Strange Potter

As Harry, Hermione, Regulus, Lyall, and Pietro head home for winter break, the atmosphere is filled with excitement. Harry turns to Hermione with a smile, his eyes a bit concerned, "Are you sure you're okay missing the Yule Ball? You could still go."

Hermione chuckles, shaking her head. "No way! An Avenger party is way better than a school ball," she says with a wink. "Plus, I already know what I’ll be getting into, and I think it’s going to be a lot more fun."

Regulus, who’s been teasing the twins all morning, adds with a grin, "Well, the twins can enjoy this one, at least. They don’t have to be in nappies this time around."

Lyall snickers as Pietro gives a light shove to Regulus, but there’s a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Hey, we’re going to have our own fun, aren’t we?" he says, the other boys nodding in agreement.

As the Hogwarts castle fades from view, the group of friends heads off into the winter cold, the air filled with the promise of adventure and the warmth of their shared moments ahead.

Snow fell gently against the windows of the Hogwarts Express as it went down the tracks, trailing puffs of steam into the crisp winter air. Inside the compartment the hum of the train was the only sound for a moment—until Pietro yawned loudly and flopped across the seat.

"I’m bored," he announced, dramatically stretching out with his boots nearly hitting Lyall. "We’ve been on this train for five whole minutes."

Lyall, sitting cross-legged on the floor and absently flicking his sharp claws in and out. “Then take a nap, motor-mouth.”

Regulus snorted from his seat near the window. "He’ll just talk in his sleep."

"He does." Lyall sighed. "Seriously."

Hermione gave a small laugh, curled up beside Harry with a book in her lap. She leaned on his shoulder, her presence a quiet comfort. Harry, meanwhile, sat quietly, his gloved left hand resting in his lap as he watched the snowy hills roll by. His mind wasn’t racing for once—it was still. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was peace.

“You all right?” Hermione asked him gently, her voice soft so the others wouldn’t hear.

Harry gave a small nod. “Yeah. Just... glad we’re going home.”

Pietro leaned over dramatically from the opposite bench. “I can’t believe we get to see what actual Christmas looks like! Do people really put lights on trees?”

Lyall raised a brow. “You do know you’ve already seen one, right?”

“Yeah, but we were, like... goo-goo age. It doesn’t count!”

Harry chuckled at that. “You’ll like it. Just don’t eat the lights.”

“No promises,” Pietro said, sitting upright and pressing his face to the frosted glass. “Ooh! Frozen cows!”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Hermione smiled. “He's excited. It’s sweet.”

“Kind of loud for sweet,” Lyall muttered, though his lips twitched in amusement.

There was a comfortable lull, filled only by the rhythmic clacking of the train wheels. Lyall eventually stretched out on the floor like a lounging wolf, his head resting on his folded arms. Pietro hummed a tune that none of them could recognize, tapping his fingers on the windowsill. Regulus busied himself with a Muggle comic book that Tony had given him, totally engrossed.

And Harry leaned his head against Hermione’s, closing his eyes.

Platform 9¾

The train hissed to a stop at King’s Cross, steam billowing over the platform. The doors opened and a rush of warmth hit them—laughter, chatter, the sound of families reuniting.

“Ready?” Hermione asked, slipping her hand into Harry’s.

“Yeah,” he said, and meant it.

They stepped off the train together, the group forming a tight cluster. Ahead, waiting at the barrier, stood Sirius and Natasha, with Wanda beside them.

The moment they saw the kids, Sirius grinned. “There’s my boys!”

Natasha waved, eyes soft. “And look who’s not covered in blood for once.”

Wanda’s eyes sparkled with emotion as she took in her twin sons. Pietro was already sprinting toward her.

Lyall followed at a more grounded pace, but there was a genuine smile on his face as he closed the distance.

"We've only been a part a few hours." Wanda teased.

"To long." Peitro hugged her.

Regulus ran straight into Sirius’s arms, and the man caught him effortlessly, ruffling his hair. “Miss me?”

“Not really,” Regulus muttered, clearly trying not to grin. "Someone likes to visit a lot."

Natasha pulled Harry into a tight hug, whispering, “Proud of you, kid.”

Harry melted into it, and for a moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

Hermione stepped back, smiling at the scene. She turned just in time to see Wanda pull both her sons close, her expression glowing with motherly warmth. Pietro had already started talking a mile a minute.

"Hope the others enjoy the ball." Harry chuckled.

Regulus made a face. “Gross.”

“Agreed,” Lyall said.

“I don’t know,” Hermione teased. “You might look good in dress robes, Reg.”

Regulus turned bright red. "Not a fan of dress robes."

As the families gathered their trunks and began to head off together, Harry glanced back at the train one last time, its red frame just visible through the steam.

He smiled.

He was home.

Hermione sat across from her parents in the car, hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea her father brought for her. The familiar warmth of home was just within reach, but her mind was still on Hogwarts and the chaos of the past few months.

Richard, ever the protective father, glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Alright, Hermione, spill it. What's been going on this term?"

Hermione exhaled, already bracing herself for his reaction. "Harry's been entered into the Triwizard Tournament."

Jean Granger turned in her seat, eyes widening. "That dangerous competition you told us about? The one with life-threatening tasks?"

"The very one," Hermione said grimly. "But he didn't put his name in. Someone else did, and now he's stuck in it."

Richard clenched the steering wheel, his jaw tightening. "Of course. Another year, another life-threatening situation for that boy. And let me guess, Dumbledore's just letting it happen?"

Hermione sighed. "He says the Goblet of Fire is a binding magical contract. There's no way out."

Jean shook her head. "That poor boy."

Richard huffed. "That poor boy has a knack for finding himself in trouble. And you're not involved in any of this, right?"

Hermione quickly reassured him. "No, I swear. I'm just helping him prepare, but I'm not in the tournament."

That seemed to relax him slightly, but he still frowned. "And what about this Christmas party?"

Hermione brightened at that. "Harry invited us to the Avengers' Christmas party. It's at their compound. Wanda said she's happy to bring us."

Jean smiled at the mention of the Avengers, her experiences with them far more pleasant than the constant talk of danger surrounding Harry. "That sounds lovely. It'll be nice to see them again."

Richard, however, was still stuck on the first part. "So let me get this straight—Harry’s in a tournament where he could get himself killed, and now we’re going to spend Christmas with a group of superheroes who deal with world-ending threats on a regular basis?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Dad."

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Alright, alright. But if anything even remotely dangerous happens while we’re there—"

"—we leave immediately," Hermione finished for him. "I know."

Jean chuckled. "Oh, come on, Richard. It'll be fun. And it'll be good for Hermione to spend time with Harry outside of all this madness."

Richard grumbled under his breath but eventually relented. "Fine. But only because I like Natasha. She’s the only one with sense."

Hermione hid her smirk behind her tea. "I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

At Potter Manor, the group settled into the cozy living room, with the crackling fire lighting up the room. Regulus, Harry, and the others were still laughing at the antics of Motto in his sugar glider form, who had been playfully darting around the room, hopping from one spot to another.

Motto’s wide, expressive eyes gleamed with mischief, his small, delicate paws gripping the edge of the couch as he peered up at the others. But there was an unmistakable air of frustration in his tiny movements. He hopped onto Regulus’s lap, looking up at him with a clear sense of determination.

