Drake

The next month passed in a strange rhythm— days that dragged with the weight of routine, yet somehow slipped through my fingers like water. Time felt different here. Maybe it was because I’d spent what felt like centuries in the void, where time had no meaning at all. Or maybe it was simply that I had nowhere urgent to go, no immediate crisis demanding action. Just… existence.

After Draco had rejected my proposal to venture north, I’d taken Professor Sprout’s advice to heart. If I couldn’t charge off to fix everything immediately, then I would make myself useful here. Whatever the camp needed, I offered my hands, my mind, and my magic.

The work was humbling in ways I hadn’t expected.

My first real task had been organizing salvaged potion ingredients in one of the supply tents— a job that sounded simple until I saw the state of the materials. Six years of scavenging had produced a chaotic mixture of properly preserved components alongside corrupted, degraded, or outright dangerous substances. The woman who’d overseen the supplies, a sharp-eyed former Apothecary assistant named Muriel, had taken one look at me and said. “If you’re half as useful as Draco claims, you’ll earn your keep. If you’re not, at least you’ll learn something before you get us all killed.”

The challenge had been clear: separate everything by type without using active magic on any of it. One careless spell and we could trigger a cascading reaction that would contaminate or destroy the entire stock. Some ingredients— like the desiccated moonstone powder or the fire-seed pods— were stable enough. Others, like the jar of what had once been unicorn hair but now pulsed with a sickly purple taint, required extreme caution.

I worked for three days on that task, stopping only when Muriel physically dragged me away from the tables. I sorted by hand, trusting my instincts and my enhanced senses. The unicorn hair went into the “powerful and potentially hazardous material” pile. Many others, such as the fire-seed pods, surprisingly, had remained pure and went into secure storage for emergency use. By the end, we had a functional inventory system, clearly labeled containers, and a quarantine section for anything that might pose a risk.

Muriel had actually smiled when I finished. “You’ve got a good eye, Black. And a steady hand. We can actually do something with this now.”

The second task had been stranger and, in some ways, more revealing about what I’d become.

The camp’s perimeter wards were a patchwork affair— layers upon layers of protective magic woven by different casters over the years, some dead now, others simply gone. The wards worked, after a fashion, but they were inefficient and showed gaps that any competent attacker could exploit. Scrimgeour had mentioned it in passing one evening, and I’d volunteered immediately.

The enchanter who’d been maintaining them— a grizzled man named Wendell who’d once worked for the Department of Mysteries— had been skeptical. “Wards aren’t something you just pick up.” He’d said bluntly.

“They require precision, patience, and a deep understanding of how magical fields interact. One mistake and you’ll unravel the whole thing.”

“Then teach me.” I replied. “Or let me show you what I can do, and you can decide if I’m more help or hindrance.”

He’d agreed, grudgingly, and we’d spent a week working together on the northeastern section of the perimeter. What surprised both of us was how naturally my magic integrated into the existing ward structure. I didn’t weave traditional wards the way he did— with careful, deliberate spell-work. Instead, I extended my chains through the gaps, letting them settle into place like roots finding purchase in soil.

The magic that powered them was different from normal magic, darker and colder, but it was also remarkably stable. When I anchored the chains properly, they didn’t just fill the gaps— they reinforced the entire section, creating a lattice that made the wards stronger and more responsive. Wendell had stood back, watching the way the silvery-black links settled into place, and shook his head slowly.

“That shouldn’t work.” He muttered. “The resonance is all wrong. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“And yet, here the barrier stands.” I offered.

He gave me a long, measuring look before smiling to himself in excitement. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s yet another rule we didn’t know about. So much to learn, isn’t it amazing.”

“I suppose so.”

I hadn’t known how to respond to that, so I’d simply finished the work. By the time we were done, that section of the perimeter was the strongest in the entire camp. Wendell had actually clapped me on the shoulder and said. “You’ve got a gift, boy. A strange one, but a gift nonetheless.”

The third task had been quieter, more solitary, and oddly meditative.

The camp had a small library— if you could call it that. Really, it was just a reinforced corner of a partially collapsed building where they’d stacked every magical text, scroll, and artifact they’d managed to salvage from the ruins of the Ministry and other places. Some were intact, others were damaged, and a few were so damaged that they needed to be thrown out. Better as kindling than anything else.

Still, there was potentially the chance to learn a few spells, if I could.

And so, I’d taken the job without hesitation.

For two weeks, I sat in that dusty corner, carefully examining each item. I found a partially burned copy of Moste Potente Potions with water damage that made half the pages illegible. A surprisingly intact collection of The Tales of Beedle the Bard in seven different languages. A cursed diary that tried to latch onto my hand the moment I touched it— I incinerated that one immediately with a focused burst of magic, ignoring the way the smoke smelled like burning flowers and the screaming.

There were treasures too. A complete set of Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts volumes. A field guide to magical creatures that was six editions out of date but still useful for understanding the basic versions of the corrupted creatures we now faced. And, buried at the bottom of a crate, a leather-bound journal that turned out to be a personal account from an Unspeakable who’d studied the Veil. I’d set that one aside immediately for later reading.

By the time I’d finished, we had a proper catalog— three separate lists, actually. Safe materials for general study. Restricted materials that required supervision. And a burn list for anything too dangerous or corrupted to keep.

The elderly witch who oversaw the library, a former Ravenclaw named Josephine, had nearly cried when she saw the finished work.

“We’ve been meaning to organize this mess for a while, but we had more pressing concerns.” She’d said, voice thick with emotion. “Well done.”

“Thank you.”

Now, finishing up my latest task, I felt the familiar satisfaction of work completed. I’d been helping with water purification— a delicate process that involved setting up systems to filter and cleanse water drawn from questionable sources. The contraption had to be perfect, or the resulting water would not be filtered properly. At the very end, I added a boiling process, making that any potential bacteria or other organisms in the water were completely dead.

I watched as the boss, a fellow by the name of Hector, placed the spell; the array hummed to life, glowing with a soft blue light that pulsed in time with the water flowing through it. Clean water trickled into the collection basin, and I tasted it carefully. Cold, clear, and with just the faintest mineral tang. Perfect.

“Well done, Black.” Said Hector. He walked over now, inspecting the array with an approving nod. “That’s fine work. Better than fine, actually. The last three people who tried to set up a purification array either failed to get it running properly or ended up with water that tasted like rust and regret.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the description. “I had a good teacher, and practical experience; helped Hagrid with work ever since my first year at Hogwarts— everything from tending to hippogriffs to maintaining the groundskeeper’s hut. You learn to be good at magic when you’re working around creatures that can kill you if you startle them.”

