Once More

The funeral was held at dawn— or what passed for dawn in a world where the sun no longer rose.

I stood among the gathering in a cleared section of rubble that had once been a public square, now transformed into a graveyard by necessity and grief. The purple auroras writhed overhead, casting their sickly light across the faces of the mourning, painting everyone in shades of bruise and shadow. Three bodies lay before us, wrapped in whatever clean cloth the settlement could spare. It wasn’t much. Nothing was, anymore.

I recognized two of them. Wendell, the grizzled man who’d accepted my aid with the barriers. The other two, I didn’t recognize, but the deceased lady was named Sarah and the young man was named James. I had made sure to ask that much in the immediate aftermath of the attack.

All three of them had died fighting the Ereborn Drake. All three had died buying time for others to escape.

Families clustered around each body. Wendell’s sister stood rigid, her face carved from stone, refusing to let tears fall in front of the others. James’ partner— a distraught woman named Marie— knelt beside the wrapped form, one hand pressed flat against where his heart would be. Sarah’s mother wept openly, her sobs cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife.

I wanted to look away. I didn’t let myself.

The first to speak was a boy named David, who I’d learned to be Wendell’s apprentice. He was barely sixteen, thin as a rail, with hands that trembled as he unfolded a scrap of paper.

“Master Wendell saved my life.” David began, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Not in the battle. Before. When I first came to the settlement, I was… I was stupid. Reckless. I tried to cast a spell I wasn’t ready for, and it went wrong. Really wrong. Would’ve killed me if he hadn’t stepped in.”

He paused, staring down at the paper, but I could tell he wasn’t reading anymore.

“He spent three days nursing me back— never left my side even. When I finally woke up, you know what he said? He said, ‘The world’s already broken enough, kid. Don’t you dare break yourself too.’ He taught me after that. Taught me to be careful. To be smart. To stay alive.”

David’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “He made sure I could survive this world. And then he made the ultimate sacrifice, saving us all.”

He folded the paper, tucked it into Wendell’s wrappings, and stepped back.

Marie spoke next, for James. She didn’t stand— just knelt there beside her partner’s body, speaking to the cloth as much as to us.

“James believed in people.” Marie said quietly. “Even after everything. Even after the world ended, after we lost everything, after we watched civilization tear itself apart… he still believed people were worth saving. Worth fighting for.”

She pressed her forehead against the wrapped form, her shoulders shaking.

“He was wrong about a lot of things. Thought we’d rebuild. Thought we’d find a way back to normal.” She seemed to reach for her hand, and I noted there was a ring there. “But he wasn’t wrong about this. He wasn’t wrong about us being worth it.”

Marie’s voice broke entirely. “I hope… I hope he still believed that. At the end.”

Sarah’s mother couldn’t speak through her tears, so her brother spoke instead— a hollow-eyed man who looked simultaneously too young and too old for his face.

“Sarah was terrified.” He said bluntly. “Every single day. She had nightmares. Panic attacks. The monsters scared her shitless, and she knew— we all knew— that one day something would come that would kill her.”

He stared at his sister’s wrapped body, jaw tight.

“But she stood watch anyway. She fought anyway, because she was more terrified of what would happen to the rest of us if she didn’t.” His voice hardened. “My sister was a coward who did brave things anyway. And that… that makes her braver than any hero who never knew fear.”

Silence settled after that, heavy and profound.

Then Scrimgeour stepped forward.

“Three more.” He said. “Three more names added to a list that’s already too long. Three more people who deserved to grow old in a world that no longer allows for such luxuries.”

He turned to survey the gathered crowd, his gaze sweeping across each face.

“Wendell Thornton, who aided in the building and maintenance of the wards that kept us alive through a dozen attacks. James Whitmore, who organized our supply runs and never let anyone go hungry if he could help it. Sarah Kipling, who stood watch on the coldest nights because she knew no one else wanted to.”

Scrimgeour’s expression hardened.

“They died defending this settlement. Defending us. And they died knowing— as we all know— that the creatures would come again. That there would be another battle, another desperate fight, another day of blood and loss.”

He paused, and something shifted in his tone. Something almost like hope.

“But for the first time in six years, they did not die in vain— none of us have. Now we know that victory is possible. We know that these monsters— these things that have hunted us without mercy, that have driven us into ruins and sewers and underground bunkers— can be killed. Truly killed.”

His gaze found me in the crowd.

