Ancient Learning

July 10, 1993, 12:00 PM, Grimmauld Place

Harry Potter

Harry sprawled across the rug in Adam’s room. The air felt heavy, laced with dust that danced in the slivers of sunlight sneaking past the grimy window. Around him, stacks of books from the secret chamber teetered precariously, their leather spines cracked and peeling like old skin. Adam sat cross-legged on the bed, a tome open in his lap, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he muttered under his breath.

Harry watched him for a moment, a familiar warmth tugging at his chest. His adopted brother always looked so sure of himself.

“Found anything yet?” Harry asked, flipping a page of his own book. The parchment crinkled under his fingers, stiff and yellowed, smelling faintly of mildew and ink. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find— answers about his powers, maybe.

Adam glanced up, smirking. “Not unless you count a recipe for everlasting moth repellent. Useful, if Sirius decides to redecorate the attic.”

Harry snorted, the sound echoing off the walls. Sirius didn’t know about the secret room yet, and Harry wasn’t sure why that felt right. The thought gnawed at him— hiding something from Sirius, of all people, who’d taken him in like family. But Adam hadn’t argued when Harry suggested keeping it quiet, and that made it easier to shove the guilt aside. For now, at least.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry’s fingers traced the embossed cover of a book titled Runes of the Forgotten. It was heavier than it looked, the leather cool against his skin. He wondered who’d last held it— some long-dead Black, probably, scheming in this creaky old house.

The idea sent a shiver down his spine, though he couldn’t tell if it was excitement or unease. People were out there, potentially suffering, and here they were, poking through dusty pages like it was a game. Still, with Sirius off on a date with Amy and Remus at Hogwarts, the timing was perfect. They had the house to themselves, and Harry wasn’t about to waste it.

“Reckon we should head back down?” He said, catching Adam’s eye. “There’s more in that room than moth repellent, I bet.”

Adam grinned, snapping his book shut. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Harry led the way through Grimmauld Place, the floorboards groaning beneath his trainers with every step. The air grew colder as they descended the narrow staircase..

They reached the empty wall in the basement. Harry pressed his hand against it, half-expecting nothing, but the wall shuddered and slid aside, revealing the long stairway to the secret room. A gust of stale air rushed out, carrying the scent of old metal and parchment.

The two took the stairway down, once again marveling at the torchlight.

Gubraithian Fire, Adam said it was. Harry shook his head. To have so many in one spot— and used as basic lights, of all things…

He stepped inside the chamber, his breath catching at the sight— piles of treasures glinted in the dim light, goblets and jewelry spilling from cracked chests, books stacked haphazardly against the stone walls. It was a hoard out of some fairy tale, and yet it felt heavy, somehow.

“Still only opens for you.” Adam said, lingering at the threshold.

His voice was light, but Harry caught the flicker of something in his eyes— curiosity, maybe, or acceptance. Harry frowned, running a hand through his messy hair. Did it bother Adam, being locked out by whatever magic guarded this place? If it did, his brother hid it well, stepping inside with a shrug as if it didn’t matter.

Harry wandered deeper into the chamber, his shoes scuffing against the dusty floor. A silver candelabra winked at him from a corner, its candles long melted into stubs. He reached out, then hesitated, his fingers hovering.

“Reckon this stuff’s been here forever?” He asked, glancing at Adam, who was already poking at an ancient mirror, surprisingly unmarred by the flow of time.

“Centuries, at least.” Adam replied, his reflection warped in the glass. “Whoever made this didn’t want it found.”

Harry nodded, a grin tugging at his lips despite the unease curling in his gut. He liked that— sharing this with Adam, unraveling the mystery together. The room hummed faintly, a vibration he felt more than heard, and he wondered if it recognized him, somehow. It was a mad thought, but then again, nothing about his life had been normal after Hagrid had barged his way into his life.

Harry stood amid the clutter of the secret room, the weight of his wand steady in his hand as he pointed it at a tarnished chalice half-buried under a pile of velvet rags.

“Inspicere Empiricus.” He muttered, the spell Adam had taught him rolling off his tongue with a mix of pride and nerves.

A sharp jolt shot through his arm, like a pinprick that bloomed into a dull ache, and he winced, shaking out his wrist. The chalice glowed faintly red— unsafe, then. He sighed, rubbing his temple where a headache was starting to throb.

“You couldn’t have made this less painful, could you?” He called over his shoulder.