The moment Hagrid’s name left my mouth, Hector’s expression shifted. It was subtle— a tightening around his eyes, a brief press of his lips— but unmistakable. Something about the mention of Hogwarts’s groundskeeper had struck a nerve.

“Hagrid.” Hector repeated slowly, as if testing the weight of the name. Then he shook his head slightly and turned away, busying himself with checking the water flow. “Right. Well, you clearly learned your lessons well. This should keep us supplied for at least a few weeks, assuming nothing breaks.”

I waited, expecting him to elaborate on his reaction, but he didn’t. He simply thanked me again, complimented my work one more time, and then excused himself, citing other duties that needed his attention.

I stood there for a moment, watching him go, that odd exchange turning over in my mind. What was that about? Had something happened to Hagrid? Was he even alive? The thought sent a cold spike of worry through my chest, but I forced it down. If something terrible had happened, surely someone would have told me by now. Remus would have mentioned it, or Draco, or any of the dozen other people I’d spoken with over the past month.

Still, the reaction nagged at me.

I shook it off— or tried to— and gathered my things, bidding farewell to a couple of other workers who’d been nearby. They called out thanks and see-you-laters, voices friendly and familiar in a way that still surprised me. Even the most bitter, suspicious survivors had warmed to me over the past month, largely because I’d made a point of helping anyone who asked. I’d fixed things, sorted supplies, taught basic defensive magic to those who’d never learned, and even helped with cooking when the usual volunteers had been too exhausted to manage.

It felt good to be useful. It felt good to be part of something, even if that something was just the daily struggle to survive.

I made my way through the camp toward the tent I now shared with Remus. He’d offered me space after my first two days here, noting that I was sleeping in a corner of the supply tent and that he had room for a second cot. I’d accepted gratefully, and in the weeks since, we’d settled into an easy companionship.

Remus seemed genuinely glad for the company. The years had not been kind to him— his Lycanthropy’s ‘cure’ had aged his body in ways which disallowed him from sustained combat. Combined with the losses he’d endured, all of this had worn him down in ways that I could scarcely imagine.

But having someone to share meals with, to talk to in the evenings, to simply exist alongside— it seemed to help him, and if I was honest, it helped me too.

As I approached the tent, I could smell something cooking— simple fare, probably stew made from whatever vegetables Professor Sprout had managed to grow and some preserved meat from the stores. My stomach growled in anticipation. Real food, cooked with care, was still a luxury I didn’t take for granted.

I pushed open the tent flap and stepped inside, the familiar space welcoming me like a quiet embrace. Remus looked up from where he was stirring a pot over a small magical fire, and he smiled.

“Finished already?” He asked. “I thought the water purification task would take you most of the afternoon.”

“It went faster than expected.” I said, setting down my supplies and washing my hands in the basin near the entrance. “Hector seemed pleased with the result.”

“Good.” Remus said. “We need more people who can handle that kind of delicate work. Come, sit. Lunch is almost ready, and we have much to discuss.”

I settled onto my cot, watching as Remus ladled stew into two wooden bowls and brought them over. The scent was hearty and rich, and when I tasted it, I couldn’t suppress a satisfied sigh. After a month of regular meals, my body had begun to recover from the near-starvation I’d experienced after emerging from the void. I’d put on weight, regained strength, and the constant exhaustion had faded to something more manageable.

“You’re a good cook.” I said between bites.

Remus chuckled.

“Necessity breeds skill. When you’ve spent as many years scrounging for food as I have, you learn to make the most of what you’ve got.” He paused, studying me over his bowl. “You’re looking better, Adam. More solid. More… present.”

“I feel better.” I admitted. “Being here, helping out— it’s grounding. Gives me something to focus on besides everything I’ve lost.”

“That’s good.” Remus said quietly. “Purpose matters, especially in times like these. It’s what keeps us moving forward when everything else says we should lie down and give up.”

We ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, and then, because the question had been weighing on me since I’d arrived, I asked. “Remus, what happened to Kreacher?”

The effect was immediate and startling.

Remus went completely still, his spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened, and his head snapped around as if expecting something— or someone— to appear. For several heartbeats, he simply sat there, tense and alert, scanning the tent as though searching for danger.

When nothing happened, he slowly relaxed, but his expression remained wary. He set his spoon down carefully and turned back to me, his voice low and urgent.

“Adam.” He said. “Don’t use that name.”

I frowned, confused by the intensity of his reaction. “Don’t use… what? K— his name? Why? Has it been made Taboo or something?”

The Taboo had been one of Voldemort’s most insidious tools during canon— a curse that allowed his followers to track anyone who spoke his name aloud. If something similar had been placed on house-elf names, that would explain Remus’s alarm.

But Remus shook his head, though his expression didn’t ease. “No, not Taboo. It’s… complicated. And dangerous in a different way.”

He stood, moving to the tent entrance to check that no one was nearby, then returned and sat down heavily. He looked older in that moment, more tired than I’d seen him in weeks.

“The house-elves.” He began slowly. “They were changed by the opening of the Veil’s portal. Fundamentally, irrevocably changed. Do you remember how powerful they were before? How their magic was different from wizard magic— older, deeper, tied to service and bonds in ways we never fully understood?”

I nodded. I’d seen Kreacher do things that should have been impossible, moving through wards like they didn’t exist, Apparating where no one else could. House-elf magic had always been something apart.

“When the Veil tore open.” Remus continued, his voice heavy with something between awe and fear. “Their magic was caught in the backlash. The surge of energy, the break between worlds— it empowered them. Not just made them stronger, Adam. It fundamentally transformed what they were. Their already considerable magic became something else entirely. Something vast.”

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, and when he spoke again, his words were careful. “They changed in appearance too. They don’t look like the house-elves you remember— small, wrinkled, dressed in rags or pillowcases. Now they look… Well, they look like young children. Human children, more or less, though there’s something unmistakably other about them if you look closely enough.”

The image was hard to reconcile with my memories of Kreacher— ancient, and wrinkly. To picture him as a child, transformed by magic beyond comprehension…

“I don’t feel the bond anymore.” I said quietly. “The connection I had with K—him. It’s gone. I noticed it when I first got back. I thought maybe it was because I was ‘dead,’ or because I’d been gone so long. Is that why?”