“I doubted him.” Scrimgeour said bluntly. “When Adam Black first arrived, I thought him just another survivor with delusions of heroism. Another wizard who’d overestimate his abilities and get himself killed, probably taking others with him.”

I felt every eye turn toward me. I kept my expression neutral, my posture still.

“I was wrong.” Scrimgeour continued. “In the battle three days ago, Adam did what none of us— not our strongest fighters, not our most experienced Aurors, not even myself— have ever managed. He killed an Ereborn Drake. Not drove it away. Not wounded it enough to make it retreat. Killed it. Permanently.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. I saw hope kindle in some faces, skepticism in others.

“For six years, we’ve been surviving.” Scrimgeour said. “Hiding. Running. Fighting just to delay the inevitable. But if these creatures can be killed— if we can learn how, if we can teach ourselves to fight them the way Adam fought— then maybe we’re not just delaying anymore. Maybe we’re finally fighting back.”

He turned back to the wrapped bodies.

“Wendell, Sarah, James— they didn’t die in vain. They bought us time. They gave us a chance. And we will honor them by making sure that chance matters.”

Scrimgeour stepped back, and the settlement’s handful of remaining magical practitioners stepped forward. They raised their wands as one, murmuring incantations I didn’t recognize.

The bodies began to burn with clean, white flame— something pure and gentle. Within moments, there was nothing left but ash, which the practitioners carefully gathered into three simple urns.

The families came forward to claim them. Wendell’s sister held hers against her chest like a shield. Marie cradled James’ in both hands, whispering something I couldn’t hear. Sarah’s mother pressed her face against the urn and wept.

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse. People returned to their duties, their guard posts, their attempts at normal life in a world that had forgotten the meaning of normal. But I noticed something— subtle, but there. The way backs straightened slightly. The way conversations held a different tone. The way people looked at the horizon instead of just the ground.

Hope was a dangerous thing in a world like this. But it was also contagious.

Remus approached as I stood watching the last of the mourners leave. He looked tired— he always looked tired these days— but his expression was warm.

“Quite the speech.” He said quietly.

“Scrimgeour knows what he’s doing.” I replied. “Probably gave a dozen like it in the old days.”

“Mm. Though I suspect he meant every word this time.” Remus studied me with those too-knowing eyes. “You planning to stand here brooding all day, or would you like to join me for lunch? Sprout managed to coax some actual vegetables out of the greenhouse.”

Any other day, I would have accepted. Remus’ company had become one of the few genuine comforts I’d allowed myself. But something was pulling at me— a restless energy that had been building since the battle, growing stronger with each passing hour.

“I appreciate it.” I said. “But there’s something I need to do. Something I need to check.”

Remus raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. That was one of the things I valued about him— he knew when to ask questions and when to let silence speak.

“Later, then.” He said. “Though if you’re planning to do anything stupid, at least try to do it away from the settlement proper. Scrimgeour just finished talking you up. Would be awkward if you accidentally blew something up an hour later.”

I managed a small smile. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“That’s all I ask.” He clasped my shoulder briefly, warmly, then walked away.

I took a breath, centering myself, then began to walk. Not toward the settlement’s heart, but outward, toward its edges. People nodded as I passed, murmured greetings, thanks, words I barely registered. My focus was elsewhere now, on the thing that had been gnawing at the back of my mind since I’d felt the Drake’s essence dissolve beneath my chains.

Something had changed. Something in me had changed.

And I needed to understand what.

I found a quiet spot eventually— a small alcove formed by collapsed walls and twisted rebar, hidden from casual view but close enough to the settlement that I wouldn’t be completely isolated if something went wrong.

Perfect.

I settled onto a relatively flat piece of concrete, closed my eyes, and reached for my magic.

It answered immediately, eagerly, like a loyal hound waiting for commands. But there was something else there now. Something new coiled among the familiar silver-black power, lingering at the edge of my sense.

I opened my eyes and raised my hand.

“Alright.” I murmured to the empty air. “Let’s see what you are.”

The chains materialized around me in a familiar dance of silver and shadow, coiling through the air like serpents made of moonlight and void.

I stared at them for a moment; something was off about them.

Different.

What the…

I held my hand out, palm up, and let a single chain settle across it. The moment it touched my skin, I felt it— a density that hadn’t been there before. The chain felt heavier, not physically but in some deeper, more fundamental way. Like it carried more mass in dimensions I couldn’t quite perceive.