Adam, crouched by a stack of leather-bound journals, looked up with a smirk. “It’s precise, not pleasant. Keeps you sharp.”

“Sharp.” Harry grumbled, though a grin tugged at his lips. Adam’s brilliance never ceased to amaze him— devising a spell like that at eleven was something even Dumbledore would gape at. Still, precision didn’t make the sting any easier to bear.

He turned back to the treasures, determined to sort through them properly. All the hell he’d been through lingered in his mind; he wasn’t about to let a cursed trinket catch him off guard.

Next was a small wooden box, its lid carved with spiraling runes that seemed to shift under the flickering light. He cast the spell again, biting his lip as the pain flared, sharper this time. The box pulsed a sharp red, and he quickly set it aside on the growing pile of cursed objects, his fingers tingling from the brief contact.

“Definitely not touching that.” He muttered, wiping his hand on his jeans. The air felt thicker now, pressing against his chest, and he wondered how many of these things whoever made this place had hexed.

As the minutes stretched on, Harry moved to a tarnished brass orb, its surface etched with faint constellations. The spell revealed no curse, just a cool hum that vibrated up his arm. He rolled it between his hands, marveling at its weight, and imagined it belonged to some stargazing ancestor.

“This one’s fine.” He said, setting it down gently. “But… what’s this?”

Harry’s fingers brushed against something cold and smooth, buried beneath a tangle of moth-eaten cloth. He tugged it free, revealing an oddly shaped ceremonial dagger— its blade curved like a crescent moon, the hilt wrapped in dark leather that felt faintly oily to the touch. It gleamed dully in the room’s dim light, and a shiver ran up his spine, though he couldn’t say why.

He turned it over in his hands, feeling its weight, the way it seemed to hum faintly against his skin. Was it cursed? He opened his mouth to cast Inspicere Empiricus again, but before he could, Adam’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Harry, come here— I know who made this place.” Adam said, his tone sharp with excitement. He sat cross-legged on the stone floor, a thick book splayed open in front of him, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges. Harry set the dagger down carefully and hurried over, dropping to his knees beside his brother. The air smelled of old ink and secrets, and his heart thudded with anticipation.

Adam tapped a passage with his finger, his mismatched eyes bright.

“It’s Cassius Black— fourteenth century. Says here he enchanted a locket, convinced his sons it was some grand heirloom. Wanted them to carry on his legacy, but none of them had ‘the power,’ whatever that means.” He paused, glancing at Harry. “I reckon he was talking about Ancient Magic. You know, what you’ve got.”

Harry blinked, the words sinking in slowly.

“Ancient Magic? But— even then, I’m not a Black. How’s this room even letting me in?” He gestured vaguely at the treasures around them, the dagger glinting in his peripheral vision like it was listening.

Adam grinned, flipping back a page.

“You are, sort of. Through your mum’s side, distantly. The Blacks are all tangled up with the Potters if you go back far enough.” He leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Cassius must’ve tied this place to that power, not just the name. Ancestry would suffice, at that point.”

Harry stared at the book, then at Adam, a rush of questions bubbling up.

“So he made all this— the pendant, the library— for someone like me?” His voice wavered, caught between awe and disbelief. Adam nodded, already skimming the next paragraph, and Harry sat back on his heels, the dagger’s strange hum echoing in his mind. It felt like the room was watching him now, waiting for something he didn’t yet understand.

Harry sat there, the stone floor cold beneath him, as Adam’s words settled like dust in his mind.

He wasn’t a Black— not really, not in the way Sirius was, with his sharp grin and wild stories of the family’s past. Yet here was Adam, telling him their bloodlines crossed somewhere in the murky tangle of history. He frowned, tracing a crack in the floor with his finger. “So you’re saying I’ve got Black in me? Actual Black, like Sirius?”

Adam looked up from the book, his expression softening.

“Yeah, through your grandparents on your father’s side, I believe. It’s distant, but it’s there. You’re tied to this place, Harry— Ancient Magic or not.” He shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, and went back to reading.

A warmth bloomed in Harry’s chest, spreading slow and steady like a fire catching on damp wood. Sirius wasn’t just the man who’d given him a home, a laugh, a glimpse of what family could be— he was kin, bound by blood through centuries of wizards and witches Harry would never know.

He pictured Sirius now, out with Amy, probably charming her with some ridiculous tale, and the thought made him smile. It was nice, knowing they shared more than just Grimmauld Place’s creaky halls.