Remus’s expression turned grim. “No. It’s not because you were dead or gone. It’s because the bond itself was broken— deliberately, in most cases. The surge of power that transformed the elves didn’t just make them stronger. It changed them conceptually. What they were, what they could be, what they were bound to— all of it shifted. The slave bindings that tied them to wizarding families… those bindings eroded. Some crumbled naturally under the weight of the elves’ new power. Others were forcibly shattered by the elves themselves once they realized they could.”

The implications of that crashed over me like a wave. “They’re free.”

“Yes.” Remus said simply. “They’re free. And they want nothing to do with wizarding society. Can you blame them? Centuries of slavery, of being bound to serve families who often treated them as less than animals— and then suddenly, they have the power to break those chains. They left, Adam. All of them, or nearly all. They sequestered themselves far from the reach of anyone, wizards or muggles. They’ve built their own communities, their own society, somewhere we can’t find them and can’t touch them.”

“And their power?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

“In terms of raw magical ability, they’re not to be trifled with.” Remus said bluntly. “Some of the stories that have filtered back… let’s just say that the few wizards foolish enough to try to reclaim their ‘property’ or force the elves back into service didn’t live to regret it. The elves are beyond us now, Adam. Beyond our control, beyond our understanding, and frankly, beyond our ability to challenge even if we wanted to.”

I sat back, processing this. Kreacher, free. Changed. Gone to live among his own kind, in a place I could never reach. Part of me felt relief— he deserved freedom, deserved better than the life he’d been forced to live. But another part felt a deep, aching loss. Kreacher had been difficult, bitter, and often spiteful, but he’d also been family in his own twisted way.

“I’m glad he’s free.” I said finally. “He deserved that. They all did.”

Remus smiled faintly. “That’s a good way to look at it. Not everyone shares your perspective, but then, not everyone has your history. You always treated Kreacher more kindly than most would have.”

We fell into silence again, but it was different now— heavier, weighted with revelations and the enormity of how much the world had changed. I was about to ask Remus more about what he knew of the elves’ new society when the tent flap was pushed aside and Thomas stepped in.

The boy looked excited, his eyes bright as he glanced between Remus and me. “Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black— sorry to interrupt, but I thought you’d want to know. The Black Sisters just arrived.”

I perked up immediately, setting my bowl aside. “The Black Sisters?”

“Narcissa and Andromeda.” Thomas confirmed with a nod. “They rode in about twenty minutes ago, coming straight from a scouting mission up north. Word is they’ve got important news.”

Andromeda Black— or Andromeda Tonks, as she’d been known. I’d always wanted to meet her, the Black family member who’d been disowned for marrying a Muggleborn, who’d chosen love and principle over blood purity and family approval. And Narcissa… I had complicated feelings about Narcissa Malfoy. Memories flickered through my mind— her fierce spellcasting during her protection of Draco, the cold intelligence in her eyes.

Surely her time in this broken world had hardened her even further. Remus stood, accepting a folded piece of parchment from Thomas’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you, Thomas. We’ll be along shortly.”

The boy nodded and ducked back out of the tent, leaving us alone once more. Remus unfolded the parchment and read it silently, his expression shifting into something I couldn’t quite read— surprise, perhaps, mixed with a touch of amusement.

“Well?” I asked, standing as well. “What does it say?”

Remus looked up, and there was that smile again— the one that told me he was keeping secrets and enjoying it. “We’ve been invited to dine with the Black Sisters in approximately four hours. Apparently, there will be others there as well. People you’ll recognize.”

My curiosity flared immediately. “Who?”

His smile widened. “Now, where would be the fun in telling you that? You’ll just have to wait and see.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Perhaps.” He admitted with a chuckle. “But after the last six years, I’ll take my small pleasures where I can find them.”

“Fine.” I said, unable to suppress my own smile. “Where is this dinner taking place?”

“East side of camp.” Remus replied. “I can have someone guide you if you think you’ll get lost.”

I gave him a flat look. “I’ve been here for a month, Remus. I think I can manage to find my way across camp without an escort.”

He laughed at that, a genuine, warm sound that made something in my chest unclench. “Fair enough. Then I suppose I’ll see you there in a few hours.”

I nodded and headed back out of the tent, my mind already racing with possibilities. Who would be at this dinner? What news had the Black Sisters brought? And why did I have the strange, creeping feeling that tonight was going to change everything?

ooo

I left the tent and proceeded to complete a few more tasks to pass the time, but my mind was only half-present in the work. The other half churned through possibilities, turning over names and faces like cards in a deck I was trying to read.

Who would be at this dinner?

The obvious answer was Draco. He’d been keeping his distance from me over the past month— always citing busy work, always one meeting or patrol or organizational task away from spending real time together. I understood it, on some level. Seeing me had probably been a shock, maybe even painful. I was a ghost made flesh, a reminder of everything that had been lost and everyone who hadn’t come back. But family… Family was different. Draco wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be with Narcissa, especially if Andromeda was there too.

Whatever had changed in this broken world, whatever hardships Draco had endured, I knew one truth about him remained constant: family was everything. It always had been. During our school years, every choice he’d made, every position he’d taken, had been filtered through that lens. Protecting his mother. Honoring his father, even when Lucius’s choices were questionable at best. The Malfoy— or was it Black now?— family pride that had been both his greatest strength and his most significant burden.

In this new world, where so much had been lost, I suspected that priority had only intensified.

I helped a woman named Sarah reinforce the joints on a shelter frame, aiding her in casting protective charms into the wood. She thanked me absently, her attention absorbed by the delicate wandwork, and I moved on.

Next, I assisted in sorting through a fresh haul of scavenged supplies— mostly mundane items, clothing and tools and sealed containers of food that might or might not still be safe to eat. I checked each sealed container carefully. Most were fine. Three had spoiled in ways that would make anyone who ate them violently ill. One had somehow become magically toxic, pulsing with the same sickly purple taint I’d seen in corrupted creatures. I set that one aside for immediate disposal.

Who else might be there?

Scrimgeour seemed likely, given that the Black Sisters had been reporting to him. The grizzled Auror had become something of a central authority figure in the camp— not a leader in the traditional sense, but someone whose word carried weight, whose strategic mind helped keep everyone alive. If Narcissa and Andromeda had important news from their scouting mission, he’d want to be present when it was discussed more informally.

But beyond that? I had no idea.

