Family

October 4, 1993, 5:30 PM, Seventh Floor, Hogwarts

Adam Clarke

I pushed through the hallway, my muscles still humming with residual energy from the training session. The corridor beyond felt almost shockingly quiet after the controlled chaos we’d just left behind— no more shouted incantations, no more the sharp crack of spells meeting shields, no more satisfying thuds of bodies hitting soft mats.

“That was brilliant, Adam.” Su said beside me, her cheeks still flushed from exertion. She was adjusting her robes, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that had accumulated during our more physical exercises. “Did you see Johnson’s face when you countered his Stunning Spell and sent it right back at him?”

I couldn’t help but grin at the memory.

“He looked like he’d swallowed a Dungbomb.” I replied, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. The weight of my textbooks felt insignificant compared to the satisfaction of a job well done.

Hermione emerged from the classroom behind us, looking characteristically neat despite having participated in the same rigorous session. Her hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, though a few rebellious curls had escaped to frame her face.

“It was impressive.” She agreed, falling into step with us as we began walking down the corridor.

I felt a flush of pride at her words, though I tried to keep my expression modest. “It’s just pattern recognition, really. Most people telegraph their intentions if you know what to look for.”

“Most people our age, maybe.” Hermione said with a thoughtful frown. “But you were doing the same thing with the Seventh years earlier. That’s what has everyone talking— has had everyone talking since last year, even.”

The mention of the older students made me pause slightly in my stride. It still felt surreal, honestly— the way the group had started looking to me for guidance, hanging on my explanations, following my lead without question. Just a short while ago, I’d been worried about fitting in as a younger student. Now I was apparently running training sessions that drew students from multiple year groups.

“I have to admit.” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I didn’t expect them to start listening to me so quickly. I mean, I’m what, three or four years younger than most of them? Five years younger than some.”

Su laughed, a bright sound that echoed off the stone walls. “Age doesn’t matter when you can do what you do, Adam. When you walked into that first session and disarmed three sixth years in succession without breaking a sweat, age became irrelevant pretty quickly.”

“It wasn’t just the skill demonstration.” Hermione added, putting her analytical mind to work. “Though that certainly helped. No, you walked in there like you belonged, like you knew exactly what you were doing and expected everyone else to keep up.”

True. I thought. That kind of self-assurance is compelling regardless of how old someone is.

I considered this as we walked, our footsteps creating a steady rhythm against the stone floor. The torches lining the corridor cast dancing shadows that seemed to mirror my thoughts— constantly shifting, never quite settling. Had I really projected that much confidence? Looking back, I supposed I had. There was something about stepping into a teaching role that felt natural to me, like slipping into a well-fitted robe.

“Plus.” Su continued. “There’s something to be said for being humbled by someone younger than you. It makes you really examine your own assumptions about ability and experience.”

Hermione nodded emphatically. “Exactly. When your opponent— a seventh year, mind you— got completely outmaneuvered by your combination jinx sequence, I saw him actually reassess his entire approach to dueling. That’s the kind of learning moment that sticks with you.”

“I think.” I said slowly, working through the thought as I spoke. “That maybe age becomes less important when you’re dealing with something as serious as what we’re preparing for. Everyone knows why we’re really doing these training sessions. It’s not about house points or grades anymore.”

The mood sobered slightly at my words. The war might not have reached Hogwarts fully yet beyond the incident with the finals, but its shadow fell across everything we did. Every student who showed up to our training sessions was there because they understood that their lives— and the lives of people they cared about— might depend on the skills they learned.

“That’s probably part of it too.” Hermione agreed quietly. “When the stakes are real, people are more willing to learn from anyone who can teach them something useful.”

We’d reached the main staircase now, and I paused to look back down the corridor we’d just traversed. Somewhere behind those classroom doors, Tony and Ron were still working on whatever project had caught their attention. They’d disappeared about halfway through the session, muttering something about “checking on something” that I hadn’t quite caught. I’d been too focused on helping a group of fourth years master the Disarming Charm variation we’d been working on to pay much attention.

“I wonder what Tony and Ron are up to.” Su mused, apparently thinking along similar lines. “They looked pretty secretive when they left.”

“Probably something involving pranks.” I said with a shrug. “You know how Ron gets when he starts plotting. And Tony’s been complaining about being bored in Potions class.”

Hermione made a disapproving noise. “They’d better not be planning anything that will get them in trouble. We can’t afford to lose people from the training group because they’ve landed themselves in detention.”

Don’t ever change, Hermione. I thought as I started up the staircase, gripping the banister as the steps began their slow, measured ascent.

“They’re not stupid.” I said, though privately I had some doubts about that assessment where Ron and pranks were concerned. “They know how important this is.”

The Great Hall’s sounds reached us before we could see it— the familiar murmur of hundreds of conversations, the clink of cutlery against plates, the occasional burst of laughter. My stomach chose that moment to remind me that I’d worked up quite an appetite during the training session, producing a growl that was audible even over the ambient noise.

Su grinned at me. “Someone’s hungry.”

“Training works up an appetite.” I replied, feeling slightly embarrassed but not particularly concerned. “Besides, I skipped lunch to look into a few warding spells I’ve been interested in.”

“You skipped lunch for homework?” Hermione asked, sounding simultaneously impressed and concerned. “Adam, you need to maintain your strength. Especially with all the extra training you’re doing.”

“I know, I know.” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I just got caught up in the research. Some of those warding principles are fascinating once you start understanding how they interconnect.”

We’d reached the entrance to the Great Hall now, and I could see the familiar sight of the four house tables stretching across the vast space. The enchanted ceiling showed a clear evening sky, stars just beginning to twinkle into visibility. The floating candles cast their warm, golden light over everything, making the scene feel both magical and comfortingly domestic.

As we approached the Ravenclaw table, I reflected on how much my life had changed in just a few short weeks. The training sessions, the respect from older students, the sense of purpose that came from preparing for something larger than myself— it all felt simultaneously natural and surreal.

I was still getting used to the idea that people were looking to me for leadership, but I was beginning to understand why it had happened so quickly. In times of uncertainty, people gravitated toward competence and confidence. And whatever else I might be uncertain about, I knew I was good at magic. I knew I could teach others to be better at it too.

The question now was whether that would be enough for what was coming.

I settled onto the bench at the Ravenclaw table, the familiar blue and bronze banners overhead calming me. The Great Hall was alive with its usual evening energy— hundreds of conversations creating a comfortable din that somehow managed to feel intimate despite the vast space. Su slid in beside me while Hermione took the seat across from us, looking slightly out of place among the sea of blue but perfectly comfortable nonetheless.