He glanced around the secret room, its treasures glinting faintly in the shadows— goblets, rings, the pendant, the library, and that eerie dagger— all of it tied to Cassius Black and his hopes for a descendant with power. Harry’s power. Ancient Magic, the same strange force that hummed in his veins, had opened this chamber to him alone. He shifted, resting his chin on his hand. “Reckon that’s why it only lets me in? The magic and the blood?”

Adam nodded without looking up.

“It’s what makes sense, right? Cassius cared about lineage and strength. You’ve got what he wanted.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but it sent a thrill through Harry, tinged with something heavier— expectation, maybe, or fear of what that strength meant.

For a while, he just sat there, letting the room’s quiet hum fill the silence. The air felt charged, like a storm brewing behind the walls, and he wondered what Cassius would’ve thought of him— a scrawny twelve-year-old with messy hair and a lightning scar. The warmth lingered, though, grounding him. He was part of this, part of Sirius, and that was enough for now.

Harry shifted closer to Adam, the chill of the stone seeping through his jeans.

“Is there more in there?” He asked, nodding at the book. “About the magic, or the locket— anything useful?”

His voice carried a quiet hope, though he half-expected disappointment. Answers had a way of slipping through his fingers lately, like smoke he couldn’t quite catch.

Adam flipped through a few pages, the parchment rustling in the stillness. His brow furrowed, and he let out a small huff.

“Not much. It’s mostly a biography— Cassius going on about his experiments, his sons, his grand plans. Nothing specific about how your powers work.” He paused, running a finger down a faded line of text. “I’d have to read the whole thing to dig out anything else.”

Harry nodded, his shoulders slumping a little. He’d hoped for something concrete— a spell, a clue, anything to make sense of the Ancient Magic buzzing under his skin. But nothing was ever that easy, was it? He leaned back against a rickety table, the wood creaking under his weight, and let his gaze wander over the room. The dagger glinted in the corner, its curved blade catching the faint light, while a pile of dusty scrolls spilled from a shelf like they’d been waiting centuries to be read. It was all so much— too much, maybe— and yet it felt like a start.

“Figures.” He said, forcing a grin. “Can’t just hand us the answers, can he?”

“Tell me about it.” Adam scoffed, moving a chair so he could sit. It landed with a surprisingly soft thud that sent a puff of dust into the air. Harry coughed, waving it away, and for a moment they just sat there, the house silent around them. Sirius was still out, Remus miles away at Hogwarts, and Grimmauld Place felt like it was holding its breath, guarding their secret.

He lingered there for a moment before he went for the dagger again. His fingers brushed its hilt as he hefted it. Its cold metal seemed to pulse faintly, a whisper of something he couldn’t name, and he pulled his hand back, unease prickling his skin.

Across the chamber, Adam snapped the biography shut, the sound sharp against the muffled hum of the room. Dust swirled in the dim light, catching on the piles of treasures— goblets, rings, scrolls— that glinted like eyes watching them go.

“I think this will be the key to everything. Just have to decipher it… At any rate, ready to go?” Adam asked, slinging the book under his arm, his voice steady as ever.

“Yeah.” Harry mumbled, though he wasn’t sure he meant it. His legs felt restless, itching to move, and he followed Adam to the entrance. The wall slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, sealing the chamber’s secrets away. They climbed the narrow stairs, the floorboards groaning underfoot, and Harry’s mind buzzed.

Beside them in the gloomy kitchen, Kreacher’s muttering echoed from some distant corner, a low grumble about insolent boys. Adam headed for the pantry, rubbing his hands together.

“Fancy a bite? Think there’s still some bread that Kreacher made.” His tone was light, but Harry barely heard him. His wand felt heavy in his pocket, and the memory of the Death Eater’s snarl flickered in his head— too close, too real.

“Let’s duel instead.” Harry said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. He squared his shoulders, meeting Adam’s gaze, his green eyes bright with something fierce.

Adam paused, a jar of jam halfway out of the cupboard, and stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, thick with the creak of the house, until Adam set the jar down, his lips twitching faintly.

“Alright.” He said, stepping closer. “You’re on.”

The two headed for the small fighting arena, and Harry began to psyche himself up. Adam’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of concern passing over his face before he tilted his head.

“What kind of duel are we talking about, then?” He asked, his voice careful, testing.

Harry’s grip tightened on his wand, the holly smooth against his palm.

