel the uncertainty gnawing at him, but there were no answers yet. Remus took a slow sip of his tea, the steam rising in delicate curls as they both sat in silence for a few moments. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder in the stillness, each second stretching longer than the last.

After what felt like an eternity, Remus broke the quiet. “Would you be alright with us leaving around 10?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with the same tension that Harry felt. “That should give us enough time to get to Gringotts and figure out what’s going on.”

Harry met his father’s eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” he replied quietly. “That’s fine.”

The words were simple, but beneath them, Harry could feel the weight of the day ahead pressing down on both of them. Whatever the Ministry had found, it wasn’t going to be easy to face, but they would face it together.
___________________________________

The marble floors of Gringotts gleamed under the soft light as Harry and Remus walked into the wizarding bank. The grandness of the building never failed to make Harry feel small, its high ceilings and towering columns imposing. He glanced up at his father, who wore an expression of quiet resolve, though Harry could sense the same undercurrent of unease running through him.
They approached the nearest goblin teller, whose sharp eyes flicked up as they stepped forward.

“Names?” the goblin asked, in a voice that seemed both disinterested and formal.

“Remus Lupin,” his father said calmly. “And Harry Lupin. We were summoned to Gringotts.”

The goblin’s gaze shifted from Remus to Harry, pausing for just a beat too long, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw something that looked like sympathy in the goblin’s usually unreadable face. It was subtle—barely there—but enough to make Harry feel unsettled.

The goblin nodded and without a word, gestured for them to follow. As they walked through the halls of Gringotts, winding their way past more tellers and doors, Harry exchanged a confused glance with Remus. That flicker of sympathy hadn’t gone unnoticed by his father either.

"What was that about?" Harry whispered, but Remus only gave a slight shake of his head, his brow furrowed in confusion.

They stopped in front of a large wooden door, where the goblin turned to face them. “You will be seen inside. The investigator will meet with you shortly,” he said, before opening the door to a small, dimly lit room.

The room felt colder than the rest of Gringotts, its walls lined with dark wood, and the soft glow of lamps barely doing enough to chase away the shadows. Harry’s eyes darted around as they stepped inside, taking in the small table in the center and the somber atmosphere that seemed to weigh down the air.

Moments after they sat, the door creaked open once more, and in walked the healer who had removed the glamour from Harry weeks ago. She was followed by three Aurors, all wearing grim expressions. They nodded curtly at Harry and Remus before taking their seats across from them.

The silence in the room was thick and unsettling. Harry glanced at his father, who was watching the group warily. The healer, who had been so warm and professional the last time they’d met, now looked tense, her hands clasped tightly together on the table. The three Aurors, cloaked in dark robes, remained silent, their faces unreadable.

Remus cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "What’s going on? You weren’t very clear in your letter."

The healer shifted in her seat, her eyes flicking to the Aurors before she finally spoke. "We wanted to explain the situation in person. After the removal of the glamour, there was an investigation initiated by the Ministry, as you know." She paused, as if weighing her words carefully. "What we’ve discovered… is something much more significant than we initially thought."

One of the Aurors, a stern-looking man with graying hair at his temples, leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he spoke. His voice was low, deliberate, as though he was delivering bad news that needed to be handled with care.

"As you know, the investigation began after the removal of the glamour," he began, glancing at Remus and then Harry. "It was Healer Plath," he nodded toward the healer, "who initially reached out to the Auror department. She informed us of a rather unique situation involving a blood genealogy test, where a father—Remus Lupin—discovered that the child he thought was dead for over a decade was, in fact, alive."

Remus stiffened beside Harry, his expression unreadable, but Harry could feel the slight tension in his father's posture. The Auror continued, his eyes flicking back and forth between them.

"We found this deeply troubling. A father who had been told his son was dead, who had believed that for years… only to learn the truth through a magical test. It raised suspicions, to say the least. We thought it prudent to look into how such a situation could have occurred in the first place."

The second Auror, a younger witch with dark eyes, leaned in now. "We believed there may have been foul play involved—manipulation or concealment of the truth. How is it that you buried your son, mourned him, and yet he lived?"

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. His mind raced, trying to process what was being said. He had always known something strange had happened with his identity, but hearing the Aurors speak so plainly about the possibility of foul play brought a new weight to the situation.

