free now

CHAPTER TWENTY

who are you if not your name?

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, HARRY POTTER'S POV

1997

-I-

LAST MAN STANDING WINS

“I don’t want anyone else to try to help,” Harry said loudly. In the utter silence of the Great Hall, his voice rang like a challenge, echoing across the enchanted sky. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.”

Voldemort hissed, red eyes gleaming with malice.

“Potter doesn’t mean that,” he said softly, but the mocking edge in his voice was sharp as a blade. “That isn’t how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?”

“Nobody,” Harry said simply. “There are no more Horcruxes. It’s just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good...”

“One of us?” Voldemort jeered, his entire body tensed like a coiled serpent. “You think it will be you, do you? The boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?”

“Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?” Harry asked. They moved in sync, circling each other in a perfect arc, maintaining the distance between them, as if drawn by some invisible force. For Harry, there was no one in the Hall but Voldemort. “Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn’t defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?”

“Accidents!” Voldemort screamed, but still, he did not strike. The frozen crowd of witches and wizards seemed petrified, trapped in the moment, waiting for the final move. “Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!”

“You won’t be killing anyone else tonight,” Harry said, his voice steady. Their eyes locked—green against red, resolve against fury. “You won’t be able to kill any of them ever again. Don’t you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people—”

“But you did not!”

“—I meant to, and that’s what it did. I’ve done what my mother did. They’re protected from you. Haven’t you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can’t torture them. You can’t touch them. You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?”

“You dare—”

“Yes, I dare,” Harry said, his voice unwavering. “I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don’t. Want to hear some before you make another big mistake?”

Voldemort did not answer, only prowled, his wand gripped tightly in his fingers. Harry could see the flicker of hesitation in his expression—the faintest possibility that Harry truly knew something he did not.

“Is it love again?” Voldemort sneered, his snakelike face twisted in scorn. “Dumbledore’s favorite solution, love, 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 run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you from dying now when I strike?”

“Just one thing,” Harry said, his grip on Draco’s wand tightening.

“If it is not love that will save you this time,” Voldemort said, “you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?”

“I believe both,” said Harry. He saw the flicker of shock in Voldemort’s crimson eyes, though it was quickly masked. Voldemort laughed then—a hollow, humorless sound that echoed off the walls, more chilling than his screams.

“You think you know more magic than I do?” he mocked. “Than I, Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?”

“Oh, he dreamed of it,” Harry said. “But he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you’ve done.”

“You mean he was weak!” Voldemort screamed. “Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!”

“No, he was cleverer than you,” Harry said calmly, “a better wizard, a better man.”

“I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!”

“You thought you did,” Harry said, “but you were wrong.”

For the first time, the silent crowd stirred, hundreds drawing breath at once.

“Dumbledore is dead!” Voldemort spat the words like venom. “His body decays in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle. I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!”

“Yes, Dumbledore’s dead,” Harry agreed, “but you didn’t have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the two people you had thought were on your side.”

Voldemort’s red eyes narrowed.

“What childish dream is this?”

“Severus Snape and Lyra Malfoy were never yours,” said Harry. “They were both Dumbledore’s. Snape was Dumbledore’s from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And Lyra—well, you never realized it, because of the thing you can’t understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?”

Voldemort remained silent, prowling like a predator.

“Snape’s Patronus was a doe,” Harry continued. “The same as my mother’s, because he loved her for nearly all his life. You should have realized,” he added, watching Voldemort’s nostrils flare, “he asked you to spare her, didn’t he?”

“He desired her, that was all,” Voldemort sneered. “But when she had gone, he agreed there were other women, of purer blood—”

“Of course he told you that,” Harry said, voice steady. “But he was Dumbledore’s spy from the moment you threatened her, and he’s been working against you ever since. Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him... when Lyra brought your Death Eaters onto a plan of their own design.”

Voldemort’s expression darkened. “I knew the young Malfoy was on my side. It was she who led the Death Eaters there, who tried to get him killed.”

“To keep you off her scent,” Harry corrected. “To give her and them time—to give me time to finish what they started.”

Voldemort’s fingers clenched around the Elder Wand.

“That wand still isn’t working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore.”

“He killed—”

“Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Yes, Dumbledore intended to die defeated, because he knew who would be the wand’s next true master! It had all gone as they had planned, the wand’s power been won from him!”

“If it wasn’t Snape’s, then it had to be his!” Voldemort’s voice shook with triumph. “And I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against its last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”

“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you?” Harry said. “Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard. The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore, knowing exactly what she had done, knowing that the world’s most dangerous wand had given her its allegiance and yet having no wish for it.”

Voldemort’s expression twisted into something indescribable.

“But what does it matter?” he whispered. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference. You no longer have the phoenix wand—after I kill you, I will attend to Lyra Malfoy, but only after she watches me kill you!”

“But you’re too late,” Harry said. “Lyra knew exactly what she was doing, even before the moment recruited her. I got there first. I was confused when she asked me to disarm her, again and again. But it makes sense now, doesn’t it? I overpowered Lyra weeks ago. I took this wand from her.”

Harry raised the hawthorn wand. The Great Hall held its breath.

“Lyra Malfoy was never yours, Riddle. She was mine.”

“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “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.”

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

present time

-II-

WHEN THING CALM DOWN, WILL YOU STAY?

The first thing Lyra felt was the headache, a steady, relentless pounding against her skull—like the beating of war drums, familiar yet no less brutal. It was a sensation she had grown accustomed to, a reminder of exhaustion and grief, of nights spent staring at ceilings and mornings where waking up felt like a battle in itself.

The second thing she noticed was warmth.