“Don’t hold back.” He said, the words coming out sharper than he’d meant. “I mean it, Adam— no playing it safe. I need to know where I stand.”

He paced a step, the floor creaking under his trainers, and his chest felt tight, like it had since that fight with the Death Eater. The memory clawed at him— jets of green light searing the air, his own stumble as he’d dodged, the sickening realization of how close he’d come to the end. He stopped, meeting Adam’s gaze again. “I need this.”

Adam didn’t move for a heartbeat, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he studied Harry. The silence stretched, and Harry wondered if Adam would argue, tell him he was being reckless. But then Adam’s jaw set, and he nodded slowly.

“Alright.” He said, quieter this time. “No holding back. You sure?”

“Yeah.” Harry replied, his voice steady. He stood rigid, his wand raised, the tip pointed at Adam across the drawing room’s faded rug. His heart thudded loud in his ears, drowning out the distant drip of a leaking pipe somewhere from the outside.

Adam’s stance was calm, almost too calm— feet apart, shoulders loose, wand held like an extension of himself. Harry mirrored him, planting his trainers firmly on the creaky floor, feeling the faint hum of magic pulsing through the air. He could still hear the cries of all the people he’d let down, and he used that to fuel him.

“You ready?” Adam asked, his voice cutting through the haze. His eyes locked on Harry’s, steady and unreadable, and for a moment, Harry saw the brother who’d faced Castelobruxo wizards with an army of Acromantula, unflinching. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and the air seemed to thicken, charged with intent.

For a heartbeat, neither moved, the silence stretching taut like a bowstring. Then Adam’s wand twitched, and Harry’s instincts flared— muscle memory from a dozen close calls kicking in. The duel was on, and whatever came next, he’d meet it head-on.

Even as he dodged, Harry’s wand trembled slightly in his grip, not from fear but from the buzz of energy coiling in his veins.

“Expelliarmus!” He shouted, flicking his wrist. A bolt of reddish light streaked toward Adam, crackling with faint sparks— his magic always carried that extra edge, a shimmer of bluish-white power he couldn’t quite control.

Adam’s wand slashed upward without a word, a nonverbal Protego shimmering into place. The spell collided with the shield, scattering into a shower of sparks that singed the rug. Adam’s lips quirked faintly, and Harry darted left, his trainers scuffing the floorboards. He felt the air shift, his heightened senses catching the subtle twitch of Adam’s shoulder.

“Stupefy!” Harry called, the spell bursting forth with a snap of electricity, faster than he’d expected.

Adam sidestepped, his reaction crisp but not rushed, and countered silently— a jet of orange light spiraling toward Harry. Harry threw up his own “Protego!“

The shield flared bright as the spell crashed against it. The impact jolted his arm, but he grinned, adrenaline surging. Adam wasn’t messing around, even now. Good.

The room felt smaller with every move, the dusty air thick with the hum of magic. Harry dashed forward, a blur of bluish-white light wreathing him as he tapped into his power. The magical dash carried him across the space in an instant, and he twisted mid-motion, shouting.

“Incarcerous!” Ropes shot from his wand, crackling with static, aimed at Adam’s legs.

Adam’s movement was more jittery now, but still his wand flicked again, no sound, and the ropes veered off, tangling harmlessly around a chipped armchair. He tilted his head, eyes sharp, assessing.

“Not bad.” He said, the first words since they’d started, and Harry caught the glint of challenge in them. He darted again, testing Adam’s reflexes, circling like a hawk. Adam blocked another Stunning Charm, his movements economical, his stance unshaken.

Harry’s grin widened as he skidded to a stop, the bluish-white glow fading from his dash. He thrust his wand forward, voice ringing out. “Incendio!“

A torrent of flame erupted from his Holly wand, laced with arcs of lightning that snapped and hissed, scorching the air as it roared toward Adam. The spell was supercharged, hotter and faster than it should’ve been, and Harry’s heart pounded with the thrill of it.

Adam’s eyes widened, and he leapt aside, his nonverbal Shield Charm flaring just in time. The fire slammed into the shield, tongues of flame licking outward, singeing the edge of his sleeve. Harry didn’t wait— he dashed again, the room blurring as he reappeared behind Adam.

“Expelliarmus!” He cried, the spell blazing with electric fury.