The silver-black surface rippled as I studied it, power coursing through the links in rhythmic pulses. I’d always been able to feel the energy moving through my chains, but this was more pronounced. More alive. As if the chains themselves had grown more aware, more present.

I narrowed my eyes, focusing harder, trying to understand what had changed.

And that’s when I saw it.

It was subtle— so subtle that I almost missed it entirely. A dark thread, thin as spider silk, weaving in and out of the chain’s surface. The silver light of my magic obscured it, made it nearly invisible, but once I caught sight of that first glimpse, I couldn’t not see it anymore.

The thread moved independently of my chains, following its own pattern, its own rhythm. It slithered through the links like something parasitic, something foreign, wrapping around the core of my power and— 

No. Not parasitic. Not exactly.

I leaned closer, my breath catching as I traced the thread’s path with my eyes. It wasn’t attacking my magic. It was integrated with it, woven so thoroughly into the chains that separating the two would be like trying to unravel individual colors from grey.

My chains. And something else. Something other.

The realization sent a chill down my spine.

This wasn’t mine. This power, this thread, this essence— it hadn’t come from me. It hadn’t come from the void. It had come from— 

I reached out without thinking, fingers extending toward the dark thread.

The moment my skin made contact, the thread’s attention snapped toward me.

There was no other word for it. The thread didn’t just move or react— it noticed me. Intelligence flickered through that thin line of darkness, alien and ancient and utterly wrong in a way that made my void-touched magic feel warm and familiar by comparison.

I felt its nature then, in that instant of connection. Insidious. Predatory. Hungry in ways that transcended simple physical need. This was the hunger of something that existed to unmake, to consume, to reduce everything it touched to component parts and absorb them into itself.

This was the essence of the Ereborn Drake.

The thread pulsed against my finger, almost like a heartbeat, and I jerked my hand back instinctively. But it was too late. The connection had been made, acknowledged, and now— 

The chains moved.

Not at my command. Not following my will. They moved on their own, with terrible purpose, flowing and shifting through the air like living things. I stumbled backward, my heart hammering, as the silver-black links began to reshape themselves.

They twisted and coiled, lengthening, thickening, forming a structure that grew larger with each passing second. The dark thread spread through them like veins, pulsing with that alien hunger, and I watched in horrified fascination as my chains built something I hadn’t commanded them to create.

The body took shape first— massive, barrel chest formed from interlocking chains that spread wide. Then a short, muscled serpentine neck, each link sliding against the next to appear as interlocking scales. It had a tail which could have crushed stone. Legs that ended in talons sharp enough to pierce steel.

And finally, a large, very familiar head with curious eyes.

It was the unmistakable silhouette of the Ereborn Drake I’d killed, rendered in silver-black metal and threaded through with that pulsing darkness. It was smaller than the original— maybe seven or eight feet long instead of thirty— but the shape was perfect, every detail captured with unsettling accuracy.

The construct hovered in the air before me, suspended by its chain-formed wings, and I stared at it with a mixture of awe and creeping dread.

It stared back.

Empty eye sockets regarded me with an intelligence that shouldn’t exist in something made of metal and magic. The chain-Drake tilted its head, studying me the way a predator studies prey, and I felt that alien attention weighing against my mind like a physical pressure.

Then it bared its teeth.

The chains forming its jaw separated, revealing the darkness between them, and I saw phantom flames flicker in that empty mouth— echoes of the breath the original had wielded. The construct’s lips pulled back in what could have been a snarl or a smile, displaying row after row of chain-formed fangs.

Every instinct I’d honed in the void screamed at me to run, to fight, to destroy this thing before it could destroy me.

But then something changed.

The construct’s posture shifted. The aggressive display melted away, replaced by something else entirely. It lowered its head and bowed.

I stood frozen, my mind racing to process what I was seeing. The chain-Drake held its position, head lowered, neck exposed— a gesture of deference that felt wrong coming from something that embodied pure predatory hunger.

“What…” I started, then stopped, my voice hoarse. “What are you?”

The construct didn’t answer— couldn’t answer, it had no voice— but I felt something pulse through our connection. Not words. Not thoughts. Just… acknowledgment. Recognition.

It knew me. Knew what I was. Knew what I’d done.

And it had chosen to serve rather than fight.