A solid presence behind her, radiating heat, steady and grounding. His breath fanned softly against the back of her neck, his arm resting loosely near her waist, close but not quite touching. She felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic sound of his breathing. It was comforting, far too easy to sink into.

For a moment, she let herself enjoy it. Let herself pretend there was nothing waiting for her when she opened her eyes. No war. No choices she couldn't take back. No heavy weight pressing against her ribs.

Just this.

Just him.

Then she opened her eyes.

And found herself staring into piercing green ones.

But he wasn't looking at her face.

Harry's gaze was locked lower, his expression unreadable, his body unnaturally still. It took her a moment to realize what had caught his attention—what had made his whole posture go rigid, his fingers twitch against the sheets like he wanted to reach out but didn't know if he should.

Her sleeve had ridden up while she slept.

Her arm was exposed.

The scars.

A cold weight settled in her stomach.

She knew this would happen eventually. She just hadn't expected it now.

Harry didn't say anything. He didn't move. He just stared, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes dark with something she didn't want to name.

Lyra swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay relaxed, to pretend this wasn't a big deal. That it was just another morning, like all the ones before it.

"Good morning," she whispered, her voice hoarse from sleep.

Harry's head snapped up, startled. His expression softened slightly, but not enough.

"Morning," he murmured back. But his eyes flickered to her arm again, lingering.

Lyra sighed, shifting onto her side so she could face him fully. "Harry, stop looking at them."

He swallowed, looking like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. His lips parted, then closed again.

"I didn't know they left a mark," he finally said, his voice quiet. "The spell, I mean. I thought—"

"Madam Pomfrey tried her best," she interrupted, her tone gentle. "But some scars don't go away."

Harry exhaled sharply, looking away. "I'm sorry."

Lyra frowned. "Harry."

"I did this to you." His voice was hoarse, rough with something that made her chest tighten.

"You didn't mean to," she reminded him.

"That doesn't change the fact that I did." His fingers curled into the sheets, his whole body tense. "I should have been more careful. I should have—"

"You didn't know what the spell would do," she cut in.

"That doesn't make it okay."

She sighed, reaching out to cup his face. Her fingers trailed along the sharp lines of his jaw, the rough stubble beneath her fingertips grounding in a way she hadn't expected.

"Harry, it happened years ago," she said softly. "I don't hate my scars. They remind me that I survived. That we survived."

Harry's expression twisted, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. He looked back down at her arm, at the faint silvery lines, then back at her, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"You should have told me," he said after a long pause.

Lyra shrugged, offering him a small, teasing smirk. "It wasn't worth mentioning."

Harry scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Not worth mentioning?" He let out a breathy, humorless laugh. "Lyra, I—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you like that about me."

"Unfortunately," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

She nudged him playfully with her knee. "Besides, it's not like you meant to curse me within an inch of my life or anything."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Merlin, Lyra."

"What?" She batted her eyelashes innocently. "Too soon?"

His flat stare was almost comical. "It's been years, and I still don't think there's a good time to joke about this."

"That's because you're dramatic."

"Says the girl who's literally dying."

Lyra blinked. Then she laughed, a real laugh, bright and unexpected.

Harry huffed, shaking his head. "That wasn't meant to be funny."

"Yeah, but it was," she countered, grinning.

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but was trying not to.

She smirked. "And well, you almost did die yesterday."

"Yeah, I don't think that's how it works."

"Sure it is," she said, shifting closer, resting her forehead against his. "I'm still here right now, aren't I?"

Harry stared at her, his expression shifting, something soft creeping into his gaze. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger against her cheek.

"Yeah," he murmured. "You are."

His thumb brushed absently over her skin, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

The past, the war, the scars—it all existed, but here, in this quiet morning, it felt distant.

For now, this was enough.

-III-

HARRY AND LYRA ARE TOGETHER, ALERT THE MEDIA!!

As soon as Lyra and Harry stepped into the kitchen, a slow, deliberate clap rang through the air. Then another. And another.

Sirius stood at the head of the table, grinning like a wolf, clapping loudly and dramatically as if they had just walked onto a stage. Beside him, James joined in with just as much enthusiasm, a huge, knowing smirk stretching across his face.

"Would you look at that, Padfoot?" James said, nudging Sirius with his elbow. "Our dear Harry finally figured it out!"

"Miracles do happen, Prongs!" Sirius called back, throwing his hands up in mock celebration. "I was starting to think we'd need divine intervention at this point!"

Regulus, who had been calmly sipping his tea beside them, sighed heavily. "You do realize they can hear you, right?"

James turned to him with a grin. "Oh, I'm counting on it!"

Harry groaned, running a hand over his face. "I hate all of you."

Lyra, beside him, let out an exasperated sigh but didn't seem particularly surprised. "I should've known you lot would make a scene," she muttered, shaking her head.

James gasped dramatically. "A scene? Us?"

Sirius placed a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded, Lyra. Truly."

"You'll live," Lyra deadpanned, rolling her eyes as she made her way to the table.

Lily, sitting beside James, was shaking her head, though the corners of her lips twitched with amusement. "Honestly, you two are insufferable." She reached over to swat James lightly on the arm, though it did absolutely nothing to wipe the grin off his face.

"Come on, Lils, let us have this moment!" James protested, still grinning. "We deserve this! You don't know how long we've suffered watching these two idiots dance around each other!"

"Truly, it's been painful," Sirius added solemnly. "The pining, the stolen glances, the dramatic tension. It's been like watching a badly written romance novel."

Lyra groaned, "You have known us for a week."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I can and will hex you."

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

Across the table, Regulus sighed. "I think this is the happiest I've ever seen you, and that disturbs me."

"You love it, little brother," Sirius teased, ruffling Regulus's hair.