“People you’ll recognize.” Remus had said. That could mean almost anyone who’d survived. Former professors, Order members, students who’d grown into adults during the six years I’d been gone…

I found myself hoping, despite knowing better, that it might be someone from the old days. Someone who’d known me before everything went wrong. But hope was a dangerous thing to indulge in this world, and I pushed it down, focusing instead on the rhythm of work.

Time had a way of slipping past when I let myself sink into tasks. It was almost meditative— the physical labor, the careful application of magic, the small conversations with people who’d come to trust me. I’d learned in the void that the mind needed anchors, needed routines and rituals to keep from drifting into despair.

Here, in this camp, these tasks served the same purpose.

Before I knew it, the light had shifted— not that there was much light to shift under the eternal darkness and purple auroras, but the camp’s magical illumination had changed in that subtle way that marked the passage of hours. I glanced at a nearby timepiece someone had hung on a tent post and realized with a start that I needed to head to dinner.

I said my goodbyes to the small group I’d been helping with supply sorting, their thanks following me as I made my way through the camp. The path toward the east side took me through the heart of the settlement, past clusters of tents and reinforced structures, past the communal areas where people gathered for meals and meetings.

As I walked, people called out greetings.

“Evening, Adam!”

“Good work today, Black!”

“See you tomorrow!”

I spotted Remus in the distance, moving slowly on his crutches toward the eastern edge of camp. I quickened my pace to catch up with him, falling into step beside him as he navigated the uneven ground.

“Thought you might get lost.” He said with a slight smile, not looking over at me.

“Thought you might appreciate the company.” I countered. “Besides, I figured if I followed you, I’d at least end up in the right place even if I didn’t remember the exact route.”

“Practical thinking.” Remus acknowledged. “But you’ve always been that way, haven’t you?”

We walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, moving along the camp’s perimeter defenses— carefully maintained wards that I’d helped reinforce just weeks ago. The eastern section of camp was quieter, more secluded, where the higher-ranking members and those who needed privacy for sensitive meetings tended to stay.

Finally, we reached a tent that was significantly larger than the others, its canvas reinforced with what looked like protective enchantments woven directly into the fabric. Power shimmered along the seams, and I could feel the subtle hum of powerful magic emanating from within.

“Here we are.” Remus said, gesturing toward the entrance. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I replied, though my heart had begun to beat faster with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

We stepped inside, and immediately I was struck by the contrast with the rest of the camp. Where most tents were spartan and functional, this one was almost luxurious— or at least, as luxurious as anything could be in a post-apocalyptic settlement. The canvas walls were lined with warming charms that made the interior comfortable despite the perpetual chill outside. Soft magical light illuminated the space, not the harsh, efficient lighting of the communal areas but something gentler, more welcoming.

We passed through what appeared to be a main sitting area— plush chairs that had clearly been salvaged from some manor house, a low table, even a few decorative items that spoke of a life before the world ended— and moved toward the voices coming from deeper within.

A soft chime sounded as we crossed a threshold, some kind of alert charm to announce visitors. The voices paused, and then a female voice called out, cultured and warm: “Come in, please.”

We stepped into the dining area, and I had to pause for a moment to take it all in.

A long table dominated the center of the room, already set with plates and glasses that gleamed in the magical light. And seated around it, some standing and conversing, were both familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Draco was there, as I’d expected. He stood near one end of the table, his posture straight and formal in a way that reminded me of the boy I’d known at Hogwarts, but there was a hardness to him now that hadn’t been there before.

Scrimgeour was present as well, looking every inch the battle-scarred warrior. The former Head Auror had his lion’s mane of gray hair tied back, and his eyes swiveled to track me as I entered. He nodded once, acknowledgment without warmth, but without hostility either.

Narcissa Malfoy— or was it back to Black now? I’d have to ask— stood near Draco, and seeing her made my breath catch slightly. She was still beautiful in that cold, aristocratic way, but there was a sharpness to her now that went beyond mere elegance. She wore dark robes that were both practical and refined, and her wand was visible in a holster at her hip, positioned for quick draw.

Next to her stood another woman who could only be Andromeda. The family resemblance was striking— the same facial features, but her hair was dark where Narcissa’s was blonde, worn in a more casual style than her sister’s perfect arrangement. But where Narcissa was ice, Andromeda seemed to be fire. Her eyes held warmth when they found mine, and she smiled slightly, studying me with open curiosity.

And then there were the surprises.

Tonks stood near her mother, and I felt something in my chest tighten at the sight of her. I’d gotten to know Nymphadora Tonks quite well. She was family to me.

And now, seeing her here, alive and apparently healthy, I felt relief so intense it was almost painful.

Her hair was currently short and black, and her eyes were the same shade, suggesting a mood that was either serious or defensive. She wore dark robes, modified for mobility and combat, and I could see the telltale bulge of multiple wand holsters beneath the fabric. She’d always been a skilled fighter, but clearly she’d honed that skill to a razor’s edge in the years I’d been gone.

And then, perched on a chair that seemed almost too large for her, was the last person I’d expected to see: Luna Lovegood.

She’d grown since I’d last seen her— no longer the tiny first-year who’d wandered Hogwarts with that dreamy expression, but a young woman now, probably seventeen or eighteen. She still had that same distant quality to her, as if she were only partially present in this reality, but there was a groundedness to her now too. She wore strange, mismatched clothing. and around her neck hung a necklace made of butterbeer caps that clinked softly when she moved.

When her pale eyes found mine, she smiled that serene smile I remembered and said, as if commenting on the weather. “Hello, Adam. I knew you’d come back eventually. The Nargles told me.”

Before I could respond— before I could even begin to process the surreal normalcy of that greeting— Tonks was moving.

She crossed the distance between us in three long strides, her eyes shifting from black to a furious red, her hair following suit.

“What place did I show you at Hogwarts?” She demanded, her voice tight with barely controlled emotion.

The question caught me off guard, but only for a moment.

“The Whispering Grove behind Adelbertolomew’s portrait.” I said quietly. “You said it was a place you went when you needed to think, when the world got too loud.”

Her eyes went wide, the red bleeding away to something brighter, more vulnerable. For a heartbeat she just stared at me, and I could see her warring with herself— disbelief fighting against hope, suspicion against the evidence of her own ears.

“I told you he wasn’t a fake.” Remus said gently from behind me, but Tonks wasn’t listening.

She rushed forward and crashed into me with enough force to nearly bowl me over, her arms wrapping around me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. I stumbled back a step, my own arms coming up automatically to return the embrace, and felt her shaking against me.