“Motto’s been in this form too long,” Regulus said with a grin, gently petting the demiguise, who was now on his shoulder. “He wants to go back to his real self.”

Harry chuckled, noticing the little demiguise's impatient gaze. With a flick of his fingers and a quick snap, the room seemed to shift as the magic took hold.

In an instant, Motto was no longer a tiny sugar glider, but a full-grown demiguise, his fur sleek and silver, his eyes calm but glowing with a knowing intelligence. The room went silent for a moment, as everyone marveled at the transformation.

Motto’s gaze immediately flicked to Harry, and though he couldn’t speak, the demiguise's large, expressive eyes conveyed his appreciation. He nudged Harry's hand with his head, a gesture that felt like a thank-you.

“Alright, alright, you were getting a bit too used to being small, huh?” Harry said with a smirk.

Motto gave him an almost exasperated look, then walked calmly over to Regulus, curling up in his lap with an air of contentment. His mannerisms, so distinct and subtle, were more eloquent than any words could have been.

“Motto’s a lot like that,” Regulus mused. “Quiet, but makes sure you know how he feels.” He stroked the demiguise’s fur, a fond smile crossing his face.

The rest of the group laughed at the interaction. It was clear that, despite Motto’s nonverbal nature, he was a valued member of their little family.

“Motto always has a way of letting you know what’s going on in his head,” Harry said, ruffling the demiguise’s fur once more.

Motto’s eyes twinkled with silent amusement, as if understanding the sentiment behind Harry’s words. The quiet moments like these felt almost perfect—no words needed, just the companionship of those who truly understood each other.

The room was filled with the hustle and bustle of preparation. The boys were standing in front of full-length mirrors, fidgeting with their suits. The faint sound of Sirius’s laughter could be heard as he helped Regulus with his tie, while Peitro was busy spinning around the room, chatting a mile a minute.

Lyall tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his suit, his face scrunching up as he adjusted the sleeves. “I don’t like this,” he muttered, trying to smooth down the fabric. “Feels too tight. I can’t move properly in it.”

Peitro, who was bouncing on his toes, grinned at him and rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Lyall, it’s a suit, not a straitjacket! You look fine! Look at me,” he gestured to himself dramatically, hands on his hips. “I look snappy, don’t I?”

Lyall shot him a look. “You always look weird,” he said, scrunching his nose as he continued to adjust the stiff fabric. “No offense, but I don’t think the whole ‘super tight’ thing is me.”

“Well, it’s not super tight—” Peitro grinned, his voice rising as he continued to move around the room. “It’s a snappy look. Totally makes me look like a million galleons, doesn’t it? I’m practically the coolest guy here, yeah?” He smirked, as if daring anyone to disagree.

Regulus, standing still as Sirius worked on his tie, giggled. “He has a point,” he said with a grin. “You’re looking sharp, Peitro. Not as good as me but you never will."

Harry, who had been standing off to the side, shot them both a wry smile. “I always look good,” he said with a playful air of confidence. His own suit fit him like a glove, a comfortable yet stylish ensemble that didn’t make him feel stiff or awkward.

Remus, standing nearby and watching Lyall with a hint of concern, nodded. “Okay, kiddo, let me help you with that,” he said, stepping in to assist his son. Lyall shot him a grateful look as Remus expertly adjusted his collar.

Peitro, meanwhile, had already finished tying his own tie with a flourish, his magic whipping it into place in seconds. “Ta-da! I told you I could do it,” he said proudly, spinning around to show off his handiwork.

Sirius, who was finally securing Regulus’s tie with careful hands, looked up with a smirk. “You sure you’re not going to wear that thing like a cape instead?” he teased, clearly enjoying the moment.

“I’m not an idiot,” Regulus muttered under his breath, though his expression was warm, more comfortable now that his tie was finally in place. “You’re the idiot for making me wear this.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you look presentable,” Sirius teased. He winked at his son. “No wandering around looking like a scruffy mess tonight, alright?”

Harry glanced at his father, a slight smile curling on his lips. “You’re the one who looks like a scruffy mess all the time, Sirius,” he teased back.

Sirius shot him a mock-glare. “Oh, that’s real funny, kid. You’ll see,” he grinned. “One of these days, you’ll realize that you’re just as awesome as me.”

Peitro couldn’t help but jump in again, his voice bouncing all over the place. “Yeah, well, I’m going to be the best-looking one, I’ve got this suit down to perfection! I don’t care what any of you say!” He gave his best friend a quick, dramatic glance. "Looking good Regulus."

Regulus rolled his eyes, clearly trying to hide a smile. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, but there was no denying that he looked a bit proud, especially as he surveyed his polished reflection.

Remus patted Lyall on the shoulder, satisfied with the adjustments he’d made. “There you go, buddy. You look great.”

“I still feel weird in this,” Lyall muttered, but he gave it one last look in the mirror. His expression softened slightly. “I guess it’s not too bad. Maybe I could get used to it…”

Peitro shot him an exaggerated look of sympathy. “You’ll be fine, Lyall. You’ll wear it and be the coolest kid at the party. Just try not to spill anything on it.”

Lyall frowned but couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll try my best, Peitro. You don’t have to make fun of me so much.”

Sirius smiled as he finished up with Regulus’s tie and gave him a thumbs-up. “Alright, looks like everyone’s set. Now let’s go show off our snazzy looks, yeah?”

Harry grinned, nodding as he adjusted his suit one more time. “Let’s get this party started,” he said. “After all, we all look way too good for this not to be a good time.”

The Avengers Compound was alive with energy, filled with familiar faces and the warm glow of celebration. The holiday party was in full swing, with music playing softly in the background, laughter echoing through the grand halls, and an impressive spread of food set up in the main area. Harry had been talking with Regulus and the twins about potential pranks for next term when the elevator doors slid open, and he felt his brain short-circuit.

Hermione stepped into the room, looking effortlessly stunning in a flowing white dress that reminded him of something out of a dream. It wasn’t fancy in a way that screamed for attention, but on her, it was perfect. The way the soft fabric moved as she walked, the way her curls framed her face, the way she smiled when she spotted him—it all hit Harry at once like a rogue Bludger to the chest.

“Oh no,” Pietro muttered beside him, watching Harry freeze up. “We’ve lost him.”

Lyall smirked, nudging his twin. “I knew this would happen one day. The great Scarlet Wizard, taken down by a dress.”

Regulus, catching on quickly, leaned closer to Harry and whispered, “Mate, you gonna say something, or should I introduce myself to Hermione for you?”

That snapped Harry out of it. He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to shake off whatever spell he’d just been put under. Clearing his throat, he walked forward to meet Hermione and her parents, still feeling off-balance.

“You look—” He stopped himself. No. He was not going to be one of those blokes who made a fool of himself over a dress. “Glad you could make it.”

Hermione gave him a knowing look, her lips twitching. “Thanks, Harry. It’s good to see you too.”

Her parents greeted Natasha and Sirius, exchanging pleasantries as the party continued. Meanwhile, Hermione turned back to Harry with a teasing glint in her eye. “Are you sure you’re alright? You looked a little dazed back there.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “I, uh—yeah. Just…wasn’t expecting the dress.”

Hermione arched a brow, amused. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No!” Harry said a little too quickly, then groaned. “I mean, it looks nice. Really nice. You look—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m gonna get something to drink.”