Regulus swatted his hand away. "Don't touch me."

Lily, still shaking her head, turned her gaze toward Harry and Lyra. "Don't let them get to you," she said, offering a small smile. "You know how they are."

"Oh, we know," Harry muttered, grabbing a piece of toast.

That was when Narcissa, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "You look well-rested, darling."

The statement was casual, delivered with an air of innocence, but the glint in her eyes told a different story.

Lyra nearly choked on air.

Harry stiffened beside her, his entire face turning an alarming shade of red.

Sirius and James lost it. James laughed so hard he had to grip the edge of the table to keep from toppling over, while Sirius thumped his fist against the wood, wheezing.

"Oh, that was good," Sirius said, wiping at his eyes. "I didn't even see that one coming!"

"Neither did I," Lyra muttered, glaring at her mother.

Narcissa merely sipped her tea, looking thoroughly unbothered. "I don't know what you're talking about, dear."

Regulus, still unimpressed, leaned back in his chair and said, "I regret living here."

"You say that every morning," Sirius pointed out.

"Because it's true," Regulus replied dryly.

"Again," Harry groaned, shaking his head as he bit into his toast. "I hate the lot of you."

"Seconded," Lyra piped in.

After nearly two hours of relentless teasing, dramatic re-enactments, courtesy of Sirius and James ("I'd do it a thousand times, for you!"), and Harry threatening hexes every five minutes, breakfast finally settled into something resembling normalcy. Or at least, as normal as it could be in a house filled with Marauders, former Death Eaters, and two people from another universe.

But reality had a nasty way of creeping in.

The diary sat in the middle of the table, an unassuming little book that held far more danger than it appeared. They had it, but that was as far as their success went. They had no sword, no basilisk fang, no Fiendfyre—nothing that could actually destroy it.

And then there was Harry, who was still limping everywhere, clearly in pain even though he tried to act like he wasn't. Lyra still had a headache, but at least the potion Lily had given her earlier had dulled it.

"So, we have a Horcrux," Regulus said, tapping his fingers against the table. "But no way to get rid of it."

"Excellent summary," James said. "Very helpful."

Regulus gave him a flat look. "You're welcome."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, stretching. "Alright, so what do we do?"

"Well, if we had the Sword of Gryffindor, that'd be great," Lily said, rubbing her temples. "But last I checked, it wasn't just lying around waiting for us to take it."

"Same goes for a basilisk fang," Narcissa added. "Unless you know of another secret Chamber of Secrets hidden somewhere."

James turned to Harry. "Hey, you're the resident basilisk slayer. Think you could just magic up another one?"

Harry gave him a deadpan look. "Yes, James, I'll just summon a thousand-year-old monster from the depths of Hogwarts real quick. Give me a second."

James grinned. "That's the spirit."

"Fiendfyre is also an option," Regulus pointed out.

"And who exactly here can control Fiendfyre?" Lily asked.

Silence.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Right. So that's off the table."

"So we're back to square one," Lyra muttered, rubbing her temples. "Fantastic."

Harry sighed, shifting in his seat, wincing as his leg protested the movement.

"Alright, that's it," Lily said suddenly, her sharp gaze locking onto him. "Harry, you need to rest. You're still injured."

Harry frowned. "I'm fine."

"You're limping," Narcissa pointed out.

"It's a minor inconvenience," Harry said.

"Minor inconvenience," Lyra scoffed. "Right, and I suppose bleeding all over the place yesterday was just a slight mishap?"

Harry shot her a look. "We had more important things to worry about."

"Not more important than you bleeding to death," she shot back.

"I wasn't—"

"Harry," Lily cut in, her voice the kind of firm that only a mother could manage. "You're going to rest, and that's final."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but James clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Mate, I'm all for the whole heroic suffering thing, but you do look like death warmed over."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly.

"Anytime," James grinned.

"Besides," Sirius added, "if you pass out from blood loss, we're going to have to carry you everywhere, and I'm not sure my back can take it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"Well, it runs in the family," Sirius smirked.

Regulus, looking exhausted already, rubbed his temples. "Merlin, I can't believe I'm related to you people."

"You love us," James said cheerfully.

"Debatable."

"You still haven't denied it," Sirius pointed out.

Regulus scowled. "Shut up."

Lyra sighed, shaking her head. "Alright, so while Harry is forced into recovery, we still need to figure out how to destroy this thing."

"We could break into Hogwarts," Sirius suggested casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What?" he said, looking around. "It's not like we haven't done it before."

James blinked. "Wait, have we?"

Sirius hesitated. "I mean, theoretically, if we had, we wouldn't admit it, would we?"

James nodded slowly. "Fair point."

Lily sighed heavily. "No, we are not breaking into Hogwarts."

"Why not?" Sirius grinned. "For old times' sake?"

Regulus gave him a look. "Your 'old times' involved significantly less deadly Dark artifacts."

Sirius shrugged. "Details."

Lyra groaned. "So, in summary: we have a Horcrux, no way to destroy it, Harry is injured, and our best plan so far is breaking into Hogwarts."

"Yup," James said, popping the 'p.'

"Brilliant," she muttered.

"See? You're catching on," Sirius grinned.

Lily sighed. "This is going to be a long day."

Narcissa re-entered the room with the poise of someone who had just delivered a decisive checkmate. A sealed letter rested in her hands, and her sharp blue eyes scanned the table, quickly noting the ease and banter still lingering in the air.

That wouldn't last much longer.

"I just received word," she announced, her cool, measured voice cutting through the casual conversation. "Moody is calling a meeting for the entire Order. They'll all be arriving at Grimmauld Place soon."

The reaction was immediate.