Right on cue, the empty platters and serving dishes before us suddenly filled with the evening’s offerings. The familiar aroma of roasted chicken and herbs wafted up, making my stomach growl audibly again. There were roasted potatoes golden and crispy on the outside, their skins still crackling from the ovens. A shepherd’s pie sat steaming in one dish, its surface perfectly browned, while another platter held what looked like beef and kidney pudding, rich gravy pooling around individual portions.

I helped myself to a generous portion of the chicken, my mouth already watering as I spooned roasted vegetables onto my plate. The potatoes were exactly as crispy as they’d looked, and I added a healthy serving of the shepherd’s pie as well. Training always left me ravenous, and tonight had been particularly intensive.

“Pass the gravy?” Su asked, already loading her plate with what looked like enough food for two people. “I’m absolutely starving. That defensive sequence we worked on really took it out of me.”

I handed her the gravy boat, watching as she drizzled it liberally over her mashed potatoes. “You did well with it, though. Your shield work has improved dramatically over the past few sessions; the training you’ve done over the summer has paid off.”

Hermione was being more methodical about her food selection, taking modest portions but ensuring she had a balanced representation from each dish.

“The improvement across the group has been remarkable.” She said, cutting into her chicken with precise movements. “Even accounting for the fact that we’re all motivated to learn, the progress is faster than I would have expected.”

I took my first bite of the shepherd’s pie and nearly groaned with pleasure. The meat was perfectly seasoned, the vegetables tender, and the mashed potato topping was creamy and rich. Hogwarts food was one of those things I’d never take for granted— House Elf magic created meals that were consistently excellent in a way that defied explanation.

So long as they are happy, House Elves will do anything for you…

“It helps that everyone’s taking it seriously.” I said between bites.

The conversation continued as we ate, touching on technical aspects of the spells we’d practiced, theoretical improvements we could make to our training structure, and speculation about whether other schools were implementing similar programs. It was comfortable, the kind of easy discussion that came naturally among people who shared common interests and goals.

But I noticed Hermione glancing around the hall periodically, her eyes scanning the other tables with what looked like increasing concern. Su was doing the same thing, though more subtly. Finally, Su put down her fork and addressed what was clearly bothering both of them.

“Has anyone seen Harry today?” She asked, her voice casual but with an underlying note of worry that I caught immediately.

I felt my chest tighten slightly, though I kept my expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I haven’t seen him at all.” Hermione continued, now looking directly at me. “Not in any classes, not at meals, not in the corridors between lessons. It’s like he’s just… disappeared.”

Su nodded, her brow furrowed with concern. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. I know he’s been keeping to himself more lately, but this feels different. More complete, if that makes sense.”

I chewed my food slowly, using the time to consider my response. Of course I knew exactly where Harry was and what he was doing. The trials he was undergoing with Percival Rackham were demanding, dangerous, and absolutely necessary if he was going to unlock the Ancient Magic seal. But they were also secret— not just from our friends, but from everyone except those directly involved in the Ancient Magic legacy.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately.” I said carefully, reaching for my goblet of orange juice. “Going off on his own, I mean. He’s been… introspective since the summer.”

“Introspective?” Hermione’s tone suggested she found this explanation insufficient. “Adam, this is Harry we’re talking about. Even when he’s brooding, he still shows up to meals. He still attends classes. This is different.”

Su leaned forward, her voice dropping slightly. “I’m worried something’s wrong. With everything that’s been happening, with the war and all the training we’ve been doing… what if he’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble?”

The concern in her voice was genuine, and I felt a pang of guilt for not being able to ease their worries. Harry was my brother in every way that mattered, and protecting him— even from well-meaning friends— was something I took seriously. But lying to Su and Hermione didn’t sit well with me either.

“Look.” I said, setting down my goblet and meeting both of their gazes. “I know Harry better than almost anyone. And I can tell you that he’s not in trouble. Not the kind you’re worried about, anyway.”

“Then what kind is he in?” Hermione pressed, her analytical mind clearly unsatisfied with vague reassurances.

I took a deep breath, crafting my words carefully. “He’s been spending a lot of time alone, working on… personal development. Meditation, reflection, that sort of thing. He started doing it over the summer, and it’s become more intensive since term began.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. The trials Harry was facing did require a kind of inner strength and self-discovery that could reasonably be described as personal development. And he had been more solitary since the summer, though that was because of his Ancient Magic training rather than simple introspection.

Su and Hermione exchanged a look that I couldn’t quite interpret.

“Meditation?” Su asked skeptically. “That doesn’t sound like Harry.”

“People change.” I said with a shrug that I hoped looked more casual than it felt. “Everything that’s happened… it’s affected all of us differently. Some people respond by throwing themselves into group activities, training, social connection. Others need solitude to process things.”

Hermione was studying my face with the intensity she usually reserved for particularly challenging homework assignments. “You’re sure he’s all right? You’re not just saying that to keep us from worrying?”

The direct question caught me off-guard, and I had to resist the urge to shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

“I’m sure.” I said, meeting her gaze steadily. “Harry’s going through something right now, but it’s something he needs to work through on his own. The best thing we can do is give him space and be here when he’s ready to talk about it.”

This seemed to satisfy them, at least partially. Su’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and Hermione nodded slowly, though I could tell she was filing the conversation away for future consideration.

“I suppose that makes sense.” Su said, returning to her meal. “I just wish he’d talk to us more. We’re his friends. We want to help.”

“Sometimes the best help is knowing when not to help.” I replied, surprising myself with how philosophical that sounded. “Harry knows we’re here for him. That’s what matters.”

The tension at the table eased as we returned to eating, though I noticed both girls remained more subdued than they’d been earlier. I felt bad about that, but there was nothing I could do about it without betraying confidences that weren’t mine to share.

I focused on my food, savoring the rich flavors and trying to appreciate the simple pleasure of a good meal shared with friends. The beef and kidney pudding was exceptional— the pastry light and flaky, the filling hearty and warming. I added some of the roasted vegetables to my plate, enjoying the way the caramelized edges of the carrots contrasted with their sweet centers.

Around us, the Great Hall continued its evening rhythm. First years were animated in their conversations, still excited by the novelty of magic in their daily lives. Older students were more subdued, some working on homework between bites, others engaged in quiet discussions that looked more serious than the usual school gossip.

I was just reaching for a second helping of the shepherd’s pie when I caught sight of the time on the large clock mounted near the staff table. It was later than I’d realized, and I still had my Divination practice session with Rackham scheduled for tonight.

“I should get going.” I said, beginning to gather my things.