As he walked off, trying to regain his composure, Regulus whistled lowly. “Yeah, he’s doomed.”

Pietro grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

The Great Hall had been transformed into a breathtaking winter wonderland. Icicles glittered from the enchanted ceiling, casting a soft glow over the grand ballroom. The students of Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons moved gracefully across the floor, dressed in their finest robes.

In the midst of the swirling crowd, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood danced together, their steps slightly uncoordinated but full of enthusiasm. Neville, dressed in deep green dress robes, held Luna’s hand gently as they moved to the rhythm of the music. Luna, wearing a flowing silver gown that shimmered in the dim light, smiled dreamily at her partner.

“You’re actually a really good dancer, Neville,” Luna remarked, twirling under his arm.

Neville flushed slightly, trying to keep his steps steady. “Thanks. My Gran made me take lessons when I was younger. Said a proper wizard should know how to dance.”

Luna tilted her head. “I think dancing is about enjoying the moment, not just being proper.” She looked around the ballroom, her silvery eyes scanning the crowd. “There are so many happy Wrackspurts floating around tonight.”

Neville chuckled. “Well, I guess that means everyone’s having fun.”

A few feet away, Blaise Zabini was dancing with Ginny Weasley, his movements smooth and confident. Ginny, dressed in a striking deep red gown, kept up with him effortlessly, her sharp eyes watching him carefully.

“I never expected you to be such a good dancer, Zabini,” Ginny admitted, letting him guide her through the steps.

Blaise smirked. “I don’t like to brag, but let’s just say I’m full of surprises.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, her lips curling in amusement. “That so? Well, you better not step on my toes, or I’ll hex you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Blaise replied smoothly, spinning her lightly before pulling her back into step.

As the music swelled, the four of them continued dancing, lost in the moment and enjoying the rare night of celebration amidst the storm that loomed ahead.

The music pulsed through the large room as the Avengers' party was in full swing. Laughter and chatter filled the air, along with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of applause when someone pulled off an impressive dance move. In the middle of it all, Morgan Stark had a determined look in her eyes as she grabbed Regulus by the arm and dragged him toward the dance floor.

"Come on, Reggie!" Morgan grinned up at him, her mischievous energy unwavering. "You can't just sit and watch all night!"

Regulus groaned, but there was no real resistance in him. "I don’t even know how to dance," he protested weakly, glancing around as if looking for an escape.

"You'll learn!" Morgan said cheerfully, spinning him around before he could protest further.

Nearby, Lyall and Pietro stood side by side, watching with amused grins.

"This is just like watching Harry and Hermione," Pietro snickered, words spilling out rapidly. "I mean, come on, look at them! Morgan’s dragging him around like Hermione used to do to Harry—except Harry actually knows how to dance, and Regulus looks like he's trying to solve an ancient riddle with his feet—"

"Shut up," Regulus muttered, his ears burning as he awkwardly tried to follow Morgan's lead.

Lyall smirked, nudging his brother. "Do you think he'll trip over his own feet, or hers?"

Pietro cackled. "Both. At the same time."

Not far from them, Harry and Hermione were moving effortlessly across the floor. Hermione was smiling up at him, clearly enjoying herself, and Harry, to everyone's mild surprise, was an exceptional dancer. His movements were smooth and confident, and he twirled Hermione with ease, making it look effortless.

"I new I should have paid attention during mums lesson. Bloody Harry." Regulus grumbled as he stumbled slightly, earning a laugh from Morgan.

Pietro continued his relentless commentary. "Seriously! He’s too good at this. Like, unfairly good. Was this part of the whole ‘raised by assassins’ package? Because if so, I feel cheated."

Lyall snorted. "Bet Natasha made him learn."

"Obviously," Pietro agreed, crossing his arms. "And now he’s showing us all up. It’s kind of annoying."

Regulus rolled his eyes as Morgan finally got him to move with some semblance of rhythm. "Yeah, yeah, keep talking. Just wait until I get better at this."

Morgan grinned. "You’re already doing fine!"

Pietro whispered loudly to Lyall, "Translation: You’re still terrible, but at least you’re not stepping on my feet anymore."

Hermione, overhearing them, laughed softly before looking up at Harry. "Do you think we should go rescue your brother?"

Harry glanced at Regulus, who was still looking mildly distressed but at least moving in time with the music now. He smirked. "Nah. He’ll survive."

Regulus shot him a glare that promised payback, but Morgan just pulled him into another spin, giggling. The music carried on, and despite his initial reluctance, Regulus found himself enjoying it—just a little.

"How do you know how to dance but not him?" Hermione asked. 

"He kept skipping mums lessons. He's the baby remember?" Harry smirked.

The dimly lit chamber was thick with the scent of damp stone and stale air. A single candle flickered on a battered table, casting twisted shadows along the cracked walls. Peter Pettigrew stood anxiously by the door, his beady eyes darting toward the frail, misshapen form that was his master.

Voldemort, still confined to his weakened state, sat rigidly, his thin fingers curling against the arm of his chair. Across from him, Barty Crouch Jr. and Theodore Nott stood at attention, awaiting his command.

Crouch Jr. cleared his throat. “The second task is approaching, my Lord. I’ve been monitoring Potter, but there’s been a… complication.”

Voldemort’s red eyes flashed dangerously. “Explain.”

Crouch smirked. “Strange intervened. He forced the judges to remove the hostages from the task. Said it was unnecessary and unethical.”

Voldemort’s fingers twitched, a mixture of amusement and irritation crossing his withered face. “And Dumbledore allowed this?”

Crouch let out a dry chuckle. “Strange didn’t give him a choice. It seems they fear his interference more than… yours.”

The chamber fell into a cold silence. Nott took a cautious step back, sensing the rising tension.

Voldemort’s breathing deepened, his rage bubbling beneath the surface. “They fear him more than me?” His voice, though thin, carried an unmistakable venom.

Crouch inclined his head, lips curling. “For now.”

Voldemort's deformed form stiffened. His anger wasn’t just at Strange—it was at the implication. At the realization that he was no longer the most feared force in the wizarding world.

His crimson eyes narrowed. “That will change.”

Back at the Party.

Hermione was talking with Tonks when Harry came back over offering his hand. "May I have this dance?"

Hermione, a little excited and clearly pleased, nodded. "Of course."

The two of them stepped onto the floor, moving effortlessly together. Harry, always in tune with her, felt the rhythm of the music as if it was part of him. As they swayed to the melody, their connection was undeniable. But it wasn't just the music that created the magic; Harry, without thinking, allowed his Chaos magic to leak just a little, lifting them slightly off the ground.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she glanced at Harry. "What—?"

He smirked, trying to look innocent. "You didn't think I'd let us just be ordinary, did you?"

"Harry!" she muttered, rolling her eyes, though there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You know I don't like it when you do that."

Harry chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving her. "Hey you know it's never boring around me."

Hermione shook her head in mock exasperation but couldn’t help feeling the warmth spread inside her. The magic was subtle, just enough to give them a floating feeling, a sense of weightlessness that matched the joy they felt. It was almost as though they were the only two people in the room, suspended in their own little world.

From across the room, Richard and Jean watched their daughter and Harry, their expressions filled with mixed emotions. Richard, especially, was torn. He had always thought of Hermione as his little girl, but seeing her so at ease, so happy, with someone who clearly cared for her brought him a deep sense of joy. However, a part of him couldn’t help but notice how much she had grown, how much she had changed over the years.

