look me in the eyes and burn

(H i r a e t h)

A homesickness for a home you can’t return to, or that never was

September 07, 1998

Hi Hermione!

How are you? And Ginny? How’s Hogwarts? It must be a huge bore without Ron and me there to drag you away from the library. I hope Ginny manages to sometimes get you to do something fun. Oh, what am I saying, of course she does.

I have been great! Well, not really great, I miss you guys so bloody much I’ve almost returned a dozen times by now. I’m really sorry I didn’t give you more of a warning before leaving, but I really just couldn't stay any longer. I’m sure you understand, you always do, but I still feel bad for not giving you more of a warning. I am really careful, though.

The wards you taught me while on the run are brilliant, and so handy. I use them all the time. Same with your Extension Charm. Deadly useful those. I can carry so much with me without having to worry about having enough space. It’s amazing.

I’m currently in Adare, a small village in Ireland. It’s really nice here. You would like it, I think, learning about its history and everything. They also have a castle. Well, now it’s only ruins and by far not as big or beautiful as Hogwarts, but some people say there used to be witches and wizards there, but they have already left a long time ago.

And before you start worrying, I have made sure that no-one followed me or knows my real name. I’m James Evans here. I’m also eating and sleeping more. So no need to break curfew to strangle me.

Anyway, I have enclosed a book on Adare’s history and a few pictures for you. There’re also a few desserts I hope survived the journey, for you and Ginny. Give her my love.

I hope to see you soon, ‘Mione, I have just soooo much to tell you. I’ll keep you updated.

Love,

Harry Potter AKA James Evans ;D

xXxXxXx

Change is always frightening, I think. Leaving all you know behind to wander into the unknown; no-one will follow.

Some people might travel with you for a bit, others might have been with you all along, and again others will stay behind, content in their lives.

But ultimately, everything changes and everyone leaves.

Harry never expected this.

Of course, his parents had died when he was so small he could not even remember them. Then his relatives had left because of the danger they were in because of him and his role in the war. Many more had left or died because of said war. So, so many.

But now it was over and people still left. Hell, he had left.

How was he supposed to know this?

Well, he had known, on a subconscious level; but knowing and experiencing it were two different things.

Disregarding the war, there was simply a point in life when people left — people you had seen and spent the last countless years with and around. People you might care for, love, hate, are indifferent to — everyone.

And suddenly they were gone, scattered all over. Everywhere and nowhere; just like him.

Harry had not realised it happening. He had seen it, of course, had understood what was happening, and yet he could not grasp it.

He was an adult now. He had finished school (somewhat), and now it was time to go. To move on.

Move out of his childhood house (his relative’s place had never been his home, not truly, but for a long time it was all he had known), find his own place in the world, make a living.

Just like Ron was now going to the Auror Academy and had started earning his own money — no longer provided for or dependent on his parents. Harry also knew that he and Hermione were looking for a place of their own — to move into once Hermione got her NEWTs and a respectable job at the Ministry of Magic.

From what Harry had also heard, Seamus and his impressive skills in turning water into alcoholic beverages had gotten him a place in a brewery somewhere in Scotland. Dean, meanwhile, had done the same as Harry; he had packed his bags and decided to see as much of the world as possible, now that he did not have to fear for his life.

Even the females in his year at Hogwarts were gone. Sure, some had chosen to return to the Castle for their eighth year, but most had left, instead choosing to start anew and leave the childish scrabbles and gossip behind.

Malfoy and his gang were gone as well; either dead or imprisoned or hidden away. The only one Harry had heard anything about was Malfoy himself, and apparently he had done a one-eighty and started working at Saint Mungos.

Malfoy. Working.

Everything was different.

It had only just sunken in; now that Harry had arrived at his destination. His bags were still unopened, simply flung to the ground in relief. There were no personal touches to this room, no signs of life or familiarity.

All there was were a simple bed, a desk and a wardrobe — it was enough. Harry didn’t need more. This was what he wanted. And he had been excited for it. So why did his chest suddenly hurt? Why did his throat constrict and his lips begin to tremble? Why were there tears in his eyes?

Why did he feel like crying? Like he could do nothing but cry and cry and cry?

His heart felt so heavy and empty at the same time. All he wanted was to go home. To crawl into the arms of Hermione and Ron, Ginny and Mrs Weasley.

He wanted to go to bed in Ron’s room, like they always did when he was staying over for the holidays. And he wanted to wake up to Mrs Weasley’s amazing cooking and Mr Weasley’s endless questions about Muggle appliances.

Fred and George’s joyous laughter and Ginny’s screeching echoed in his ears; the ghost of Hogwarts’ warmth surrounded him.

It was all so close and yet so far.

And Harry knew that, however much he wished otherwise, these things were in the past.

There were no more holidays (school was over). George would never laugh like this again (Fred was dead). Hogwarts’ doors were closed for him (he was not a student any longer).

This part of his life was over. It didn’t matter how horrible and traumatising it was — it was all Harry knew. Suddenly it was gone; ripped from his grasp and thrown away.

Going back now… Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to leave again, even though those things wouldn’t return.

Harry might be able to get empty husks of it, might forget for a moment or two that anything was different, but at the end of the day he would not be able to go on as he had before.

It would not be the same, no matter how much he wished it would be.

And this… this was terrifying. It was a new kind of scary he did not know how to deal with.

It was like one moment he knew what to do, he had a purpose and knew what tomorrow would bring; the next second it was all passed, done and over with and he stood here, not knowing where to go or what to do now.

He’d never thought he’d live this far — had never understood the ramifications — so now there was no plan, no purpose, and no idea what tomorrow would bring.

Was this what being an adult was? Knowing your family and friends loved and cared about you, and yet being alone, because they were hundreds of miles away while you finally realised that time had passed and life as you knew it was over?

It was frightening. And so exciting.

xXxXxXx

September 09, 1998

Dear Harry,

Oh, it is so good to hear form you! We’re all so concerned about you! I honestly can’t believe that you would just leave like that, and without telling us! Have we done anything to make you believe we didn’t want you here or that you were a burden or that you couldn’t come back? If so, you don’t need to worry, Harry. We love you, just as you are!

I really hope you’re eating well. And finally use all the time you now have to actually try to sleep. You can sneak around all day, so at night you should stay in bed. It will really do you wonders.

It’s great that you remain CONSTANTLY VIGILANT! There are still some of Voldemort’s supporters out there. I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. (And don’t you dare go looking for them on your own! The Ministry has people making sure everyone is found and locked up. You don’t have to do something reckless!)

Hogwarts is weird without you and Ron, and everyone is so miserable. I wish we could just go back to how everything used to be, you know? Even the castle is different. The third floor corridor on the right-hand side is still out of bounds to everyone, you know. You should really be here Harry, you’d probably sneak there anyway and find another Cerberus hidden behind some rubble!

Ginny is quite well. She misses you. Our first Hogsmead visit is in two weeks, you should definitely come. Ron has started his training and is already complaining about the workload. We’ll see how he does without me helping him finish his assignments, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out.

The book you sent looks really interesting and I can’t wait to read it! And the pictures are beautiful! Ron and I will definitely come visit you in the holidays!

Love,

Hermione

xXxXxXx

Harry hadn’t slept well that first night. Or the night after. It was no surprise, really; he hadn’t been sleeping well for years.

But he went exploring during the day. Sometimes he would sit down in this little café and watch the Muggles go about their day.

The nice old lady who owned the shop always smiled kindly, deep lines wrinkling her aged face, but there was an energy in her Harry could only envy.

She often gave him a little tart to his tea; she never took his money for it, though.

There was also a bookstore he got dragged into by Hermione when she and Ron were visiting. Some of the titles there sounded interesting and Harry was open to try new things, but he couldn’t return.

The one time he did, he had seen Remus there, sitting on a squishy armchair and reading a thick tome, a small smile gracing his face. The sun had been setting; its golden light reflecting off his light brown hair and highlighting the scars on his face.

Needless to say it hadn’t been Remus, for he was dead and hadn’t been that young in years. Harry dared not return. It still hurt too much.

Once or twice he took the ferry to the island near by. It wasn’t a big island by any means — a lighthouse and some old ruins long since withered were the only things there.

But the air — oh, it was so soothing and fresh, it made goosebumps rise on his arms and sent pleasant shivers down his body.

Waves crashed against the shore, again and again — it was nothing like the times he’d been to the sea before. There were no determined letters following him and no Inferi trying to drag him in.

All was calm and silent — it was as if time didn’t exist. As if nothing existed, only the wind and the sea.

It was beautiful.

Harry left the village a few weeks later, having explored everything there was to explore and wishing to see more.

Besides, this little village didn’t feel like home.

xXxXxXx

November 27, 1998

Hey Ron!

I just arrived at Peel, on the Isle of Man. It’s really nice here. There are old ruins of a castle here that I want to explore. Maybe for a few days or so. I don’t know yet.

Of course, I made sure that there are no other witches or wizards around, only Muggles. And I set up the usual wards. I don’t want anyone to find me, especially a Death Eater, now that you and Hermione are not here with me.

I’m sorry, by the way. I know I should have told you sooner about my plans, but I knew you wouldn’t like it and I didn’t want to fight with you. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. And I know that you’re gonna rock the Auror Academy without me. How could you not?

Anyway, you can calm Hermione. She’s no doubt worrying relentlessly. I’m eating plenty and try to get as much shut eye as I can get. It’s hard, and the nightmares are still bad, but my magic feels calmer somehow, more at ease. It’s weird, I dunno. Normally when everything is as calm and quiet as it is here, my magic would be much more prone to Accidental Magic. Hmm, well…

I miss you guys. It’s strange not having you here with me; not hearing your voices or doing literally everything with you. But I don’t regret it, I know this is what I needed.

Give my love to everyone, alright? See you soon!

Harry

p.s. the moldy, old sock is a Portkey to my current location. The activation phrase is ‘Ronnil Wazlib’ ;P

xXxXxXx

“Harry!” The familiar voice of Harry’s best friend cried out, “Ron, Ginny, he's over there!”

The bushy haired brunette dragged her boyfriend and his sister over to him, before letting go of them unceremoniously in order to draw Harry into a tight (too tight, too restricting) hug. Harry hugged back as best as he could while simultaneously trying to loosen her steel grip.

Harry smiled, lighter than either of his friends had seen in months. It was a welcoming change.

Chattering about nothing and everything, the close knitted ground made their way down the path towards St Patrick’s Isle, a certain watchfulness surrounding all of them.

Harry smiled. “I haven’t yet explored the ruins. I wanted to wait for you to come so we could do it together, though apparently the castle had been built around eleven hundred by Norwegian Vikings…”

The boy trailed off when his bushy haired friend gasped excitedly, her wide eyes shining.

“Do you know what that means?” Before any of them had a chance to answer, or even just nod or shake their head, she continued rambling. “‘Course you don’t, you don’t even know what a book is, ehh?”