“What?” Su looked up from her plate in surprise. “But you haven’t had dessert yet. Look, there’s chocolate pudding and that lemon cake you like.”

I glanced at the dessert offerings that had appeared while we’d been talking. They did look tempting— the chocolate pudding looked rich enough to be illegal. But my appetite had been more than satisfied by the main course, and I had somewhere else I needed to be.

“I’m not really in the mood for anything sweet tonight.” I said, standing and shouldering my bag. “The food was filling and quite delicious. I’m completely satisfied.”

Hermione tilted her head, studying me with that same analytical expression from earlier. “That’s unusual for you. You never turn down dessert.”

“Sometimes your body tells you what it needs.” I replied with a smile. “Tonight it’s telling me that what I had was perfect.”

It was true, actually. The hearty, savory meal had left me feeling grounded and energized rather than craving the sugar rush that dessert would provide. I felt ready for the mental challenges that awaited me in the Map Chamber.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Su asked, echoing Hermione’s earlier concern about Harry. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

I laughed, touched by their concern. “I’m fine. Just satisfied. You two enjoy the desserts— they look amazing.”

I said my goodbyes and made my way out of the Great Hall, leaving them to their treacle tart and chocolate pudding. As I walked through the corridors toward my destination, I reflected on the conversation we’d just had. Lying to friends— even by omission— never felt good, but sometimes it was necessary. Harry’s trials were his burden to bear, and mine was to support him while keeping his secrets safe.

The weight of that responsibility felt heavier as I walked through the quiet corridors, but it was a weight I was willing to carry. Brothers protected each other, after all.

That’s what family does.

The corridors of Hogwarts took on a different character in the evening hours. Gone was the bustling energy of students hurrying between classes, replaced by a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere. My footsteps echoed softly against the stone floors as I made my way through passages that had become as familiar to me as breathing over the past few weeks. The portraits lining the walls had settled into their evening routines— some dozing in their frames, others engaged in quiet conversations with their neighbors that ceased as I passed.

I turned down a corridor that most students never had reason to explore, one that led away from the main thoroughfares toward the deeper end of the dungeons, the more obscure corners of the castle. The torches here were spaced further apart, creating pools of warm light separated by stretches of shadow that seemed to pulse with the flickering flames.

It was in these shadows that the real magic of Hogwarts lived— not the classroom variety, but the ancient, breathing magic that had soaked into the very stones over centuries of use.

The entrance to the Map Chamber was at the bottom of a slightly flooded, spiraling stairwell in an empty chamber, behind a wall I would not have even been able to see had Rackham not allowed me entry. As it was, the patch of wall shimmered slightly, like heat waves rising from summer pavement, and then swung aside to reveal the narrow stone archway beyond.

I stepped through into the antechamber, waving my wand to dry my boots and feet as I did so. The air here felt different— thicker somehow, charged with power that made my skin prickle. Another archway stood directly ahead, this one sealed with magic that only those with the proper knowledge could pass.

“Divine thy intent.” I spoke the phrase Rackham had given. The archway dissolved, revealing the Map Chamber itself.

I never got tired of seeing it. The chamber was vast, far larger than should have been possible given the castle’s layout, its domed ceiling lost in shadow despite the soft blue light that emanated from sources I couldn’t identify. The floor was polished stone inlaid with patterns that seemed to shift and change when viewed peripherally. It was the extra effect of the floor that truly took one’s breath away— covered entirely in what appeared to be a living spectral map of the wizarding world, complete with moving figures, changing weather patterns, and locations that updated in real time.

“Punctual as always.” Came Percival Rackham’s voice from across the chamber. The figure of the former Hogwarts Professor moved into its portrait. “I do appreciate reliability in a student.”

“Good evening, Professor.” I replied, setting my bag down near one of the stone pedestals that dotted the chamber’s perimeter. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Time moves differently when you exist as I do.” Rackham said with a smile that held both warmth and an edge of sadness. “A few minutes more or less matters little. How are you feeling tonight? Ready to continue our work?”

I nodded, though privately I was still feeling the weight of the conversation with Su and Hermione. Keeping Harry’s secrets was necessary, but it wasn’t easy.

“Ready.” I confirmed, moving toward the area where we typically conducted our Divination practice.

The space was set up much like how a traditional Divination classroom was, but with equipment that far exceeded anything Professor Trelawney had access to. Crystal balls of various sizes sat on pedestals of different heights, each one crafted from materials I couldn’t identify. There were scrying bowls filled with waters that reflected more than just light, and mirrors that showed glimpses of places and times beyond the present moment.

I took my position at the central pedestal, where my own crystal ball waited. It was smaller than some of the others, about the size of a Quaffle, but it had been specifically chosen for me based on my particular magical signature. The crystal was perfectly clear, with depths that seemed to go on forever when I looked into them properly.

“Begin with the breathing exercises.” Rackham instructed, settling into his own position nearby. “Clear your mind of the day’s concerns and focus only on the present moment.”

I closed my eyes and began the meditative breathing pattern he’d taught me weeks ago. In through the nose for four counts, hold for four, out through the mouth for four, hold for four, repeat. It was simple in theory, but achieving the proper mental state required practice and discipline. Gradually, I felt the tension leave my shoulders, the worries about Harry and the lies I’d told fading into background noise.

When I opened my eyes, the world looked subtly different. Colors seemed more vivid, edges sharper, and I could feel the flow of magic around me like a gentle current in the air. This was the state of heightened awareness that true divination required— not the theatrical nonsense that passed for prophecy in most circles, but the genuine ability to perceive patterns and possibilities that existed beyond normal sensory perception.

Or so Rackham says.

I placed my hands on either side of the crystal ball, not quite touching its surface but close enough to feel the cool emanation of its power. The crystal began to respond to my presence, its depths swirling with faint clouds of color that shifted and reformed in patterns that spoke to something deeper than conscious thought.

“Good.” Rackham murmured approvingly. “Your mental control has improved significantly. Now, focus on your objective. Picture in your mind what you’re seeking to locate.”

This was where things became challenging. I was trying to use Divination to locate the site of a specific ritual— one that was crucial to our efforts to combat the rising darkness but whose location had been lost to time. I’d been working on this particular search for weeks now, with frustratingly little progress.

Even with the element of Desire, Divination was not an easy art to grasp, let alone master.

Still, I did my best as I held the image in my mind: a significant place of magic, ancient beyond measure, where many wizards had once performed ceremonies that bridged the gap between the worlds of life and death. The few historical references we’d found suggested it was somewhere in the British Isles, and our own research had less us southward. So, southward I went.

