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"i finally know better than to wait for you back here"
ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, HARRY'S POV
It had been four years, three months, and seventeen days since Harry Potter walked into the Malfoy Manor, surprised to find it completely empty, dust gathered on the cushions and paintings that marked the walls.
It had been four years, three months, and sixteen days since the ministry had notified the wizarding population to keep a lookout for a blonde witch with grey eyes. She was a ghost, though Lyra Malfoy was a known name, it was as if she had disappeared out of thin air.
It had been four years, three months, and two days since Harry Potter left his godson and his best friends to go find the young witch. He started in London and went around all of England, hoping she would show her face. She didn't.
It had been three years, eleven months, and twenty-eight days since the day the Ministry declared the missing witch dead. People don't just vanish into thin air, Shacklebolt had told Harry Potter, we have no proof that she is alive, we are monitoring her magic and we haven't heard back a thing. They had no proof that she was alive, but they also had no proof that she was dead. Harry had to keep believing.
It had been three years, ten months, and eleven days since Ginny had kissed him at Ron and Hermione's housewarming party. Harry had pulled away immediately, a certain dark feeling filling his chest. He found himself later on the floor of his best friends' new bathroom, tears stinging his eyes. Grief, Hermione had called it but Harry was no stranger to grief. This was... different. This was worse.
It had been three years, nine months, and two days since Harry accepted the fact that she was gone. He drank alcohol to forget that, he took drugs that strange muggle women in the club offered, he kissed strangers that tasted nothing like home. When he woke up in Neville's apartment the next day, he cried.
Lyra Malfoy had to be dead because if she wasn't, she would have returned home to him by now.
Grief was a weird thing, it begged to be felt, to be let in till it becomes all that there is to you. Harry used to wonder when it would leave, he waited like a mother does by the window, wondering when the pain would be gone. He realized that it never really ever goes. Your being overpowers grief and one day, you realize that it's still there but it doesn't hurt. Stings a bit, but the worst part is gone.
Harry stood outside the Burrow, his breath forming small clouds in the crisp winter air. The house was a patchwork of sounds and colors, the kind of place that made you feel instantly warm even before you stepped inside. Strings of fairy lights adorned the roof, twinkling like the stars in the midnight sky. The smell of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon wafted through the air, mingling with the faint strains of Christmas music. Harry smiled. It felt good to be here.
Pushing the door open, Harry was immediately enveloped by the familiar chaos of the Weasley family Christmas. Children's laughter mixed with the sound of adults chatting, and the air was filled with the scent of Molly Weasley's cooking. The Burrow was already packed, everyone bustling about in cheerful holiday spirit.
"Harry!" Ron called from across the room, raising his glass in greeting. Hermione was at his side, laughing at something Ron had said.
Harry waved and made his way through the crowd, greeting familiar faces along the way. He spotted Ginny, her hair a brilliant splash of red against the crowd, standing with Dean Thomas. They were holding hands, and she was animatedly talking to him. Harry hesitated for a brief moment, feeling a pang of something he couldn't quite place, before heading over to say hello.
"Hi, Harry!" Ginny beamed at him. Her smile was genuine and warm, and Harry felt himself relax.
"Hey, Ginny. Dean," he nodded to them, taking in the sight of the engagement ring on Ginny's finger. It was a simple gold band with a small diamond, but it suited her perfectly.
"Merry Christmas, mate," Dean said, extending a hand, which Harry shook.
"You too. Congratulations, by the way," Harry said, gesturing toward the ring.
"Thanks, Harry," Dean replied, and Ginny squeezed his hand affectionately.
As he moved on, Harry found himself in a conversation with Ron and Hermione, who were in high spirits. Hermione was explaining something about her work at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Ron was cracking jokes.
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling all the same.
"Look mate, you better get married too, and fast. It's about time I was a best man too, you know."
Harry laughed, but it wasn't really that funny. "You bet."
"Oh, that reminds me!" Just then, Hermione turned to the Potter man and said, "Oh, Harry, there's someone I'd like you to meet."
She gestured to a woman standing nearby, who was watching the festivities with a curious smile. "This is Astoria Greengrass, my new secretary."
Harry had known Astoria back at Hogwarts but this woman was not the same girl. Astoria had a calm demeanor and a friendly smile. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a loose bun, and her eyes were a striking shade of blue. She seemed approachable, unlike when she had been in Slytherin, and Harry felt at ease as he introduced himself.
"It's nice to meet you, Harry," Astoria said, shaking his hand. "Hermione talks about you often."
Harry laughed. "Hopefully, all good things."
"Mostly," Astoria replied with a playful grin before it turned into a serious one. "Lyra and I were friends too. She was quite smitten with you, if I say so myself."
Harry kept smiling but suddenly he was remembering, and with remembering came pain. But he just smiled. "I believe Ron would say that I was just as smitten."
The conversation left the topic of the Malfoy girl and soon they were talking about other things. They chatted for a while, finding common ground in their experiences at Hogwarts, although they had been in different years.
Astoria, it turned out, was witty and engaging, and Harry found himself genuinely enjoying their conversation. It was a welcome distraction from the memories that lingered just below the surface.
As their conversation drew on, Astoria glanced at Harry and asked, "Would you like to grab a coffee sometime, Harry? Maybe we could continue this chat without the... chaos."
Harry was a bit surprised by the invitation, but he found himself nodding. "I'd like that," he said, feeling a warmth that wasn't just from the room's bustling energy. "I'd like that a lot."