Jean squeezed his hand, offering him a soft smile. "She's grown up, hasn't she?"

Richard nodded, eyes still on Hermione and Harry. "She’s found someone special."

The music played on, the world continuing its dance around them. As Harry and Hermione shared a deep kiss, the moment felt timeless. In that instant, Harry felt like he was floating, not just physically but emotionally, as if the universe had tilted just enough to let them be exactly where they were supposed to be.

For Richard and Jean, watching Hermione and Harry share that kiss, there was a bittersweet happiness. The little girl they had raised was no longer just that — she was a young woman with her own path, and Harry, it seemed, was a part of it.

The Yule Ball was going strong, and the Great Hall was filled with laughter, music, and the soft swish of elegant robes. The moment everyone had been waiting for had arrived, and the students danced with joy, their faces glowing under the twinkling lights.

Luna and Neville stood near the edge of the dance floor, taking a break between songs. Neville, his heart pounding with excitement, tried to catch his breath as he adjusted his cuffs, still feeling the slight rush from dancing. Luna smiled at him, her quirky expression as cheerful as ever, but there was something different in her eyes tonight—something more… grown-up.

"You know," Luna said, her voice almost dreamlike, "I've never seen the stars look so close before. It’s like the whole sky is watching us."

Neville grinned, feeling a warmth spread across his chest at her words. He glanced up at the ceiling, which looked remarkably like the night sky from the Wizarding world.

"Yeah, it’s pretty amazing," Neville replied. He nervously adjusted his tie, which he had tried so hard to make perfect for this occasion. It wasn't like he was worried about looking perfect, but he definitely didn’t want to mess up anything in front of Luna, especially tonight.

Luna stepped forward, her unique and beautiful robes swaying with the soft rhythm of the music. "I’m glad we came here together, Neville. You’re really good at this dancing thing, you know."

Neville felt his cheeks warm up, but instead of feeling self-conscious, he felt proud. His mum had made sure to teach him how to dance, and though he was a bit clumsy at first, he’d worked hard to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself—especially not in front of Luna.

“Well, Mum said it’s all about feeling the rhythm," Neville replied with a shy smile. "I think I’m getting better at it."

Luna laughed softly, her eyes glinting with a touch of mischief. "You’re definitely better than you think."

Before he could say anything in response, she grabbed his hand, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Come on. Let’s go back on the floor for one more dance,” she said.

He was taken aback at first, surprised by her boldness, but quickly, he found himself swept back onto the floor. The music shifted into a softer, slower song, the kind that made everyone around them lean in closer, their bodies swaying to the music.

Neville’s heart skipped a beat when Luna’s hand rested gently on his shoulder and her other hand held his with an almost magnetic pull. The feeling of her hand in his felt right, warm and comforting.

Luna smiled up at him, her blonde hair framing her face like a halo of softness. “You know, Neville, I’m glad we’re here together. I’ve always felt that the best adventures happen when we least expect them.”

Neville’s smile widened. “I agree.” He reached for her other hand, and they danced as if they were the only two people in the world. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but there was a moment when their movements became in sync, their bodies moving effortlessly to the rhythm.

As the song drew to a close, Neville could feel the quiet tension between them. He glanced down at Luna, who was looking up at him with her usual dreamy expression—but there was something more in her eyes now, a spark of something unspoken.

Without thinking, Neville leaned down, gently closing the gap between them. The soft sound of the music filled the air as he kissed her lightly on the lips. It was a hesitant, sweet kiss—a first kiss that felt like it had been a long time coming.

Luna didn’t pull away; instead, she deepened the kiss slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck. When they finally pulled apart, both of them were flushed and slightly breathless, grinning at each other like they had just discovered a treasure.

Neville, still in shock at how everything felt so right, could only grin back. “I’ve wanted to do that for a bit,” he admitted.

Luna simply smiled, her eyes twinkling. “I thought you might have. I’m glad you finally did.”

The music continued to play softly around them as they swayed, and the rest of the night seemed to fall away. For Neville, in that moment, the world felt perfect—just him and Luna, dancing in the glow of the Yule Ball.

Back at the Compound.

Laughter, music, and the chatter of friends filled the spacious room. The heroes were relaxed for once, away from the chaos that usually followed them. But somewhere above them, unnoticed by everyone, a small beetle hovered in the air, its tiny wings buzzing softly.

Rita Skeeter, in her animagus form, was spying on the Avengers, hoping to catch an exclusive story that would make her career soar once more. She'd been following the group for days, but now, the moment was ripe for a new scoop. She just needed to stay hidden long enough to gather something juicy.

As she flew low, weaving through the crowd, Rita spotted her opportunity. She hovered near Wanda, who was deep in conversation with Natasha. Rita saw an opening, slipping toward Wanda's dark hair where she could stay hidden while listening in on the conversation.

But Wanda, ever sensitive to even the slightest disturbance, suddenly felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. Her magic flared instinctively, and before Rita could even process what was happening, Wanda reached up and plucked the beetle out of her hair.

“What do we have here?” Wanda murmured, her fingers gently cupping the small insect. She could feel the little creature’s panic, but something about it felt… off.

Before Rita could transform back into her human form or attempt an escape, Wanda’s powers surged. A portal opened in front of her, and with a single thought, Wanda hurled the beetle through the shimmering doorway.

Rita found herself flung into a completely different world—a lush, green jungle. The air was thick with humidity, and the sounds of wildlife echoed in the distance. Rita looked around in shock, realizing she had no idea where she was or how she could get back. The portal had deposited her in the middle of a dense jungle, and there was no sign of civilization in sight.

Her tiny wings buzzed in frustration as she tried to orient herself, but the situation was a far cry from the cozy comforts of her hidden nook in the compound. With a mix of panic and fury, Rita tried to transform back to human form, but the jungle's foreign environment wasn't making anything easier.

"Of course, this had to happen," Rita muttered to herself, realizing she'd been cast aside like a bug in the wind—literally.

Meanwhile, back at the compound, Wanda had no idea the insect she'd just tossed had been the infamous Rita Skeeter. She shook her head and resumed her conversation, unaware of the journalist's fate. But somewhere in the jungle, Rita was left to figure out how to get back to the world she knew, now a very long way from anything she recognized.

Susan, dressed in elegant robes of deep blue, smiled warmly as she danced with her date. She was enjoying the evening, savoring the rare moment of celebration amidst the tension of the tournament. Across the hall, Blaise and Ginny were locked in an animated dance, their movements fast and playful, much to the irritation of one Ronald Weasley.

Ron sat at a table, arms crossed, scowling as he watched his sister laughing with a Slytherin. His mood had been sour all night, but seeing Ginny happy with Blaise only made it worse. "Can’t believe she’s actually enjoying herself with him," he muttered, stabbing at a treacle tart on his plate.

Meanwhile, at the head table, Dumbledore sat with an expression of mild displeasure hidden behind his usual twinkling eyes. He scanned the hall, noting the absence of one particular Triwizard Champion. Harry Potter was not here.

The absence of The-Boy-Who-Lived, the school’s unexpected fourth champion, made Hogwarts look bad in Dumbledore’s eyes. The tournament was meant to be a display of unity and tradition, and yet the most famous student in the castle had outright refused to attend. Even more frustrating, Hermione Granger had left as well, following Harry’s lead. Their absence sent a clear message: they wanted no part in the spectacle.