The crystal responded to my focused intent, its swirling depths beginning to show glimpses of forests, mountains, and standing stones. But the images remained frustratingly vague, never coalescing into anything specific enough to be useful. I could see grass— lots of grass— and rocky outcroppings that could have been anywhere in the Isles. The ritual site remained maddeningly out of reach.

After what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, I let my hands drop and opened my eyes fully.

“Still nothing concrete.” I said, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“Progress is not always measured in dramatic revelations.” Rackham said gently. “Your technique has improved considerably since we began. The clarity of your visions, the duration of your focus, the depth of your connection to the crystal— all of these have grown stronger.”

“But I’m no closer to actually finding the location.” I replied, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “We need practical results, not just technical improvement.”

Rackham was quiet for a moment, studying me with those ancient eyes that seemed to see far more than they should.

“Then, perhaps…” He said finally. “It’s time to try a different approach. Wouldn’t you say?”

I looked up at him hopefully. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been asking to experiment with your… void abilities in conjunction with the crystal ball. I’ve been reluctant to allow it because the combination of Ancient Magic imbued in the Crystal with your particular talents is… unpredictable. But perhaps unpredictability is what we need, given our time constraints.”

My heart rate picked up at his words. I’d been wanting to try this for ages, ever since I’d realized that my void abilities might be able to enhance my Divination in ways that traditional methods couldn’t achieve. The void was my connection to something beyond normal magic— a power that existed in the space between the concept of life and death.

It was a transcendent power, however, making it extremely risky to even touch, let alone utilize.

“You’d let me try it tonight?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“With conditions.” Rackham said sternly. “The moment I sense any instability, any indication that the combination is becoming dangerous, you will cease immediately. No arguments, no attempts to push further. The forces we’re dealing with are not forgiving, nor have care to your own well being. Know that, were there no looming threat, I would not have even allowed you to come this far.”

“I understand, and I am grateful for the opportunity.” I said quickly. “I’ll stop the instant you tell me to. I promise.”

Rackham nodded slowly. “Very well, then. Position yourself as you were before, but this time, as you focus on the crystal, allow your ‘void’ to emerge gradually. Don’t force the connection— let it develop naturally, or as naturally as that power will allow.”

I resumed my position at the crystal ball, my pulse quickening with anticipation. This was new territory, even for me. I’d used my void abilities in combat, in spellcrafting, even in some of my other studies, but it almost always ended up defiling the magic in a way I couldn’t perceive. Still, my initial visions were because of the void.

It was a little odd, since the two forms of magic seemed almost antithetical— divination was about seeing and perceiving, while the void was about total negation.

Still…

I began with the same breathing exercises as before, but this time I allowed my awareness to extend beyond the normal boundaries of magical perception. I could feel the void stirring within me, that strange non-presence that existed at the core of my being. It wasn’t power in the traditional sense— it was the absence of power, the space where magic went to die and be reborn.

Slowly, carefully, I let that void-sense extend toward the crystal ball. The effect was immediate and startling. Instead of the usual swirling colors and vague images, the crystal suddenly blazed with a light that seemed to come from within my own perception rather than from any external source.

I was so close to making the connection, so close to breakthrough, when— 

The arch to my left suddenly blazed with brilliant white light.

The light was so intense that I instinctively threw up a hand to shield my eyes, the connection to my void abilities severing abruptly as my concentration shattered. The crystal ball’s inner radiance died instantly, leaving only the chamber’s ambient blue glow. But the arch continued to pulse with that brilliant white illumination, growing brighter and more urgent with each passing second.

“Step back from the crystal.” Rackham commanded, sounding deeply concerned as his attention focused entirely on the activated archway. “Now, Adam.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I moved away from the pedestal, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watched the light reach a crescendo that made the air itself seem to vibrate. Then, with a sound like thunder rolling through distant mountains, the light began to fade, revealing a figure stumbling through the archway.

It was Harry, but not the Harry I was used to seeing. This version of my brother looked like he’d been put through a meat grinder and then reassembled by someone who wasn’t entirely sure how human anatomy worked.

His robes were torn in so many places they were more holes than fabric, hanging off his frame in ragged strips that did little to conceal the extent of his injuries. Blood had dried in dark streaks down his face from a gash above his left eyebrow, and more blood— some dry, some disturbingly fresh— stained what remained of his clothing.

He took three unsteady steps into the chamber before his legs gave out entirely. I was moving before I’d consciously decided to, catching him under the arms just as he began to collapse. Up close, the damage was even worse than I’d initially thought. His hands were scraped raw, knuckles split and bleeding. His left shoulder sat at an odd angle that suggested dislocation, and when he tried to speak, I could see that his lip was split badly enough that talking was clearly painful.

“Harry.” I said, supporting his weight as I guided him toward one of the stone benches that lined the chamber walls. “Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”

He tried to shake his head, winced at the movement, and instead made a weak gesture that might have been dismissal.

“Can’t…” He managed through swollen lips. “Can’t tell you.”

“The trial is complete.” Rackham’s voice came from behind us, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw the former professor regarding Harry with a mixture of approval and concern. “The second of three trials has been successfully concluded.”

I eased Harry down onto the bench, being as gentle as I could while still moving quickly. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and I could see a fine tremor running through his hands that spoke of either shock, exhaustion, or both.

“One more?” I asked, looking between Harry and Rackham. “He has to do one more of these?”

“The trials are not meant to be easy.” Rackham said solemnly. “They test every aspect of a Keeper’s capabilities— magical, physical, mental, and spiritual. Only by proving worthy in all these areas can one hope to unlock the Ancient Magic seal safely.”

I was already digging through my bag, pulling out the small collection of healing potions I’d gotten into the habit of carrying since our first life and death situation had arisen. My hands found the familiar smooth surface of a Wiggenweld Potion bottle, followed by a Pepperup Potion for the shock, and a small vial of Essence of Dittany for the worst of the cuts.

“Here.” I said, uncorking the Wiggenweld Potion and pressing it into Harry’s hands. “Drink this. All of it.”

Harry’s hands were shaking badly enough that I had to help guide the bottle to his lips, but he managed to drain it completely. The effect was almost immediate— some of the smaller cuts began to close, the swelling around his eyes reduced noticeably, and his breathing steadied somewhat. But he was still in rough shape.

“What else do you have?” I asked myself as much as him, examining my remaining supplies. The Pepperup Potion would help with the shock and exhaustion, while the Dittany would handle the deeper wounds that the Wiggenweld hadn’t fully addressed.