Remus exhaled softly, his voice measured. "Are you saying someone intentionally made me believe my son was dead?" His words hung heavy in the room.

The second Auror, the younger witch with dark eyes, leaned forward, her expression somber. “I’m afraid it’s worse than just a possibility, Mr. Lupin. We’ve uncovered evidence that someone did, in fact, intentionally make you believe your son was dead.”

Remus’s face remained still, but Harry could see the flicker of shock and anger in his eyes. His father's jaw tightened, and Harry's heart ached at the thought of how much Remus had endured—believing for so many years that his son was lost to him.

“We conducted a thorough investigation,” the Auror continued, her voice steady. “We looked into your history during the First Wizarding War—those you were connected with, those who might have had reason to target you. We found plenty of people with motive—Death Eaters, those who opposed the Order of the Phoenix, even some who were suspicious of your condition as a werewolf.”

Remus flinched slightly, but the Auror pressed on, her gaze unwavering. “We followed every lead, but... we hit a dead end. Whoever orchestrated this was meticulous. They covered their tracks well.”

Harry sat in stunned silence, trying to wrap his mind around the enormity of what they were hearing. Someone had deliberately taken him from his father, from his real life, and buried him under a lie. His stomach churned at the thought.

The first Auror shifted in his seat, his gaze steady as he continued. "After we hit a dead end investigating your side, we decided to change our approach, Mr. Lupin. Rather than focusing on who might have targeted you, we began looking into what we could find about your son—about Harry—when he was first born."

Remus's grip on Harry's shoulder tightened slightly, both of them now leaning forward, their attention fixed on the Auror’s every word.

"We found something… strange," the Auror continued, pulling out a file from his briefcase. "As you may know, St. Mungo’s keeps medical records that go back decades. We looked into Harry’s."
Harry exchanged a confused glance with his father, the weight of anticipation thick in the air.

The Auror opened the file and laid a set of parchment papers on the table in front of them. "Harry Potter’s birth records," he said simply. "According to these, the Potter child was born... sickly. He had some kind of condition—a respiratory issue, and there were complications after the birth. It’s noted here that he was not expected to survive long."

Harry felt his throat tighten, a sudden rush of disbelief flooding him. Sick? He had never been told anything like this. Why had he never known?

Remus's expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeply as he reached out to pick up one of the parchments. "But..." he began, his voice rough, as if he could hardly believe what he was reading. "He’s been healthy his whole life. How—"

"Exactly," the Auror interrupted gently, his eyes scanning Remus’s reaction. "One day, without any explanation in the records, his sickness vanished. He went from being a critically ill newborn to a healthy baby overnight. No further complications. No medical intervention. Just... healthy."

The first Auror shifted slightly, glancing at the young Auror sitting at the end of the table. The younger man, no older than twenty, looked visibly nervous, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his robes as he met Remus’s gaze.

"Go ahead," the first Auror said softly, prompting the young man to speak.

The young Auror swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. "After we uncovered the discrepancies in Harry's medical records, I... I couldn’t shake a bad feeling about it. Something was off. And around that same time, a colleague of mine, someone working in the archives, was sorting through old wills—reorganizing that hadn’t been done in years. That’s when they came across the wills of James and Lily Potter."

The young Auror continued, his voice shaky but determined. "Their wills were opened the day after their deaths by order of Albus Dumbledore. And then, strangely enough... they were sealed again by him. No one had touched them since."

The room fell into a thick silence as the weight of the young Auror’s words settled over them.

"Because of everything we’ve uncovered," he said, his voice low, "we had probable cause to request that the wills be reopened."

Remus's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the arm of his chair. "And what did you find?"

The young Auror exchanged a brief glance with his colleagues before continuing, his hands visibly trembling as he reached into his pocket. "Lily Potter’s will... was normal. She left her son to be cared for by trusted friends and family. Nothing out of the ordinary there." His voice faltered, and he looked at Remus and Harry with a mixture of dread and sympathy.

"But James Potter’s will..." He swallowed again, his voice almost a whisper. "It was horrifying."

He slowly pulled something from his pocket—a small, glowing orb, no bigger than a snitch, shimmering with an eerie light. He placed it carefully on the table in front of Remus and Harry.