Dumbledore sighed. He had long since realized Harry was no ordinary student, but his continued defiance—especially with his growing power—was becoming troublesome. He would need to find a way to bring the boy back into the fold before things spiraled further out of control.

For now, though, the night continued, and the music played on.

The music played softly in the background of the party, a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos. Wanda and Remus stood in the center of the room, their hands intertwined as they swayed to the rhythm. The warmth of the dance floor seemed to temporarily lift the weight of their worries. Remus, ever so gentle, guided Wanda through the steps with ease, a small smile playing on his lips as they lost themselves in the simplicity of the moment.

"It's peaceful for once." Remus smiled.

"Because Peitro is filling his mouth with food." Wanda grinned seeing their energetic son with a large tray of treats. "He better brush after."

"Oh I don't think you'll let him avoid it." Remus joked.

Across the room, Sirius and Natasha shared a quiet laugh as they twirled together, their connection palpable even without words. Sirius, usually so alert and ready for a fight since Harrys name came out of the goblet, was entirely caught up in the pleasure of just being with his wife. Natasha leaned in slightly, her fingers lightly brushing his shoulder as they danced, both of them savoring the brief reprieve from the battles and danger that so often consumed their lives.

"So we still not putting bets on Regulus and Morgan?" Sirius teased watching his son with the young Stark.

"One more word about that and you sleep in the dog house. As a human." Natasha warned but had a small smile.

For a fleeting moment, none of the looming threats, none of the past pains or future uncertainties mattered. It was just the four of them, lost in the music, the closeness, and the simple joy of being together.

As the song slowed, the couples gradually eased back, still holding onto each other, their faces relaxed in a way that only these moments of peace could allow. The world could wait, if only for a while.

At the Yule Ball, Neville and Luna are sitting at a quiet corner of the hall, enjoying the music and the occasional dance around them. The evening has been magical, full of laughter and lighthearted moments, but Neville is still feeling a little nervous as he turns to Luna, who has been unusually quiet beside him.

“Neville?” Luna asks, tilting her head slightly, noticing his fidgeting.

“Neville, are you alright?” she asks, her eyes soft with curiosity.

“I, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Neville begins, his voice a little shaky. He fiddles with the buttons on his shirt, clearly trying to find the right words. “With everything that's happened and... well, we’ve been spending a lot of time together. I just, uh… I want to know, are we—well, are we dating now?”

Luna smiles at him, her expression thoughtful, before she giggles softly, which makes Neville even more nervous.

“Well, I suppose we are,” she says with her usual dreamy look, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I mean, we’ve spent a lot of time together, and I think we make a lovely team.”

Neville lets out a relieved laugh, his face lighting up. "I was worried I’d messed something up by not saying it sooner."

Luna shrugs lightly, still wearing that serene smile. "I don’t mind. I like the way things have been. No rush."

Neville grins back, feeling lighter than he has in a while. "I think I can get used to this."

They continue to enjoy the evening, the rest of the world fading away as they simply enjoy each other's company.

Away from them Ginny and Blaise walk down the hallway together, the echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the stone walls of Hogwarts.

"Thanks again for taking me, Blaise," Ginny says, her voice soft but sincere. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks still rosy from the evening.

Blaise grins, giving her a playful wink. "You’re welcome, Ginny. It was fun. I thought you'd enjoy the night more than you expected."

Ginny chuckles, a little shy. "I didn't expect it to be as nice as it was, honestly. I’m glad you asked me."

"You’re a great date," Blaise continues, his grin widening. "And besides, it gave me the perfect excuse to escape the other Slytherins for a while."

Ginny laughs. "You’re not wrong about that."

They fall into a comfortable silence for a moment as they continue walking, the castle's grandeur surrounding them in its peaceful quiet.

"I'll see you around, yeah?" Blaise says as they reach the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

"Definitely," Ginny replies with a smile before turning to head inside.

As she disappears into the common room, Blaise watches her for a moment, then heads back to the Slytherin dorms, both of them feeling content after an evening that had turned out better than either had expected.

The next day.

In the dimly lit workshop of Potter Manor, the air buzzed with anticipation as Tony Stark adjusted the final details on the armor laid out before him. Regulus, barely containing his excitement, stood beside Harry, his hands clenched into fists of eagerness. For a year, he had been waiting for this moment—ever since he had first seen Harry’s Basilisk-hide armor, crafted from the very beast Wanda had slain in the Chamber of Secrets. Now, it was finally his turn.

“Alright, kid,” Tony said, stepping back and waving a dramatic hand toward the suit. “Your patience has been rewarded. Behold—your very own, custom-made, enchanted, bad-guy-proof Basilisk-hide armor. Try not to drool on it.”

Regulus stepped forward, eyes wide as he ran his fingers over the sleek dark material. It wasn’t as heavy as he expected, but when he lifted it, he could feel the strength within. It had the same durability as Harry’s, but Tony had added some personal touches—a lining of woven protection runes, reinforced shoulder guards, and a high-collared cloak attachment, because, as Tony had put it, “You Blacks have a thing for dramatic entrances.”

“It’s perfect,” Regulus whispered, slipping the chest piece on and fastening the bracers. The armor adjusted to fit him snugly, just as Harry’s had. He turned to Tony, eyes shining. “This is wicked.”

Sirius, watching from the doorway with Natasha, crossed his arms. “Not bad, Stark. You might actually be useful for something besides blowing things up.”

“Hey,” Tony shot back, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I blew up my way into making this masterpiece.”

Natasha rolled her eyes before walking over to inspect the armor. She tugged at the bracer and hummed approvingly. “Good craftsmanship. And reinforced spell resistance?”

“Of course,” Tony said, looking smug. “Better than last year’s model. If Regulus is anything like his older brother, he’s gonna need it.”

Harry chuckled as Regulus smirked. “I do get into trouble sometimes.”

Sirius groaned. “He’s my godson. ‘Sometimes’ is putting it mildly.”

Tony clapped a hand on Regulus’ shoulder. “Well, now you’re suited up for it. But remember—armor is great, but brains are better.”

Regulus grinned, flexing his fingers against the gloves. “Yeah, but both together? That’s unstoppable.”

Harry nudged him. “Took you long enough to get it.”

Regulus shot him a look. “Yeah, yeah. Let me enjoy my moment.”

As the family laughed, Tony leaned against the workbench, watching the scene unfold. He had done his part—now it was up to Regulus to live up to the legacy. And with Sirius and Natasha watching over him, and Harry always at his side, Tony had a feeling the kid would do just fine.

The common room had quieted after the excitement of the Yule Ball. Students trickled off to bed, their laughter and music lingering faintly in the air. Neville Longbottom, still flushed from dancing, sat on one of the cushioned chairs near the fireplace, a small enchanted mirror in hand.

He took a breath, tapped the mirror twice, and smiled as the glass shimmered.

“Mirror call – Longbottoms,” he said clearly.

A second later, the faces of Frank and Alice Longbottom appeared in the mirror, both looking warm and curious. His dad was in a cozy jumper with a steaming mug, while his mum had a slightly raised brow, as if she already suspected something.

“There’s our handsome son,” Frank said with a grin. “You survive the ball?”

Neville grinned sheepishly. “Barely. But... it was amazing.”