“Adam.” Harry said, his voice clearer now though still obviously pained. “The shoulder…”

I looked at the joint in question and grimaced. Definitely dislocated. “I can fix that, but it’s going to hurt like hell for about three seconds.”

Harry managed what might have been a smile if his face hadn’t been so battered. “Can’t be worse than the last few hours.”

I positioned myself carefully, one hand on his upper arm, the other on his forearm. “On three. One— “

I popped the shoulder back into place on “one”, the way my cousin had taught me in another life. Harry’s sharp intake of breath echoed through the chamber, but the relief on his face was immediate as the joint settled back into its proper position.

“Bastard.” He muttered, but there was affection in it.

“Episkey. It’s better to do it when you’re not expecting it.” I replied, and lowered my wand before uncorking the Pepperup Potion. “Drink this too. It’ll help with the shock.”

As Harry worked on the second potion, I opened the Dittany and began applying it to the worst of his remaining cuts. The magical essence worked its way into the wounds, promoting rapid healing and preventing infection. The gash above his eyebrow sealed itself neatly, leaving only a thin pink line that would probably fade completely within a day or two.

“There.” I said, stepping back to assess my handiwork. “You look almost human again.”

Harry actually did smile at that, though the expression was still somewhat lopsided due to his split lip. “Thanks. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

“What are brothers for?” I replied automatically, then felt a flush of warmth at how natural the words sounded.

That’s what we were, really. Not by blood, perhaps, but by choice and circumstance and shared experience. We were family in all the ways that mattered.

I helped Harry sit up straighter on the bench, keeping one hand on his back in case he needed additional support. He was looking better by the minute as the potions did their work, but I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. Whatever he’d been through, it had pushed him to his absolute limits.

“Can you tell me anything about what happened?” I asked, knowing the answer but feeling compelled to ask anyway.

Harry’s expression became carefully neutral. “You know I can’t.”

I looked toward Rackham, hoping for some clarification, but the professor’s face was equally unreadable.

“The trials of Ancient Magic have always been shrouded in secrecy.” He said. “It is not mere tradition, but necessity. The knowledge contained within each trial is dangerous in the wrong hands, and speaking of it to those who have not earned the right to know could have… consequences.”

“Consequences for who?” I pressed. “For Harry, or for whoever he tells?”

“Both.” Rackham replied simply. “The magic that binds the trials is ancient and unforgiving. It does not distinguish between good intentions and malicious ones.”

I felt a surge of frustration at the non-answer, but I also understood it. Ancient Magic operated by different rules than the spells we learned in classrooms. It was older, more primal, and far less concerned with human comfort or convenience. If keeping the trials secret was part of the magic itself, then there was nothing any of us could do about it.

“Fine.” I said, settling onto the bench beside Harry. “But you’re not going anywhere until you’re steady on your feet again. And you’re definitely not doing another trial anytime soon.”

“The final trial will not be for some time yet.” Rackham interjected. “There are… preparations that must be made first. Arrangements to be completed. The young man will have time to recover fully before the next test.”

Harry nodded, leaning back against the stone wall behind the bench. “Good. I’m not sure I could handle another one right now anyway.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the quiet drip of water somewhere in the chamber’s depths and the almost inaudible hum of the ancient magic that permeated the space. I found myself studying Harry’s profile, noting the way the healing potions had restored color to his cheeks and steadied his breathing. He was going to be fine, physically at least.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that each trial was changing him in ways that went beyond mere physical endurance. There was something in his eyes now— a depth that hadn’t been there before, a weight of experience that seemed to age him beyond his years. I wondered what kinds of challenges he was facing in those trials, what kinds of knowledge he was being forced to confront.

“I should probably head back to Gryffindor Tower.” Harry said eventually, making as if to stand up.

I put a restraining hand on his arm. “Not yet. Give the potions a bit more time to work. And besides, you look like you’ve been through a war zone. People are going to ask questions.”

Harry looked down at his ruined robes and grimaced. “You’re right. I can’t exactly walk through the corridors looking like this.”

“It is a good thing that you were prepared, Harry.” Rackham said. He gestured towards the left, where a full set of pristine robes were waiting. “You brought a spare, remember?”

Harry stared at them for a few moments as I Summoned them to us. “I’d honestly forgotten.”

He took the robes, though he made no move to change into them immediately. Instead, he remained seated beside me, apparently content to rest a while longer.

“Adam.” He said quietly. “Thank you. For covering for me earlier, I mean. I know Su and Hermione were asking questions.”

I blinked in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

“Rackham told me you’d been asked about my whereabouts. I appreciate you not… elaborating.”

Sneaky little fucker. I thought as I looked towards Rackham, seeing him nod. I wonder how many eyes and ears he has in the castle…

“They’re worried about you.” I said as I turned back to Harry. “Both of them. They care about you, and when someone they care about disappears without explanation, it’s natural for them to be concerned.”

“I know.” Harry replied, guilt evident in his voice. “I hate lying to them, even by omission. But this is bigger than personal relationships. If something happened to them because of something I told them…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. I understood the weight of responsibility he was carrying, the impossible position of having to protect people by keeping them in the dark. It was a burden I recognized, because I was carrying a version of it myself.

“They’ll understand eventually.” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. “When this is all over, when you can finally explain what you’ve been doing, they’ll understand why it had to be secret.”

Harry nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. “I hope so. I really hope so.”

oooo

Same Time, London

Sirius Black

Sirius straightened his leather jacket as he approached the small café where he’d arranged to meet Amy, checking his reflection in the window of a nearby shop. The October evening had a crisp bite to it that reminded him autumn was settling over London in earnest.

He’d chosen to walk the last few blocks rather than Apparate directly, partly because he genuinely enjoyed this particular neighborhood and partly because he needed the time to clear his head.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of Order business, training sessions that ran late into the night, and intelligence gathering that left him feeling like he was constantly looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t the kind of life that lent itself to stable relationships, and he was increasingly aware that Amy was bearing the brunt of his divided attention.

He spotted her through the restaurant’s front window before he reached the door— she was already seated at their usual table near the back, absently stirring what looked like a cup of tea while staring out at the street.

Even from a distance, he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself that suggested she was wound as tightly as a spring. It occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her truly relaxed.

The hostess recognized him as he entered, offering a warm smile that he returned automatically. “Mr. Black, your usual table? Your companion is already seated.”

“Perfect, thank you.” He replied, making his way through the maze of tables toward where Amy waited.

This restaurant had become something of a refuge for them over the months they’d been seeing each other. It was a small Italian place, family-owned, with checkered tablecloths and wine bottles converted into candle holders. The kind of unpretentious establishment that served genuine comfort food without any pretense of sophistication.