Ron shoved her good heartedly, before wrapping his freckles arm around her waist, keeping her close. Hermione leaned in contently.

“It was common for Viking tribes to have at least one wizard with them, to either protect them from other wizards and natural catastrophes, help them in their conquering or to be able to fight off their fantastical, made-up monsters.”

Ginny looked up at that, her beautiful eyes sharp and up for a challenge. “Does that mean there could be hidden treasures and traps here?”

“Good thing we’re here then, isn’t it?” Ron laughed loudly. “Otherwise Harry would probably end up in one of them because he couldn’t resist trying.”

“Oh bugger off. I’m not that bad.”

Carefree laughter filled the air as the four friends stumbled down the streets. The countless empty bottles of Dreamless Sleep went ignored when they dropped off their bags in Harry’s room and in no time at all, they were walking across the grassy fields towards the ruins of a civilisation long gone.

xXxXxXx

“You are running. Why are you running? What are you running from?”

“I’m not running from anything.”

“Yes, you are.”

No, he wasn’t, was he?

xXxXxXx

At long last, Christmas had come and with it Harry’s first time stepping back onto British soil in months.

The Burrow was warm when he arrived; loud laughter came from the sitting room and the heavenly smell of Christmas laid in the air.

Walking into the long familiar home, Harry felt like an outsider — watching that which did not belong to him, that he did not deserve to be a part of.

Everywhere he looked, the house crawled with liveliness.

Molly, Bill and Fleur were bustling around in the kitchen. The older woman was dictating where everything should go and Harry startled as she suddenly shrieked to “take the goose out of the oven, William! We can’t have it become too dry!”

In the meantime, Ginny and Ron were groaning, trying desperately to catch the Bowtruckles that were determined to bring the brightly lit tree to the ground. Hermione and Percy sat with them, a thick tome in each lap. Though, while Percy seemed to be blind to the going-ons around him, absorbed in his book as he was, Hermione hid her snickering behind hers. Her teary eyes were locked onto the sight her boyfriend and friend's misfortune made.

Next to them, in silence, George stared listlessly into the ever changing flames of the hearth. He barely seemed to have changed since the last time Harry had seen him, apart from the very noticeable weight loss. George, it seemed, could not just pretend that everything was fine; that the war was just a slight hiccup of the past.

Sitting next to him, Charlie regaled the shell of his once-bright-with-laughter-and-life brother with all the shenanigans his dragons weren't supposed to get up to, but somehow managed to pull off anyway.

It kind of hurt — watching the rift between the ones successfully moving on from the war and those still stuck in the worst of it.

Hands soothing down his special made Weasley jumper, Harry took a last deep breath before joining the frame with a smile plastered onto his face.

The evening passed in a blur. Songs were sung and Ginger bread men joyfully decapitated. Little explosions sounded until deep into the night,  the colourful wrappers of the crackers raining confetti and sweets.

Laughter and forced upon happiness filled the air as evening slowly faded into night, the fire in the heart burning down to glowing embers.

(It was carefully ignored how Harry twitched every time the laughs were a bit too strained, and the eyes a bit too obvious in avoiding the empty place next to George.)

Swallowing, Harry looked away and felt a bittersweet smile flit over his face as, out of the corner of his eye, the family stood together. (Just for a moment, there was no missing piece, no empty space that shouldn’t be empty.)

xXxXxXx

“Don’t,” Harry told Ginny softly, whispered it into her fiery red hair as the first rays of the morning sun filtered through the window. Her body was enveloped by his, her head tucked under his chin, and he could feel her heartbeat underneath his hands. “Don’t wait for me.”

Ginny didn’t answer, her arms only tightened around Harry’s waist.

“Don’t waste your life.” Because he could not watch her wither away, waiting, hoping, praying for something he could not give her.

He loved her, dearly and with all his heart and, under different circumstances, Harry was sure that they could have been great. That their love could have prospered and grown, blossomed into something written about in fairytales.

Under different circumstances, his soul could have been hers to do with as she pleased. And every breath he took a declaration of his love for her.

He would worship her; morning, day and night he would give her all his devotion, all his love. He’d give her his life and soul.

Under different circumstances — so much could have been.

It was all still there — the love and the devotion. A fever dream — a rush so beautiful and to the greatest heights, hazy and half forgotten in delirium.

But somewhere between fighting Basilisks and soul pieces, between months of fear and pain and determination and hopelessness, between months of not seeing but always wishing for the other, something happened. And this —

This didn’t feel like home anymore.

xXxXxXx

For days now he had been wandering, his feet carrying him whichever way, never stopping, never halting, never taking the same path twice.

Harry knew not where he was. Nothing in this place was familiar.

Every so often he would come across a little settling, rackety huts decorating the vast landscape. The people were always so nice and welcoming, the clothes so different to all he’d seen before and their food fascinating and repulsive for his boring British sensibilities.

The wonder and awe he always felt, the excitement and trepidation, always brought him back his eleventh birthday and the revelation of amazing, out-of-this-world magic.

Even their words — foreign and incomprehensible as they were to him — had him smile in remembrance to his world, how none of the words had made any sense the first few months.

Harry always kept walking. Sometimes he took some breaks — be it for a night or a few days, even a couple of weeks — but he always went on his way when he felt it was time. When he was getting jittery and could barely hold still, when his eyes sought out the horizon and he would only toss and turn at night.

He went on, with pictures and letters in his satchel, experiences and people in his heart, and memories in his head. He went on.

Day turned into night turned into days turned into weeks. Harry wandered sandy dunes and lush meadows, snowed-in mountains and humid forests.

He swallowed Gilly-weed and swam blithely through a deep river. He Wingardium-Leviosa’ed a few tree trunks and carefully clambered over a steep gorge.

Protection wards and wards that would alert him of approaching danger — the very same ones he’d been desperate to master during his year on the run — now let him sleep peacefully underneath the star-studded blanket of the night.

If a tree fell in a forest and no one was around to hear it, did it make a sound? — Equally, if Harry screamed into the night and no one was around to hear it, did it matter?

The tree still fell, and Harry still screamed. The trees would keep falling until there was no tree left and Harry would keep screaming until there was no scream left.

If no-one was around, then no-one would hear, then no-one would know.

He kept walking.

xXxXxXx

April 15, 1999

Hey Hermione,

I think I’m going to Africa soon. No idea yet were exactly I wanna go, I’ll probably find something interesting along the way.

Yes, I’ve been eating and sleeping. I’m always careful who I tell where I am or if someone's following me. No, I’ve not managed to find myself in trouble again. I’m perfectly fine and have still no desire to come back already. This is too amazing to already stop. You know I wouldn’t be able get away again should I return.

Though, I do need to talk to you. Not just through letter. If you want, you can come to me. I’ve enclosed a Portkey, the activation phrase is “los recuerdos permanecen¹”. Though, if you’re too busy I understand.  We could do a mirror call, instead. I just won’t be able to come to you.

I just— I really want to talk to you. I miss you.

With love,

Harry

xXxXxXx

A few days later, Harry shot up in the middle of the night, his trusted wand clutched in his hand and a spell at the top of his tongue. His eyes scanned the room for danger, for something that didn’t belong.

It took a second to orient himself, to remember where he was and where the noise came from, but the moment he did, Harry slumped down, heavy relief cursing through his body.

He forewent turning on the light as he searched for the mirror shard he’d gotten from Sirius.

“Ow,” he hissed, finally finding the damn thing and immediately picking his finger on one of its sharp edges. Fumbling, he brought it up to his face. Still, he smiled tiredly as he accepted the call from Hermione.

The witch must be stressing about assignments, aka nothing serious (for Hermione anyway) again, if the volume of her hair was anything to go on.

Harry chuckled. “Hey, 'Mione—“

“Harry, hi, sorry I’m incredibly busy right now,” his friend interrupted him mid sentence. She didn’t look at him as she said this, immersed in her viscous scribbling as she was. “You said you wanted to talk about something? Is everything alright? You didn’t do anything reckless again, did you? I told you to be careful now that neither Ron nor I are there.”

Harry burrowed deeper into his blankets, shame creeping up his throat. Here he was, worrying his friends and disrupting their busy lives just because he wanted to talk to them, because he missed them.

“No, no, everything’s good. I’m being careful. I just…” he cleared his throat. “I wanted—“

“Then what is it?” She looked up impatiently, looking at Harry for the first time since the call connected she’d made. Sure, he’d wanted it too, but she was the one choosing the time.

“I just wanted to talk to you. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages.” His voice grew quieter, smaller, as he shifted, his blanket covering his mouth. “How are you?”

Hermione looked up concerned. Her eyes took in what little she could see of Harry and slowly, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry watched her eyes grow darker while her brows furrowed in irritation.

“Are you honestly still in bed, Harry?” Hermione's voice sounded as unimpressed as she looked. “Are you serious right now? It’s almost one! I know you never really liked school, but how do you expect to ever pass your NEWTs if you only laze around?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry took a moment to answer, never mind to think about all that he just heard. ‘It’s the middle of the night for me,’ he wanted to tell her, and ‘I am learning, and until now my lack of NEWTs have not been a problem.’

He didn’t though. In the end, he simply said, “Sorry,” and fell silent once more. It was quiet for a while, with neither Hermione nor Harry saying anything, only the sound of a quill scratching over rough parchment filled the silence between them.

Eventually, Hermione stopped again and sighed. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. You must know that I miss you too, but you were the one who decided to leave.” She shook her head and smiled. “You asked how I am. I’m good. Everything is really interesting, especially in Runes. We’re looking at old rituals, which were written entirely in Runes, it’s so fascinating!”

“I know,” Harry agreed enthusiastically. “I’ve been to some temples that are swamped in runes. They tell stories and are infused with Magicks that are responsible for the wards around them at the same time! It’s incredible! I don’t think I’d ever able to do this. I —“

“Since when are you interested in Runes?” Hermione asked puzzled. “And anyway, you can’t use runes for magic, anymore. It’s too dangerous, and it’s dark.”

Slowly, Harry shook his head. “No,” he disagreed, “you use runes for basically everything you do magic. The wand movements are—“

“Look, Harry. I’ve been taking Ancient Runes for years, and I know that you can’t use runes like that, okay? Just because someone told you differently doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“But—“

Hermione shook her head, clearing it. “Ginny was pretty withdrawn for a while, but she’s finally coming back out of her shell. She’s dating a nice guy from her year now. I still can’t believe you would break her heart like this, but I guess you can’t choose who you love. Anyway,” Hermione smiled at him. “How do you do? You look better.”

“I am…” Hermione had resumed her writing, Harry noted, a stone in his stomach. “I am- well. I am fine, now. I eat and sleep. As- as much as I can anyway. But I’m getting there. I’m getting better.”

“That’s… that’s great. Really great. I’m happy for you. And proud. Merlin knows you’ve always eaten too little.” But even while she said that, all her focus seemed to be in the essay in front of her. Also—

‘That’s never been my fault. The Dursleys —’ “Yeah. I uhh… I know.”