James groaned loudly. "Oh, come on. It's too early for this."

"It's nearly noon," Lily corrected.

"Too early for an Order meeting," James amended.

Sirius sighed dramatically, slumping in his chair. "Bloody hell, Cissy, you could've at least let us have breakfast before dropping that on us."

Narcissa raised an unimpressed brow. "You've been eating for an hour."

Regulus smirked. "And you haven't stopped talking for an hour either."

Sirius pointed at him. "That, baby brother, is because I am an exceptional conversationalist."

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

Lyra, however, was still frowning. "The entire Order? Just because we have the diary?"

"That seems excessive," Harry muttered, shifting slightly where he sat.

"Moody wasn't specific," Narcissa admitted, setting the letter on the table. "But I assume this is about more than just the diary. We've been compromised. The mission was dangerous enough, but after last night..." She trailed off, her gaze flickering to Lyra and Harry, then settling on Regulus.

Regulus exhaled through his nose, his mind already working through the implications. "It makes sense. We struck first—Voldemort won't take that lightly."

"He never does," Lily murmured.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "So, what now? We wait?"

"More or less," Narcissa said. "Moody didn't give an exact time, but knowing him, he'll want everyone gathered as soon as possible. We should expect people to start arriving soon."

Sirius groaned loudly. "Ugh, I hate meetings."

"You hate sitting still," Regulus corrected.

"Same thing."

James leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Alright, so what's our move? We tell them about the diary, obviously, but what about destroying it? They'll want a plan."

"We don't have one," Harry admitted, scowling. "Not a good one, anyway."

Lyra hummed. "Unless we go through with the 'breaking into Hogwarts' idea."

Lily shot her a look. "We're not breaking into Hogwarts."

Sirius clicked his tongue. "Never say never."

"I swear, if you try anything—"

"—you'll hex me into oblivion, I know," Sirius finished with a grin. "But don't act like it wouldn't be fun."

Lily glared.

Meanwhile, Regulus was deep in thought, tapping his fingers against the table. "If we can't destroy the Horcrux ourselves, maybe we focus on containment. Keep it hidden, secure. The less time it spends exposed, the better."

Lyra frowned. "Where? We can't keep it here. If anyone gets desperate enough, they might try something reckless."

"You say that like reckless behavior isn't the foundation of this entire group," James said dryly.

Lyra rolled her eyes.

"We could let the Order decide," Narcissa suggested. "They'll have resources we don't."

"Yeah, but do we trust all of them with this?" Harry asked, his voice tight. "The more people who know, the higher the risk."

A heavy silence fell over the table.

Finally, Lily exhaled. "We'll bring it up in the meeting, see what they suggest. But we need to be careful."

"Speaking of the meeting," Sirius said, stretching, "are we taking bets on how long it takes before someone starts yelling?"

James grinned. "Oh, definitely. Moody alone guarantees at least five minutes of shouting."

"I'd say three," Sirius countered. "He's getting faster."

Regulus groaned. "I can't believe I have to listen to this."

"You love us," James reminded him cheerfully.

Regulus gave him a long, deadpan stare.

Lyra groaned, rubbing her temples. "Great. So we're about to have a house full of stressed, angry people with no solid plan."

"So, just a normal day at Grimmauld Place?" Sirius quipped.

Lily sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Merlin help us all."

"Merlin's busy," James said. "But I hear Dumbledore enjoys an impromptu disaster."

Harry groaned. "Fantastic. Let's just hope no one suggests anything insane."

"Oh, Harry," Sirius grinned. "We both know that's exactly what's going to happen."

-IV-

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LOCKET? (I GUESS YOU WON'T FIND OUT TODAY)

Harry found Regulus in the library, tucked away in a dimly lit corner, his nose buried in an old book.

Unlike the rest of the house, which was currently filled with the sounds of furniture being rearranged, James loudly complaining about dust, and Madelyn chasing Sirius with a broom, the library was quiet—peaceful, even.

Regulus barely glanced up when Harry entered. "You're supposed to be helping."

Harry snorted, limping over to the nearest bookshelf. "You really think I'd be of any use with one good leg?"

Regulus hummed in acknowledgment but didn't argue. Instead, he turned a page, his eyes scanning over the text with sharp focus.

Harry hesitated, watching him. He should leave it alone—should just take the excuse to sit and rest—but the question had been nagging at him since last night, since they found the diary.

"Why didn't you steal the Horcrux?" he asked finally.

Regulus stilled. It was barely noticeable—the way his fingers froze against the parchment, the way his breath hitched for half a second—but Harry caught it.

Slowly, Regulus closed the book.

"Bold question," he murmured.

Harry shrugged. "I think I deserve an answer."

Regulus studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back in his chair.

"I tried," he admitted.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

Regulus exhaled through his nose. "I knew about the locket. I knew what it was, what it meant. I planned to take it, just like I did in your world."

Harry straightened, gripping the bookshelf. "But you didn't."

Regulus shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

Regulus hesitated, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the spine of his book. "Because I wasn't alone."

Harry's stomach clenched. "What?"

Regulus' jaw tightened. "In your world, I suppose, I had Kreacher. I told him what to do, and he did it without question. But here... here, my mother suspected something. I was never subtle. She watched me—closely. And when I finally made my move, I wasn't the only one who went to that cave."

Harry's breath caught. "Your mother went with you?"

Regulus gave a humorless smile. "Not willingly. She followed me. And when she saw what I was trying to do, she stopped me."

Harry stared at him, processing. "She stopped you?"

"She destroyed the Inferi, forced me to leave, and made it very clear that I wasn't going back," Regulus said evenly. "I tried to reason with her. I tried to explain. But she didn't care what the locket was—she cared that I was going to die for it."