Adam spun, wand slashing downward, and this time, something new shimmered into being— silvery energy chains erupted from his tip, coiling like living serpents. They snapped forward, intercepting Harry’s spell mid-air, the impact sparking violently as the chains absorbed the blast. Harry blinked, momentarily thrown, but recovered fast.

“Stupefy!” He shouted, darting right, the spell streaking with unnatural speed.

The chains whipped around, forming a shimmering barrier, and the Stunning Charm ricocheted off, shattering a cracked vase on a nearby table. Adam’s face tightened, focus absolute, and Harry pressed harder. He dashed again, circling, his senses screaming— Adam’s heartbeat, the faint creak of the floor, every detail sharp as glass.

“Reducto!” The blast tore toward Adam with a thunderous crack, lightning weaving through it.

Adam’s chains surged, wrapping into a dense shield, but the force rocked him back a step, his shoes sliding on the rug. Harry’s chest heaved, sweat beading on his brow. He was pushing Adam now, forcing him to rely on those chains.

“Come on!” He taunted, voice raw, and darted again, a streak of light. “Petrificus Totalus!“

The spell flew, supercharged and relentless, and Adam’s chains lashed out, barely deflecting it. The air crackled with their clash, and Harry felt the tide turning— he was faster, sharper, and Adam was scrambling to keep up.

Scrambling, but certainly nowhere near done; the chains twisted suddenly, splitting apart— one tendril lunging at Harry like a whip while the others reformed into a shield. Harry dashed sideways, the chain grazing his arm with a stinging jolt, and he gritted his teeth.

“Protego!” He incanted, his shield flaring just as Adam’s nonverbal spell— a jagged bolt of purple light— slammed into it. The impact rattled his bones, but he held firm, senses blazing.

“Reducto!” Harry shouted, his voice hoarse, the spell exploding outward with a roar of thunder. Lightning danced along its edges, wild and uncontained, and Adam’s chains spiraled to meet it. The collision shook the room, dust raining from the ceiling, and a link in the chain shattered, sizzling as it hit the floor. Adam flinched, off-balance, and Harry seized the chance.

“Stupefy!” He yelled, dashing forward, the spell a blinding streak.

Adam ducked, the charm nearly grazing his shoulder, and countered silently— a swarm of chains erupting in chaotic arcs. Harry blocked one, then dashed to evade another, but a third caught his ankle, yanking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, rolling instinctively, and sprang up, wand slashing.

“Incendio!” Lightning infused flames roared again, forcing the chains back, but Adam was relentless, his attack pattern shifting unpredictably.

Harry’s breath burned in his lungs, his speed faltering as exhaustion crept in. A chain snapped past his guard, striking his ribs, and he gasped, stumbling.

“Protego!” He managed, blocking a follow-up spell— a vicious red burst— that would’ve floored him. Adam’s defenses were holding, but Harry saw the sweat on his brow, the slight tremble in his wand hand.

He dashed again, disoriented but defiant, and bellowed. “Expelliarmus!“

Direct hit! The spell hit Adam square in the chest, sending him staggering back, his chains flickering. Harry pressed forward, desperate to break through, but Adam’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous now as he resisted the spell entirely— time to escalate.

Harry’s ribs ached, but he ignored it, his senses screaming as he raised his wand again.

“Reducto!” He roared, the spell tearing free with a deafening boom, lightning coiling around it like a storm unleashed. Adam’s chains surged to block, but the force shattered them into fragments, and he stumbled, crashing against a table that splintered under his weight.

Harry dashed closer, bluish-white power flaring, and used his next spell. “Incarcerous!“

Ropes lashed out, crackling with static, aimed to bind. Adam rolled aside, his wand flicking silently, and the ropes twisted mid-air, snapping back at Harry. He ducked, heart pounding, and retaliated with a Stunning Charm, one so fast it nearly caught his brother off guard. Adam’s chains reformed, deflecting it, but Harry saw the strain in his brother’s face. They weren’t playing anymore— this was raw, reckless, and Harry wanted to win.

Adam’s wand slashed downward, and the chains morphed— McGonagall’s training showing as they flattened, sharpened, becoming a shimmering net. It shot toward Harry, too wide to dodge, and he dashed, the net grazing his shoulder with a searing burn.

“Incendio!” He yelled, flames erupting, but the net absorbed them, glowing red-hot. Adam advanced, his movements deliberate, and Harry’s instincts screamed danger.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry cried, darting left, but Adam’s net twisted again as they deflected it before transfiguring mid-air into a coil of iron vines. They lashed out, wrapping Harry’s legs, and he fell, wand arm pinned as the vines tightened. He thrashed, his power flaring uselessly, and Adam stepped closer, wand steady.