My legs felt weak. I sank down onto the rubble, never taking my eyes off the chain-Drake, and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

When I’d killed the Ereborn Drake, I’d destroyed its body. Shattered its spine, broken its physical form, ended its existence in this reality. But something— some core part of its essence, some fragment of what it was— had survived. Had transferred to me in that moment of death.

And now it lived in my chains. In my magic. In me.

A million questions exploded through my mind, each one more urgent and terrifying than the last.

How did this happen?

I’d killed plenty of things in the void— creatures that would have made the Ereborn Drake look tame by comparison— and I’d never absorbed any part of them. What was different about this? Was it because the Drake was void-touched, like me? Because it existed partially outside normal reality?

What does it mean?

Was I corrupted now? Infected? The Drake’s essence was clearly integrated into my magic, impossible to separate. Did that make me less human? More monster? Was I going to slowly become like them, losing myself piece by piece until nothing remained but hunger and darkness?

A more important question came to me, then. Can I control it?

The construct had bowed, but was that real submission or just a predator’s patience? Would it turn on me eventually? Could I even dismiss it, or was it permanent now, a part of me I could never be rid of?

What else might I absorb? If I’d taken the Drake’s essence by killing it, would the same thing happen with other void-creatures? With corrupted wizards? With anything I destroyed? Would I become a walking collection of absorbed powers, a patchwork abomination stitched together from my victims?

No, that didn’t make sense; I hadn’t absorbed the troll, or corrupted Erklings or Bowtruckles. It stood to reason that this only applied to void-creatures.

Still, should I even be talking about this?

Remus, Draco, the settlement— they all saw me as a protector, a weapon against the darkness. What would they think if they knew I was carrying a piece of that darkness inside me? Would they trust me? Fear me? Try to kill me before I became the very thing they were fighting against?

The settlement at Warminster had rejected me pretty harshly, after all. There was a possibility the same situation would repeat.

The questions spiraled, growing louder and more frantic, until I forced myself to stop. Forced myself to breathe. Forced myself to think clearly instead of panicking.

The chain-Drake remained motionless before me, head still lowered, waiting.

I studied it more carefully now, pushing past the initial shock and horror to really look at what I’d created. Or what it had created. Or what we’d created together.

The craftsmanship was flawless. Every chain sat perfectly in place, forming scales and muscles and the subtle articulation of joints. It was beautiful in a terrible sort of way— like watching a master sculptor work with materials that shouldn’t be able to hold the shapes they were forced into.

More than that, I could feel the power contained within it. The essence of the Ereborn Drake, compressed and controlled, given form through my chains. It was strong. Devastatingly strong.

If I can absorb things and gain their power in a way… I thought to myself. Can I also use its breath attack? Something to try, at some point.

The chain-Drake shifted slightly, drawing my attention back. It raised its head just enough to look at me directly, and I saw something in those empty eye sockets that sent a chill through me.

Patience. It could wait. It would wait. However long it took for me to accept what I’d become, what I could do, it would be there. Ready. Willing.

Hungry.

“No.” I said quietly. “Not yet. I need… I need time to understand this.”

The construct didn’t react, didn’t protest. It simply held its position, watching me with that terrible, patient intelligence.

I took a shuddering breath and made a decision. Not the decision I wanted to make, but the only one that made sense given everything I knew about this broken world.

I would study this. Learn about it. Understand it as thoroughly as I possibly could. But I wouldn’t use it. Not yet. Not until I was absolutely certain I could control it, that it wouldn’t control me, that accepting this power wouldn’t cost me everything I’d fought to remain.

And I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not until I understood it myself. Remus would worry. Draco would be horrified. The settlement would panic. Better to keep this secret, at least for now, until I could present them with answers instead of just more questions.

“Dismissed.” I said firmly, reaching for my magic.

The chains obeyed instantly, flowing back into formlessness, the Drake’s shape dissolving like smoke. Within seconds, there was nothing left but the familiar sensation of my power coiled beneath my skin, waiting to be called.

But I could still feel it. That dark thread woven through my magic, that fragment of alien essence that would never fully leave. A reminder of what I’d done. What I’d become.

What I might yet become.

I sat there in the rubble for a long time after that, staring at my hands, feeling the weight of this new knowledge settle over me like a shroud.

Somewhere in the settlement behind me, people were mourning their dead and finding hope in the possibility that the monsters could be killed. They were looking to me as proof that the darkness could be beaten.

They had no idea that I’d started carrying a piece of that darkness inside me.

“Quite the brooding session you’ve got going on there.”

