12:50 AM
February 18th
Moonstone Dunvegan slept.
Not the restless, half-sleep of a place full of magic and people—this was absolute stillness. Harry felt it through the web of his magic, stretched thin and vast across stone, wards, corridors, and dreams. Every heartbeat, every breath, every mind was accounted for.
Satisfied, he withdrew the last threads.
Then he smiled.
Soundlessly, he vanished.
He reappeared in front of a storeroom door in Dursley Mansion. It was not just a storeroom door. It was the storeroom door. The door behind which Lumos was trapped in time. The door behind which laid an unfulfilled promise which Harry intended on completing now.
He rested his palm against the wood.
For a moment, he didn't open it.
This was the first time he had come back since that day.
Not because he couldn't.
Because he wouldn't.
A silent vow was still a vow. Only when he had the means to undo death would he face what remained of his friend. And tonight, he did.
The seal recognised him instantly. The door sighed open and cold rolled out. Not the cold of winter or ice, but something deeper. Temporal cold. The absence of motion itself.
The room was unchanged.
And at its center—
Lumos.
The unicorn stood frozen in perfect clarity, encased in crystalline time-ice that caught the light like silver glass. Mane flowing. Horn intact. Hooves suspended mid-step, as though he might move again if the world remembered how.
Harry's breath hitched.
For one terrible second, the boy he used to be surged up from somewhere deep and unguarded.
But then it vanished.
He stepped forward slowly, reverently, stopping an arm's length away.
"I'm back," he said quietly.
The ice did not respond. Harry lifted his hand and Elythral appeared in his grip instantly, but his hands still trembled. Not from fear, not from doubt, but from weight.
This wasn't an experiment. This wasn't theory. This wasn't atonement. It was him facing his mistake. Trying to correct his biggest mistake.
The mistake of letting Quirrell live. He had known. He had known about Quirrell being possessed by Voldemort, but instead of eliminating him then and there, he had chosen patience.
And that patience had killed Lumos.
The unicorn's death had been the first thing Harry never allowed himself to rationalize. It had taught him one useful lesson, if you cannot foresee how a variable will work, then eliminate that variable. Don't chose to wait just because you want to see how it would react.
And this lesson had cost Azkaban their entire population. It had made one of the worst prison's known to wizardkind, empty.
Harry exhaled slowly and pointed Elythral at the ice.
Magic poured from him—not in a flood, but in precision. Ancient runes spun into existence around Lumos's body, not carved or spoken, but asserted. Life matrices. Soul anchors. Temporal rethreading.
He began dismantling the stasis layer by layer.
Time resumed.
Ice cracked—not violently, but like glass warmed by sunrise. It peeled away, dissolving into silver mist that sank into the floor and vanished.
Lumos fell, but Harry caught him with a levitation charm. For a heartbeat he looked at the corpse of his friend and he felt angry and sad at the same time. But he pushed those emotions aside, as there was no time for them right now.
He had tested out the resurrection spell extensively, on small to mid-sized creatures and it worked perfectly. But there was one thing different. He had killed and resurrected those creatures instantly. But Lumos's case wasn't like that. Lumos has been dead for a year. He had no idea what might happen when he tries to resurrect his friend.
And the spell's cost was high as well. Every time he cast it, he lost more than half of his full magical energy. And that was when he was resurrecting creatures that had died just before. But this time around, it was something that had died an year before. He didn't know what the tax on his magical energy would look like but it didn't matter.
He owed it to Lumos. He owed it to his friend.
Harry raised his wand.
The room dimmed, not from shadow, but from attention.
Ex Nihilo Revoco Lumos Per Debitum Vitae Revertere (From nothingness, I recall Lumos. By the debt of life. Return)
He spoke the final syllable.
And the universe refused to let him finish.
Everything stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Harry was frozen mid-breath, wand still raised, spell spoken but yet to take effect, his magical energy itself was frozen in place. His thoughts still moved, but barely. His body might as well have been carved from stone. Even the ambient hum of Dursley Mansion vanished, leaving behind a silence so complete it felt louder than sound.