“I thought you were dead.” She said into my shoulder, her voice muffled and thick. “I thought you died at Stonehenge. They said you were a hero, that you’d sacrificed yourself to save the world, but I thought— I heard there was an ‘Adam Black’ in the camp, but I refused to believe it. I couldn’t— “

“I’m here.” I said, cutting her off gently. I pulled back enough to look down at her— when had I gotten taller than her?— and managed a smile. “I’m here, Tonks. Though if you keep squeezing me like this, I might actually die. Again.”

That startled a laugh out of her, wet and a little broken, but genuine. She released me immediately, stepping back and scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her hair shifted through several colors— red to pink to purple— before settling on a bright bubblegum pink that I remembered from before the world ended.

“Sorry.” She said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just— you’re really here. You’re really alive.”

“Mostly.” I said wryly. “I think. Still working on confirming that some days.”

She laughed again, then seemed to remember where we were. She turned, gesturing to the elegant woman standing nearby. She opened her mouth to speak, though she couldn’t find the words.

Andromeda stepped forward and smiled at me.

“Adam.” She said warmly. “I’m glad to see you’re back.”

She opened her arms in invitation. “May I?”

I nodded, and she hugged me— not with Tonks’s desperate intensity, but with a warmth that spoke of genuine affection and welcome. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Sirius would be so proud to see what you’ve become.” She said softly. “The way he spoke about you… you meant everything to him, you know.”

The words hit harder than I expected, driving straight into the hollow space in my chest where grief lived. Sirius. Missing for years now, vanished into the north searching for Harry. Was he even alive? Did he know I’d come back?

“Thank you.” I managed, my voice rougher than I’d intended. “That means a lot.”

I turned to Narcissa then, steeling myself. Our last meeting had been… complicated. Intense.

“Mrs. Malfoy.” I said formally, inclining my head. “It’s good to see you again. I… I wanted to apologize for the manner in which we last met. Things were chaotic, and I’m not sure I conducted myself as well as I could have.”

Her pale eyebrows rose slightly, and for a moment I thought she might laugh. Instead, her expression softened— not much, but noticeably. She shook her head slowly.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Adam.” She said, her voice as I remembered, though a bit warmer now as she patted Draco’s arm. “You and my son— you were the ones who helped set me on the path I always wished to tread. Though the world ended, I am still happy.”

The sincerity in her voice caught me off guard, and I found myself at a loss for words. This was not the Narcissa Malfoy I’d known, or thought I’d known. This was someone who’d been forged by loss and hardship into something different. Something stronger.

Before I could formulate a response, Draco’s voice cut through the moment.

“I’m hungry.” He announced, his tone deliberately light but carrying an undercurrent of tension. “Can we please eat before we all get too emotional and ruin the meal?”

That broke the moment, and Scrimgeour let out a grunt that might have been a chuckle. “The boy has a point. We can talk while we eat. Everyone, sit.”

We moved to the table, sorting ourselves into seats with the familiarity of people who’d shared too many meals in too many difficult circumstances. I found myself between Remus and Tonks, with Luna sitting across from me, still smiling that distant smile. Draco sat near his mother, with Andromeda on his other side, and Scrimgeour took the head of the table with the air of someone used to command.

As plates were filled and food was passed around— real food, prepared with care and magic, the kind of meal that was rare and precious in this world— the conversation flowed easily at first. Small talk, catching up, the comfortable banter of people who knew each other well.

But gradually, the tone shifted. Became more serious. And Narcissa, cutting her meat, began her report to Scrimgeour as casually as if she were discussing the weather.

“Things have been quiet in our territory for the past few weeks.” She said, her voice carrying clearly despite her calm tone. “Too quiet. The usual scouting runs have encountered minimal resistance— a few corrupted creatures, but nothing organized. No major attacks. No significant movements.”

“Which means?” Scrimgeour prompted, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Narcissa set down her fork and met his gaze directly. “Which means an attack is coming. Soon. We’ve seen this pattern before— a lull, a false sense of security, and then something breaks through in force.”

The atmosphere around the table grew heavier, more somber. I looked around and saw the same grim acceptance on every face. This wasn’t speculation or paranoia. This was experience talking, the hard-won knowledge of people who’d survived years of this.

“When?” I asked, unable to stay silent. “How soon?”

Narcissa turned those cool blue eyes on me.

“We don’t know exactly. We never do. As you all know, the creatures from beyond— ” She paused, and I saw something like hatred flash across her face “—they don’t follow predictable patterns. But based on previous cycles, I’d estimate we have a week at most. Possibly less.”

“Creatures from beyond.” I repeated slowly, thinking of the thing that had emerged from the Veil at Stonehenge, the entity that had nearly unmade reality itself before we’d driven it back. “Things from the other side of the Veil? I thought I put a stop to that.”

Draco nodded, his expression troubled. “It’s similar to that creature, but not quite the same. They’re… it’s hard to explain. They can be hurt, wounded, driven back. But we can’t truly kill them with any magic we possess. Not permanently. They retreat when they’re damaged enough, disappear back into whatever holes they crawled out of, but they always come back. Always.”

My chains stirred beneath my skin, responding to the tension in my body, to the certainty forming in my mind. I’d fought voidlings before. I knew what they were, how they moved, how they thought. If these creatures were similar…

“How do the battles usually end?” I asked quietly.

The table went silent. People exchanged glances, and I saw the answer in their faces before anyone spoke.

Finally, it was Scrimgeour who responded, his voice gravelly and matter-of-fact. “They end when enough of us die that the creatures decide we’re too wounded to be worth finishing off. Usually around twenty casualties. Sometimes fewer if we get lucky and hurt them badly enough early on. Sometimes less if they’re particularly aggressive.”

Twenty. Twenty people dead, every time one of these creatures attacked. I did the math quickly in my head— how many attacks over six years, how many deaths, how long before there simply weren’t enough people left to defend anything at all.

“We all know where this ends.” Andromeda said softly, voicing what everyone was thinking. “Within a few more years, there won’t be enough of us left to mount any kind of defense. The camp will fall. London will fall. Everything will fall.”

The bleakness in her voice was unbearable, made worse by the calm acceptance with which she said it.

I opened my mouth to ask what could be done, what plans they had, what hope remained— 

And that’s when the alarm sounded.

It started as a low, keening wail that rose in pitch and volume, a sound designed to carry across the entire camp and cut through any conversation, any thought, any illusion of safety. A sound that everyone in the camp had clearly been trained to recognize and respond to immediately.

Everyone at the table froze. For one suspended moment, no one moved, no one breathed.