“Yeah… Ron’s really happy in the Auror Academy, but you wouldn’t exactly know it from the way he complains. You know how he is, always whining about easy work and tasks.” A small smile flit over Harry’s face. He did know that, could see it perfectly; Ron throwing himself on his bed or an armchair while bemoaning the workload he’d been postponing for weeks. “It’s not the same without you… Do you know when you’re coming back?”

“N-not yet. Maybe in a few weeks. I don’t know.”

“Alright,” Hermione nodded, satisfied. “Ginny and I are doing great in Hogwarts. But I think the teachers go easy on us for now. What with everything that’s happened. A few new ghosts also appeared— Sorry. I know you don’t want me to bring up the war and the casualties.”

“It’s alright.” (It wasn’t. He was shaking again.) “I’m coming to terms with it.” (Not really. It was a work progress.)

“… Anyway, Ginny and I won’t be able to come visit you any time soon if you plan to be away for even longer than you already are. We’ve got school and, even though Headmistress McGonagall would probably allow it, I unfortunately cannot just jump over for a weekend. I don’t want to fall behind in the curse work. You understand that, right? The Ministry won’t take on anyone with subpar NEWTs. I simply can’t slack off.”

“Yeah, of course I understand. Though I don’t know where you got the idea from that your NEWTs will be anything but Outstanding. You’re the brightest witch in our age.”

“That doesn’t mean I still don’t need to learn. The knowledge and ability to do something won’t magically be ingrained in me. I need to work for it —” a sound from something behind the mirror made her look up. Then Hermione bottled her ink and quill, gripping the mirror while already standing up. “I gotta go, Harry. You should call more often, I feel like I barely see you anymore. I miss you. Come back soon, alright? Bye!”

The mirror went back to its normal state and a gaunt face, framed by wild, too long black hair and too bright, too intense green eyes stared back at Harry. The tiniest bit of warmth that had loitered in his chest was snuffed out by an icy grip seizing his heart.

He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and swallowed hard.

“Bye ‘Mione… miss you too…” He murmured into the darkness, unsurprised to not receive an answer.

xXxXxXx

Harry had been traveling too long. By broom anyway. Even with the best cushioning charms and other little knacks he’d learnt or heard about, his arse hurt. Harry groaned; he would be feeling that for days, if not weeks. Still, he’d found a settling. Finally!

After countless days flying over sandy ground with nary a tree in sight, and another few days seeing nearly nothing but trees, the ground so overgrown he could not see through the thicket, the sight of man-made pavement had him near tears. Okay, the same could be said for the trail of shrivelled and burnt vegetation he’s tried to get away from a few hours earlier.

So what, he didn’t necessarily want to come across a colourful Streeler² without any protection whatsoever. Especially not half delirious with the sunstroke he was certain he had.

These though, were tears of joy and relief, not frustration.

There was a village. It wasn’t big. Not at all. Maybe just slightly bigger than a hamlet, but it was still a village, with cooled houses and living people.

Oh, what sweet relief.

Shrinking his broom and putting it in his feather light bag, Harry wandered along the crooked paths.

Golden rays of sunlight were filtering through the thick leaves, the warm breeze and playful baby Fwooper³ ruffling them softly.

A group of laughing children ran past him and he laughed with them. He followed the sound of their footsteps and then that of boisterous voices, calling out wares and prices.

His smile was near hurting his cheeks when he turned the corner and stepped into a lovely little market place. An endearing fountain stood surrounded by market stalls offering everything and nothing, things Harry had never seen before.

The market was brimming with life and magic saturated the very air Harry breathed.

It was — a laugh burst out of Harry. It was wondrous. It was like a fairytale. It was— impossible.

A shining beacon in a sea of dark skin and black hair.

There, crouching on the ground in front of a little girl and healing her scraped knee, the sunlight gleamed on infamous white-blond hair.

Harry stood and gaped, all thoughts leaving his head as the person turned his head and revealed a painfully familiar face.

Draco Malfoy — Draco Malfoy! — froze. And as if that wasn’t the most shocking thing of all — finding Draco Malfoy in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere in Africa — the blond, finding his bearings far faster than Harry ever could — wiped the surprised look off of his face and nodded to him. Then, he simply turned around and left. Left, like he’d never done before. Left, like they never could have done before. Left, like they had both left Britain. Left.

Draco Malfoy left the crowded market place after healing a fallen, little girl’s knee and nodding to Harry Potter in acknowledgement.

Maybe, just maybe, Harry should have tried harder to stay out of the blazing sun.

Closing his mouth, Harry, just like Draco Malfoy, turned around and left the market. And if his eyes lingered on the place he’d seen his former arch-nemesis kneel in the dirt, then no-one had to know.

xXxXxXx

May 02, 1999

Hey Hermione,

I hope you are well! I’m pretty sure I’m suffering a heatstroke or something, because there is no way I am seeing right.

You’ll never guess who I just met in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere!

Draco bloody Malfoy. I mean, can you believe that? We didn’t talk or anything, but I’m still feeling completely poleaxed. Also, he was smiling. Smiling, Hermione. And helping a little child!

It was kind of sweet, but so out of character. I must be going crazy.

I think I’ll just lay down for a bit. Maybe it really was a hallucination. Not that it will stop me from travelling. I’ll probably slow down a little, or use other methods of travel. Riding a broom for hours can be surprisingly exhausting.

I’ll keep you updated on Malfoy!

Miss you,

Harry

May 05, 1999

Harry,

Stay away from Malfoy! We have absolutely no idea how he could have found you or what he could want, but stay away! And be careful! I can’t believe I have to say this.

He should be at his Manor on house-arrest, not frolicking through the world and ruining even more people’s lives. He must have bought his freedom. The Ministry is apparently just as corrupt as before.

The only reason he didn’t attack you was probably just to lure you into a sense of security so he could get reinforcement. You should leave right now! I hope you’ve already left and are on your way back! I’ll tell Molly to ready a room for you and strengthen the wards.

Be safe,

Hermione

xXxXxXx

They meet again.

The market place is void of people and the sun has long since vanished from the sky, leaving darkness behind to be illuminated only by the stars of the sky.

It was quiet now. The vendors had counted their galleons and packed their bags, the children had exhausted all their energy and everyone had returned to their families for the night.

There was no light, not anymore. Only faint traces could still be seen in windows, throwing shadows of those living inside along the streets.

And then there he walked, stood and watched. Draco Malfoy.

There was no mistaking him. No way to overlook him, not here.

Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter.

There was no scrapped knee now. No wand drawn, no war happening.

It was quiet.

For a moment neither of them said anything. They looked at each other, tired eyes taking in the last person they’d expected to see ever again. Neither moved. Then, a creak in the distance, a bird flew off its perch amongst the trees, and the moment was broken.

They blinked.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” burst out of Harry. He had left it behind. Had left it all behind. In Britain. So, so far away from here. He didn’t want to — “Please don’t make me.”

Draco blinked. Again. He looked… stumped. Surprised. And then — he relaxed. His shoulders loosened and he sagged a bit into himself.

He took a step towards Harry, and another one, two more, and came to a stop. He held out his hand, a mimicry to their first meeting.

“Draco,” he said into the silence.

For a second, just a second, Harry looked at him. Properly. Looked into his eyes and saw.

Harry saw the same tiredness from his eyes reflected in Draco’s. He saw the weariness, the shadows dancing within. The regret.

He saw himself, staring at him from the eyes of a Death Eater.

Draco.

He grasped his hand. “Harry,” he replied.

This was the end — felt like one, anyway.

This was the beginning — the one they never got.

This was as much of an end as it was a beginning. A lifetime laid between them, years and actions and words neither of them could ever forget. Could ever forgive. But… the war was over. Was done and gone and left behind.

They had left as the war had left them. Tired. They were tired.

Harry’s eyes roamed Draco’s features. His pale blond hair was falling onto his forehead and he wore slightly rumpled, relatively simple clothes — that was not the posh ponce he’d met all those years ago.

Draco was tall, taller than Harry, and not a speck of baby fat remained on his sharp features. There was a tension in his body that had not been there before the— before. A slight tremor shook his hands ever so often and it was… it was quiet. There were no taunting words, no pointed remarks or cutting jokes. It was quiet.

Draco was done fighting. That was okay. Harry was done fighting too.

For a moment he wondered — did Draco see what he saw? Did he see Harry, the boy he’d known for years and been obsessed with just as long, and see a stranger, staring at him with familiar eyes?

He was not a child anymore. And just when had that happened?

“I never thought I’d see you again, Draco.” Harry really hadn’t. Last he’d known, Draco had been apprenticing at Saint Mungo’s before, according to Ron and Hermione, he’d packed his things and left — vanished — thought to never be seen again, just like all of his friends. Until now, that is.

It had not really surprised Harry. Not nearly as much as hearing that he’d started working at the hospital of his own free will. As a healer, of all things.

Harry had been curious, of course. He’d wondered where he had gone and what he was doing now. But ultimately, his curiosity had not been that strong and he had gone on, forgotten until he saw him again. Saw him heal a little girl’s knee on a crowded market in a place in the middle of nowhere.

Draco Malfoy. And he smirked.

Harry smiled.

The smirk was all wrong and twisted, not nearly sharp or mocking enough to be the real deal and yet, Harry found comfort in this odd thing. Comfort and uneasiness, because that smirk had never been this small, this transparent and genuinely amused.

“Well,” Draco told him, a faux casual lilt to his voice. “You know what they say. You always meet twice.”

Lips twitching, Harry inclined his head. “I guess there must be some truth to it, huh.”

“Obviously.”

The stars twinkled in the sky and the shadows of those still living grew thinner and thinner until they joined the darkness of the night.

It was quiet.

Harry shook his head. “Sleep well, Draco.” He won’t, Harry knew. Still, Draco inclined his head.

“You too, Harry.” I won’t, Harry knew. Still, Harry inclined his head.

xXxXxXx

May 09, 1999

Hey Hermione,

Calm down, everything is fine. I’m not in danger, I’m not coming to the Burrow and Draco is not hunting me. He doesn’t want to fight, okay? There is not going to be any reinforcement coming to capture me or hurt anyone here. He’s still training to become a healer and he’s taking his preliminary vows very serious. I think they’re giving him a sense of security.

I already wrote Molly that all these preparations are not necessary. There will be no fight.

Hermione, the war is over. And in the end, we couldn’t have done it without Draco. He helped us, remember? I know he was a right git and a bully, but trust me. He’s not a murderer.

Completely safe and sound,

With love,

Harry

May 13, 1999

Harry,

No. Don’t trust him. You know he’s a Death Eater, has always been one. He doesn’t suddenly change. The only reason he helped us was because he realised that we were winning and he was trying to safe his own selfish self.