Alice tilted her head. “You danced?”

Neville nodded. “More than I thought I would. She actually got me out there twice.”

“She?” Frank repeated, eyebrows rising.

Neville rubbed the back of his neck but couldn’t suppress the proud grin. “Yeah. Mum, Dad… I, um… I have a girlfriend now.”

Alice’s eyes lit up. “Neville! That’s wonderful!”

Frank leaned in. “Do we know the lucky witch?”

“You do,” Neville said, clearly pleased. “It’s Luna. Luna Lovegood.”

Frank let out a delighted laugh. “Xenophilius’s daughter? Brilliant girl. Bit… unique, but in a good way.”

“I always liked her,” Alice said fondly. “She sees the world differently. And she’s sweet.” She smirked. “So, what did she say when you asked her?”

“I didn’t really get the words out. She sort of said it first,” Neville admitted, grinning. “And kissed me. I’m pretty sure that sealed it.”

Frank chuckled. “Looks like she’s got good instincts.”

“We’re proud of you, sweetheart,” Alice said warmly. “But not just for that. You looked confident tonight.”

Neville nodded. “I felt it. A lot of that’s thanks to Harry and Hermione... and you two. Just thought you should know.”

Frank raised his mug. “Here’s to our boy growing up.”

Alice winked. “And to Luna, who clearly has excellent taste.”

Neville chuckled and leaned back, the warmth of family and the memory of the night settling comfortably in his chest. “Night, Mum. Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, love,” they said in unison, before the mirror shimmered and returned to its normal surface.

Neville sat for a moment longer, still smiling to himself. Confident, loved, and happy.

The air inside Potter Manor was tense, the flickering firelight casting long shadows as Stephen Strange stood before Harry, Natasha, Sirius, and the others gathered in the grand sitting room. The Sorcerer Supreme’s expression was grim but resolute.

“I got them all,” Strange announced, his voice carrying a finality that made the room still. “Every last Horcrux.”

Harry, seated between his parents, felt a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying suddenly lift. “You’re sure?” he asked, his green eyes searching Strange’s face for any hesitation.

Strange gave a firm nod. “The ring, the diary, the cup, the locket, Ravenclaw’s diadem—they’re all gone.” His eyes darkened slightly. “I personally incinerated the last one with a spell that left nothing but dust.”

Sirius let out a low whistle, running a hand through his dark hair. “That means Voldemort’s mortal now.”

“Vulnerable,” Natasha corrected, always one to focus on the details. Her fingers drummed lightly against her knee. “He can still be dangerous, but at least now, when we take him down, he stays down.”

Harry clenched his fists, thinking of the man who had taken so much from him. “That’s one less advantage he has.”

Strange exhaled, glancing at Wanda and Remus, who had been silent up until now. “I did everything I could to make sure there were no mistakes. Every Horcrux I found, I double-checked before destroying it.”

Remus, holding Pietro close while Lyall leaned against his mother, gave Strange a serious look. “Then it’s over,” he said cautiously.

Strange hesitated, the flickering flames reflecting in his eyes. “I believe so. But…” He frowned, his instincts warning him against complete certainty. “Something still feels… off.”

Harry’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

Strange shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Just a feeling. But I promise you, I won’t stop until I’m certain Voldemort has no more lifelines left.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Strange’s words pressing down on them all. Voldemort was weaker than he had been in decades. But until he was truly gone, none of them could rest easy.

At Remus and Wanda’s home, the twins were excitedly admiring their new outfits. Lyall had already slipped into his, the tight blue and yellow suit fitting him perfectly, designed for mobility. The special gloves were snug, with metal openings in the knuckles, allowing his claws to extend without ruining the fabric. He couldn’t help but flex his fingers, watching as the claws slid out smoothly, a grin spreading across his face.

Peitro, ever the showman, twirled in his blue and purple ensemble, complete with a cape that billowed dramatically behind him. His excitement was contagious, his energy practically crackling in the air. With a snap of his fingers, he used his purple magic to fashion a headband to complement his outfit, proudly placing it on his head.

"Lyall, you should get a mask or a cowl," Peitro suggested, stepping back and eyeing his twin critically. "Something that makes you look more... mysterious."

Lyall raised an eyebrow, still adjusting to the snug fit of his suit. "I don’t know about the mask, but this works for me."

Wanda chuckled, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. "These are for when you two are in trouble, not for everyday use," she reminded them with a smile.

"Yeah, don’t get too carried away," Remus added, his tone warm but firm. "These suits are practical, not for showing off. Only wear them when you need to."

Peitro’s excitement faltered for a moment as he processed his parents' words. "So... if we’re never in trouble, we don’t get to wear these cool outfits?"

Remus smiled. "Exactly. But if you're ever in danger, those outfits will keep you safe."

Wanda stepped forward and ruffled both of their hair. "Remember, it’s not just about looking good. It’s about being prepared, for when you’re doing important things."

The twins exchanged a glance, and Lyall's claws twitched slightly in anticipation, as if ready for whatever adventure might come. Peitro, ever eager for action, grinned. "Okay, we’ll save them for when we actually need to look cool while saving the day!"

Wanda and Remus shared a look, amusement flickering in their eyes. "That’s the spirit," Wanda said. "But now, let's make sure you two know how to use these suits properly."

The Sanctum Sanctorum was quieter than usual, its eerie stillness broken only by the soft hum of magic and the occasional flicker of a distant candle. Stephen Strange stood alone in the dimly lit room, a deep focus in his eyes as he stared into the mirror-like surface of the Time Stone. The brilliant gem shimmered before him, offering visions of countless possible futures.

Strange’s hands moved in slow, deliberate motions, tracing symbols in the air, the golden light of the spell casting a faint glow on his face. The Time Stone flared to life, showing him the paths that lay ahead for Harry Potter.

He saw flashes—Harry standing alone in a desolate battlefield, facing down a looming, dark figure. In one vision, Harry’s hand raised against the shadowy figure of Voldemort, the power of their duel shaking the very air. In another, Harry was on his knees, bloodied but determined, surrounded by fallen comrades. Voldemort’s cold, snake-like eyes glimmered in victory, but there was something else in each of these visions—a shadow.

Strange narrowed his eyes as the shadow loomed larger, its outline gradually taking form. It was tall, towering even, with a deep purple hue to its skin. The figure’s presence was overwhelming, a dark silhouette looming in the distance of each potential future. The shadow never fully revealed itself, but its influence seemed undeniable, pushing against the confrontation between Harry and Voldemort.

Each vision was slightly different, but the shadow was always there, hovering just out of sight, sometimes more clearly defined, other times just a subtle hint of something far more dangerous. The Time Stone whispered, the future shifting and folding like the pages of a book yet to be written.

Strange’s brow furrowed. Who is this figure? What is their role in Harry’s future?

The shadow did not belong to Voldemort—it was something else, something darker, and far more ancient.

He clenched his jaw, frustration mixing with the weariness in his soul. He couldn’t see everything. He couldn’t warn Harry of the future that seemed destined to unfold. But the looming figure wasn’t just a threat to Harry. The possibility that Harry could face it alone… that was something Strange would never let happen.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the uncertainty that had clouded his thoughts. His hand moved to rub his temple, but the mystery of the shadow wouldn't leave him.

I need more time. More answers.