I spun around so fast I nearly lost my balance on the uneven rubble. My hand instinctively reached for my magic, chains already beginning to coil beneath my skin, before I registered who was standing there.

Draco Malfoy leaned against a partially collapsed wall, arms crossed, watching me with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something harder to define. He’d approached in complete silence— I hadn’t heard a footstep, hadn’t sensed his presence, hadn’t detected him at all until he’d spoken.

That was… concerning.

“Jesus, Draco.” I said, forcing my heart rate to slow. “Trying to give me a heart attack?”

His smirk widened.

“Just testing whether you’re as aware as I remember you to be. Turns out, not so much.” He pushed off the wall and walked closer, stepping over debris with practiced ease. “Then again, maybe I’ve gotten much better than in our school days, haven’t I?”

I stared at him for a moment, then let out a breath that was half laugh, half exasperation. “That much is obvious. When did you learn to move like that?”

“Six years of survival tends to teach you things.” He gestured vaguely at the ruins around us. “Stealth matters when you’re scrounging for supplies in territory where anything that hears you might try to eat you. Or worse.”

“Worse than being eaten?”

“You’d be surprised what some of the corrupted can do.” His expression darkened briefly before smoothing back into casual confidence.

“Is there something you need? I’ll admit, I have no idea how much time has passed.” I asked, looking around. “Did Remus send you to drag me back for that lunch I turned down?”

“It’s been an hour.” Draco shook his head. “But no, though Remus did point me in this direction. That man can find you anywhere, can’t he?”

I grimaced. “Apparently. Though I thought I’d hidden myself pretty well this time.”

“You did.” Draco acknowledged. “Remus just has an unfair advantage. Still possesses a formidable sense of smell despite no longer being a werewolf. Something about the corruption changing how the curse worked, breaking it but leaving… traces.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying I stink?”

Draco’s smirk became a full grin. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of whatever he was about to say, then closed it again. For a moment we just looked at each other, and then we both started laughing.

It felt good. Strangely, absurdly good. When was the last time I’d laughed about something this stupid? When was the last time anything had felt remotely normal?

The laughter faded gradually, leaving behind a comfortable silence. Draco settled onto a chunk of concrete across from me, his expression shifting to something more serious.

Then he said, simply: “Yes.”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

“Yes.” He repeated, meeting my eyes. “I’ll come with you. On your suicidal trip to the north.”

For a moment, I couldn’t process what I was hearing. My mind went blank, then flooded with a rush of emotion I had to actively suppress— happiness, relief, hope, all tangled together into something almost overwhelming.

I’d expected to make this journey alone. I figured Draco would stay here, to hold the settlement together, to keep doing what he’d been doing for the past six years. I’d made peace with that. Accepted it.

But now— 

I controlled myself, pushing down the surge of feeling, and tried to think clearly. “What brought this on? Last time we talked about this, you seemed pretty set on staying.”

Draco was quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, matter-of-fact, like he was discussing ration schedules instead of the end of hope.

“I’m tired of fighting a losing battle against the inevitable.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

“At best.” He continued. “We can probably stay in this encampment for another two years. And that’s an optimistic figure. We’re running out of supplies, running out of safe territory, running out of people who know how to keep the wards functioning. Eventually— probably sooner than later— something will break through that we can’t stop. And we’ll be completely wiped off the face of the Earth.”

He looked up at me, and I saw something in his expression I’d never seen in the Draco I remembered from school. A bone-deep weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion.

“I refuse to die like that.” He said quietly. “Huddled in the ruins, waiting for the end, pretending that rationing food and standing watch matters in the long run. I refuse to just… give up and wait for oblivion. I want to do something worthwhile.“

I wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that the settlement was still fighting, still surviving, still— 

“You’re the only person I know who doesn’t look like they’ve given up.” Draco said, cutting off my unspoken protest. “Everyone else— even the ones still fighting, still trying— they’re just going through the motions. They don’t actually believe we can win. They’re just… delaying the inevitable.”

“That’s not fair.” I said, thinking of Remus, of Scrimgeour, of Professor Sprout working in her greenhouse. “They’re still fighting. Still trying to build something worth—”

“It’s a front.” Draco interrupted. His voice wasn’t cruel, just tired. Honest. “I’ve seen each of them break down on different occasions. Seen them cry, scream, lose themselves to despair when they think no one’s watching. Their hope is all gone, Adam. Even your performance against the Drake— it’s barely holding morale together. It gave them a day or two of belief, but it won’t last. It never does.”