Harry exhaled sharply, his mind spinning. "So, you just... gave up?"

Regulus' gaze snapped to his, sharp as a knife. "I didn't give up," he said coldly. "I just didn't throw my life away on a mission I couldn't finish."

Harry held his gaze, trying to piece together the weight behind his words. Regulus wasn't lying. He had tried. He had made the choice to go after the Horcrux, just like before—but this time, his mother had saved him.

Or stopped him.

"You were willing to die for it," Harry murmured.

Regulus looked away. "It wouldn't have mattered if I did."

Harry frowned at that, but before he could say anything else, Regulus stood abruptly, grabbing his book and tucking it under his arm.

"If you came here looking for a different ending, you won't find one," Regulus said quietly. "I didn't take the Horcrux. I didn't die in that cave. But You-know-who is still here, and we still have to stop him."

Harry swallowed. "Right."

Regulus lingered for a moment, his eyes dark and distant, before shaking his head and brushing past Harry, leaving the library without another word.

Harry hesitated, then pushed himself off the bookshelf and followed after him. He found Regulus in the drawing room, standing by the large, dark wooden cabinet where the Black family's collection of heirlooms had once been kept. Most of it was gone now—destroyed or hidden away—but Regulus still ran his fingers over the edges, lost in thought.

"You faked your death, didn't you?" Harry asked, cutting straight to the point.

Regulus didn't flinch, didn't even look surprised. Instead, he let out a quiet, almost amused breath and finally turned to face Harry.

"My mother did," he corrected. "She made sure I disappeared."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Regulus tilted his head. "Because I had failed."

Harry shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. She saved you from dying, but then... what? Made you pretend you were dead anyway?"

Regulus let out a slow exhale, crossing his arms. "To everyone else, I was already as good as dead. I had defied the Dark Lord, and that wasn't something one simply walked away from. My mother knew that. She knew if I went back, I wouldn't last a week."

Harry swallowed hard, the weight of those words sinking in.

"So she faked your death."

Regulus nodded. "She made it convincing, too. A staged disappearance, whispers of an 'unfortunate accident,' and a quiet funeral with no body to bury. It wasn't unusual for Death Eaters to vanish without a trace, and no one questioned it."

Harry rubbed a hand over his face. "So, legally...?"

"I'm still dead," Regulus finished, the corner of his mouth curling into something that wasn't quite a smirk. "No records, no identity. Just a name on a family tree."

Harry let out a low whistle. "That's insane."

Regulus arched a brow. "Is it?"

Harry gave him a look. "You're standing here. Right now. In your childhood home. And as far as the Ministry is concerned, you've been dead for nearly twenty years."

Regulus hummed. "Yes, well, the Ministry believes a lot of things."

Harry huffed a laugh despite himself. "Yeah, I can't argue with that."

Regulus leaned back against the cabinet, studying Harry carefully. "Why does it matter?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You're asking a lot of questions," Regulus said smoothly. "Digging into things that don't really change where we are now."

Harry hesitated. "I guess I just... I don't know. I thought you'd still try to take the Horcrux, no matter what."

Regulus exhaled, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "Once my mother forced me to leave the cave, I knew there was no going back. She made sure of it." He paused, eyes dark. "She wasn't a good person, Harry. But she wasn't going to let me die for nothing."

Harry considered that. He had spent years hearing about Walburga Black—about the cruel, fanatical woman who had tormented Sirius, whose portrait had screamed vile things at them every time they walked into the house. And yet, for all of that, she had saved Regulus. She had kept him hidden.

She had chosen her son over Voldemort.

And somehow, that felt... strange.

"So what did you do?" Harry asked after a beat. "After you 'died,' I mean."

Regulus gave him a considering look before replying, "I stayed out of sight. I traveled. Kept my ear to the ground. And when the Dark Lord returned, I came back."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Why?"

Regulus' lips pressed into a thin line. "Because my niece was murdered."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he just nodded.

After a moment, Regulus pushed off the cabinet. "Now, if you're done interrogating me, we should probably return before someone comes looking."

Harry snorted. "Right. Wouldn't want Sirius to think I kidnapped you."

Regulus smirked. "He might thank you for it."

-V-

OH, YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT SACRIFICE

The meeting was already in full swing when Harry and Lyra entered the room. The long dining table at Grimmauld Place was packed with people—more than Lyra had expected. It wasn’t just the core Order members. There were others too, younger faces mixed in with the older ones, and the room was loud with conversation, the air buzzing with tension and anticipation.

The Weasleys were there—at least, most of them. Arthur and Molly sat near the head of the table, their faces lined with concern. Ron, Ginny, and the twins were nearby, though her gaze barely flickered over them before she caught sight of someone she hadn’t been expecting.

Fred.

Alive.

Her heart nearly stopped, but she forced herself to breathe. She hadn’t been close to him—her reaction was instinct, a jarring reminder that the dead weren’t supposed to be standing in front of her. But before she could dwell on it, her eyes flickered to Neville, sitting beside a tall, broad-shouldered man Lyra didn’t recognize. Her chest tightened. Neville looked good—healthier than the boy she had last seen in battle.

She had missed her friend.

And then there were others. The Tonks's—Ted, Andromeda, and Nymphadora—all seated together. Andromeda was mid-conversation, but when she glanced toward the door and her eyes landed on Lyra, the color drained from her face. Her lips parted slightly in shock, and Lyra had to fight the urge to look away.

She wasn’t ready for this.

The room went silent as more people began to notice them. Conversations died, eyes widened, and chairs scraped against the floor as heads turned. The atmosphere shifted, tension replacing the noise, heavy and pressing.

