The Playground
The scent of Cinamon toast drifted through The Potter-Evans home, mingling with the distant hum of magic and the soft clatter of tea cups in the Kitchen. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of the sunroom, a book laying in his lab abondend, he stopped reading a while ago when he started watching the 10-year old Lucia Playing in the garden with Aquila, relaxing from their sweet laugther. It had been 5 years since Voldemordt´s fall. Five years since everything changed, but some days, like this one, Harry almost forgot that darkness had ever touched their lives at all.
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5 YEARS AGO
The summer sun was high in the sky casting golden rays over the quiet Muggle Playground at the edge of Godrics Hollow. Laughter echoed between the metal swing and wood climbing frames. Five-Year-old Harry Potter giggled as he run up the slide backwards, his tiny hands gripping the metal edges with stubborn determintation.
Lilly stood nearby, chatting with another mother, her eyes never leaving harry as he is playing. His joy was her Heartbeat.
Then the Sky darkened.
No the sun- The Magic. It crept in like smoke, silent and chilling. The air grew heavy, and the laughter around Harry fell away ike echoes in a cave.
Harry paused at the top of the slide, blinking. A cold wind rushed through the trees. His small fingers thightend on the metal, he started looking forhis mother but before he could see his mother, a figure appeared almost right infront of him.
Tall. Cloacked in black. Face like death.
Voldemort.
Harry didnt know who he was. But his heart knew fear.
„Harry!“ Lily´s Voice, sharp with fear and terror.
Too late.
Voldemort raised his wand, eyes gleaming red. His voice hissed like ice:
„avada Kedavra.“
Green light blazed towards Harry.
But the moment the curse touched him-
It shattered.
The air exploded with blinding white light, a soundless blast of power had surged from Harry´s chest outward in a protective wave. Ancient runes, invisible to all but magic itself, ignited around his heart.
The protective spell the life-bound ward Lily and Reglus had cast years ago- awakened.
Voldemort screamed. Not in pain-*in suprise*. He staggered as the curse twisted, turned, rebounded. The very magic he had wielded turned on him.
A second flash. The trees shook. Magic rippled across the earth like thunder.
When the light faded-
Voldemort was gone.
Not a trace. No robe, no wand, no ash. Just silence. Empty air.
Harry sat at the top of the slide, crying due to pain on his forhead.
Then Lily was there-arms around him, pulling im close, crying and shaking.
James came running from the street, and drawn, and skidded to a stop. He stared at the scorch mark where the dark wizard had stood.
Gone.
Forever.
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The Potter-Evans house was quiet that afternoon they just cam back from St. Mungo´s where Narcissa and Lucius joined them. As Narcissa and Lily sat on the couch, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, though the warmth in the room came more from the love shared inside than the flammes.
In the corner of the room, two small boys sat on the carpet.
Draco, just four, sat cross-legged with a collection of small enchanted animal figurines making them walk across the rug and leap into the air, Harry still five and wearing an oversized jumper, leaned against him, giggling as a tiny lion roared and rumbled and tumbled over.
At some point, Draco had wrapped one arm around Harry´s shoulders. A casual, protective gesture that neither of them even noticed.
Their laughter was soft and light. A sound that filled the room like sunlight.
Lily sat on the nearby couch a teacub in her hand, untouched. Across from her, Narcissa sat straight-backed, her long white-blond hair cascading, over her shoulder like silk.
„are you sure it was really him?“ Narcissa asked, her voice low, controlled, but with the faintest edge of fear.
Lily nodded, eyes flickig towards the boys.
„He appeared out of nowhere. On a playground. I wasn´t far, but..“ Her voice trembled, and she looked down into her tea. „He cast the Killing curse.“
Narcissa´s lips parted sligtly in shock. „But- how is Harry-?“
“That spell Regulus and I cast,” Lily said softly. “The one we created after he sarted rising. We didn’t think we’d ever need it, not really. But we put it in place anyway. Bound to blood, to love, to life. It activated the moment Voldemort’s magic touched Harry.”
“And it destroyed him?” Narcissa asked, eyes narrowing with disbelief.
“No one’s found a trace,” Lily whispered. “Not a robe, not a wand. Nothing. Just… gone.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of it pressing between them.
Then Narcissa looked over at the boys. Draco had pulled Harry fully into his lap now, arms around his back as he showed him a tiny enchanted dragon breathing sparks. Harry was laughing so hard his cheeks were pink, eyes sparkling.
“He doesn’t know,” Lily said. “Not yet. Just that something scary happened.”
“Good,” Narcissa said. “Let him laugh while he still can. Let them both.”
Lily smiled softly, eyes wet. “Draco hasn’t left his side since. He was there right after the attack, holding Harry’s hand in the hospital bed. I don’t think he even knew why.”