"This," he began, his voice quieter now, "is what a magical will looks like. It's an older method, not used as often anymore. The person speaks directly into the orb, usually with a witness present, and the orb captures their words. Once it's sealed, those words become binding—an unchangeable record of their last wishes."

Harry stared at the small sphere, feeling a strange mix of dread and curiosity. His mind was spinning, trying to grasp what could possibly be in James Potter’s will that would explain everything—the glamour, the lies, and why he had grown up believing he was someone else.

Remus was silent, his gaze fixed on the orb. His jaw was clenched tightly, but his fingers drummed slightly against the table, betraying his anxiousness. "So this," Remus said slowly, his voice low and measured, "is James Potter's final testament?"

The young Auror nodded, clearly uneasy. "Yes. And we’ve already reviewed its contents." His eyes flicked nervously to the older Aurors at his side before settling back on Remus. "I... I think it's best if you both hear it yourselves."

The young Auror swallowed nervously before pulling out his wand. His hand trembled slightly as he tapped the glowing orb. "Revelio testamentum," he whispered, and with a soft chime, the orb flared brighter, filling the dim room with a cold, silvery light.

Everyone sat in tense silence as the light twisted and swirled within the orb. Slowly, the light solidified, taking the form of a familiar figure—James Potter. His appearance was ghostly, a translucent projection of the man Harry had only seen in photographs and memories from others.

James Potter stood tall and resolute, but there was a strain in his expression, a weight to his words before he even spoke. The room seemed to hold its breath, and Harry felt his heart skip, his eyes locked on the figure of the man who had claimed to be his father.

James Potter cleared his throat, his expression shifting from one of resolve to palpable grief as he prepared to speak. “This is my final will and testimony,” he began, the words hanging heavily in the air. He hesitated, swallowing hard, the weight of his confession pressing down on him like a physical burden.

“If you are hearing this, it means I am dead,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “And I took this secret to my grave.”

The room was steeped in silence, the only sound the faint crackling of the orb's magical energy. Harry's heart raced as he tried to grasp the enormity of what was about to reveal. The figure of James seemed to shimmer slightly, the ethereal glow emphasizing the seriousness of the moment.

“I made a terrible mistake,” James’s voice echoed through the orb, his tone breaking with emotion. “I did it out of grief and desperation—my desire to save my family led me to commit an unspeakable act. I was a coward then, and I still am, because I wasn’t able to confess this directly.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he listened, unable to tear his eyes away from the flickering figure of his father. “I first knew I made a mistake when I saw you, Remus, grieving. I watched you, heartbroken, as you mourned for a son you thought was gone. It killed me inside to see you in pain. And then later, to see you interact with Harry...”

James’s voice trembled, and he closed his eyes as if the memory was too painful to bear. “I stole Matthew,” he whispered, tears glistening in his eyes. “Harry died hours after he was born. In my selfishness, to save myself from the agony of losing my son, I stole yours.”

A collective gasp echoed in the room, and Harry felt the floor beneath him shift unsteadily. The truth was so shocking, so cruelly simple, and it tore at the fabric of his being.

“I glamoured Harry’s dead body to look like Matthew,” James confessed, his voice cracking further. “I placed the body in Matthew’s crib in the middle of the night, thinking it would somehow shield everyone from the reality of what had happened.”

James’s anguish deepened, and he clenched his fists, his spectral form shimmering with raw emotion. “I glamoured Matthew to look like Harry, thinking I could protect everyone from the truth. But in doing so, I ripped apart the very thing I tried to save.”

Tears streamed down his translucent cheeks

“I’m a coward,” James continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You deserve to know, Remus. You deserved to hold your son, to raise him without the burden of my lies. And instead, I condemned you both to a life of pain and heartache.”

Remus sat frozen, his expression a mixture of disbelief and heartache, his hands trembling on the table. James’s sorrow was palpable, and the air felt thick with the pain of his confession.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” James said, his voice shaking as he fought back tears. “I only hope that you can find a way to make sense of this… and that you can somehow find peace.”

As the last of his light flickered, James’s eyes held a depth of grief that Harry could not comprehend. “I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered one final time, his image dissolving into the orb’s light, leaving behind a haunting silence.

Harry’s heart raced, a tumultuous mix of emotions crashing within him—shock, confusion, and a deep-seated sense of betrayal. He stared at the orb, the remnants of James’s image fading into nothingness, leaving behind only an empty space that felt impossibly vast.