Do you really think it is a coincidence that he suddenly turned up exactly where you are? Especially with how much you travel all the time?

Oh, you’re so naïve, Harry! Please, please, be careful now that neither Ron nor I can be there for you.

Just come home. Please.

Hermione

xXxXxXx

The first time they met, they were eleven and getting measured for their Hogwarts’ uniforms. They were just these two boys.

The actual second time they met, they were still eleven and ended a friendship before it could form. They were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

The third time they met, they were nearly nineteen and lost to this weary world. They were Harry and Draco.

The fourth time they met, they were still nearly nineteen and —

“Still stalking me, I see.”

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

“I never stalked you.”

Harry James Potter.

Draco snorted. “I beg to differ.”

It was quiet. Again. That was new. There was no silence before. Only insults and fights, spells and taunting words. Never silence. But now…

Malfoy. Potter.

Draco. Harry.

They were done. It had ended. It had begun. Maybe it was time for something new.

“It was really nice of you to heal that girl.” Harry took a step forward and sat down next to Draco. There was a good foot between them, but Harry could still feel this static between them, fizzing over his bare arms and his neck. He looked at Draco. Draco looked straight ahead. Harry followed his gaze.

“If I hadn’t known how the Imperious Curse looks, I would have thought you were controlled.”

Draco huffed. “Oh, hardy har har.”

Harry did not see it, did not look at the blond again, but, for whatever reason, he knew that there was an eye-roll that accompanied this deadpan delivery, knew that the corners of Draco’s lips were pulled up, just slightly.

How weird, how good he could imagine that. Harry had never had a normal conversation with him. Not once.

But for never talking with one another, for never holding a single conversation and never being anything more than arch-enemies and bullies, they sure walked into each other a lot.

Harry had only arrived at the village days ago, spent his days exploring and wandering around and yet, everywhere he went, wherever he looked, there was always this voice turning him around, or this laugh, this white skin, this pale hair.

Somehow, they continued to find each other. They never talked. Never fought again. Never pulled out their wands again. They were just always there.

A constant in a world of inconsistencies.

After years of knowing one another, they’d talked once, now twice. Really talked.

And this, here, now, it was weirdly comfortable. Weirdly peaceful.

“I am a healer,” Draco said. “I can’t hurt without just cause and must heal those who need healing.” He turned his head and clenched his fists. “I’ve done enough harm.”

Harry hummed. It was night once more. The darkness was filled with nightmares he knew not how to escape — but Draco had brought a charmed light. It wasn’t dark here.

“Do you like it? Healing?” Draco had never seemed the sort — had always seemed to enjoy ridiculing everyone. Degrading those he thought lesser and dirty, those not like him. He’d been a Death Eater, he’d tortured people. But, Harry knew, Draco had never done so willingly. He’d been a bully, not a monster. A child, not a killer. Not like him. Not like Harry.

Draco frowned, uncertainty flitting over his face. “I hurt people,” he admitted, like neither of them had known. Like he’d not hurt him. Like Harry hadn’t done the same.

Looking at him, Harry realised Draco’s eyes were glazed over and his gaze far away, caught in his own nightmares.

Draco’s face turned tight, then bland when he returned Harry’s look.

“I never wanted to, you know? At first I didn’t realise my actions were causing that much harm — if any. I was stupid, I know, but… when I realised I… I couldn’t stop. It wasn’t my choice anymore. I either continued the path I was going or… or I would… I… I couldn’t change. Or well, I could have… but it was safer for me not to.”

Draco hunched his shoulders, like he was trying to make himself appear smaller, like he wanted to vanish. And he held his arm, his left forearm. He bore his fingers into the tender flesh like he wanted to rip the Dark Mark off of his arm, make himself bleed and spill that precious pure blood he’d always gone off about, into the mud.

Did he think someone would punish him for his admittance, hurt him? Did he think Harry would do it?

Harry’s eyes traced Draco’s face. His eyes were screwed shut and his lips pressed together. His breathing was laboured and — yes, Harry found. Draco was expecting it. And no, Harry would not do it. He would not hurt him. Help him though?—

Draco turned his head. When he looked at Harry, his eyes were horrible — empty and haunted. So haunted. “They — everyone — still looks at me like this. Like I would whip out my wand any moment and crucio them all into insanity. They think I enjoy it — enjoyed it all along.” Harry swallowed. “Even when I was wandless and shackled and starved, their precious Saviour speaking up for me during my trial. They still looked at me and saw a monster.

“I never want to hurt anybody ever again. I’ve already done enough. I don’t want to be a monster anymore.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. Should he say ‘I understand’? Because he didn’t. Should he say ‘You’re not a monster’? Because when had anyone ever believed him. Should he simply say nothing and let the silence between them fester? Should he be upset on Draco’s behalf, because people shouldn’t be treating him like that just because he was a Death Eater and had never hurt anyone, even though he had?

In the end, what he wanted to do didn’t matter, because Draco spoke once more before Harry even had the chance to open his mouth and ruin everything.

“Why did you ask?” Draco asked. His face was turned away from Harry and his hands balled in his lap. His left hand held his right one, like he had to stop himself physically from gripping the Dark Mark. Nevertheless, his voice was calm, mild. The agony and self-loathing was gone from his voice, the pain exchanged with a hint of curiosity. “Doubting that a slimy snake like me could change?”

There was provocation in this. Plain old provocation Harry did not rise to. He shrugged. “No, just curious. Everyone just seems to… find their calling, I guess? Like… they know what they’re good at and what they want to do, while I’m still stumbling around without an idea, whatsoever.”

Draco turned to look at him. There was a tiny furrow to his brow that vanished when he seemed to find whatever he was looking for. His face was illuminated by his little charm, but the small smile that grew on his face seemed to brighten the night in ways this little light never could.

“I think you already found it.”

Harry scrunched up his face. “Found what?”

“Your calling, you moron.” Draco shook his head, his smile growing. “You have been travelling for how long now? And never grown tired of it?” At Harry’s still visible confusion, he pressed further. “I’ve seen you with the vendor a few days ago. And do you know what I saw?” Wordlessly, Harry shook his head. “I saw someone having the time of his life, trying new things and experiencing cultures for the first time. There was open joy on your face and a lightness in you that’s enviable. That wasn’t the same lost boy who’s stalked me for years.”

Having said his bit, Draco closed his eyes and let the silence wash over him. Harry stayed quiet. What was he supposed to say to that? That Draco was wrong? That he didn’t like it at all?

It would be a lie. And he must not tell lies.

It was true. He was having the time of his life. He was enjoying seeing new worlds and living all these different ways. He genuinely liked trying new things and learning more.

No-one else seemed to think that way though. They all thought he was wasting his life, not doing anything useful. It was no proper education with a certificate at the end, yes. And it was no proper job that gave him a good income. But it did teach him, and it did get him something. And he seemed to think so too.

Draco.

He had given him a new perspective.

Draco.

Harry liked it. In fact, he liked it a lot. He wasn’t lost. He was wandering, living his life in more than one place.

Harry smiled.

Draco. His arch-nemesis turned… something. Then, realising something, Harry snorted. Understandably, Draco looked at him weirdly.

“I once told Voldemort that you’re my arch-nemesis, you know?”

The look of horrified worry on Draco’s face had Harry break down laughing.

It felt good. Especially after so long.

xXxXxXx

May 20, 1999

Hey Hermione,

I’m so so sorry for worrying you so. That was never my intention when I mentioned Draco. I am careful, I promise. I never go anywhere without my wand and I’ve got quite a few protective amulets and such on me from all over the world. I’m safe.

And how often do I need to tell you, I’ll come back when I’m ready. I love traveling and seeing the world. It’s something I never thought I’d get the chance to do. I’d always thought I’d never get to do anything. I always had to do what everyone always expected of me and then die when they said I should. It’s been like that all my life; with the Dursleys, and Voldemort, even Dumbledore took away my choices and sent me to my death, as much as it hurts to admit.

So even if Draco did decide to gain whatever it is he would gain by killing me or selling me out, it is my decision to trust him, and it’s my decision to travel alone. It is also my decision not to return to Britain just yet.

I chose this, okay? Consequences and all.

Love,

Harry

It didn’t really surprise Harry when he never got an answer to that letter. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh or brushed off her concern like that, at times it just felt like Hermione thought him completely incompetent or dumb. Sure, he was brash and often rushed into things, but he wasn’t an idiot.

And Draco — Hermione had not seen him, had not been the one to speak to him. So how could she be convinced that he hadn’t changed, or that she knew exactly how he ticked?

Harry himself had changed far more than he’d ever thought. He hadn't even really realised it before he’d sat down and consciously thought about it and huh — just when had that little boy from under the stairs stopped taking comfort in Death’s secure embrace and started to fear it instead? And just when had he started yearning for the peace of it once more. And, oh, just when had he stopped thinking of Ron and Hermione the moment he found something new and instead lit up with the simple chance to know more and try it? Simply for the fun of it?

They’d all changed from the wide eyed eleven year olds they’d once been. For better or for worse.

xXxXxXx

A breathless huff of a laughter left the mouth of the man lying on the ground. His body was sweaty from the hot humidity and exertion, but a fine feeling of accomplishment still rang in his core.

Harry could not remember what spell he’d used exactly, ‘don’t get eaten by a bloody flower, don’t, don’t, don’t’ the only thought on his mind.

The petals now laid around him on the ground, their vibrant, mesmerising colours swirling even now.

Grabbing one, he brought it up to his face. This one petal alone was larger than his hand, and the texture… it was something he’d ever felt before; delicate but at the same time tough. Was this the reason the first spells he’d used hadn’t worked? Because of whatever was in these flowers to make them so hardy?

Contemplating, Harry put them in his pocket. He could figure it out later, for now he needed to get back to the camp and take a shower. His clothes were uncomfortably damp and dirty. Not to mention ripped.

Exhaling a deep breath, Harry got to his feet — the adrenaline and rush of it all was still flowing through his veins, and the smile didn’t want to vanish from his face.

A smile that only widened when he saw a person shaking his head exasperatedly out of the corner of his eyes.

When Harry turned his head, the person was gone. It was nothing unusual, him seeing someone but then not finding anyone once he turned. It was probably only the green eyed man’s imagination — wishing for someone to be there; to watch over him.

When Harry left the camp a few days later, it was after another attack of one such flower and the knowledge that their petals did not simply not react to most spells, but that they absorbed the magic.

Yeah…

It was only fortunate that their stems had no such protections, so now Harry was the proud owner of several magic-absorbing petals and a new shiny scar, which seemed to have an odd shimmer to it.

xXxXxXx

July 12, 1999

Hey Ron, hey Hermione,

I haven’t heard from you in a while. How are you? Do you have nice weather?

It’s been raining for days where I’m right now. I also don’t think it’ll ease any time soon. But Draco’s recommenced this really But I’ve found this really interesting book . It’s so old, I always fear it’ll turn to dust if I so much as breath. But it’s just so good.