Narcissa’s face softened. “He’s always had a sense for people. Especially him. They balance each other, those two.”
The dragon figurine flew over Harry’s head, and he squealed with joy, burying his face in Draco’s shoulder. Draco, in turn, let out a small huff of amusement and hugged him tighter.
Lily looked at Narcissa and murmured, “You know, I think that spell didn’t just save Harry’s life. I think it set a path in motion.”
Narcissa tilted her head. “A path?”
Lily nodded. “For magic born of love to ripple out. To change things. Maybe not just for Harry. Maybe for all of us.”
Their eyes met. Two mothers. Two families. Once on opposite sides of a war, now sitting together
under the same roof, watching their sons grow close like brothers.
And in the golden light of that quiet moment, there was hope.
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Later that same evening, long after the boys had fallen asleep curled together on the couch beneath a thick, enchanted blanket, Regulus stood leaning against the arched doorway of the sitting room, arms folded. His face, often unreadable, was softened by the firelight flickering across it.
Lucius entered behind him, silent for a moment, before stepping beside his brother-in-law and glancing toward the couch.
Harry lay half atop Draco, his small hand still gripping the hem of Draco’s sleeve, as if afraid he’d float away in the night. Draco had one arm tucked around Harry's waist, his brow relaxed in a peace he didn’t always wear.
“They’re inseparable,” Lucius murmured.
“They’ve always been,” Regulus replied. “Since the first time they met. Something clicked.”
Lucius said nothing for a long moment, his silver gaze thoughtful. Then, with a slightly bitter smile: “Funny. All our plans, bloodlines, legacies. And it’s *them*—a Potter and a Malfoy—who seem to be rewriting everything.”
Regulus chuckled, low and quiet. “That’s how real change happens. Not through war. Through moments like this.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “You’ve become poetic in your old age.”
Regulus shot him a sidelong glance. “You’d be poetic too if you had died and come back to find your nephew curled around the boy who lived, who only lived because of a spell you helped craft.”
Lucius fell quiet again.
“I watched Voldemort fall, Lucius,” Regulus continued, voice low. “That magic—what Lily and I did—it burned through him like fire through parchment. Because she loved Harry. Because James loved Harry. And that kind of magic? It leaves behind *echoes.*”
Lucius nodded slowly. “And you think Harry and Draco are one of those echoes?”
“I know they are,” Regulus said. “Draco’s already different around him. Protective. Vulnerable. More… himself.”
Lucius looked at his son in silence.
“I know he frustrates you,” Regulus added, softer now. “But you should be proud of him.”
Lucius didn’t reply right away. Then: “I am. I just… never imagined this.”
Regulus smirked. “None of us did. But that’s the point. This”—he gestured to the boys asleep together—“this is what peace looks like.”
Lucius watched them for a moment longer, then turned to leave the room.
At the doorway, he paused, glanced back, and said—so quietly it was barely audible—
“…He’s happy. That’s what matters.”
Regulus smiled to himself as he watched him go.
And in the glow of firelight, beside the two sleeping boys, the house felt full of something warm and steady and new.
Something like family.
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The next day after Lucius and Narcissa left, Harry was laying in Lilys lap. His small chest rising and falling peacfully. His glasses rested on the table beside him, and a half-eaten chocolate frog laying forgotten near his fingers.
While Harry was layig in Lilys lap she gently strocked his dark, unruly hair. Her other hand laying next to her trempled.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Lily whispered.
James looked at her. “The spell worked.”
Lily nodded slowly, but her eyes were fixed on Harry’s forehead.
Nestled just beneath his hairline—faint, but unmistakable—was a thin, lightning-shaped scar. The place where the killing curse had met the ancient magic she and Regulus had cast in secret, bound to Harry through love and will.
“James,” she said softly, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush the scar, “It left a mark.”
He stepped forward slowly, crouching beside her. His gaze followed hers.
“It’s a scar,” he murmured. “But he’s alive. That’s what matters.”
Lily nodded again, but her eyes were glassy. “It’s not just a scar. It’s... proof. Of what he survived. Of what we did.”
“He doesn’t even understand what happened,” James said. “He just thinks he saw a bad man and then the sky exploded.”
Lily smiled faintly through her tears. “He won’t remember the fear. Just that we were there.”
James wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
She leaned into him and whispered, “That magic… it didn’t just protect him. It changed something in him. I could *feel* it. He was glowing, James. Like he was lit from the inside.”
James was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Maybe that’s what the world will see when they look at him one day. Not a scar. But the light that survived.”
Lily looked down at her son, her hand still resting above his heart.
“I’ll protect that light with everything I have,” she said.
“I know,” James whispered, kissing her temple.
And together, they sat there in the quiet, watching over the boy who lived—and the small, glowing scar that had become a symbol of both love and defiance.