His shock began to morph into something more intense, more primal. The reality of what he had just heard hit him like a tidal wave. The disbelief slowly peeled away, revealing a deep-rooted anger that ignited within him. How could he do this? The questions spiraled in his mind, faster and faster, like a whirlpool drawing him into its depths. How could he take my life? How could he lie to Remus? Each thought became a brick, building a wall of fury that pushed against his heart, threatening to explode.

“He stole my life!” Harry's mind screamed, the words echoing in the silence of the room. The sheer audacity of James’s actions roared through him like a wildfire, consuming any remaining traces of confusion or sadness. He didn’t just lie; he robbed me of everything!

His breath quickened, his fists clenching tightly in his lap. He became acutely aware of the tears pooling in his eyes, and he fought to contain them. No, not now, he thought desperately, feeling the moisture spill over and trace down his cheeks. He felt dazed, a disconnection between his emotions and the physical world around him.

Then, a sudden cracking sound pulled him from his turbulent thoughts. He turned his head, confusion washing over him, and his eyes landed on Remus’s chair. The wooden armrests splintered under Remus’s grip, the handles shattered, and the pieces lay strewn on the floor like the remnants of a past he couldn’t escape.

Harry’s heart sank as he observed his father. Remus’s face twisted with a mixture of grief and fury, his expression haunted by memories of loss. The pain in his eyes mirrored the anguish Harry felt within himself. He’s going through it all over again, Harry thought, a fresh wave of sorrow crashing over him. The image of Remus holding the real Matthew, the love in his gaze, struck him harder than any physical blow.

Remus began to shake, his breath coming in ragged gasps, a visible tremor rippling through his body. The warmth of anger seemed to ignite in him, a flame fueled by the grief he had fought so hard to bury. Harry watched as his father’s rage boiled over, raw and unrestrained, and he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of empathy.

“James!” Remus exploded suddenly, his voice a thunderous roar that echoed through the room, shaking Harry to his core. “You coward!”

The sound of his father’s fury felt like a jolt of electricity. Harry’s heart raced as he watched Remus struggle with the overwhelming tide of emotion, the pain of betrayal breaking through the barriers he had constructed over the years. Remus was no longer just the father figure Harry had come to admire; he was a man in the depths of grief, grappling with the reality of his best friend’s treachery.

“How could you?!” Remus shouted, his voice cracking with anguish, the remnants of his shattered chair forgotten as he stood, fists clenched and shaking with pent-up rage. “You took everything from me! You stole my son, you vile—”

His words choked off as if the very act of speaking them was too much to bear. Remus staggered back, his face contorted with pain as fresh tears welled in his eyes. Harry felt a pang in his chest, a shared grief that linked them in their anguish.

Unable to bear the sight of his father’s suffering any longer, Harry stood up, his legs shaky beneath him. He felt the tears pooling in his own eyes, blurring his vision as he crossed the small space between them. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of everything they had just learned, every stolen moment, every hidden truth.

“Dad,” he choked out, his voice trembling. The moment the word left his lips, the dam broke. Tears streamed down Harry’s cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as he rushed forward, collapsing into Remus’s waiting arms.

Remus looked up at Harry, his own eyes glistening with tears that mirrored the sorrow Harry felt deep within his soul. The sight of his son, so vulnerable and broken, broke something inside him even further. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Harry, tucking him close against his side, the warmth of their embrace offering a fragile sense of solace amid the storm of grief that threatened to consume them both.

As Harry cried into his dad's shoulder, the tears flowed freely, mingling with the anguish that filled his heart. With every sob, memories flashed through his mind, memories he had tried to bury but could no longer ignore.

Because of James, his father had missed all of his firsts—the first time he had crawled, taken a step, or spoken a word. Remus had been robbed of those precious moments, left to grieve a son who had never had the chance to grow into the boy he was meant to be.

Harry thought of the countless nights he had spent curled up in the cramped, dark confines of a broom cupboard, wishing for a family, for a father who could wrap him in warmth and love. Because of James, he had grown up feeling alone and unwanted, a mere shadow in a house filled with resentment and neglect.

He thought about how he had never known what it felt like to be called by his real name. Instead, it had always been “Freak.” That was the name the Dursleys had given him, a cruel label that defined him long before he had any understanding of who he was.