Then...
A cut.
Not a tear. Not a crack.
A slice.
Space itself parted as though reality had been opened by an invisible blade. The wound was vertical, clean, impossibly precise and from within it spilled a color that did not belong to the world.
Green.
Not emerald.
Not living green.
The sickly, inevitable hue of Avada Kedavra.
A figure stepped through.
It did not disturb the floor.It did not cast a shadow.It did not breathe.
The Reaper—for no other word could describe the presence of it—stood tall and still, cloaked in smoke that suggested form without ever committing to it. Its face was unknowable, a void shaped like intention. Where eyes should have been, there was awareness; sharp, cold, and ancient beyond measure.
In one hand, it held a lantern.
Green fire burned inside it, slow and steady, illuminating nothing and everything at once.
In the other...
A scythe.
The haft was blacker than absence. The blade was crystal-green, faceted like cut fate itself, and along its edge danced the same killing flame as the lantern; quiet, patient, eternal.
The pressure hit Harry all at once.
Not pain.
Finality.
His magic screamed, not outward, but inward. Compressed under a presence that did not recognise resistance as a concept. Harry could not move. Could not breathe. Could not blink.
He was prey.
And yet...
Something else happened.
His eyes flared.
For a heartbeat, the emerald green of them burned away, pupils bleeding into ruby red. Ancient, furious and defiant. But he didn't register it.
The Reaper did.
It tilted its head.
Studied him.
Not as a threat.
But as something… interesting.
The lantern's flame guttered once. Then, slowly, deliberately, the Reaper did something unthinkable.
It inclined its head.
A bow.
Not deep. Not submissive.
But respectful.
Then it stepped backward.
The rip in space folded inward like a wound reluctantly closing, sealing itself without sound, without scar, without mercy.
And time snapped back into place.
Harry staggered forward as breath slammed into his lungs, magic detonating outward as the spell completed itself in a violent, incandescent surge. The runes burned white-hot, then sank into Lumos's body as though they had always belonged there.
95% of his magical energy burned in an instant as the spell took hold and life returned.
Harry dropped to one knee, heart hammering, chest heaving as the unicorn's body moved—just slightly at first—then breathed.
A living breath.
Warm.
Real.
Harry barely noticed. Cause for the first time he had felt it. He had felt power that didn't take no for an answer. Power that could wipe out anything and everything in its path. And that power had come for him.
Death itself had. Not the God of Life and Death, Nozdrega, but the very concept of death. And it had noticed him.
And it had bowed?
Harry froze, chest heaving, mind reeling. The air still hummed with the aftershock of the spell, residual magic spinning lazily around him, brushing against the walls of the storeroom like a living thing. He could feel it—the weight of what had just happened, the enormity of it, the undeniable truth that Death itself had acknowledged him. Not his power. Not his magic. Him.
Every instinct in him screamed that the encounter should have ended differently. That he should have been erased in an instant. That the spell, no matter how precise, had left him exposed, vulnerable, unmade. And yet he stood.
Why?
The question tore through his mind, layered over the silence of the room. The same reason the goddesses were nice to him? The same 'him' they saw in him? The same reason they took his defiance and didn't evaporate him on the spot?
He had come to agreeing that yes, he was a reincarnation. Of course he was reincarnation of Arthur, the Founder and CEO from Earth where Harry Potter was a character from a book, but was he? Was he just Arthur? He knew first hand, that his life as Arthur, he didn't have enough power to force Death to respect him. But he was someone's reincarnation, who could make Death respect him. If so then how did that person die? And why?
He barely registered the movement at first.
A shift of air. A careful step. The quiet scrape of hoof against stone.
Then a presence pressed gently into him, solid and warm and undeniably real.
Harry sucked in a sharp breath and looked up.
Lumos stood before him, a little unsteady but upright, silver coat catching the light in soft waves. The black-emerald streaks threaded through his mane glimmered faintly, like lightning trapped beneath moonlight. His eyes, ancient and lucid, fixed on Harry with naked confusion and something very close to fear.