I absorbed that in silence, feeling the weight of it settle over me. I wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t. I’d seen the looks in people’s eyes.

“What about you?” I asked quietly. “Have you given up?”

“I don’t know.” Draco admitted. “Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t. But I know that staying here, watching us slowly die… that’s not an option I can accept anymore. So I’m choosing something else. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it gets me killed.”

Another silence fell between us.

Then he asked. “What do you think you’ll find at Hogwarts?”

I took a breath, trying to organize thoughts that had been half-formed at best.

“I don’t know.” I said honestly. “But Dumbledore once said something— help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. I know that sounds naive, maybe even stupid given everything that’s happened, but…”

“Dumbledore disappeared a long time ago.” Draco said, and there was bitterness in his voice. “Where was he when everything fell apart? When Grindelwald and Voldemort tore the world to pieces? When the Drake swarms started hunting people like animals? Where was all that legendary wisdom and power when we actually needed it?”

“I don’t know.” I repeated. “I don’t know where he went, or why, or if he’s even still alive. But I knew the man, Draco. We both did. Barmy as hell, questionable fashion sense, tendency to speak in riddles that made you want to hex him…”

That got a small snort of amusement.

“But he never abandoned people.” I continued.

“Not when it mattered. He saw things through, even when it cost him everything. Even when it would have been easier to walk away.” I met Draco’s eyes. “So I choose to believe in him. If there are answers anywhere, they’ll be at Hogwarts.”

Draco studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he licked his lips— a nervous gesture I remembered from school, when he was weighing difficult decisions.

“I’ll join you.” He said finally.

The relief that flooded through me was almost painful in its intensity. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure. If I’m going to die— and let’s be honest, I probably am— I’d rather die doing something that might matter instead of waiting for the inevitable here.”

“Leaving will damage morale, though.” I pointed out, feeling obligated to make sure he’d thought this through. “You’re one of their leaders. People look to you. If you go— “

“The knowledge that you and I are heading off to search the country for a way to save this broken world will tide everyone over.” Draco said with certainty that sounded almost genuine. “They’ll understand. They’ll see it as hope, not abandonment.”

I looked at him carefully and saw the lie for what it was.

People wouldn’t see it as hope. They’d see two of their strongest fighters leaving, chasing an impossible dream, abandoning them to face the darkness alone. They’d see it as the beginning of the end, as proof that even we had given up on holding this position.

But I didn’t correct him. Didn’t call out the lie.

I suspected Draco needed to believe that his leaving wouldn’t hurt the people he’d protected for six years. That he wasn’t abandoning his post, just… relocating his efforts. Changing tactics.

If I challenged that belief, it might undermine his resolve entirely. And I needed him.

So I let the lie stand between us, acknowledged but unspoken.

“Luna will take over my activities.” Draco added, his voice more confident now. “She’s been helping me coordinate for the past year anyway.”

That surprised me. “Is that right?”

“The same. Don’t look so shocked.” Draco’s expression softened slightly. “The witch is formidable in her own right. Sees things others miss, makes connections that shouldn’t work but somehow do. People trust her. She’ll be fine.”

I thought about the dreamy girl I’d reunited with a few days ago. She was still seemingly in another world, but had a certain poise to her movements which told me she’d grown into her powers and capabilities.

“Alright.” I said. “If you’re sure about this, then… thank you. I’m glad I won’t be making this trip alone.”

Draco stood, brushing dust off his patched robes. “We should probably tell Scrimgeour sooner rather than later. Give him time to adjust to the idea before we actually leave.”

“How much time were you thinking?”

“A week, maybe two. Long enough to get supplies together, make sure the transition to Luna goes smoothly, prepare people for the change.” He paused. “Unless you wanted to leave sooner?”

I shook my head. “No, a week or two makes sense. Give me time to… finish some things here.”

“Then it’s settled.” Draco extended his hand.

I took it, and we shook— a formal agreement, a pact between friends, a commitment to see this insane journey through together.

“Try not to blow anything up between now and then.” Draco said as he turned to leave. “Scrimgeour will be insufferable if he has to put out any fires before we go.”

“No promises.” I called after him.

He raised a hand in acknowledgment without turning around, then disappeared around a collapsed wall, his footsteps fading into silence.