This book is about all sorts of spells and rituals; where they come from, what their original purpose was, what their use is now (or was whenever the book was written), and what good and bad things can be done with them. It’s truly amazing.

Did you know that the Killing Curse was originally made by healers, who used it to give patients they couldn’t save or who didn’t want to live anymore a chance at a humane, quick and painless death? Of course, it’s been misused and with the surety everyone always talked about the ‘evil’ spell, I never really thought about the relief some people could get from it.

‘Mione, if you want to read it, then you’ll have to ask Draco my friend if you can. But I’m sure it’ll be no problem.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Good luck in your exams and training, respectively.

Harry

xXxXxXx

The café was buzzing with people when Harry opened the door. A tiny bell sounded his arrival, but it could have just as well been quiet, the talking of the patrons downed out the chime easily.

Harry scanned the menu behind the counter, trying the decipher the unknown words and slowly-becoming-familiar symbols that made up their language. As he had learned rather quickly, he might come quite far with English and some gesturing, but that only worked so good in a long thought dead civilisation.

The cashier (a young woman with golden glowing eyes and rather sharp canines) laughed at his attempt at their language and helped him to the right pronunciation once he’d successfully managed to convey his chosen order.

Counting out his sickles (and thanking the Goblins for managing to have their banks basically everywhere in the world and with it a universal currency), Harry thanked the girl (slowly and painfully, but managing to not stumble over the words) and took his blessedly cool drink and hilariously pink, unpronounceable food.

He settled down in a sunny spot in the nearby park. The leaves of the trees gleamed a nice summer green and the sun warmed his skin. The drink he’d ordered on luck was delicious; there was definitely chocolate in there with something fruity and, strangely enough, a touch of cool fire, like every sip contained its own flickering flame. However that was possible.

Harry didn’t even know where to start on guessing which was used to make his lunch. The bright pink color gave a nice contrast to his dirty fingers — and his equally dirty clothes.

He spent his whole morning de-gnoming an older man’s garden. Unexpectedly, he’d stumbled upon a Niffler in his golden and shimmering nest. The man’s wife was elated when he told them of his findings and were so nice as tip him extra for the unexpected work. It was enough to last him at least a two weeks, but now he could spent hours trying to remove all the dirt from under his nails.

Not that it really mattered. Harry had been planning on going camping for a bit in the search of a remote, thought-legend village in the middle of the Brazilian rainforest.

Harry was sure he would find something — anything. After all, a few months ago he’d still believed the Mayans extinct and now look where he was. Legends, he’d come to find, had to have started somewhere.

The familiar sound of fluttering wings had Harry look up, his eyes searching the sky for the feathered  messenger. There wasn’t one, of course. By now he barely even expected it anymore.

xXxXxXx

July 27, 1999

Hey Harry,

It’s really stressful at the moment. Hermione and Ginny are in mids of their NEWT exams and the Head of the Auror Program decided to start on a new topic.

We’re training team duels now. My team is the best, of course, not that I expected anything else, even without you here. Dark Wizards definitely don’t have a chance against us once we’re out there. Especially not when you join us the coming year. This is gonna be so great.

You probably won’t get a response form Hermione. When she’s over her head is only ever buried in books, you know how she is. But it’s especially bad now.

Anyway, I gotta go now. And please, don’t be too angry about our short replies, it’s not like we’re doing it on purpose.

’Til later,

Your best mate,

Ron

xXxXxXx

Harry’s eyes followed the old lady Akiko had pointed out to him. The mischievous smile on the woman’s face filled his chest with warmth, as he fondly remembered Fred and George’s constant troublemaking.

This old woman was a trickster if he ever saw one. And even more than that, if Akiko was to be believed.

She turned around and her eyes swept over the people in the small diner. A glimmer of something flashed through her grey eyes. And for a moment, Harry lost his breath as, instead of Fred and George, he saw Sirius standing there, the idea of a new ‘prank’ for Voldemort’s people blooming in his shattered mind.

A smile flittered over the old woman’s face when she appeared to have found what she was searching for. A moment later, total mayhem broke loose.

A man had jumped onto his table and started tap dancing. Outcalls of confusion and reprimand started immediately. Then the owner of the establishment appeared and the tap-dancer stopped. His brows furrowed in confusion before he startled so bad, he almost fell from the table, when the owner started clucking like a chicken. Loudly. He flapped his arms in imitation of wings and ran in circles.

Next, the chef started juggling with kitchen utensils and after that a young girl gave a terrible rendition of the Weird Sister’s song ‘Do the Hippogriff’.

It was loud, it was rambunctious, it was total confusion and chaos. Then Akiko pointed to the cat on the counter, watching over all the chaos with the same glimmer in her grey eyes as the old woman had had.

The cat was quite a bit bigger than normal cats and far more intelligent. Seemingly satisfied, the cat stretched and jumped off the counter before sauntering out of the diner, skilfully weaving through the trampling crowd.

Just seconds before the cat vanished through the door, she turned around one more time, and then a small fireball was chasing through the air, lading perfectly on the cake fountain. It ignited in a shower of bright sparks and the forms of mystical beings sprang through the crowded place before vanishing in more little fireworks.

The cat responsible for the mayhem was nowhere to be seen.

Eventually, Harry and Akiko managed to extract themselves from the chaos and stumble outside. Their laughter rung in the sudden silence of the street. The cool air felt heavenly against Harry’s flushed face.

“Did you see his face!” Akiko wheezed, tumbling into Harry’s side. Shoulders shaking, Harry wrapped an arm around her to stabilise her, not that it did much. Within seconds the two of them found themselves half leaning on the wall of a nearby store and half crouching on the floor, their bellies cramping through their laughter.

The Bakeneko⁴, if Akiko was to be believed — which Harry did after just witnessing such a wonderfully chaotic display — couldn’t have targeted better men.

The tap-dancer and chicken-singer had previously kicked that very cat, complaining about strays and thieves.

Needles to say, they obviously weren’t the brightest and neither Harry nor Akiko were all that surprised that a Bakeneko chose their establishment to bring mayhem to, to choose these two to humiliate themselves the most.

Honestly, they were the ones who grew up in Magical Japan, they were the ones who knew the dangers. Harry had been here nary two weeks and even he had heard about the mischievous, vengeful cat-shapeshifters.

Unbeknownst to the two amused wixen, who continued laughing as they stumbled down the street to Akiko’s house, a very satisfied ‘cat' watched the two with too intelligent eyes.

Yes, the ‘cat’ decided. They would do.

xXxXxXx

August 02, 1999

Hello Draco,

I hope you are well. Could you heroically safe a few more kids from scrapped knees? I know I could use someone with your expertise. I mean honestly, what use is it for me to be able to kill the Big Bad and then get food poisoning because someone (definitely not me) did not listen that I should not eat too much of this delicious little tart.

But then, why would they make it so irresistible and offer such large quantities, if I’m not supposed to eat it?! Eugh.

Anyway, I met this really nice Runespoor⁵ family and they allowed me to take their empty egg shells and shedded scales, not like they needed those anyway. And I’m pretty sure you said something about them being good potion ingredients or something. I put them in the parcel for you, with a preservation charm, seeing as I have no idea if they can get bad or not. I also hope that the preservation charm does not damage them either. Whoops.

Anyway, hopefully you can use them in some of your disgusting concoctions.

I hope you are well,

Harry

xXxXxXx

August 06, 1999 

Dear Harry,

I mean that in the nicest way possible, but are you crazy?! Do you have any idea how rare Runespoor eggs are? And the scales!

Bloody Gryffindors! Though, in this case I should be thankful for your foolishness. You just gave me a fortune! Bloody idiot.

And speaking of idiot — which you are, by the way, I have yet to find something that would disprove of that — if someone tells you don’t do that, then that generally has a reason, you know? Like, oh, I don’t know, not getting food poisoning from eating things you don’t know!

Merlin, I can't believe I waste my time with this.

Next time you get the grand idea to try something new, maybe you should heed the advise of more experienced people. You know, for your own bloody good. Or you finally manage to do the one thing the Dark Lord failed at time and again.

Hope you get cured of your stupidity,

With exasperation,

Draco

xXxXxXx

It was in India when it eventually happened. An older man with his dark hair peppered with grey and eyes too sharp to be mundane, kept watching Harry explore the market.

How he had even spotted Harry in the first place was a mystery. He had long since gotten into the habit of finding a clothing store as soon as he reached a new place and dress appropriately for the new world he’d entered. He had decided to come here, after all. He was the newcomer — they wouldn’t change their ways for him. They never should.

Surprisingly, his lighter skin didn’t even stand out that much. Not that he’d ever considered his skin ‘light’ in Britain before. Here though — it wouldn’t surprise him to find out he’d once had family here.

Instinctively, his trusted holly wand slipped into his hand and his fingers gripped the polished wood.

Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and a tingle went through his body, as though he somehow knew where the person watching him was at all times.

Keeping his head low and weaving through the thick crowds, the man joined him nevertheless.

Harry stopped, tensing, readying for a fight.

“You’re not from here, are you?” The man questioned calmly, his eyes (too sharp, too intense) trailing over Harry’s form.

His voice was deep and kind, coarse with age and his tongue slid smoothly over the vowels. Yet, it was the fact that he could understand him that brought Harry up short.

Harry’s head swirled around to properly look at the man. Taking in every detail and more, he could honestly say he had never seen the man before. So why —?

“What?”

The man chuckled amused. “I do not speak that language, child.”

‘Of course you do!’ Harry wanted to say immediately, but he held himself back. There was something… something.

“No,” the man mused, looking into Harry’s face as though he was an open book for him to read. “You cannot possibly be from here.”

Harry reeled back. His mind had finally connected the dots — all the little things he had noticed about the man combined. But in the end, it were not his looks or his words that alerted Harry. Rather, it were the sibilant undertones to his words, the way his lips barely moved.

The words escaped Harry the moment the realisation hit him. “You’re a Parselmouth.” There was no doubt in his words.

The man smiled. “Indeed, I am.” He smiled, still so kind and unfairly amused. “And so are you, young one.”

“I’m… I’m not really… well—“

Someone crashed into him. “Kshama maangana⁶,” the person mumbled, but when Harry turned around, they had already vanished into the crowd. Harry turned back to the man to— wait a minute.

He and the man were still in public on a crowded market, talking in Parseltongue, and not a single person looked at them weird — either with fear or judgement in their eyes? No-one avoided them or called them evil. Everyone just continued on with their day as though this — people speaking Parseltongue — was nothing. As though it was normal.

With huge, disbelieving eyes, Harry looked back to the man.

“Why is no-one saying anything?” He rasped. The man just tilted his head in confusion.

“Why would anyone say anything?”

“Because!” He gesticulated around, to the people and the man and — “we’re speaking Parseltongue!” — his wild eyes fell to the ground and his jaw dropped. “You have a tail!”

Once again, the man laughed, Harry’s flailing and bewilderment amusing him greatly.