Harry?
The voice was not sound. It was recognition, thought shaped by trust.
Harry made a broken noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His hand came up automatically, fingers burying themselves in Lumos's mane as if anchoring him to the world.
"Yeah," Harry rasped. "Yeah. I'm here."
Lumos's ears flicked, his stance faltering for a moment before he steadied himself. He looked down at his own body, lifted a hoof, set it back down again with visible disbelief.
I… died, Lumos said slowly. In the forest. Quirrell. The cold. It was yesterday.
Harry swallowed.
"It wasn't yesterday," he said gently. "It was a year ago."
Lumos froze.
A year.
The concept landed like a stone dropped into still water. His breath hitched, a soft, startled sound, and his gaze snapped back to Harry, searching his face for denial.
Then why am I here? he asked, voice trembling now. Why am I alive?
Harry's grip tightened slightly, grounding both of them.
"Because I wasn't finished," he said quietly. "Because I made a promise. And because I finally had the means to keep it."
Lumos lowered his head, pressing it briefly to Harry's shoulder as though the weight of the truth had weakened his legs.
You brought me back, he said, awed. Then fear crept into the thought, sharp and sudden. What did it cost you?
Harry huffed a weak, breathless laugh. "You're not subtle, are you?"
Lumos pulled back just enough to look at him properly, eyes narrowing as he took in Harry's pallor, the tremor in his hands, the way his magic felt… thin.
You paid too much.
Harry shook his head, though the effort clearly cost him. "No such thing."
Harry—
"If it meant you coming back," Harry cut in softly, "I'd do it again. Every time. I will not stand by and have my friends die."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with things neither of them said.
Then Lumos straightened.
He bowed.
Not playfully. Not instinctively.
Deliberately.
My life is yours, Lumos said, voice steady now. Command it, and I will answer. That is the law.
Harry blinked, then let out an incredulous laugh that dissolved into a groan as his core protested.
"Absolutely not," he said. "We are not doing that."
Lumos frowned, genuinely confused.
You returned me from death.
"And you were my friend," Harry replied simply. "Friends don't keep ledgers."
He leaned his forehead briefly against Lumos's neck again, exhaustion finally bleeding through the adrenaline.
"I found your mate," he added quietly. "And your foal. They're safe. At my estate. I wanted you back before I could face them again."
For a moment, Lumos said nothing.
Then his breath shuddered, a sound of relief so deep it bordered on pain.
Thank you, he whispered. For everything.
Harry smiled faintly, eyes closing.
"Welcome home," he murmured.
He pulled back slight, one hand still resting against Lumos's warm shoulder, grounding himself in reality of the room. He tried to apparate away with Lumos but his magical core was now almost empty and he couldn't risk it. Every nerve in his body felt frayed, the 95% depletion of his core manifesting as a deep, structural ache that made even holding his head up a chore.
"Loppy," Harry whispered, his voice cracking.
With a soft crack, the elf appeared, wearing his tailored black uniform that now had the Nexus symbol replacing the old Dursley-Potter crest. He bowed so low his nose nearly brushed polished shoes.
"Master Harry called for Loppy? Master is—" Loppy's large eyes widened as they swept over the room, landing first on the living unicorn and then on Harry's pale, trembling form. "Master is looking like he has been fighting a war with the sun itself!"
"Not the sun, Loppy," Harry managed a weak, weary smirk. "Just the bill. Take me to my rooms at Moonstone Dunvegan. And then..." He looked at Lumos, whose emerald-streaked coat seemed to pulse in the dim light. "Take him to the woods. To his mate and the foal. They've waited long enough."
Loppy's expression softened into one of fierce, protective loyalty. "It will be done, Master Harry."
The transition was a blur of squeezed space and muffled sound. In an instant, the cold storeroom was replaced by the familiar, high-vaulted ceilings and the scent of sandalwood that defined Harry's private chambers. Loppy didn't just transport him; he guided Harry onto the expansive bed, pulling the heavy silk covers over him before Harry could even protest.