Just as Harry set the date to meet with the woman, he noticed Andromeda Tonks. She was making her way through the crowd with Teddy Lupin, Harry's godson. Teddy was tugging at his grandmother's sleeve, his little face scrunched up in distress, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
"Harry!" Andromeda called, relief evident on her face. "I'm so glad you're here."
Harry crouched down to Teddy's level. "Hey there, buddy. What's wrong?"
Teddy sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I left my Moony at home," he said, his voice trembling. Moony was a purple wolf toy that Teddy owned, a gift from Harry so Teddy knew his father. "I want it."
Andromeda sighed, looking apologetic. "He won't settle without it, I'm afraid."
Harry smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, Teddy. How about I go get it for you? It's not too far, is it?"
Teddy's eyes brightened a little, though his lower lip still quivered. "Really? You'll get it?"
"Of course, mate," Harry said, ruffling Teddy's hair. "I'll be back before you know it."
Andromeda handed Harry her car keys with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Harry. The house is just around the corner."
As Harry made his way to the door, he couldn't help but feel a sense of doom. It was weird but soon the feeling was forgotten as snow fell on his face, biting against his cheeks, reminding him of the cold weather.
He climbed into Andromeda's car. The engine purred to life, and Harry pulled away from the Weasleys', heading down the snow-dusted lane toward Andromeda's house.
He had gotten his years ago, during one of his fruitless searches across the country.
The drive was short, and Harry's mind drifted as he navigated the quiet streets. The memory of Astoria's smile lingered, intertwining with thoughts of Lyra, an old ache that never quite left him. He hadn't thought about Lyra much today, and the realization surprised him.
Grief was a strange companion. It faded but never fully disappeared, sometimes lurking just out of sight, ready to remind you of what you'd lost.
Pulling into the driveway, Harry switched off the car and made his way up the path to Andromeda's front door. He had been here many times before, but the house always felt different during the holidays—filled with the warmth.
Inside, the house was quiet, a contrast to the bustling atmosphere at the Burrow. Harry made his way to Teddy's room, finding the little soft toy sitting on the bed, exactly where Teddy must have left it. It was a small, well-loved thing, with one eye slightly loose and fur that had seen better days, but it was clearly important to Teddy.
He locked the door behind him, returning to the car with the bear tucked securely under his arm.
The wind howled softly through the trees as Harry guided the car back toward the Burrow, Teddy's bear resting on the passenger seat beside him. The drive, though short, seemed longer in the quiet solitude of the night, with only the headlights piercing through the darkness and the distant glow of Christmas lights from scattered homes.
Harry's mind wandered to thoughts of Astoria and their forthcoming coffee date. He was intrigued by her, this unexpected encounter that seemed to promise something new. For the first time in a while, he felt an anticipation for what the future might hold.
It would probably be nice for him to talk to someone who knew Lyra. Harry's friends had barely known her. He had barely known her, perhaps, but God, was he in love. Was probably still in love.
Harry's head was full of thoughts but then, as he turned a corner, the road suddenly seemed narrower, the trees leaning closer. The car's headlights flickered briefly, making the shadows stretch and dance across the snowy path. Harry tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying to shake off the unease creeping up his spine.
And then it happened—a sudden movement caught his eye. A figure darted across the road, silhouetted against the headlights. Harry's heart leaped into his throat. Instinctively, he jerked the wheel to avoid it, and the tires skidded on the icy road.
The car spun wildly, sliding sideways before crashing into the ditch with a jarring thud. The impact rattled through Harry's bones, and his consciousness started to slip away. Everything went dark.
When Harry awoke, the world was dim and muffled, like a distant echo of reality. The first thing he noticed was the damp, musty smell that hung heavy in the air. The floor beneath him was cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warmth pressed against his back.
He blinked groggily, trying to piece together where he was and what had happened. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and as he attempted to move, a twinge of pain shot through his shoulder. The realization that he wasn't alone crept into his awareness, and Harry stilled, his breath catching in his throat.
A warm body lay curled against him, their breaths coming in soft, even puffs against his neck. Panic flickered at the edges of his mind as he tried to recall how he had ended up here—wherever here was. The last thing he remembered was the car, the swerve, and then nothing but blackness.
Harry shifted slightly, his movements cautious. He turned his head, squinting into the gloom to get a better look at his surroundings. They seemed to be in a cramped space, the walls closing in on either side with shelves cluttered with cleaning supplies and dust. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and old wood.
It was a broom closet. A smelly, cramped broom closet.
The warm presence behind him stirred, letting out a quiet moan. Harry tensed, instinctively reaching for his wand—only to realize with a jolt that it wasn't there. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he considered his options.
The figure shifted again, and Harry felt a gentle nudge against his back. A voice, soft and familiar, broke the silence.
"Harry?"
The voice was hesitant, laced with confusion and a hint of concern. Harry turned his head as best as he could in the confined space, straining to see who it was. The dim light barely illuminated the face of his companion, but he recognized the features immediately.
It was her.
Harry's mind reeled with disbelief. What was happening? Was he dead? And more importantly, if he was dead, why was he locked with her in a broom closet?
"Am I dead?" Harry whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse.
The woman shifted, her eyes narrowing as she blinked against the shadows. "Oh Merlin. Harry?" Her voice was the same, and for a second Harry thought that if this was death, he didn't mind it.
"Lyra? Is that-? Why are we-" Harry shook his head, wincing at the sharp pain that flared in response. Do dead people still feel pain?
"I... I don't know." Lyra swallowed, "Harry, you are not dead."
Harry turned fast, another flare of pain burning away at his shoulder. Harry was not dead, and that thought was calming. It's good to not die.
But then another realization hit him.
Lyra was supposed to be dead too.
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