It was Mad-Eye Moody who broke the silence. “Right, best get to it,” he said gruffly, tapping his fingers against the table. His magical eye whirled between Harry and Lyra before settling on the rest of the Order. “I know this ain’t what you lot expected, but keep your heads.”

Murmurs spread through the room, questions overlapping.

“What the hell is going on?” That was Ron, standing up from his chair, his face twisted in confusion.

"Is this a joke?" one of the older members muttered, brow furrowed.

“How is she here? Is that a death eater?” Another voice—sharp, demanding.

Lyra braced herself. She knew this was going to happen. She had known the moment she stepped into the room. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

Lily stood up, hands raised slightly, trying to settle the growing unease. “Please,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Let us explain.”

Arthur Weasley, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, his kind eyes wary but patient. “Then do,” he said simply.

Lily nodded, exchanging a glance with Moody before taking a breath. “This is going to be difficult to believe, but Harry and Lyra... they aren’t from here.”

“What do you mean ‘not from here’?” Ginny asked, arms crossed. 

"What do you mean Harry?" someone else asked, "You don't mean–"

"They're dead," Kingsley said suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the room. His eyes were on Lyra, steady and unreadable. “In this world, they’re dead.”

Silence.

A cold chill ran down Lyra’s spine as the weight of those words settled over the room. She could feel the way people were looking at her now—really looking at her. There was something unsettling about it, like she was a ghost standing among the living.

It was Sirius who spoke next, stepping forward slightly. “They’re from another universe.” His voice was serious, but his eyes darted to Lyra, searching her face. “A different world. In theirs, they survived.”

Murmurs spread again, whispers between the Order members.

Neville, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke. His voice was quieter than the others, but there was something sharp in it. “That’s impossible.”

Moody snorted. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Another universe?” Molly echoed, looking at Lily for confirmation.

Lily nodded. “Yes.” She turned toward Lyra then, her gaze softer but just as intense as everyone else’s. “And... in this world, Lyra died when she was young and Harry, my Harry, died... as a baby. But in their, things happened differently– they were the survivors.”

The room tensed again.

Lyra swallowed hard. Here it comes.

“Wait.” Andromeda’s voice rang through the silence, and when Lyra turned toward her, she was met with wide, disbelieving eyes. Andromeda looked... shaken. Paler than before.

Andromeda took a slow step forward. “You’re my niece.”

Lyra held her gaze, unsure what to say. She had never been close to her aunt, at most she had just known she had one, one that was good, rather than cruel like Bellatrix. This was... strange.

“You died. I saw your body,” Andromeda continued, her voice unsteady, like she was speaking more to herself than to anyone else. “We buried you.”

The words hit like a hammer, and Lyra had to tighten her grip on the back of a chair to keep herself steady.

“She’s not the same Lyra,” Moody said, breaking the moment. “Not exactly. She’s from a world where she lived. Where things played out differently.”

Andromeda still looked like she had seen a ghost.

“So, what? They just appeared here one day?” Fred asked, finally speaking up, his expression unreadable.

“Something like that,” Harry said, his voice steady but edged with something tense.

More questions were coming. Lyra could see it in their faces. And she wasn’t sure they were ready for the answers. 

“Another universe?” Neville repeated, his brow furrowed. “How is that even possible?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Moody said gruffly, arms crossed over his chest. “But we don’t have time to waste figuring out the how or why. The fact is—they’re here. And they know things.”

“Things about what?” Tonks asked, glancing between Harry and Lyra, her expression wary.

“You-know-who,” Harry said simply. “His Horcruxes.”

The reaction was instant. A sharp intake of breath, a ripple of unease spreading through the room like a crack in glass.

“H-Horcruxes?” Arthur repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kingsley's face had gone pale. “He made more than one?”

"What is a horcrux?" Most people looked confused, justifiably so.

"He found a way to split his soul, so he could not be killed easily." Harry met Lyra’s eyes before nodding. “And yes, more than one. And in our world, we destroyed them. We won the war.”

Silence slammed into the room like a sudden drop in temperature.

“You’re saying,” Kingsley said slowly, his deep voice measured, “that in your world, You-know-who is dead?”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

The weight of that single word settled over the group. Some of the older Order members looked stunned, their expressions caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

Fred let out a low whistle, breaking the silence. “Well, that’s a bit mental.”

“A bit mental?” Ginny turned on him, incredulous. “They’re saying they already did what we’re still fighting to do.” She gestured between Lyra and Harry. “They won.”

“They won in their world,” Ron pointed out, frowning. “But this isn’t their world.”

“That’s exactly why we should be listening to them,” Lily cut in firmly, her eyes burning with determination. “They’ve fought this war before. They know what it takes to win.”

“That may be true,” Kingsley acknowledged, his gaze shifting to Lyra now, unreadable. “But it doesn’t explain how she’s here. If they are even telling the truth.”

Lyra stiffened. She had known this was coming.

“You died,” Kingsley continued, his tone careful but firm. “As a child. How is it possible that you’re standing here now—grown?”

“She isn’t the same Lyra,” Sirius said before she could answer, his voice steady. Protective.

“But she is,” Andromeda whispered.

The room went still.

She was staring at Lyra, her face unreadable, but there was something fragile in the way she held herself—like she was one breath away from breaking.

“I know what my niece looked like,” Andromeda said, her voice quiet but certain. “I remember her face. I remember losing her.”

Lyra swallowed hard.

Andromeda took a step closer, her gaze searching. “But you—” She exhaled, shaking her head. “You look just like her.”

Lyra held her ground. “Because I am her,” she said carefully. “Just... not the one you knew.”

Andromeda’s hands curled into fists at her sides. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she let out a breath and looked away, pressing a hand to her forehead.