I sat there for a while longer, processing everything that had just happened. Draco was coming with me. I wouldn’t be alone on this journey north, wouldn’t be facing whatever waited at Hogwarts by myself.

It should have been purely good news. And mostly it was.

But there was a small, guilty part of me that wondered if I was making a terrible mistake.

I shook the thought away.

No more running, right?

ooo

The next week passed in a blur of activity that felt both purposeful and desperate— like watching someone meticulously pack for a journey they knew might be one-way.

Word spread quickly through the settlement that Draco and I were leaving. I’d expected anger, maybe accusations of abandonment, but what I got instead was something more complicated. Fear, yes, but also a kind of grim understanding. People who’d survived six years in hell understood the difference between running away and running toward something. They might not believe we’d find anything useful, but they understood why we had to try.

Scrimgeour took the news about as well as I’d expected, which is to say, poorly.

“You’re making a mistake.” He said flatly when Draco and I met with him. “We need you here. Both of you.”

“The settlement needs defenders.” I acknowledged. “But it needs hope more. Real hope, not just the kind that comes from killing one Drake.”

“And you think you’ll find that at Hogwarts?” Scrimgeour’s tone was skeptical but not dismissive. He was listening, at least. “The school was destroyed years ago. Burned. Ripped apart to the last brick. Even if Dumbledore left something behind, what makes you think it survived?”

“I don’t know that it did.” I admitted. “But I know that staying here isn’t going to fix the world. At best, it’ll buy time. And time only matters if someone’s using it to find actual solutions. The opening of the veil changed the world’s energies and cursed the skies.”

I gestured upwards. “But even the worst of curses can be broken. This is no different.”

Scrimgeour was quiet for a long moment, his scarred hands flat on the desk. Then he sighed— a sound of exhaustion and resignation.

“You’re right. I hate that you’re right, but you are.” He looked up at us. “I wanted you to stay. We could’ve built our defenses around you, maybe used your abilities to turn this settlement into something that could actually push back instead of just surviving. Selfish of me.”

“Not selfish.” Draco said quietly. “Practical. You’re doing what you need to do to keep people alive.”

“And you’re doing what you need to do to give them something to live for.” Scrimgeour stood, extending his hand. “Go; you have my blessing. Find whatever’s north. And if you find Dumbledore, tell him he’s a bastard for disappearing when we needed him most.”

I shook his hand, feeling the strength still in those weathered fingers. “If I find him, I’ll make sure to punch him in the face, too.”

That made Scrimgeour smile. “I’d pay to see that.”

The settlement rallied after that initial conversation. Supplies were gathered, debated, allocated. What could they spare? What would we need? What was the balance between supporting our journey and not crippling themselves?

Pomona took charge of the logistics with an iron determination. She appeared at my tent three days before our planned departure with a list and a look that suggested arguing would be futile.

“Right.” She said, unrolling a piece of precious paper covered in tight handwriting. “Here’s what you’re getting. Pay attention because I’m not repeating myself.”

She proceeded to detail everything: preserved meat that had been smoked and salted within an inch of edibility. Hardtack that could probably survive another apocalypse. Dried fruits. Protein bars. It was enough to last two people roughly three weeks if we rationed carefully, less if we had to move fast or burn extra calories fighting.

We also got a supply of basic potions and antidotes, though she warned that corrupted creature venoms might not respond to standard treatments. Burn salve. A bottle of Skele-Gro that was probably expired but might still work.

“Try not to break any bones.” Sprout said dryly. “But if you do, that might help.”

We also got a few maps— three of them, to be precise. They were old road maps from before the collapse, annotated in different hands with notes about dangers, safe routes, destroyed bridges, corrupted zones. They were outdated— six years was a long time for landscapes to change— but better than nothing. She traced a rough route north with her finger, pointing out settlements that might still exist, areas to avoid, places where reality itself had become unstable.

“That’s everything we can spare.” Sprout said when she finished. “And honestly, it’s more than we should spare. But I insisted.”

“Thank you.” I said, meaning it. “This is… this is generous.”

“It’s survival.” She corrected. “You find something useful up north, you come back and share it. That’s the deal. Otherwise, you’re just wasting resources we need.”

Fair enough.

Other preparations followed. Draco spent hours with Luna, walking her through responsibilities, introducing her to key people, making sure the transition would be as smooth as possible. I watched them once from a distance— Draco gesturing animatedly while Luna listened with that peculiar stillness she had, occasionally asking questions that seemed nonsensical but somehow cut to the heart of issues.