As the Time Stone dimmed in his palm, Strange made a silent vow. Whatever that purple-skinned figure was, he would find out. And he would make sure Harry didn’t face it unprepared, no matter what it took.

But for now, the vision faded away, the room darkening again. Strange had to take action soon, before the shadow’s presence grew any clearer.

In the woods around Sirius home, the boys gathered around, eager to see what Lyall's new claws could do. Regulus was practically bouncing with excitement while Peitro, his eyes glinting with mischief, was already throwing suggestions.

"Think they can cut through stone?" Peitro asked, almost too eagerly.

Lyall flexed his hand, causing his claws to extend from his knuckles with a sharp, metallic sound. "Let's find out," he said with a grin, but his eyes flicked over to Harry. "You’ve got your magic, right? We need to see how tough they are."

Harry gave a resigned sigh but rolled up his sleeves. "Fine, fine, I’ll make it interesting for you." His fingers flicked, and a small pile of thick, reinforced stone slabs appeared on the ground, stacked up like a challenge.

Lyall eyed them, his claws twitching in anticipation. "I’ll start easy, then," he said, crouching down and swiping at the first slab. With one smooth motion, the metal claws sliced through it as if it were paper, the sound of the metal cutting through the rock echoing in the air.

Regulus’s eyes lit up. "That was awesome!" he cheered. "I knew your claws could do it, but wow." He immediately rushed to grab another slab, eager to test them out himself.

"Not so fast," Harry said, a sly grin crossing his face. He waved his wand, and a set of enchanted targets sprang up in front of them. "Try these instead. Let’s see if they can cut through magic too."

Lyall’s grin widened. "Now we’re talking." He swiped at the first target, and the claws connected with a clean slice. The target shimmered but didn’t break, so Lyall twisted his wrist, sending a second swipe at it, this time with more force.

To Harry’s surprise, the target shattered with a spark of light. "That was amazing!" Regulus laughed, leaning in to get a closer look at the pieces.

Harry shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Okay, you win. I’ll create a few more things for you to try cutting through."

Peitro, always excited for a new challenge, bounced on his feet. "What about a tree? Something that grows?"

Lyall’s eyes lit up, and without waiting for Harry’s answer, he dashed off toward the nearest large tree, claws gleaming. Regulus followed, eager to see what would happen next. Harry just sighed and waved his wand again, summoning the tree and setting up the next challenge.

As Lyall raised his claws to strike, Harry raised a hand. "Let’s see if it’s really unbreakable first," he said, eyes glinting with a challenge of his own.

"Bring it on," Lyall grinned, and the group eagerly awaited the results.

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a soft golden glow over the Harrys family’s sprawling backyard. The breeze stirred the leaves in the trees, the scent of fresh grass mixing with the faint scent of magic. Harry leaned against the wooden fence, watching as Hermione, still in her owl animagus form, flapped her wings experimentally, gaining a little more height with each attempt.

She wasn’t used to this yet,  but she was persistent, as always. She dipped and swerved through the air, a graceful blur of feathers, before she faltered and began to descend. Hermione landed gently on a nearby post, her large amber eyes focused, irritated with herself.

“You’ll get it, Hermione,” Harry called, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She hooted, her wings flapping to shake off the unease. The transformation was still a bit clumsy for her, but there was no stopping Hermione Granger when she set her mind to something. She leapt back into the air again, a little more confidently this time.

Sirius, standing just a little ways away, observed his niece with a warm, proud gaze. “Not bad, Hermione,” he encouraged, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re getting better every time.”

Hermione hooted again, a determined gleam in her eye. She gave one more mighty flap, her wings catching the air and lifting her higher. She soared, higher than she’d gone before, gaining speed as she adjusted herself mid-flight. For a moment, she felt the rush of freedom, the sensation of the wind beneath her wings. She could see everything below her, tiny and distant.

Then, suddenly, she lost her balance and began to plummet.

Sirius was already moving before she even hit the ground, but Hermione caught herself just in time, using her wings to slow her descent. She landed with a soft thud beside Harry, returning to her human form with a frustrated grunt.

“Okay, so I still need some work,” she admitted, brushing dirt off her clothes. “But it’s getting better.”

“You looked great up there,” Harry said, grinning. “You’ll be gliding through the air like an expert soon enough.”

Sirius walked up to her, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a natural, Hermione. It takes time to adjust to the feeling, but don’t get discouraged. And hey, if you ever need a flying partner—” he looked over at Harry, “—Harry and I can give you some tips.”

Hermione chuckled, rolling her eyes. “As long as you two keep your stunts to a minimum, I’m all for it.”

The three of them stood there for a moment, watching the sunset together. Sirius grinned, enjoying the simple moment with his family. It was peaceful—just what they all needed after the chaos they had been through recently.

“Don’t forget,” Sirius added with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “there’s also that whole thing about flying on a broomstick. Might be something to think about for the future.”

Hermione laughed. “Right, we’ll see if I survive getting this transformation right first.”

Harry chuckled along with her. "You'll be fine."

The warmth of the crackling fireplace filled the cozy living room, casting a soft glow over the gathered family. The scent of freshly baked pastries lingered in the air, courtesy of Andromeda, who had insisted on making something sweet for the evening. The house was alive with laughter and the kind of easy comfort that only came with being surrounded by loved ones.

Harry sat cross-legged on the rug, his back leaning against the couch as Lyall and Pietro sprawled out beside him, their attention fixed on the chessboard between them. Regulus sat opposite, his brows furrowed in deep concentration as he tried to counter Lyall’s latest move.

"Are you sure you didn’t cheat?" Regulus accused, narrowing his eyes at Lyall, who merely grinned in response.

"Regulus," Harry chuckled, ruffling the boy’s dark hair. "Just admit he got you fair and square."

Lyall smirked triumphantly but quickly yelped when Pietro flicked his ear. "No gloating," Pietro teased.

Wanda and Remus sat nearby, curled together on the couch, watching their sons with quiet fondness. Remus’ arm rested around Wanda’s shoulders as she leaned into his warmth. It still amazed them both how quickly their lives had changed—how their little boys, who should have still been babies, were here, full of life and laughter. And Harry, their godfather, was more of a brother to them than anything.

Tonks lounged on the other end of the couch, tossing a small, glowing orb between her hands, her metamorphmagus abilities causing her hair to shift between colors with each throw. "I don’t know why, but I still can’t get over you two being this grown up," she mused, nodding at the twins.

"Trust me, neither can we," Remus admitted, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

Natasha and Sirius were settled by the fire, Sirius nursing a cup of something warm while Natasha sipped her own tea.

"I, for one, think they grew up perfectly," Natasha said with a smirk. "They already know how to fight, and they clearly have taste, considering how much they look up to me."

"Of course, that’s what matters," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Nothing about, you know, their loving parents or their doting godfather—just their admiration for you."

"Well, obviously," Natasha shot back, earning laughter from everyone.

Andromeda re-entered the room, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. "Alright, settle down, children," she said, playfully eyeing Sirius and Natasha before setting the tray on the coffee table.

Harry sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace, two carefully wrapped boxes in his lap. Lyall and Pietro sat across from him on the rug.

“You guys already got a ton of stuff,” Harry said with a grin. “But… I wanted to give you something personal.”

Lyall’s ears perked up. Pietro bounced slightly, barely holding back his excitement.