The weight in the room shifted, thick with something unspoken.

“So let me get this straight,” Fred finally said, leaning back in his chair. “You two—” he gestured between Harry and Lyra “—fell into our world from your own, where you already beat you-know-who, and now you’re stuck here doing it all over again?”

Harry nodded. “Pretty much.”

Fred gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, alright. That’s completely mad.”

“You’re one to talk,” Ron muttered.

Before Fred could fire back, Moody cleared his throat loudly. “Enough of this back and forth. We don’t have time for useless debates.” His mismatched eyes landed on Lyra. “You’re here. That much is clear. But you’re still a Malfoy.”

Lyra’s fingers curled against her arms.

The name carried weight. She could feel it in the air, in the way people looked at her now—not with shock, but with something colder.

“I’m not my father,” she said evenly.

Moody grunted. “Maybe. But plenty of people here remember the Malfoys standing with the Dark Lord. And if you grew up one of them, then you were raised in it.”

Lyra snapped, unable to help the flash of anger that surged up. “Lyra, your Lyra died here when she was young, because she was killed by the man you think I am working for. You think I would ignore that? You think I would risk my life for you-know-who, someone who took everything from me?” 

“She’s right,” Andromeda said suddenly, surprising everyone. When Lyra turned to her, she found her aunt’s gaze steady now, the initial shock fading into something more composed. “Whatever you may think, she isn’t Lucius. And if she’s from another world, then our past with her doesn’t matter. We should be judging her for who she is now.”

Lyra wasn’t sure if that was meant to be reassuring or not. But she appreciated it.

Moody let out a rough sigh. “Fine. But if you think I’m just going to take you at your word, you’re mistaken.”

Lyra lifted her chin. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A tense beat passed before Moody gave her a slow, grudging nod.

“So what now?” Ron asked, glancing around at the rest of the Order.

Moody exhaled, running a hand over his scarred face. “Now, we figure out how to use what they know to our advantage.” His sharp gaze flicked to Harry and Lyra. “And you two better be ready, because this war isn’t won yet.”

Lyra met his gaze head-on. “We never expected it to be.”

The meeting wasn’t over, but something in the room had shifted.

They still had questions. Still had doubts. But they weren’t wasting time wondering whether Harry and Lyra were telling the truth anymore.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. People whispered among themselves, some casting wary glances at Lyra, others watching Harry with a mixture of curiosity and doubt.

“We need the full story,” Remus said at last, his voice steady, but his gaze sharp. “From the beginning.”

Harry exhaled slowly and glanced at Lyra. She gave him a short nod.

So Harry started from the beginning.

“My parents are dead.” His voice was steady, but it carried weight. The murmurs quieted slightly. “Murdered when I was a baby. I grew up not knowing anything about magic, about who I was. When I turned eleven, I found out I was a wizard. I met my best friends, Ron and Hermione, on the train to school.”

Ron flinched slightly at the mention of his name, but Harry didn’t pause. “We spent years fighting battles we weren’t supposed to fight. We faced things way beyond what kids should’ve handled. Every year, he tried to come back.” He didn’t say the Dark Lord’s name, but everyone knew exactly who he meant.

At that, a few Order members stiffened. Mad-Eye’s magical eye whirred, fixating on him.

“First, it was the Philosopher’s Stone.” Harry took a slow breath. “Then the Chamber of Secrets, where Ginny—”

Molly straightened sharply. “What?”

Ginny’s face paled, but she folded her arms, jaw tight.

Harry exhaled, meeting her eyes before turning back to the room. “In our world, the Chamber was opened. A basilisk was set loose on the school. It petrified people. It nearly killed Hermione. And Ginny—” His throat tightened. “She was the one being used to do it. He had a diary. It controlled her. Possessed her. She nearly died in the Chamber, and I had to go in after her.”

Gasps spread through the room. Molly clapped a hand over her mouth, and Arthur put a steadying arm around her shoulders.

“You—you saved me?” Ginny’s voice was quiet, but her eyes burned with something unreadable.

“You were my friend,” Harry said simply. "In my world."

The silence stretched. Then, Lyra spoke. “The diary was one of his Horcruxes.”

More murmurs.

“So you’re saying that—” Kingsley began, but Harry cut in.

“Yes, animated objects holding his soul.”

The reaction was immediate. Arthur let out a sharp breath. Molly paled. Even Sirius looked grim.

“How many did he make?” Remus asked, voice tight.

Harry nodded. “Six. He split his soul into seven pieces.” 

Molly looked like she might be sick and Lyra was glad Harry didn't tell them about the 'plot-twist' where he was one of the horcruxes.

“He couldn’t die unless we destroyed them,” Lyra continued. “And we did.”

The weight of those words settled over the room.

“You... won,” The man next to Neville said slowly, his gray eyes locked onto Harry’s.

Harry swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Another silence, even heavier than the last.

“And how are you here?” It was Moody who asked, his voice gruff.

“Credit for that goes to your Dumbledore and Snape,” Lyra admitted. “One minute, we were there—the war was over and it had been years, we were alive. The next...” She glanced at Harry. “We were here.”

People were still trying to process when Lily turned to Ginny, Madelyn and the rest of the younger members. “I think it’s best if you all leave.”

Ginny’s head snapped up. “No.”

Molly's brows furrowed. “Ginny—”

“No!” Ginny’s voice was stronger this time, and she stepped forward. “This is our war too. You think we don’t know what’s happening? We do. And I won’t be sent away just because you think I’m too young to handle it.”

She wasn’t alone.

“Ginny’s right,” Ron said, arms crossed. “In their world, we fought. We were part of it. And if we don’t listen now, we’ll just end up running into the same problems.”