A wave of anger surged through him, intertwined with his grief. The weight of all those moments lost, all the pain inflicted, crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for breath.
The reality of it all settled heavily in his chest, tightening like a vice. He was not just grieving the betrayal of a man who had claimed to be his father; he was mourning the life he had been denied, the love and support he had never known. It was an ache deeper than any physical wound, a hollow space that James's actions had carved out in his heart.

As he pressed against Remus, the warmth of his father's embrace offered a fragile comfort against the cold truth that swirled around them. Harry wished with all his heart that things had been different, that he had been allowed to be the son Remus deserved, the son who would have known love and safety, instead of fear and isolation.

And as he cried, he let the grief wash over him, feeling the pain seep from his heart, a painful but necessary release.

As the sobs gradually subsided, the storm of grief that had engulfed Harry and Remus began to calm. They pulled away from each other, slowly breaking the embrace, their faces still glistening with tears. Harry’s eyes were red and puffy, mirroring the anguish he saw reflected in Remus’s gaze.

Remus reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a few stray tears from Harry’s cheeks. Then, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Harry’s head—a small gesture, but one filled with an overwhelming sense of love and protection. It felt like a silent promise that they would navigate this together, no matter how painful the road ahead might be.

After a moment, they both stood, drawing in shaky breaths to compose themselves. They made their way back to the table, where the orb still pulsed softly with the remnants of James’s message. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken words and shared sorrow.

As they settled back into their chairs, the weight of the recent revelations still hung in the air. The female Auror took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself before addressing Harry and Remus.

“I can’t express how sorry I am that you had to go through something like this,” she began, her voice heavy with empathy. “This is one of the highest crimes in the wizarding world. What James Potter did—stealing your identity, Harry, and deceiving Remus—this isn’t something that can just be swept under the rug.”

Harry’s heart sank further at the reminder of his father’s betrayal, while Remus clenched his jaw, fury and sadness intertwining in his expression.

The Auror continued, “As much as I wish we could allow you both some peace to grieve, I am required to move ahead with this case. Since James Potter isn’t alive, he cannot be tried posthumously. However, this matter will be brought before the Wizengamot in a couple of days to determine compensation for the crime he committed against both of you.”

The Auror took a moment to gauge Harry and Remus's reactions before continuing, her expression a mix of sympathy and professionalism. “Your presence will be required at the trial,” she said gently. “You both will need to testify about how you found out you were related and the circumstances surrounding that revelation.”

Harry felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The thought of reliving that moment—the pain, the confusion—was almost too much to bear. He exchanged a quick glance with Remus, who appeared equally pained yet resolute.

The Auror pressed on, “Remus, you will also have to testify about how you thought your son had died. I know this is difficult, but your testimony will be crucial in laying out the full extent of the betrayal.”

Remus’s face hardened slightly, his grief transforming into a flicker of anger. “I understand,” he replied, his voice steadier than before. “If it means bringing this to light, then I’ll do it.”

The Auror offered a small, appreciative nod. “Thank you both. Your bravery in facing this will not go unnoticed. We’ll ensure that you’re prepared for the trial. It’s vital that you both feel supported through this process.”

Remus nodded appreciatively at the Auror's words, a flicker of gratitude breaking through the haze of grief that still surrounded him. “Thank you for everything,” he said, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. “We appreciate the support you’ve offered. It means a lot during such a difficult time.”

The Auror gave him a warm smile, her eyes reflecting understanding. “You’re stronger than you realize. We’ll be in touch soon.”

With that, Remus turned toward Harry, and they made their way out of Gringotts, the heavy doors closing behind them with a finality that echoed in Harry's heart. The bustling sounds of Diagon Alley enveloped them, a stark reminder that life continued around them, oblivious to the storm brewing within their own lives.

Once outside, Remus paused, looking at Harry with a mixture of determination and tenderness. “Ready to go home?” he asked softly.

Harry nodded, his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of the day still fresh in his mind. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a resolute look, Remus took Harry's hand, the warmth of his grip providing a much-needed comfort. They stepped into the narrow alleyway, away from the prying eyes of passersby. With a swift flick of his wrist and a soft incantation, Remus Apparated them home, the familiar sensation of spinning through the air enveloping them for a brief moment before they appeared back at the cottage.