“Petrificus Totalus.” Adam said aloud, the first spell he’d voiced, and the vines locked solid, holding Harry fast as they took all feeling away from his limbs.

Harry glared up, chest heaving, the room spinning as the fight drained out of him. Adam’s face was bruised, his sleeve torn, but his eyes were calm— victorious.

“You’ve gotten faster.” He said, breathing hard. “But I’ve been preparing for your speed.”

Harry slumped against the splintered remains of the drawing room table, the iron vines crumbling to dust around his legs as Adam’s Finite released him. His ribs throbbed where the chain had struck, and his wand hand trembled from the strain of the duel.

The air still crackled faintly, the scent of scorched wood and dust hanging heavy in Grimmauld Place’s gloom. He’d lost— pinned like his younger self caught off guard by Dudley and his goons— and the sting of it settled in his chest, dull but persistent. His Ancient Magic, all that speed and lightning, hadn’t been enough. Not this time.

Adam brushed off his torn sleeve, wincing as he rolled his shoulder, and caught Harry’s eye.

“Don’t look so glum.” He said, his voice rough but warm. He stepped closer, kicking aside a shard of the broken vase they’d smashed earlier. “I’ve been working on those chains for over a year, you know. Took me months just to stop them tangling up my own feet.”

He grinned, a flicker of pride in his tired eyes. “And this transfiguration bit— McGonagall’s been drilling me on it since the hols began. It’s opened up whole new plateaus I didn’t even see before.”

Harry pulled his knees up, resting his arms on them as he stared at the singed rug. A year. He hadn’t thought about that— Adam grinding away at his spellwork while Harry was still fumbling with powers he barely understood. The lightning, the dashes, the way his spells sparked without warning— it was all so new, crashing into him like a storm he couldn’t steer. He rubbed his neck, the ache of defeat easing just a fraction.

 “Still.” He muttered. “Thought I’d at least get close.”

“You did.” Adam said, crouching beside him, his tone earnest now. “Your speed’s unreal, Harry. And that Ancient Magic? You’ve barely had it long enough to figure out what it can do. Give it time.”

He paused to catch his breath, and then added. “I reckon you could give Hien a run for his money, easy.”

Harry’s head snapped up, a spark of recognition cutting through his haze.

“Hien?” He pictured the wiry boy from Mahoutokoro— fast, ruthless, one of Adam’s tougher matches in the League of Nine. A smile tugged at his lips, small but real. “You think?”

Adam nodded, leaning back on his hands.

“Oh, yeah. He’d hate trying to keep up with you darting around like that. Probably trip over his own wand.” His grin widened, and Harry felt the knot in his chest loosen. Maybe he wasn’t hopeless— just raw, unpolished. The idea of facing someone like Hien, matching that skill, lit a quiet fire in him.

“What about Akio, then?” Harry asked, his voice lighter now, teasing. “Could I take him?”

Akio— another name from the tournament, a Mahoutokoro prodigy Adam had grumbled about for weeks after a brutal, near loss.

Adam threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the cracked walls.

“Akio? Mate, he’d have you eating dirt before you could say ‘Expelliarmus.’ Guy’s a tank— chains or no chains, I’m not sure I could take him in a rematch.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and Harry couldn’t help it— he laughed too, the sound raw and shaky but honest. It felt good, letting the tension bleed away, the room’s oppressive air lifting for a moment.

As their laughter faded, Adam pushed himself up, brushing dust off his jeans.

“Come on.” He said, offering a hand. “How about I grab us some ice cream? Reckon we’ve earned it after trashing the place.”

He glanced around at the wreckage— splintered furniture, scorch marks, a toppled chair tangled in Harry’s earlier ropes— and smirked. “Sirius’ll have a laugh at this— though I suspect Kreacher will have a fit…”

Harry took the hand, hauling himself to his feet with a groan. His legs ached, his ribs twinged, but the promise of something cold and sweet softened the edges of it all.

“Yeah, alright.” He said, relaxing into the moment. The duel lingered in his mind, but it didn’t sting as much now. He followed Adam toward the kitchen, the creak of the floorboards a familiar rhythm, and let the weight of failure slip behind him.

Ice cream sounded perfect.