She’d be fine, I thought.

Remus pulled me aside, giving me a pocket watch. Though, instead of telling the time, this thing seemed to be more of a gauge, but for what?

“This watch is special; it reacts to concentrations of corrupted magic. The higher the needle is, the more concentrated the magic is.” He explained, his voice pitched low. “But that’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes corrupted zones have resources. Sometimes they’re just death traps. You’ll need to use judgment.”

“How do I tell the difference?”

“You don’t, really. Not until you’re there.” He smiled grimly. “Try not to die stupidly.”

“I’ll do my best.”

A few settlers volunteered to come with us. Three at first, then five, then eight. People who were tired of waiting, who wanted to do something, who saw our journey as maybe their last chance to matter.

The settlement shut them down hard.

“We can barely spare Malfoy.” Someone said at an impromptu meeting. “We can’t spare anyone else. Especially not our fighters.”

“They’re not going to fight.” Another voice argued. “They’re going to die. Let them go if they want.”

“And who defends us when the next attack comes? When we’re down even more people?”

It got heated. I stood quietly at the edge, watching people argue about whether other people should be allowed to risk their lives, and felt the weight of responsibility settle heavier.

Eventually, Scrimgeour ended it. “Malfoy goes because we need someone up north looking for solutions. Black goes because he’s the only one who’s actually killed a Drake. Everyone else stays. That’s final.”

There was grumbling, but no open rebellion. The settlement needed structure, needed leadership, needed someone to make hard decisions. Scrimgeour provided that.

The volunteers weren’t happy, but they accepted it. Some with grace, some with barely concealed resentment.

I caught one of them afterward— a young woman who’d lost her entire family in the collapse.

“I’m sorry.” I told her. “I know you wanted— “

“Don’t.” She said sharply. “Don’t apologize for trying to save us. Just… actually save us. Don’t make this for nothing.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

The days counted down. Ten became eight became five became three.

I spent my evenings studying the Drake essence I’d absorbed, carefully summoning small portions of it, learning its nature without letting it fully manifest. The dark thread pulsed with hunger, with alien intelligence, but it responded to my will. Slowly. Grudgingly. But it responded.

I could control it. Probably. Maybe.

I’d have to be enough.

On the ninth day, Remus cornered me in the tent we’d shared for the past month.

“You’re really doing this.” He said. It wasn’t a question.

“I am.”

“I could come with you. I’m not completely useless in a fight.”

“You’re needed here.” I said gently. “They need someone they trust, someone with experience. Someone who can teach the younger ones.”

“Excuses.” Remus said, but there was no heat in it. “You just don’t want to watch me slow you down.”

“That’s not— “

“It’s fine, Adam. I’m not offended.” He smiled, tired but genuine. “I’m too old for heroic quests anyway. Leave that to you young idiots.”

“You’re not that old.”

“I feel ancient.” He clasped my shoulder. “Be careful up there. Come back alive. And if you find Sirius…”

“I’ll drag him back by his ear.” I promised. “Harry, too.”

“Good man.” Remus smiled, though his expression softened a little. “Go easy on Harry though, all right?”

The tenth day arrived with the same purple-lit sky, the same sense of wrongness that had become normal. Our supplies were packed, checked, triple-checked. Our gear was secured. Our goodbyes were said.

The settlement gathered to see us off— not everyone, but enough to make it feel significant. A crowd of weathered faces, scarred hands, eyes that had seen too much but still held enough hope to watch two people walk away from safety.

Scrimgeour gave a short speech about courage and necessity. Sprout pressed some seed packets into my hands. Tonks hugged us both hard enough to crack ribs, whispering threats about what she’d do if we died before she could see us again.

Luna approached last, moving through the crowd with that distinctive dreamy quality she always seemed to have on blast. She looked at Draco, then at me, then back to Draco.

“I hope you don’t get killed horribly.”

Draco blinked. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Is it?”

“…I genuinely can’t tell.”

She smiled and walked away without another word.

Then there was nothing left to do but go.

Draco and I turned north, adjusting our packs, checking our weapons one final time. Behind us, the settlement watched in silence. Ahead of us, the ruins of London stretched into the distance, purple auroras writhing overhead like wounds in reality itself.

“Ready?” Draco asked quietly.

“No.” I admitted. “You?”

“Not even slightly.” He took a breath. “Let’s go anyway.”

We walked.