Then Narcissa was on her feet, her wand in her hand so fast I almost missed the movement. Her eyes had gone steely, cold and focused.

“This is it.” She said, her voice cutting through the alarm’s wail like a blade. “The attack. It’s here. Now.”

Scrimgeour stood, his chair scraping back harshly. “Everyone, move. Battle stations. Standard defensive formation. Get the civilians to the safe zones and—”

But I barely heard the rest of his orders. The table had erupted into motion, everyone abandoning their meals and moving with the efficiency of soldiers who’d done this too many times before. Draco was already heading for the exit, his wand drawn. Narcissa and Andromeda moved together, coordinating wordlessly in the way only siblings could. Tonks followed in their wake, wand drawn and ready to go.

Luna stood, her dreamy expression replaced by something sharper, more present. She touched her butterbeer cap necklace almost reverently, whispered something I couldn’t hear, and followed the others.

I stood as well, adrenaline flooding my system. This was it. I moved to follow them out, to join the defense, to finally put my power to use— 

“Black!” Scrimgeour’s voice stopped me at the entrance. “Stay back with Lupin. Protect the evacuation points. If the creatures break through the main line, you’re the last defense for the civilians.”

I turned, frustration rising hot in my throat. “I can fight. I can help on the front— “

“Your orders are to stay back.” Scrimgeour repeated, his tone brooking no argument. “We don’t know what you can do yet. You’ve demonstrated a fair bit of knowledge on barriers from your help with us, but without your wand, we don’t know if you’ll be a help or a liability in a real fight. So until we do, you protect the rear. Understood?”

Every instinct screamed at me to argue, to insist, to prove myself. But I looked at the faces around me— at Draco’s carefully neutral expression, at Tonks’ worried eyes, at Remus’ understanding nod— and I realized they were right. I didn’t know this enemy. I didn’t know how to fight in coordination with these people. Going in blind could get someone killed.

“Understood.” I said through gritted teeth.

“Good. Now move!”

We poured out of the tent into chaos.

The camp had transformed in the span of heartbeats.

Where moments ago there had been the quiet routine of evening— people preparing meals, tending to tasks, settling in for the night— now there was controlled urgency. Not panic, I noted with some surprise, but the disciplined movement of people who’d rehearsed this scenario too many times to count.

Wizards and witches ran toward predetermined positions, wands drawn. Other survivors shepherded children and the elderly toward the center of the camp, toward the reinforced structures that served as shelters. Defensive wards flared to life along the perimeter, visible as shimmering barriers of golden light that pulsed in time with the alarm.

And beyond those wards, in the darkness and the writhing purple auroras, something moved.

I couldn’t see it clearly yet, but I could feel it— a wrongness pressing against the edges of perception, a presence that made my void-touched senses scream warnings. The chains beneath my skin writhed in response, eager and hungry, recognizing something familiar in that darkness.

“This way!” Remus called, already moving toward one of the evacuation points despite his crutches. I followed, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand even as every fiber of my being wanted to run toward the threat, not away from it.

We reached a cluster of reinforced structures near the camp’s center where families were gathering. Parents clutched children, elderly survivors leaned on younger ones for support, and I saw the naked fear in their eyes— fear born of experience, of knowing exactly what was coming.

Thomas was there, helping organize people, his young face set in grim determination. When he saw us, relief flashed across his features. “Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black— thank goodness. We need help with the wards on the shelters. Davies got called to the front line, and we’re short— “

“Show me.” I said immediately, cutting him off.

He led me to the nearest shelter— a partially collapsed building that had been reinforced with magic and structural supports. The protective wards around it were active but flickering, clearly strained by whatever was happening at the perimeter. I could see the weak points immediately, places where the magical field thinned or developed holes.

I didn’t wait for permission. My chains manifested, flowing from my hands in dark, sinuous lengths that gleamed with silver-black light. I sent them into the ward structure, letting them weave through the gaps, reinforcing and stabilizing. The magic integrated with the existing spells in ways that should have been impossible— darkness supporting light, corruption strengthening protection— but it worked.

The wards brightened, solidified, and the flicker stopped.

“How did you— ” Thomas started, but I was already moving to the next shelter.

For the next several minutes, I worked with focused intensity, moving from structure to structure, reinforcing every defensive ward I could reach. Remus coordinated the evacuation, his voice calm and authoritative as he directed people to the safest positions. Around us, the sounds of battle grew louder.

Explosions. The crack of powerful spells. Shouted orders and warnings. And underneath it all, a sound that made my blood run cold— a deep, rumbling growl that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, vibrating through the ground itself.

“Adam!” Remus called out. “That’s all we can do here. The rest is up to the fighters.”

I returned to his side, my chains dissipating. We stood there, watching the flashes of colored light at the camp’s edge, listening to the battle rage, and it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done— standing back, waiting, doing nothing while others fought and bled.

Minutes dragged by like hours. The sounds of combat ebbed and flowed. Once, a massive explosion shook the ground hard enough to make people cry out in fear. Twice, I saw figures retreating back toward our position— wounded fighters being helped by their comrades, blood staining their clothes, pain etched into their faces.

But the line held. Whatever was attacking hadn’t broken through yet.

Then I saw Tonks running toward us, her face grim and urgent, her robes singed and torn in places. She wasn’t wounded, but the intensity in her eyes told me everything I needed to know about how the battle was going.

“Remus! Adam!” She called out as she approached. “We need help at the front. Now.”

“What’s happening?” Remus demanded.

“It’s worse than we thought. Much worse.” Tonks’s eyes found mine, and there was something in her gaze— recognition, maybe, or hope. “The thing that broke through… Adam, I know what you’re capable of. If there was ever a time we needed that power, it’s now.”

“Scrimgeour said— “

“I don’t care what Scrimgeour said.” Tonks interrupted, her voice sharp. “People are dying. We’re losing. And you might be the only one who can stop this thing.”

Remus and I exchanged a glance. I saw the war playing out behind his eyes— duty versus necessity, orders versus survival. Then he nodded once, shortly.

“Go.” He said simply. “I’ll handle things here.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I ran with Tonks through the camp; as we got closer to the perimeter, the devastation became apparent. Tents had been crushed or torn apart. The ground was scorched and cratered. I saw blood— too much blood— and worse, I saw bodies being dragged back by medics, some moving, some horrifyingly still.

And then I saw it.