“Of course I have a tail. I am the descendant of a Naga⁷.” He looked at Harry, the thoroughly flabbergasted youth, and took pity. “How else would I be able to speak the tongue of the serpent?”

Harry stared. Of course he had heard about Naga before; mystical serpent beings or rather, serpent goddesses. They could appear in full serpent form, all human with a serpent's head or with a human body ending in a serpentine form.

But — as a mystical being — how could the man be descended from them? And what did that have to do with Parselton— forget it. As a serpent, they would obviously be able to speak in the tongue of the serpent, Parseltongue (!).

Harry shook his head. “I thought only descendants of Salazar Slytherin could speak Parseltongue?” He questioned. Then — “Are Naga real?”

“Well,” the man huffed amused. “If they weren’t real, then I wouldn’t be here, now would I? And this Slytheirn fellow you’re talking about — if he could speak Parseltongue as well, then his ancestor must have been one of the Great Serpents, only they have ever been able to inherit their tongue.”

The man said all those words — all those incomprehensible sentences — as though he was saying the sky was blue or grass was green. As though it was the simple, all-known truth.

It took everything in Harry not to stare at him like he’d lost his mind. And how—

“How did you even know I could speak Parseltongue? Or that I wasn’t from here?”

“Your reactions told me.” The man shrugged lightly. “And it were your eyes that gave you away. I must admit, I have not seen such eyes outside of books and legends before.”

Books and legends? Oh, Harry deflated, he was talking about the Boy-Who-Lived. Of course someone was bound to recognise him, even here. He would never escape that inanity, would he—?

“Those are the eyes of the Basilisk, child.” Wait — what?

“Basilisk? Huge, extremely venomous, killer eyes? This Basilisk?”

“Of course. The Baslisk.” Shrewd, sharp eyes looked into Harry’s own. “A most admirable ancestor.”

What.

xXxXxXx

October 16, 1999

Hermione!

By Merlin, you will never believe what I just found out! This is crazy! I found out my ability for Parselton— Wizards are descendants of magical creatures and can inherit their abilities!

This is so amazing! I bet you would simply love to research this—

October 16, 1999

Dearest Draco,

Why didn’t you tell me wizards originally got their magic through Magical Creatures?! You bloody git! I thought I got the ability to speak Parseltongue through Voldemort, not through the blood of my ancestors! Do you know how much angst this knowledge could have spared me?

Thoroughly annoyed,

Apparently descended from the Basilisk,

Harry

xXxXxXx

It was dark out and for once, Harry had actually been sleeping at the same time as everybody else, meaning: at night, when one normally slept. At least, he was asleep until loud, non-stop knocking woke him rather rudely.

Harry groaned miserably. He was fully prepared to ignore the idiot, if not for the fact that the knocking didn’t bloody stop!

A whine left his mouth when Harry sat up and had to leave the heavenly warmth of his blanket.

He flipped on the lights and regretted it a moment later when his eyes were scorched the same second. Then he stumbled through the room, walking against the furniture and hitting his small toe at least two times because he had to keep his eyes closed to protect them from the evil light, not because he was ready to fall back asleep again, definitely not.

Finally, Harry reached the door. He twisted the key and —

“What do you think you’re doing! Your family-name has been lost for centuries! No-one outside of the family knows it anymore, and now you tell me you descended from the Basilisk?!”

Harry’s brain blanked for a second. And another. He frowned.

“What, by Merlin, are you taking about?” Harry was still standing in the doorway, door frozen halfway open and trying to sort through everything he’d heard just now. It was too bloody early for this.

Harry blinked, once, very slowly because he was tired and not because he was falling asleep, again, and then he forced himself to accept reality as it appeared to be.

In the quiet hallway, Draco Malfoy stood panting. His usually immaculate platinum hair was in disarray and his cheeks coloured rosy — from the exertion or offence, Harry didn’t know.

Drawing a breath, Draco stood up straight and rightened his clothes. He ran a hand through his hair and Harry watched enviously as the strands fell easily; Draco looked as ponce-y as ever.

“Your letter, Potty.” The blond waved said letter in front of his face. Draco rolled his eyes. Then, pushing a confounded — and still half asleep — Harry out of the way, Draco strode into the quaint room.

It took a moment, but eventually Harry broke out of his stupor. He closed the door with a soft click and turned to Draco. The Slytherin had made himself comfortable on the ratty couch and kept looking at Harry with expectant eyes.

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and then asked quietly, “I thought you’d just gotten that really elusive witch to accept you as an apprentice?”

“I did.” Draco shrugged. “Then you told me that the Golden Boy is related to one of the darkest Creatures and didn’t even know. So I told her it was an emergency and came here.” Well, Harry had no idea how to react to that. Draco had risked his dream apprenticeship for… for him? Just to come here and scold him while making fun at his expense?

An impatient huff came from the blond. “Do you plan on continuing to stand there like a Buffon, Potter?” He motioned to the empty space next to him. “I’m waiting.”

Robotically, his feet brought him to the couch. Once there, Harry let himself fall gracelessly into the cushions. A small, barely visible smile lit up his face as he looked at Draco next to him, already gesturing wildly, an exaggerated offensive look on his face. (He came.)

Half an hour later — in which Draco had somehow managed to procure a Gringotts inheritance test and subsequently stabbed Harry to get his blood (“No more than five drops, Potter! We want your ancestry, not your whole family history and Lordships!”) (Harry’s quiet but bewildered “what Lordships?!” went ignored.) — Harry was suckling on his poor thumb while Draco was leaning over the parchment, impatient for the words to finally form.

“Grímr?!” Draco suddenly shrieked. He definitely did, all high-pitched and voice breaking halfway through. Draco cleared his throat while Harry turned away, trying to hide his shacking shoulders. Merlin, that was adorable. Grímr though…

“D’you reckon Trelawney will storm in any second to predict my terribly tragic and painful death? Again?”

Unimpressed, Draco raised an eyebrow. He looked at him, then the door, and then back to Harry. Draco closed his eyes, praying for patience while exhaling a deep, long, soulful breath.

“No.” Then Draco turned back to Harry’s inheritance test and skimmed over the lines. “Black, obviously… Could have been mine…” Draco continued to mutter, then, coming to the next line, he scoffed. “Gryffindor. Of course. And Slytherin too, why not?!… Huh, Gaunt, could have sworn they died out ages ago… but honestly, Gryffindor and Slytherin?!”

Draco’s muttering continued, while Harry sat stock still next to him, his breathing flat and uneven.

Snickering, Draco looked over at him. “I always knew you were the Heir of Slytherin didn’t I—” Upon seeing Harry’s pale form, Draco stopped. “Really, Potter? Can’t you have an existential crisis sometime other than now? Come on, breathe, Harry, you gotta breathe.”

Which was not as easy as it sounded. Didn’t Draco realise? Harry was breathing. It was just that there wasn’t enough air. And he couldn’t — just couldn’t be the Heir of Slytherin. That was Voldemort, and he’d killed him. Voldemort was dead. He was the Heir of Slytherin, not Harry. And he wasn’t alive.

Harry had destroyed all the Horcruxes. Every single one. There was no-way for Voldemort to be back. But what if the one in his head wasn’t— smack.

His hand rose to his cheek automatically, just as tears sprung into his eyes. Thoroughly disoriented, Harry sought out Draco in front of him. The blond was looking at him with concern in his sliver eyes; worry etched onto his face. Once their eyes met though, any and all traced of concern were wiped away as though they’d never been there in the first place and a scowl took its place.

Blinking, Harry became aware of the stinging in his cheek, while his hand covering the heated, red skin.

“Did you just slap me?!” Harry asked incredulously. Draco pursed his lips but stayed quiet. At once, Harry understood what exactly he’d said, understood the implication, under stood the — “you slapped me!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh get over it, Potter, I also slap other people, you’re not special,” said Draco nonchalantly.

Well, when said like this… he really couldn’t say anything against it…

Harry snorted. When Draco’s eyes snapped up to his, he tried to stop. He turned away, coughed, looked back, and snorted again. Okay then.

“Anyway!” Draco said loudly and turned back to Harry’s inheritance test. “The Grim is pretty Self-explanatory. So is Gryffindor — Griffin, Gryphon — whatever. The Gaunts come from…” Draco snapped with his fingers a few times, like it would help him get the answer faster. Then he pointed at Harry, grinning. “Ghouls!… I think… (Don’t ask me how, though). It doesn’t matter anyway, you only got that one through conquest.”

Harry was watching the whole scene with trepidation and a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach. He'd only just learned that they hailed from magical creatures, and here Draco was, easily depicting each creature these various — his — families came from like it was no big deal.

But — “That means Slytherin is also through conquest, right?”

Draco shook his head. “No,” he said and pointed at the writing on the parchment. “See the different colours? This one? Red shows the blood relation, whereas gold is earned.”

Harry opened his mouth, ready to object the wild notion that he was related to Slytherin of all people, before realising that this was true; he’d been right here when the test made the results. It was true. He, Harry Potter, was —

“No Basilisk.” Draco picked up the parchment and turned it around. Empty. He turned it back and no additional name had magically appeared. He frowned and Harry swore there was a pout on his lips.

“Are you sure about being related to the Basilisk?”

Harry shrugged. How was he supposed to know? It’s what the man in India had told him with such surety Harry hadn't even questioned him… nor had he questioned all the other people who came to the same conclusion the moment they’d looked into his eyes.

“Well, if I’m related to Slytherin, then —”

Draco shook his head. “Salazar Slytherin is descended from the Horned Serpent⁸,” he told him dismissively. "It’s one of the reasons Isolt Sayre⁹ named one of Ilvermorny’s houses after it.”

Harry hunched into himself. His hands were fiddling with the hem of his shirt — a thread had come loose, he should probably cut it off before he managed to untangle the whole shirt and… His hands stilled. Harry’s voice was quiet when he admitted, “I didn’t know. I don’t know anything.”

Draco’s eyes roamed over him, as though he was looking for something. “Yeah.” Draco wrinkled his nose. “Your lack of basic knowledge is rather worrying, you know.”

Wordlessly, Harry nodded. He was learning a bunch, sure, but there was still so much he didn’t know simply because he hadn’t gotten to grow up in the Wizarding World; he didn’t even know where to start. Every time he thought he had finally figured it out, something new came and proved him wrong. Every, single, time. Just like now. Again.

Next to him, Draco called for “Vekey!” With a quiet pop, a little house elf appeared. His big eyes looked at Draco with eager anticipation.

“We are going to need a strong pot of black tea and a huge amount of parchment. Forthwith!”

Nodding, the elf popped away again and Draco turned to a struck speechless Harry.

“First things first,” Draco began dramatically. “Why you don’t give your blood away, why you never tell anyone not family your family history and why you will now force me to take a vow never to reveal anything!”