“This one’s for you,” Harry said, handing the larger box to Lyall.

Lyall tore the wrapping open with both hands and claws, revealing a leather-bound case. He popped it open and stared in awe.

Inside was a custom set of armor plates for his forearms and shoulders, designed to fit over his frame without restricting movement. It was reinforced but light—crafted by Tony himself. On the inside of the bracers, the name “Lyall Lupin” was etched above a carved wolf's head.

“Whoa…” Lyall whispered, brushing his fingers over the engraving.

“They’ll adapt as you grow,” Harry explained. “Tony added some of the same nanotech from his suits. That way, you won’t outgrow it in a week.”

Lyall looked up, his eyes shining. “This is awesome. Thank you!” He pounced on Harry, giving him a bone-crushing hug that made Harry wheeze and laugh.

“Alright, my turn!” Pietro declared, practically vibrating as Harry passed him a smaller box.

Pietro ripped the paper off in seconds and opened the lid. Inside was a sleek silver pendant on a chain, shaped like a rune encircled by swirling energy. It shimmered faintly with enchantments.

“That’s a containment charm for your magic,” Harry said. “But also a focus. Strange and I designed it together. Helps with control, and—”

Pietro held it up, already beaming. “And it looks awesome.”

“You can channel magic through it with your hand, if you want to look cool,” Harry added with a wink.

“I always look cool,” Pietro said, slipping it over his head with pride. “But this takes it to a new level.”

Natasha watched from the couch with a cup of cocoa, smirking. “You spoil them.”

Harry shrugged. “They earned it.”

Lyall sat beside Pietro, admiring their gifts. “Best Christmas ever.”

Harry smiled, resting back on his hands. “It’s only just started.”

Sirius lounged on the sofa, grinning proudly as Natasha knelt beside the tree with the last two gifts.

“These are from both of us,” Natasha said with a warm smile, handing a wrapped package to each boy. “And before either of you ask—yes, we both picked them.”

Regulus gave a suspicious squint. “So it’s not another enchanted jumper that yells at me when I forget to brush my teeth?”

Sirius snorted. “That was one time. And it worked, didn’t it?”

Harry chuckled and carefully opened his package. Inside was a custom-forged leather sheath with glowing red runes etched into the surface—perfectly sized for the Sword of Gryffindor.

His eyes widened. “You—this is brilliant!”

“It’s spelled to resist damage and to hide the sword magically on your back until you need it,” Natasha explained. “I thought it might suit someone who tends to leap headfirst into danger.”

Harry beamed and hugged her without hesitation. “Thanks, Mum.”

Sirius ruffled his hair. “Just try not to stab anyone unless they really deserve it.”

Regulus unwrapped his gift next and held up a sleek silver pocket watch with intricate runes engraved along the edge. When he opened it, the interior shifted into a magical map that showed not just time—but proximity spells, magical signatures, and family wards.

“This is... wicked,” Regulus whispered, turning it over in awe. “This’ll help me sneak past Snape like five times better.”

"Not its intended use,” Natasha warned.

“Not only its intended use,” Sirius added, winking.

Regulus grinned. “Best Christmas ever.”

As the fire crackled behind them, and the snow drifted softly outside, the little family leaned into the moment—grateful for one more morning together, safe, warm, and whole.

The evening carried on with quiet conversation, gentle teasing, and the occasional outburst from the chess game. It was peaceful, warm, home.

Lyall eventually stretched and let out a wide yawn, his metal claws glinting slightly in the firelight. Pietro followed suit, his long white streak falling over his face as he rested his chin on his knees.

Wanda noticed and smiled softly. "Alright, bedtime."

The twins groaned, but they didn’t protest too much.

Later that night.

The sky was still outside as the real world slept, but within the quiet warmth of her room, Wanda sat cross-legged on her bed, her hands glowing with gentle red light. Remus lay peacefully nearby, unaware of the spell she was weaving through the veil of dreams.

Wanda whispered softly, “Show me what I missed.”

The magic pulsed from her fingertips, threading through the air like ribbons of memory and desire. Her eyes closed, and she let the magic pull her in.

The dream unfolded.

A tiny Pietro ran barefoot across a sunny meadow, laughter echoing as Lyall tackled him from behind with a playful growl. He wasn’t wearing shoes either—he never did. The boys were no older than six in this vision, chasing each other through fields outside a quiet cottage, their laughter a melody Wanda had never truly heard but always longed for.

She smiled through the dream as she watched herself chase after them, her face full of joy, not grief. In the vision, she scooped up Lyall, spinning him around while Pietro clung to her side, demanding his turn.

Another vision followed. The boys at age nine, working together in a small garden, arguing over who had the stronger spell. Remus stepped out, ruffled their hair, and challenged them both to a duel—with pillows. The chaos that followed made her laugh aloud in the real world, even as a tear slid down her cheek.

She saw birthdays, quiet cuddles on stormy nights, little Pietro practicing magic that shimmered violet like his soul, and Lyall showing her his claws for the first time with pride.

“I like ‘em,” dream-Wanda said as she kissed his forehead. “They make you look brave.”

Real-Wanda whispered, “Because you are.”

The final dream was of both boys, ten years old, curled beside her on a couch. Pietro talked endlessly about a creature he’d read about in a book, while Lyall fell asleep mid-sentence against her arm.

Wanda sat there in the dream, stroking their hair. “I missed this,” she whispered. “But thank you… for letting me see it.”

When she woke, the room was still and quiet. But the smile on her lips lingered, her fingers brushing her cheeks where the tears had dried.

She turned her head to see Lyall and Pietro—real now, older but still her boys—fast asleep beside her. Pietro mumbled something about “wolf-shaped cookies,” and Lyall twitched, already dreaming.

Wanda smiled softly.

“Now I get to see the rest."

Granger Residence.

Snow fell gently outside the cozy home of the Grangers. The fireplace crackled warmly in the background as Hermione sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a large parcel from Harry nestled in front of her, her name written neatly across the top in his handwriting.

“Wow,” her mother, Jean, said, examining the box. “He really went all out.”

Hermione smiled softly. “He always perfect with his gifts."

Carefully, she opened the package. Inside were three wrapped boxes, each with a little tag. One read “To Hermione,” the second, “To Mr. Granger,” and the third, “To Mrs. Granger.”

Hermione beamed as she unwrapped hers first—an enchanted, leather-bound book that shimmered with soft golden runes, clearly filled with advanced Arithmancy notes and magical annotations. A small note inside read: “I know you probably already know all this, but I thought it might be fun to mark up together. -Harry”

Her eyes shimmered with emotion.

“Open yours,” she said quickly, nudging her father.

Richard Granger peeled the wrapping off his box and blinked. “Is that... a bottle of—?”

“Macallan 1926,” Jean said in disbelief. “That’s... that’s one of the most expensive bottles in the world.”

Richard stared at it, then let out a low whistle. “Alright. I’m officially starting to like this boy."

Hermione rolled her eyes, laughing. “Took him long enough.” 

Jean opened hers to find a delicate necklace with a charm shaped like a protective rune. The note attached read: “For all the times she’s worried about her daughter—now she’ll have a little magic too.”

Jean’s expression softened. “That’s thoughtful.”

Richard nodded, looking at his daughter. “He’s not just trying to impress you, Hermione. He’s trying to impress us, too.”

Hermione hugged the book to her chest. “He already has.”