The creature was massive in a way that defied easy description. Not tall, like a giant or a dragon, but low to the ground and impossibly long— its body stretching longer than a semi-truck from its horned snout to its barbed tail. It was built for raw, unstoppable forward motion, every line of its form suggesting relentless power.

Its frame was thick with overlapping muscle, wrapped in plates of blackened scales that looked less like they’d grown naturally and more like they’d been forged by some ancient, brutal intelligence. Each scale was ridged and hooked, catching the purple light of the auroras and swallowing it rather than reflecting it. The effect was deeply unsettling— the creature seemed less like something that existed in the world and more like a moving void, a shape cut out of reality itself.

Twin horns swept back from a skull that looked designed as a battering ram, reinforced with bone plates that could probably punch through castle walls. Smaller spines crowned its neck in a serrated ridge that continued down its back all the way to the tip of its tail, each spine wickedly sharp and gleaming with something that might have been poison or corrupted magic.

But it was the jaws that truly terrified me.

They were impossibly wide, capable of opening far beyond what should have been anatomically possible, and lined with multiple rows of teeth— long, inward-curving fangs that looked designed not to kill quickly but to ensure that nothing, once caught, could ever escape. When the creature opened its mouth, there was no heat shimmer, no flames. Instead, a cold, fetid breath poured out, carrying the stench of ash and old blood and something fundamentally wrong, like the air near a grave that had been disturbed too many times.

Its eyes were narrow slits of predatory awareness, glowing with a dim, sulfur-tinged amber light that never blinked. There was no rage in that gaze, no animal fury or territorial aggression. Only cold, calculating intelligence. This thing knew what it was doing. It was hunting.

“What the hell is that?” I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from the monstrosity.

“Ereborn Drake.” Tonks said, her voice tight. “One of the many lovely creatures that the break between worlds spat out. We’ve fought three of them before. Lost at least twenty five people each time before driving them off.”

As I watched, the Drake surged forward with terrifying speed, its claws tearing through the ground. A wizard— I didn’t recognize him— raised a powerful shield charm, the kind that should have stopped almost any physical attack. The Drake hit it like a battering ram, and I saw the shield shatter like glass. The wizard went flying backward, slamming into a wall with a sickening crack.

The Drake didn’t pause. It didn’t hesitate. It simply continued forward and brought one massive paw down on the fallen wizard, crushing him into the ground with a wet, terrible sound that I would hear in my nightmares.

Around it, other fighters peppered the creature with spells— Blasting Curses that carved shallow furrows in its armored hide, Cutting Hexes that barely scratched its scales, even a Fiendfyre whip that Narcissa conjured that made the Drake flinch but didn’t stop it. They were hurting it, I could see that, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

And then, the Drake’s head swiveled, those predatory eyes scanning the battlefield until they locked directly onto me.

Everything else fell away. The sounds of battle, the shouts of fighters, the chaos— all of it became distant, muffled, as if I were suddenly underwater. In that moment, staring into those sulfur-amber eyes, I felt it.

Recognition.

This wasn’t just a corrupted magical creature. This wasn’t even just something from beyond the Veil. This was a voidling, or something so close to one that the difference didn’t matter. I could feel the void-stuff that made up its essence, could sense the same fundamental wrongness that had defined my existence for what might have been centuries in that grey, formless place.

It recognized me too; probably saw me as either prey or rival— I couldn’t tell which.

My chains exploded outward without conscious thought, responding to the threat and my rising fury with an eagerness that was almost frightening. They manifested fully in an instant— thick, heavy links of darkness and silver light that writhed around me like serpents, each one ending in a wickedly sharp point that could pierce or slash or crush.

“Adam, wait— ” Tonks started, but I was already moving.

I rushed forward, ignoring her shout, my chains lashing out ahead of me. The first strike caught the Drake across its snout, carving a line through its scales and drawing thick, black blood that hissed when it hit the ground. The creature reared back with a roar that shook my bones, then lunged at me with terrifying speed.

I used my chains to swing myself aside, latching onto a nearby tent pole and using it as a pivot point to change trajectory in mid-air. The Drake’s jaws snapped shut on empty space where I’d been a heartbeat before. I landed, rolled, and came up already attacking, sending three chains stabbing toward the creature’s eyes.

It twisted its head, avoiding two strikes, but the third caught it just below the eye, punching through the thinner scales and sinking deep. The Drake bellowed in pain and thrashed, its tail whipping around to catch me. I jumped, using another chain as a grappling line to pull myself up and over the sweeping tail, then sent more chains wrapping around the appendage, trying to pin it.

The Drake was strong— far stronger than I’d anticipated. It yanked its tail free of my chains with raw power, the links snapping taut before releasing. I stumbled, caught off-balance, and barely got a defensive chain up in time to block a swipe from its claws. The impact sent me skidding backward, my feet carving furrows in the ground.

But I wasn’t alone.

The other fighters, seeing that I was engaging the creature directly, rallied. Spells began to rain down on the Drake from multiple angles— Stunning Spells, Blasting Curses, Freezing Charms. They weren’t doing massive damage individually, but the cumulative effect was forcing the creature to divide its attention, giving me openings.

I exploited every one of them.

When the Drake turned to snap at a wizard on its left, I lashed its right foreleg, wrapping chains around it and yanking hard enough to throw off its balance. When it opened its jaws to release that cold, fetid breath, I sent a spear-tipped chain straight into its mouth, piercing the soft flesh of its palate and making it choke and recoil. When it tried to charge forward to crush fighters under its bulk, I hooked its horns and used them as anchor points to swing around to its blind side.

We fought with a fury born of desperation and determination. The Drake was smart, adapting to our tactics, learning from each exchange. Still, seeming to sense it was losing ground, the Drake did something I didn’t expect.

It slammed its forepaws down against the ground with tremendous force, and I felt magic— dark, twisted magic that tasted like the void— pulse outward from the impact point. The ground beneath my feet suddenly gave way, crumbling inward as a sinkhole opened up directly under me.

I had a split second to react. My chains lashed out on pure instinct, seeking any purchase, and found it— wrapping around the Drake’s horns just as I began to fall. I used the momentum to swing away from the pit, arcing through the air in a desperate maneuver that should have been impossible for a normal person but felt natural after countless battles in the void where there was no up or down.

I landed hard on the far side of the sinkhole, breathing hard, and looked back to see the Drake already turning to follow me, that cold intelligence in its eyes calculating its next move.

“Hold its legs!” I shouted to the other fighters, a plan forming in my mind. “Pin it down, just for a few seconds!”