This… was going to be a long night. Maybe he should have just stayed in bed.

xXxXxXx

December 7th, 1999

Hey Harry,

Mum wants to know if you come to the Burrow for Christmas? Percy’s girlfriend and Ginny’s boyfriend will be there so it’ll be real tight, but you’ve never really needed any space anyway with how small you are.

Anyway, how are you? Still chasing after fairy tales, haha.

Thanks to the war I’m already a Junior Auror and get to go into the field! That’s so cool! It’s just like all our adventures when we were kids. And over New Year Hermione and I go on holiday to Australia and give her parents their memories back.

Answer soon.

See you,

Ron

xXxXxXx

It was something Harry didn’t think about all too often. Not even his nightmares really touched upon that little thing anymore. Too much had happened since then and even when he had still been worried about it, no-one else seemed to care, so why should he?

In hindsight, he should have treated it the way he should have treated a lot of other things too, especially after so many people had remarked upon his wondrous eyes and their impossible meaning. He should have made a ruckus. Loud and annoying and unignorable ruckus. He hadn’t, and it was coming back to bite him in the arse.

Fact is, he was bitten by a Basilisk. A huge, venomous, millennia old magical snake whose venom was said to be so potent, it could kill a fully grown wizard within minutes. The only known antidote? Phoenix tears.

Still. Harry was twelve, and he was bitten by a Basilisk.

And… he did not die. No. Harry was sure he would. His blood had started to burn his body and his arm would have hurt less cut off. Within seconds, his world had blurred and his head was too heavy on his shoulders.

Instead of dying, however, he was saved by a Phoenix. By Fawkes. His wondrous tears had closed the gaping hole in his arm and color had returned to his world. The fire in his veins had subsided to an uncomfortable warmth which — over the course of the following months and years — provided more comfort than pain.

Still, he had been sure he would die, that he would kneel over dead any second. When he had told Dumbledore, the man had been unconcerned, more interested in Tom Riddle’s diary. Similarly, once he’d reached the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey treated his scraped hands and knees, the bruises on his arms, and washed away the grime and blood. She’d then given him a Dreamless Sleep and told him he would be right as rain the next day. And he was.

Harry had woken up the next day, and the one after, and every morning ever since. He had woken up and no-one had ever mentioned the Basilisk bite again. So he hadn’t either.

After all, it was fine. He was fine.

Now though… Harry was still fine-ish. He wasn’t dead and he wasn’t dying. However…

Apparently Phoenix tears didn’t merge with Basilisk venom and rendered it innocuous. Apparently it merely counteracted all the damage it did every second of every day. Apparently the Basilisk venom had burnt his veins for years and Fawkes’ tears had soothed his pain, they repaired his venom-damaged liver and failing kidneys, his aching lungs and breaking down spleen. It also, apparently, healed every oh so little scrap and bruise. Every time he fell off his broom or starved in the summer, got Acromantula’s venom in his bloodstream and was tortured.

Every time, every single time, the Phoenix’s legendary tears healed and healed and healed. They didn’t take away the Basilisk venom’s potent properties, they simply dealt with the consequences. They didn’t stop Harry from getting hurt or ignored said hurt, they simply dealt with the consequences. Of everything.

It was a slow process, an agonisingly slow progress. So slow, Harry had all but forgotten about it, had all but forgotten about the Basilisk bite and the cries of the Phoenix.

He did not think about it anymore. And then—

He had died.

Harry had gone into the forest and he had died.

A Phoenix had cried for him and then he had died, so now he lived.

And apparently… apparently the whole process — the healing tears leaving his system — had been slow enough for his body to get used to and change accordingly. It changed and hardened and got used to the Basilisk venom in his veins, the deathly magic in unity to his own.

The Basilisk’s venom and its unforgivable magic was inside of Harry’s body, tainted his blood and twisted his magic.

The Basilisk’s venom and its unforgivable magic was inside of Harry’s body, tainted his blood and twisted his magic.

The Basilisk’s venom and its unforgivable magic was inside of Harry’s body, tainted his blood and twisted his magic.

The Basilisk’s venom and its unforgivable magic was inside of Harry’s body, tainted his blood and twisted his magic.

The Basilisk’s venom and its unforgivable magic was inside of Harry’s body, tainted his blood and twisted his magic.

The Basilisk’s venom and its unforgivable magic was inside of Harry’s body, tainted his blood and twisted his magic.

The Basilisk was Harry.

The Basilisk was Harry.

Harry was the Basilisk.

And looking into his reflection in the mirror across the room, his broken glasses hanging from his suddenly slack fingers, Harry looked and saw.

He saw himself and his no-longer-gaunt face framed by wild dark curls in explicit detail. No longer was his world hazy, fuzzy around the edges. He could see. And what he saw were his poisonous green eyes, lit up with an unearthly glow only interrupted by a thin, slitted pupil.

Harry stared at himself, at his own face, and all he could see was the Basilisk, staring at him from his own eyes.

xXxXxXx

December 11, 1999

Hey Ron,

I’m so impossibly sorry. Something came up and I won’t be able to come to the Burrow for Christmas. I’m so so so sorry!

I swear, if I would be safe to be around could I would be there in a heartbeat, but

Give everyone my best, will you? I’ve included the presents in the parcel.

Merry Christmas and harry New Year,

Harry

With his eyes screwed shut, Harry needed a few tries to tie the letter to the brave, brave owl. It was far too short and barely legible, but Harry had not been able to put all… this (all that had to once more happen to him) into words. Not now. Not yet.

He had been so good, Harry mourned. He had been… not quite whole, not quite happy, but definitely content. His cheeks didn’t ache anymore and the smile no longer felt foreign on his face.

He no longer feared shadows or quiet noises in the night; his wand was more a tool than a life-line.

Now though. This.

Harry could not control his eyes. How should he? His eyes just were. They were— How was he supposed to control his eyes? They were out of his control. They were—

Slitted. His eyes were still slitted. Slitted like a snake’s. Deathly like a Basilisk’s.

Cursing Harry spun around, only to turn away once more when he caught sight of his unnatural self in the mirror.

Harry swallowed his rage, his anguish and despair.

Two owls.

He had killed two owl by simply looking at them and them looking back. Into his eyes. His freakish, death-bringing eyes.

There was no way he was going to go to the Burrow and kill any more. They had already suffered enough, he wouldn’t be the reason their sorrow would continue, not when George was finally becoming more than this empty shell he had been since Fred had died, not when Ginny was finally happy without him, not when he would just ruin everything.

Harry would find a way to block his gaze, even if it meant never seeing again. Next year he would return to the Burrow and the happy family he had met all those years ago. One more year wouldn’t change that.

xXxXxXx

“I won’t!”

“You will.”

“No, I definitely won’t!”

“No, of course not.”

“I mean it! Shove off, Malfoy!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Potty! I’m coming in now!”

“No, you won’t!”

“I will. Or are you honestly telling me that you’re scared, Potter?”

Harry huffed. “You wish,” he rebuffed, before common sense came over him again. His head fell against the closed door. “I… am. I don’t want to kill you.”

He didn’t want to kill anyone, but with his eyes going from normal, if with slightly pointy pupils, to ‘I’m going to Basilisk-kill you!’ in a second’s notice without rhyme or reason, he wasn’t going to risk anything. If this meant staying in this tiny hut in this lovely city in Romania for the rest of his life, then so be it. The view from his widow was nice and the price pretty reasonable. It wouldn’t be too bad—

“Then don’t.” Draco shrugged on the other side of the closed door. “Honestly Harry, you’re always so dramatic. If you don’t want to kill me, then don’t. Even your breathing, righten your Occlumency shields, reign your magic in and finally tell me in what impossible situation you found yourself in once again.”

“I’m not—“

“Of course you aren’t.” Draco interrupted him before he could get any further. Bloody ponce. “Your letters are pathetic, and I don’t just mean the penmanship or the dried tears — don’t think I didn’t notice! — but they’re basically spouting empty air and you haven’t left this place in two moths. Two months, Harry. You don’t go two weeks without at least changing the city, if not the place you deem acceptable to sleep in.

“Now, if you won’t open the door, then please step back, because I’m blasting this thing off its hinges.”

His breaths came shaky and his magic whirled around him. He didn’t need to look into the mirror to know that his eyes would be deathly green and slit. He also didn’t need to wait for the count Draco had started to reach zero to know that the blond would come in either way. Before his count even finished. Impatient Slytherins.

His Occlumency was bad, shaky and stumbling at best, but with Draco’s smooth voice in the background and his magic coiling close around him, his breathing eventually evened out and his heart slowed to a less panicked pace.

False calm and familiarity washed over him and pushed the dread in his stomach down, down, down.

His world remained sharp and his gaze turned away from the mirror, but when the lock clicked and the door swung open, Harry met Draco’s worried gaze and tearfully burrowed into his warm, living, embrace.

xXxXxXx

The ancient temple was… Harry didn’t know how to describe it. Breathing would be the most apt description, but that was impossible. A building — temple or no temple — legend or not — could not breathe.

Right?

… Right?

Nah, Harry shook his head. It was impossible… but so was he— No. Nope. He would not go there. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

Instead, Harry followed the path inside. A little magic light illuminated the dark tunnels and followed his every step. The path was even and clear, the walls surprisingly sturdy.

From the outside the temple appeared as though it could crumble in on itself any day (not that it stopped Harry from going in…) and like nature was successfully reclaiming the stone structure, with plants and trees growing over the huge construction. On the inside though…

There were no signs of age or weathering. The stones were as strong and precisely cut as though it was done yesterday. Runes and hieroglyphic symbols graced every inch of the temple. Lines swirled through it all, growing closer together the farther Harry went down the narrow tunnel.

There were no walkways splitting off, neither was his magic detection any threats to his person, no traps or

Maybe whatever was once here was long since gone? Or whatever the temple had been used for once upon a time had had no place for violence. Maybe no-one would have ever dared to come to this place with impure intentions.

Would they even be able to find it if that was the case, Harry wondered, while his eyes scrutinised the runes that spoke to him in their unfamiliar familiarity.

His unhurried steps echoed in the narrow space, their echo haunting in the silence. Still, Harry felt no fear. Somehow he knew that here was nothing that was going to hurt him, just as there was nothing that he could hurt.

An indefinite amount of time passed. Harry continued following the tunnel. Where else was he to go? Back?

He turned around, looking at the small light that would lead him back to the outside. He frowned.

How? The opening — it was much too close to him. He had been walking for — for what felt like hours. How could he still see the entrance? How could he have never turned a corner? How could the path still go on straight ahead without ever leading to the outside?

The temple — it wasn’t that big. There was no way he could still be inside. Even with all the magic clinging to its walls and the shadows twisting along carvings of the runes. The tunnel should have ended way back. It should have—

Harry turned back around and stopped. He stared at the wall. The blank wall. The wall that had not been there before.

Carefully stepping closer Harry raised his hand, itching to touch the weird wall but not daring to. His mind whirled with the implications.