More importantly, it was entirely Muggle, which meant it was one of the few places where Sirius could truly relax his magical vigilance and focus on being just a man having dinner with a woman he cared about.

Amy looked up as he approached, and he was struck again by how beautiful she was— not in the polished, artificial way that had characterized many of the women from his pureblood social circle, but in a way that was entirely natural and unguarded.

Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her brown eyes held an intelligence that had first attracted him to her months ago. But tonight, those eyes also held something else— a wariness that made his chest tighten with concern.

“Sorry I’m a bit late.” He said, sliding into the chair across from her and reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

“I was a little delayed, and I didn’t want to—” He stopped himself before he could say ‘Apparate’. “— didn’t want to take a taxi in this traffic.”

“It’s fine.” Amy replied, but her smile felt forced in a way that was entirely unlike her usual warmth. “I was early anyway. Needed to get out of the office.”

Sirius studied her face, noting the fine lines of stress around her eyes and the way her fingers drummed restlessly against her teacup. “Rough day?”

“Rough few weeks, more like.” She corrected, finally meeting his gaze properly. “But let’s not talk about work yet. How are you? I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately.”

The gentle reproach in her voice was unmistakable, and Sirius felt a familiar stab of guilt. It was true— between Order meetings, his responsibilities to Harry and Adam, and the general chaos that seemed to surround his life these days, he’d been an absent and distracted companion. Amy deserved better than stolen hours between crises and conversations that were constantly interrupted by concerns he couldn’t share with her.

“I know.” He said, his thumb tracing across her knuckles. “I’ve been… busy with family things. You know how it is.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Harry, Remus and Adam were as close to family as made no difference, and the Order had become a kind of extended family of choice. Still, he hated the way the half-truth tasted in his mouth, hated the way Amy’s expression suggested she knew there was more to the story than he was telling her.

The restaurant around them hummed with quiet conversation and the gentle clink of cutlery against plates. Other couples sat at nearby tables, engaged in the kind of easy, intimate discussions that Sirius found himself envying. When had things become so complicated between him and Amy? When had their conversations started to feel like negotiations around topics they couldn’t discuss?

“I like this place.” Amy said suddenly, her voice carrying that same forced quality from earlier. “The atmosphere is nice. Cozy.”

Sirius glanced around the familiar dining room, taking in the warm lighting and casual elegance that had drawn them here in the first place.

“It is.” He agreed, though something in Amy’s tone suggested she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “Remember the first time we came here? You insisted on ordering for both of us because you said I looked like someone who’d never eaten real Italian food.”

“You ordered chicken and chips.” Amy pointed out, and this time her smile was genuine. “At an Italian restaurant. I was horrified.”

“I was nervous.” Sirius admitted with a grin. “Beautiful woman, fancy restaurant— well, fancier than I was used to at the time. I defaulted to the safest thing on the menu.”

“And I made you try the osso buco instead.”

“Which was delicious, as you were quick to point out for the rest of the evening.” The memory warmed him, reminding him of why he’d been drawn to Amy in the first place. She had a way of challenging him, of pushing him slightly outside his comfort zone in ways that felt exciting rather than threatening.

But even as they shared the memory, he could see that the warmth in her eyes was tinged with something that looked like sadness. As if she were looking back at a time that felt impossibly distant rather than just a few months ago.

A server approached their table— the same young man who’d served them several times before, Antonio, who always remembered that Amy preferred her wine white and dry and that Sirius liked his pasta with extra garlic. The familiarity of the interaction should have been comforting, but instead it highlighted how routine their relationship had become, how predictable.

“The usual for both of you?” Antonio asked with a friendly smile.

Sirius looked to Amy, who nodded distractedly.

“That sounds perfect.” She said, though her attention seemed to be focused on something beyond the restaurant’s windows.

As Antonio retreated toward the kitchen, silence settled over their table again. It wasn’t the comfortable quiet that had once characterized their dinners together, but something heavier and more fraught. Sirius found himself searching for topics of conversation that wouldn’t lead to uncomfortable questions about his recent absences or the mysterious “family business” that seemed to consume so much of his time.

“So.” He said finally. “Tell me about these rough few weeks you mentioned. What’s been happening at the paper?”

Amy’s expression darkened immediately, and she wrapped both hands around her teacup as if seeking its warmth.

“You know I can’t discuss most of it in detail, but… there’s a lot happening right now. A lot of stories that need investigating, and most of them involve situations that are…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Dangerous. More dangerous than usual.”

Sirius felt his attention sharpen. Amy worked as an investigative journalist for one of Magical London’s smaller newspapers, the kind of publication that prided itself on uncovering stories that the larger outlets missed or ignored. She’d always been drawn to the kind of reporting that required digging into uncomfortable truths, but lately, her work seemed to be taking her into increasingly hazardous territory.

“What kind of dangerous?” He asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. The wizarding war was beginning to spill over into the muggle world in ways that were subtle but unmistakable to anyone who knew what to look for.

“Missing persons cases that don’t make sense.” Amy said, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “Unexplained accidents that follow patterns the DMLE won’t acknowledge. Buildings that suffer structural damage overnight with no apparent cause.”

She met his eyes across the table. “I know how it sounds, but there’s something bigger happening, Sirius. Something that connects all these seemingly random incidents.”

Sirius kept his expression carefully neutral, even as his mind raced. What Amy was describing sounded very much like the kind of collateral damage that Grindelwald and Voldemort’s activities were beginning to cause in the muggle world. The fact that she was investigating these incidents professionally meant she was potentially putting herself in very real danger— the kind she couldn’t possibly understand because she had no way of knowing what she was actually dealing with.

“That does sound stressful.” He said carefully. “Are you being safe? Taking proper precautions?”

Amy’s laugh was bitter. “As safe as anyone can be when they’re trying to investigate things that apparently don’t officially exist. My editor thinks I’m chasing shadows, but I know there’s a story here. A big one.”

The conviction in her voice sent a chill down Sirius’s spine. Amy was smart, determined, and absolutely fearless when it came to pursuing a story she believed in. Under normal circumstances, those were qualities he admired about her. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and her determination to uncover the truth could very well get her killed.

“Maybe.” He said slowly. “Some shadows are better left alone.”

Amy’s eyes flashed with something that might have been anger. “You sound like my editor. Like everyone at the paper, actually. No one wants to hear about patterns that don’t fit their comfortable understanding of how the world works.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong.” Sirius replied quickly. “I’m just saying that sometimes there are good reasons why certain stories don’t get told. Safety reasons.”