There was no hesitation. Whatever doubts they might have had about me evaporated in the heat of battle. Multiple voices cried out “Incarcerous!” and ropes of magical energy shot toward the Drake, wrapping around its legs, its body, trying to bind it in place.

The creature fought against the restraints, thrashing and pulling, and I knew they wouldn’t hold for long. Narcissa added her power to the effort, and Draco joined her, both of them focusing on keeping the Drake’s attention forward, toward them and away from me.

Scrimgeour, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead, added Knockback Jinxes to the mix, trying to force the Drake toward the sinkhole it had created. The creature recognized the danger and dug its claws in, refusing to be moved, but that meant it was stationary.

That meant it was vulnerable.

I was already running, my chains extending and sharpening, configuring themselves into the shape I needed. I’d done this before, in the void, against creatures far more nightmarish than this Drake. I knew where to strike.

The soft spot at the back of the neck, where the spine connected to the skull. Where the armor plates didn’t quite meet. Where a single, perfectly placed strike could sever the connection between mind and body.

I leaped, using my chains to propel me upward and forward, vaulting over the Drake’s thrashing tail and scrambling up its back. The spines tried to impale me, but I twisted between them with reaction times that the void had beaten into me. The Drake felt me and tried to shake me off, but it was too late.

I reached the back of its neck and drove my spear-tipped chain down with all my strength, all my magic, all my fury and determination. The point punched through scales and flesh, sinking deep until I felt it strike bone. Then I sent more chains following the first, wrapping them around the Drake’s entire spine, weaving them through vertebrae like a seamstress threading a needle.

The Drake roared, a sound of pain and rage and something that might have been fear. It bucked and twisted, trying desperately to dislodge me, but I held on, my chains anchoring me in place as I completed the weave.

And then I closed my fist.

The chains tightened instantly, responding to my will, constricting around the Drake’s spine with crushing force. I felt the resistance, felt the incredible strength of the creature’s bone and cartilage, and I poured more power into the chains, more void magic, more of everything I had.

Snap.

The first vertebra broke with a sound like a tree splitting in a storm.

SNAP.

The second and third went together.

SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.

And then it was a cascade, one break leading to another, my chains crushing through the Drake’s spine from skull to tail in a rapid series of sharp, terrible cracks that echoed across the battlefield.

The creature’s roar became something else— an agonized wail that seemed to shake the very air, a sound of pain so profound and primal that even I flinched. Its legs collapsed beneath it, no longer receiving signals from its brain. Its tail thrashed once, twice, then went still. The amber light in its eyes flickered, dimmed, and finally went dark.

The Ereborn Drake lay still. Dead. Truly dead.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

I stood on the creature’s back, breathing hard, my chains still wrapped around its broken spine, and looked out at the battlefield. Fighters stood frozen, some with wands still raised, some with spells half-formed on their lips. All of them staring at me, at the dead Drake, at what I’d just done.

Then someone— I think it was Thomas— let out a whoop of triumph.

And the camp erupted into cheers.

The sound washed over me like a wave— relief, joy, disbelief, all mixed together in a cacophony of human emotion that felt almost overwhelming after the focused intensity of combat. People were laughing, crying, embracing each other. Some dropped to their knees, too exhausted or too relieved to stand.

I extracted my chains from the Drake’s corpse and was about to let them dissipate, but I stared at them for a moment. Did they feel a little… stronger after that fight? I shook my head and finally let them dissipate, the darkness flowing back into me and settling beneath my skin. My legs felt shaky as I climbed down from the creature’s back, and when my feet touched solid ground, I nearly stumbled.

Tonks was there immediately, catching my arm and steadying me. She was grinning so widely it looked like it might hurt.

“You magnificent bastard.” She said, laughing. “You actually killed it. You killed an Ereborn Drake. Do you have any idea— no one’s ever done that before. We’ve always just wounded them enough to make them retreat. But you actually— “

“Is everyone alright?” I interrupted, looking past her at the other fighters. “How many did we lose?”

Her expression sobered slightly. “Three dead. Maybe a dozen wounded, some of them badly. But Adam… three. We lost three people. Last time we fought one of these things, we lost twenty eight before it retreated. You saved twenty five lives today. At least.”

The numbers didn’t feel real. Three dead was still three too many, three people who wouldn’t go home to their families, three names that would be added to the too-long list of casualties this broken world had claimed. But she was right— it could have been so much worse.

Draco approached, his robes torn and his face pale with exhaustion, but alive and whole. He looked at me for a long moment, something complicated passing across his features.

“That was…” He started, then shook his head. “That was extraordinary, Adam. And terrifying. But mostly extraordinary.”

“We fought together.” I said simply. “All of us. I couldn’t have done it without everyone else creating openings.”

“Humble.” Narcissa said, appearing at her son’s side. She looked immaculate despite the battle, though I noticed her hands were shaking slightly as she tucked her wand away. “But accurate. You’ve grown more powerful since the last time we dueled.”

I nodded at the praise.

Scrimgeour pushed through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the Drake’s corpse, his expression unreadable. When he reached me, he studied me for a long moment, and I braced myself for criticism or skepticism or orders to stand down.

Instead, he held out his hand.

“Well fought.” He said gruffly. “I was wrong to keep you back. Won’t make that mistake again.”

I took his hand, and his grip was firm and strong. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He said, releasing my hand and turning to survey the battlefield. “This was just one Drake. There will be more. There are always more. But for now…” He raised his voice so the whole camp could hear. “For now, we’ve won! Get the wounded to the medics, secure the perimeter, and someone get that corpse away from the living quarters before it starts to rot!”

The camp sprang back into motion, this time with the organized efficiency of cleanup and recovery rather than desperate defense. I stood there, watching people work, feeling the adrenaline slowly drain from my system and leave exhaustion in its wake.

Luna appeared at my elbow, seeming to materialize out of nowhere the way she always had.

“The Nargles are very pleased.” She said conversationally. “They said you did what needed to be done. They also said you should rest now. Big things are coming, and you’ll need your strength.”

“Luna.” I said, too tired to be surprised by her sudden appearance or her cryptic statements. “I didn’t have much time to say it, but it really is good to see you again.”

“I never left.” She replied. Then she drifted away, humming something that might have been a lullaby or might have been a dirge.

Tonks was still beside me, and when I looked at her, she was shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Some things never change.” I said. “Luna’s still Luna.”

“Some things should never change.” Tonks agreed.

Staring at the corpse of my foe, I could only feel satisfaction.