The walls enclosing the blank, closed doorway — because that’s what it must be. There was no other explanation as to why it would suddenly appear when it had not been there before. (Would it have appeared easier had Harry turned around ten minutes ago? Half an hour ago? Just seconds after he entered the tunnel?)

But the walls littered with runes and symbols framed the door. Their positioning had changed to accommodate the sudden closure but the lines — the lines continued on, vanishing into the empty space.

There weren’t too many runes Harry recognised, but even among them, one of them stood out. It appeared often. It was repeated again and again, even more the closer Harry got to the blank wall.

ᛉ. Algiz. The rune symbolising the receptivity of spiritual influences, those positive as well as negative. More recently it was the rune signifying life and inverted, death.

Harry swallowed. So much for not feeling unthreatened. Also, he somehow had the feeling that should he turn around and leave now, the walk back to the entrance would be… an eternity. Yeah, no.

He turned back to the wall.

Life and Death. Spirits — ghosts. Not that bad. He was alive and the ghosts were dead. Life and Death.

That was, at least, as long as the runes were intended as such. Who knew what the people had in mind when they created them thousands of years ago.

Well, there was no going back now.

Steeling his resolve, Harry inspected the blank wall. If anything, should this be a trap and someone on the other side was going to surprise him, then at least he wouldn’t be the only one dead. As long as his Occlumency held and he wasn’t startled, then his gaze would not be lethal. At least not too much. Anymore.

After much searching and trying to deciphering any more of the meaning behind the unknown rune circles, Harry’s eyes zeroed in on a tiny shape point in the middle of the empty wall.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand, heeded all his learnings about the importance of blood (and skilfully ignored Draco’s threats should he ever give his blood to something unknown) and pressed his finger against the spike.

His skin was pierced easily. A sharp, quick pinprick and suddenly the spike vanished, retreated into the smooth wall. Next, the wall also vanished once more. However, instead the narrow tunnel it should have been, the vanishing wall revealed a cavernous space, covered in runes upon runes, with hieroglyphic figures mixed in-between and the swirling lines converging in the middle.

His little light flickered out and instantly, the shadows around him grew. They separated from the walls and filled out, growing more solid but never quite tangible. Their darkness made place for color and light and suddenly, the dark was no longer quite so oppressive. But there was something in the corner of his eye, something he had grown used to. When he turned his head now, however, there was indeed something there.

It didn’t vanish, didn’t make him jump or think that he’d accidentally ingested an hallucinogens as had happened the first few time it had happened. No. It stayed. Solid and real and there. The figures from the corner of his eyes were there.

The spirits of souls long departed from this plane were wandering the cavern.

People long gone were dancing and laughing, twirling through the dark like it was their home.

Some of them appeared healthy and whole, others had huge gnashes and deadly looking wounds. And they were probably not just deadly looking. Still, their faces held no trances of pain, sadness and anger were a thing of the past, a thing of the living.

They were happy, laughing and playing, enjoying their death. Because that’s what this was, Harry realised. These people were dead, and only now had they found the joy they were promised alive.

Their eyes, glossed over and dead, never to hold the warmth of live again, retained a spark. A gleam no one alive could ever experience.

Freedom — given to them by death. And Harry, unable to help himself, laughed. He reached out and phased through the— grasped the arm of the man next to him. His eyes grew to the size of saucers, but the man simply smiled, said something in a language Harry had no hope of ever deciphering before pulling him along.

His breathing hitched for a moment and his magic spiked before settling down in a comforting embrace. The world was sharp and focused. Still, when Harry looked up and he was surrounded by death, a smile wormed itself onto his face. For the dead smiled back and yeah, death really wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t quite that bad.

xXxXxXx

“I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, okay. Why don’t you come in?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright. You want to go back to sleep then?”

xXxXxXx

It felt natural. It was just so easy to go from… not exactly enemies, but near strangers, to quasi friends to more.

Once they fell into bed with each other they never really… stopped. It continued. They continued.

Harry would travel, Draco would study and from time to time, they would come to the other. They’d talk about their adventures and new-found knowledge, exasperate over the other trying untested thing on themselves without supervision and simply sit in silence, while they each did their own thing. It was surprisingly comfortable.

The Boy-Who-Lived and a Death Eater. They laughed at the thought of what people back in Britain would think.

Eventually, Draco’s studies were finished and his oaths sworn. They didn’t really talk about it, but they didn’t need to either. After they’d properly celebrated the completion of Draco’s apprenticeship and Harry had re-packed his bags, ready to once more wander into the unknown, Draco stepped up next to him.

And so they left and went on.

With pictured and letters in their satchels, experiences and people in their heart, and memories in their heads.

They went on. Together.

There was no distance between them anymore. Unused parchments and quills were left lying somewhere in Harry’s satchel. His ink dried up or spilled. He threw it away afterwards, it wasn’t like he needed it anymore. Because they were. Together.

xXxXxXx

Nimble fingers wove through strands of the most magnificent thread Harry had ever seen.

It slipped through the woman’s fingers like liquid and again and again, the woman had to reach for these ungraspable threads. It mattered not to the woman who continued her melodic murmuring, reaching down and twisting her hand just so. Her blanket kept growing.

Harry watched mesmerised. He’d sat down on a random bench, intent on simply resting for a few minutes and enjoying his cup of tea, when he’d first spotted her.

Sitting on the lush grass in the shadow of a tree, she had glowing thread pooling in her lap, floating around her and illuminating her skin. A tender smile graced her lips and, Harry noticed astonished, already caught within her thrall, her eyes were closed. Her eyes were closed and still she continued weaving the threads.

Slowly but surely, her blanket grew and shapes and figures started forming in the fading glow of the yarn, already playing and tumbling on the unfinished cloth.

Harry was enraptured.

By the time the woman’s soft chanting stopped and her eyes blinked open, Harry’s tea had long went cold. The sun was already colouring the world a brilliant rose and gold, and the shadows of the trees were stretching out around them. Soon, any light would be gone, not even the moon would be there to illuminate the pathways. Still, Harry had no desire to move.

Smiling, the woman ran her hands across the wondrous blanket she’d oh so lovingly woven. The threads’ light had dimmed and looking at it, the blanket was no different than any other magical blanket and yet… Something in Harry yearned. Something in his magic sung. Something in his mind settled.

“Er alt i orden¹⁰?” The woman’s soft voice slipped through Harry’s muddled thoughts. Snapping out of it, Harry shook his head. He blinked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I—”

“Is everything okay?” She asked again, this time in English.

“I— yeah, sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I just—” He cut off. Heat was rising in his cheeks and he wouldn’t meet the woman’s eyes, especially not when his stuttering mess elicited a tinkling laugh.

“It’s alright, kjærlighet¹¹. You were looking at this, no?” Gesturing to her woven blanket, with the different animals still tumbling through the magical forest, Harry nodded wordlessly.

“It’s a koseteppe til babyen min¹². Every child born gets one.” She rested her hand on her extended stomach, smiling softly. “To this day, my parents’ magic clings to mine still, their love and excitement for me, their protectiveness and safety.”

Distantly, Harry wondered if his parents had made him one too, one of those wondrous blankets. If they did, where was it? Still in the broken house they had been murdered in? Or thrown away by his aunt? Stolen by the vultures, those who gave him the awful moniker of the Boy-Who-Lived?

Maybe these blankets were just a little thing the people here in Norway did, or maybe it was something done by just this specific family. He didn’t know. Oh, but how he yearned.

“That’s a lovely idea.” He told her honestly. A whatever-this-blanket-was-called that carried safety and soothing magic and memories — how incredible. “Could you make one for me? Well, not me, but my godson. I can compensate you. Whatever you want. Money, something I can do for you in exchange,—” She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him mid-word.

“This is not something I can do for you,” she told him. “It has to come from the heart, and that can only be accomplished by you.”

Oh, Harry thought. He would have loved to get Teddy such a blanket. From what Andormeda wrote, the little tyke still didn’t like the dark. However —

“Could you show me how to do it?” He asked, and the woman smiled again.

“I would love to, kjærlighet,” she said. Her smile was soft and warm and motherly, but still youngish and excited. Harry melted. Without conscious thought, an answering smile grew on his face.

The next day and the day after, while Draco brewed potions and healed the ill, Harry returned to this bench and the woman. He let his magic and all the love he felt for little Teddy, all his hopes for his future and memories of his parents flow out of his fingertips and guide him.

It pooled into his hands and his fingers, like something fluid, something non-perceivable, yet he was able to grasp it all the same.

He could feel it leaving him, flooding out his fingers, his mind, his heart. Yet it remained to be a part of him.

Time evaded him as slowly, the weight in his lap grew and figures began frolicking through his woven trees. Love and happiness grew with each thought passing his fingertips.

Every now and then, Thea — the woman — gave him some tips or corrected his form, but for the most part, his intuition and want guided him and his weaving grew.

xXxXxXx

June 05, 2001

Dear Mr Potter,

Harry, my dear child, I hope you are well and that your travels have brought you much joy and the peace and freedom you have so longed for. From the few correspondences we had I like to believe so. Therefore I am deeply sorry for asking you this.

Teddy is a wonderful babe, always happy and excited, and I love him with my whole heart. But he reminds me so much of my daughter; more and more everyday.

They have the same laugh, you know? And his hair always has the craziest colours, reflecting his mood or the persons near him. Dora did the same when she was little. She still does did it when she feels felt really strong emotions.

Teddy’s also really fond of flowers and learning new things. Just the other day, I searched hours for him, only to find him in my flower beds, ripping them out to get a closer look. He even tried to give them to the bees as an apology for disturbing them.

And he’s so brave. He didn’t even cry when the insects didn’t appreciate his gift and stung him.

The full moons are getting worse. He’s always so energetic then, running all over and screaming at the top of his lungs. He’s a really happy child — despite everything that’s happened to him — and I don’t think the moon is inflicting him pain, but it does something.

I love my little boy, I really do. But I cannot trust myself to be there for him as I promised my little girl I would be.

Teddy deserves to be his own person, not a copy of my Dora. I cannot stop comparing them. I know it’s wrong, but I cannot stop myself.

He is so much like her. And it shames me to say that, sometimes, I wish my daughter had lived. Teddy doesn’t deserve that.

He deserves someone who loves him without comparing him to people he’ll never hope of comparing to. He deserves someone who can keep up with him (both in speed, flexibility and energy) and who can take care of him properly.

I know you are happy were you are, Harry, and that Britain only holds bad memories, but I need you to come back.

You don’t have to stay, or even be here for long, but please, come for Teddy, your godson. I’m sure he’d love traveling with you and your special person.

He loves you, just as much as you love him, no doubt. And should you ever need something — anything — then I’ll always be there. But I need a break, before I do damage to Teddy I will forever regret.

I hope you’ll think about it and forgive me for such imprudence.

My best wishes to you and Draco,

With love,

Andromeda and Teddy