“Safety for who?” Amy demanded. “For the people who are disappearing? For the families who deserve answers? Or safety for whoever’s responsible for covering this up in the first place?”

Sirius recognized the fire in her voice, the passionate commitment to truth that was one of the things he’d fallen for in the first place. But he also recognized the danger she was walking into, blind to the real nature of the forces she was trying to expose.

Their food arrived then, providing a welcome interruption to a conversation that was rapidly heading into territory neither of them could navigate safely. Antonio set their plates down with his usual flourish, refilled their water glasses, and retreated with the kind of practiced discretion that came from years of serving couples who clearly had things to discuss.

Amy picked at her food without real appetite, her mind obviously still on work and the frustrations she’d been sharing. Sirius found himself in the surreal position of wanting to both warn her away from her investigation and admire her dedication to uncovering the truth.

The silence stretched between them, filled with all the things they couldn’t say to each other.

The pasta was excellent, as always— Amy had ordered the linguine alle vongole, and Sirius had gone with his usual penne arrabbiata— but neither of them seemed to be paying much attention to the food. They ate mechanically, occasionally making small talk about the meal or commenting on the restaurant’s atmosphere, but the real conversation hung suspended between them like a sword waiting to fall.

Sirius watched Amy push clams around her plate, her fork creating neat little patterns in the white wine sauce without actually bringing much food to her mouth. The stress lines around her eyes seemed more pronounced in the warm candlelight, and he found himself cataloging all the small changes he’d noticed in her over the past few weeks.

She’d lost weight, for one thing— not dramatically, but enough that her clothes hung differently on her frame. Her laugh, when it came, had a brittle quality that hadn’t been there before. And there was a new wariness in the way she looked at him, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle she couldn’t quite see clearly.

“This is really good.” Amy said, gesturing at her plate with her fork. “I’d forgotten how much I like their seafood dishes.”

“Mine too.” Sirius replied, though he’d barely tasted his food. The spicy tomato sauce that usually made his mouth water seemed muted tonight, overshadowed by the weight of everything they weren’t saying to each other.

Amy set down her fork and reached for her wine glass, taking a sip of the Pinot Grigio she’d ordered.

“Sirius.” She said, her voice careful in the way it got when she was preparing to ask him something she suspected he wouldn’t want to answer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He tried to keep his tone light, but he could feel his shoulders tensing in anticipation.

“Where do you go?” The question was simple, but her eyes were intent on his face, watching for his reaction. “When you disappear for days at a time, when you cancel our plans at the last minute, when you show up looking like you haven’t slept in a week— where do you go?”

Sirius felt his carefully constructed defenses slam into place. This was the conversation he’d been dreading, the one that had been building for weeks as his Order responsibilities had consumed more and more of his time and attention. “I told you, family business—”

“No.” Amy shook her head, her dark hair catching the candlelight. “That’s not an answer, that’s an evasion. Family business could mean anything from helping a cousin move houses to attending secret meetings in abandoned warehouses. And given some of the things I’ve been investigating lately…”

She trailed off, but her implication was clear.

“Amy.” Sirius reached across the table, covering her hand with his. “You know I care about you. You know that, right?”

“I thought I did.” She replied, and the uncertainty in her voice made his chest tighten. “But caring about someone means trusting them, and I’m starting to think you don’t trust me at all.”

“It’s not about trust—”

“Then what is it about?” Amy pulled her hand free from his, leaning back in her chair. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you have an entire part of your life that you’ve decided I’m not allowed to know about. And that makes me wonder what else you’re hiding from me.”

The accusation hung between them, and Sirius found himself in the impossible position of wanting desperately to tell her the truth while knowing that doing so would put her in even greater danger than she was already courting with her investigations. How could he explain that he was part of an organization fighting on the frontlines of a war she didn’t fully understand the scope of?

How could he tell her that the “family business” she was questioning involved protecting the wizarding world from a dark wizard whose name most people were afraid to speak?

“There are things.” He said slowly, choosing his words with extreme care.

“That I can’t discuss. Not because I don’t trust you, but because…” He struggled to find a way to explain without revealing too much. “Because there are other people involved. People whose safety depends on certain information remaining confidential.”

Amy studied his face for a long moment, and he could see her journalist’s instincts warring with her feelings for him.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked finally. “With the law, I mean?”

“No.” That, at least, he could answer honestly. “Nothing like that. They won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole after Azkaban. Political suicide for them— not that I’m doing anything nefarious.”

“Then what? What could possibly be so serious that you can’t even give me a hint about what’s going on in your life?”

The frustration in her voice was palpable, and Sirius felt a surge of self-loathing at what he was putting her through. Amy deserved honesty, deserved a partner who could share his life with her completely. Instead, she was getting half-truths and mysterious absences, forced to piece together fragments of information that would never form a complete picture.

“I wish I could tell you.” He said, and meant it more than she could possibly know. “I wish things were different.”

“Different how?” Amy pressed. “Different enough that you could have a normal relationship? Different enough that I wouldn’t spend half my time wondering if you’re going to disappear again without explanation?”

Before Sirius could respond, their server appeared at the table, clearly sensing the tension but maintaining his professional composure.

“How is everything tasting tonight?” Antonio asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Wonderful, thank you.” Amy replied, her journalist’s training allowing her to shift seamlessly into polite conversation mode. “The clams are particularly good tonight.”

“Excellent. Can I get you anything else? Perhaps some dessert? We have a lovely tiramisu tonight, and the panna cotta is always popular.”

Sirius glanced at Amy, who shook her head slightly.

“Just the check, please.” He said. “When you have a moment.”

Antonio nodded and retreated, leaving them alone again with their unfinished conversation and barely touched meals. The restaurant continued its evening rhythm around them— other couples deep in their own conversations, the gentle clink of cutlery, the murmur of voices that created a backdrop of normalcy that felt increasingly foreign to Sirius’s life.

“I love what I do.” Amy said suddenly, her voice quiet but intense. “I love investigating stories, uncovering truth, shining light into dark corners where people want to keep secrets. It’s not just my job, Sirius— it’s who I am.”

“I know that.” Sirius replied, though he suspected he was about to hear something he didn’t want to.

“Do you? Because lately I feel like you see my work as an inconvenience, something that gets in the way of our relationship rather than something that’s fundamental to who I am.” Amy’s hands were clenched around her napkin, her knuckles white with tension. “And the irony is that you’re doing the exact same thing that drives me crazy about the people I investigate— you’re keeping secrets, hiding information, asking me to just trust you without giving me any reason to.”

The comparison hit Sirius like a physical blow. He’d never thought of it that way, but she was right. He was asking her to accept his mysterious behavior on faith while offering nothing in return, no context that would help her understand why the secrecy was necessary.