Fred and George exchanged a look. “We’re not leaving,” Fred said simply.

“We deserve to know,” George added.

For a moment, the adults looked ready to argue. But then Harry spoke.

“They’re right.”

All eyes turned to him.

“The biggest mistake the adults in our world made was keeping things from us. It didn’t protect us. It just made things worse. So no, they shouldn’t leave.” He met Lily’s gaze, then turned to the others. “Because if they don’t know the truth now, they’ll find out the hard way later.”

Lily exhaled sharply, her expression conflicted, but after a long moment, she gave a single nod.

“Fine,” Moody grunted. “But if they’re staying, they better listen.”

The room settled.

And Harry continued.

He told them about how the Dark Lord had returned. How Mad-Eye had been taken, how the Triwizard Tournament had been used to bring him back. He told them about losing Cedric.

Then he told them about the prophecy.

About how he was meant to be the one to kill him.

Molly let out a strangled noise. Remus shut his eyes briefly, as if pained.

Then Lyra picked up the story.

“When Sirius died,” her voice was even, but Harry could see the tension in her jaw, “I went to Dumbledore. I told him I wanted in. I wasn’t going to sit back anymore. So I became a spy.”

Sirius inhaled sharply.

“Fifteen years old,” Andromeda whispered, her gaze dark.

Lyra didn’t flinch. “I did what I had to.”

Harry knew what she wasn’t saying. The things she had done. The lies she had told. The dangers she had walked straight into.

Lyra lifted her chin. “And then Harry, Ron and Hermione hunted them down. Every Horcrux. They found them, destroyed them. And in the end, he was vulnerable.”

Harry met her gaze.

“We won.”

The room was silent.

Not because they didn’t believe them.

But because, for the first time, they saw it.

What was possible.

What could be done.

Harry and Lyra hadn’t just come here to explain.

They had come here to fight.

-VI-

ONLY YOU COULD FIX ME

The meeting had dissolved after tensions reached their peak, giving everyone a chance to breathe, to step away. People had scattered throughout the house, finding quiet corners to process everything that had been thrown at them. Lyra took the opportunity to slip away, retreating to the small bedroom she and Harry had shared the night before.

The moment she shut the door behind her, the weight of it all crashed down on her. She barely made it to the nightstand before her hands fumbled for the vial Lily had given her. Her fingers trembled as she uncorked it, and she didn’t hesitate before taking a sip. The effect was instant—the sharp pain in her skull ebbed away, leaving behind a dull exhaustion. Her body relaxed, but her mind… her mind was still spinning.

She sank onto the bed, exhaling slowly, pressing her fingers against her temple.

A few minutes passed before the door creaked open again.

Harry.

She didn’t need to look up to know it was him. She could feel his presence before he spoke. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

“You okay?” His voice was quiet. Careful.

Lyra let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

Harry didn’t move. He just stared at her, the weight of his gaze making it clear he didn’t believe her.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know how I feel.”

Harry walked over, pulling out the chair from the desk and turning it around so he could sit facing her. “Yeah,” he said, resting his arms on the back of it. “I get that.”

Lyra hesitated before speaking again, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve. “I don’t know how to feel about him sometimes,” she murmured, not looking at Harry. “No matter what he did, he was still my father.”

Harry stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“I grew up believing in him,” she went on, her voice quieter now. “In everything he stood for. It was all I knew. And now, after everything—being here, being looked at like I’m just like him—I don’t know what’s worse.” She swallowed, her throat tight. “That I still want to love him, that I miss him... or that I shouldn't, because he did some very terrible things.”

Harry exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the back of the chair. He didn’t try to argue, didn’t immediately tell her she was wrong to feel the way she did. Instead, he leaned forward slightly.

“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he said. “You don’t have to have some big, clear answer.”

She let out a quiet laugh, one that held no humor. “I just— I don’t know how to separate him from what he did.”

Harry nodded. “I know.”

“I mean, I know what he was. I know what he believed. I know all of it. And still—” She shook her head. “Still, I keep thinking about the way he used to tuck me in at night. The way he would pick me up when I fell. I keep thinking about the version of him that was mine.”

Lyra swallowed hard.

Harry glanced at her then, his voice softer. “Loving him doesn’t mean you agree with what he did. He was still your father.”

She stared at the floor, her throat tight.

“And when I think of your father,” Harry continued, “I don’t see a man standing beside you-know-who. I see a man who walked onto a battlefield, wandless, because he was looking for you.” His voice was steady, certain. “That was your father. He was capable of redemption. And if not that, at least forgiveness.” He paused. “The Lucius Malfoy of this world? He was never that. He was never a father. Not in the way that mattered.”

Lyra closed her eyes, breathing in slow, steady breaths.

Harry hesitated before speaking again. “You know, Hermione once told me something,” he said. “Something I think I understand now.”

Lyra glanced up at him. “What was it?”

Harry exhaled. “She said this quote, about people following those they loved into whatever hells there are’” He gave her a small, almost sheepish smile. “At the time, I didn’t really get it. But now... I think I do.”

She tilted her head slightly, waiting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “If you ask me to come with you, screaming, into Hell, I will,” he said, voice quiet. “And I will follow you. Not because I wanted suffering. But because I couldn’t stand to be alone in that garden.” He swallowed hard. “And I think, if I asked you to come with me screaming into Hell, you’d go, too.”

Lyra’s breath hitched.

She didn’t hesitate. “I already did.”

Harry let out a small, tired laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”

They sat there in silence for a long time, neither of them moving.

"I love you, Lyra," Harry whispered.

"Merlin, I love you too," she smiled at him softly, "We will be okay, right?"