“It’s not the same thing.” He said, but the words sounded weak even to his own ears.

“Isn’t it?” Amy challenged. “You want me to stop asking questions, stop trying to understand what’s happening in your life, just accept that there are things I’m not allowed to know. How is that different from every corrupt official or corporate cover-up I’ve ever investigated?”

“Because I’m not trying to hurt anyone.” Sirius said, his voice sharper than he’d intended. “Because everything I’m not telling you is to protect people, not to exploit them or cover up wrongdoing.”

“And how am I supposed to know that?” Amy shot back. “How am I supposed to distinguish between ‘protecting people’ and any other excuse people use when they don’t want to be held accountable for their actions?”

The question hung between them, unanswerable in any way that wouldn’t reveal more than Sirius could safely share. He found himself thinking about all the meetings in which Adam told him in no uncertain terms that the world was going to end at the end of the month. He thought of his meetings with Dumbledore, who was equally convinced of this as fact and was pulling out all the stops to fight against it.

Antonio returned with their check, setting it discretely on the table between them. The gesture felt like a punctuation mark on their conversation, a signal that their evening was drawing to a close without any of the real issues being resolved.

Amy looked down at her barely touched meal, then back up at Sirius.

“I think.” She said quietly. “That we need to talk about whether this is working.”

There it was— the conversation Sirius had been dreading but somehow knowing was inevitable.

“Amy— ” He began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“No, let me finish. I care about you, Sirius. More than I probably should, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that it’s normal to be in a relationship with someone who disappears without explanation and refuses to share anything meaningful about what they do when they’re not with me.”

Sirius felt the words forming before he’d consciously decided to speak them, the recognition that she was right, that he was being unfair to both of them by trying to maintain a relationship that was built on fundamental deception.

“You’re right.” He said, the admission feeling like a weight lifting from his chest even as it broke something inside him. “This isn’t fair to you. I’m going to—”

And then he stopped for a moment, staring at her face as something clicked in his mind.

“Sirius…?” Amy said, and Sirius blinked.

“What if…” He said, the words coming out without thought. “What if we got married?”

The words hung in the air between them like a spell gone wrong, so unexpected and contrary to the direction of their conversation that Sirius was certain he’d destroyed the whole thing. He blinked, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“…Come again?” Amy said.

Sirius stopped for a moment. “I said, what if we got married?”

“Sirius, I— ” Amy rubbed circles on her temple, trying to process what had just happened. One moment they’d been on the verge of breaking up, the next he was proposing marriage. “I don’t understand. We were just talking about how this isn’t working, how I can’t live with all the secrets and—”

“I know what we were talking about.” Sirius interrupted, his voice gaining strength. “But that’s exactly why I’m saying this. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Your investigations on people disappearing— it’s all true. And it’s not going to stop there. The world is in real danger, and it’ll all come to a head on the thirty first.”

“Sirius… What—”

“Let me finish.” He said, leaning forward across the table. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, actually. Ever since those families in Wales whose building was destroyed.”

“I heard about that—”

“The point is.” Sirius continued, interrupting her again. “I don’t know if any of us have tomorrow. I don’t know if I’m going to wake up next week, or if you are, or if this restaurant will still be standing, or if London itself will still be safe. And I’m tired of living in fear. I’m tired of waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect understanding, the perfect relationship.”

He reached across the table and grasped her hands in both of his.

“I love you, Amy.” Sirius said. “I will tell you everything once we get home, but I wanted to say that I love you.”

Amy looked absolutely shocked.

“I…” She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them. “I love you too. I love you even though you drive me crazy with your secrets. I love you even though half the time I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing. I love you even though this relationship is probably the most complicated, frustrating, impossible thing I’ve ever tried to navigate.”

Sirius stared at her, seeing the fear and determination warring in her eyes, the way her jaw was set with the same stubborn resolve she brought to her most challenging investigations.

“Yes, let’s get married.” She said, a fire lighting in her eyes.

“I…” Sirius stopped, shocked by the sudden shift. “Are you sure? I don’t want you making a decision based on fear—”

“Now you’re trying to talk me out of it?” She said, shaking her head in confusion.

There was a pause, before Sirius’ face broke out in a smile and they both chuckled.

“We are a pair, aren’t we…?” He said, to which she nodded.

“We are… But no, Sirius.” She said firmly. “You’re right. The fact is that the present moment is all any of us really have, and I agree with you. I don’t want to waste mine being careful and cautious and waiting for someday. So long as you’ll hold your end of the bargain and tell me everything, okay?”

Sirius felt something shifting inside his chest, a recognition that was part terror and part exhilaration. Amy was offering him something he’d never thought he’d have— not just love, but acceptance.

“The war.” He said quietly, testing the waters without using words that would mean anything to listening ears. “The dangerous things that are happening. They’re not going away anytime soon. If anything, they’re going to get worse.”

“I know.” Amy said. “That’s exactly why we shouldn’t wait.”

“And my work, my… family obligations. They’re not going to become less demanding.”

“I know that too, but you will tell me everything, yes?” Her thumb traced across his knuckles, a gesture that was both tender and determined. “I’m not asking you to change who you are or what you do, Sirius. I’m asking you to let me be part of it, even if it’s too dangerous for me.”

Sirius looked into her eyes and saw something that took his breath away— not just love, but a deep courage.

“Then…” He said. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you dolt.” She said, the words coming out rougher than she’d intended. “Yes, it’s a yes.”

He stayed quiet as she laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Though I have to point out that most people plan these things a bit more carefully. Engagement rings, proper proposals, discussions about venues and guest lists—”

“Most people have the luxury of time.” Sirius interrupted. “We don’t. And besides, I don’t need any of that. I just need you.”

Amy looked around the restaurant— at the checkered tablecloths and converted wine bottle candles, at the other couples enjoying their quiet dinners, at Antonio still hovering diplomatically nearby. It wasn’t the most romantic setting for a proposal, but somehow it felt perfect. Real and unpretentious and honest in a way that matched exactly who they were together.

“So what now?” He asked. “Do we shake hands? Kiss? Call our families?”

“Now.” Amy said, standing up from the table with sudden decisiveness. “We go find someone who can marry us tonight.”

Sirius blinked. “Tonight? As in, right now tonight?”

“Why wait?” Amy challenged. “You just said most people have the luxury of time, and we don’t. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it properly. All the way.”

The audacity of it was so perfectly Amy that Sirius found himself laughing despite the magnitude of what they were contemplating. “Let’s do it.”

They were married within the hour.