"Master Harry is weak," Loppy muttered, his tone shifting from servant to a fussing guardian. "Magical core is hungry. It is eating the body's strength to fill the void. Master will stay. Master will sleep."
"I intended to have a very boring day anyway," Harry murmured, his eyelids already feeling like lead. "I really hope... nothing happens."
Loppy huffed, turning to tend to the now-resting Lumos before their final jump to the woods. "Boring day," the elf grumbled under his breath, though loud enough for Harry to hear. "Master speaks of boring days, but brings himself home with a core so empty it rattles. Over-powered Master does not know when to stop. Always pushing, always the headache for Mistress Petunia"
Harry let out a faint, genuine chuckle that died out as sleep claimed him. His core began its aggressive work, drawing deeply from his physical reserves to mend the magical vacuum within, leaving the master of Moonstone Dunvegan in a dreamless, absolute silence.
The woods received Lumos as though they had been holding their breath for a year.
The elf appeared at the edge of the clearing just as dawn began to hint at itself, pale silver light threading through ancient branches. The forest reacted instantly. Leaves rustled without wind. Roots shifted. Magic stirred, old and deep and familiar.
Lumos stepped forward.
He hesitated only a moment, head lifting as if listening to something no one else could hear. Then he moved, hooves steady now, each step carrying certainty.
From between the trees came a sound that was half breath, half sob.
The mate broke from the undergrowth like a storm made of white and moonlight, skidding to a halt only inches from him. For a heartbeat, they stared at one another, disbelief warring with instinct.
Then she touched him.
Horn to horn. Foreheads pressed together.
The sound she made then was unmistakable. Relief. Recognition. Joy so sharp it hurt.
The foal emerged last, smaller, hesitant, eyes wide and luminous. It took a few uncertain steps, sniffed the air, then bolted forward with a chirring sound that echoed like laughter.
Lumos lowered his head, nudging the foal gently, carefully, as though afraid of breaking something precious.
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Morning crept into Moonstone Dunvegan carefully.
The estate never rushed dawn. Light filtered through tall windows in measured bands, warming stone and silk and old magic that preferred patience. By seven, the household had begun to stir. Footsteps echoed softly. Teacups clinked. Someone laughed quietly in a distant corridor.
Abigail padded down the hallway toward Harry's rooms, already rehearsing the mild scolding she planned to give him for vanishing during the party and then, presumably, forgetting that mornings existed.
She opened the door without knocking.
"Harry, we're leaving in twenty minu—"
She stopped.
Her breath caught hard enough that for a split second she genuinely thought he was dead.
Harry lay sprawled across the bed, hair a dark mess against pale pillows, skin so white it almost blended into the sheets. Not pale in the way of someone who had stayed up too late. Pale in the way statues were pale. Lips faintly blue. Magic so quiet it felt absent.
Abigail's heart slammed into her ribs.
Then she saw his chest rise.
Slow. Shallow. But steady.
She exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her forehead.
"Merlin's left eyebrow," she muttered. "You can't keep doing this to people."
She stepped closer, checking him properly now. No fever. No sweat. Just… drained. Completely wrung out in a way she had unfortunately learned to recognize.
Overused magic. Severely.
Again.
Abigail sighed, tugged the blankets up a little higher around him, and quietly backed out of the room, closing the door with exaggerated care.
Downstairs, the main sitting room was already occupied. Adults and teenagers alike clustered around low tables and tall windows, the aftermath of celebration still lingering in the air. Someone had conjured tea. Someone else was arguing about toast.
Abigail cleared her throat.
Everyone looked up.
"He did it again," she said flatly.
Petunia pinched the bridge of her nose immediately. Vernon groaned without even asking for clarification. Sirius leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling like a man bargaining with fate.
"How bad?" Andromeda asked.
"Dead-person bad," Abigail replied. "But breathing. So. Points for consistency."
A collective sigh rolled through the room.
"This should not be normal," Molly said firmly, hands on her hips.
"It isn't," Petunia agreed tiredly. "It's just… familiar."
She looked around. "Does anyone know what he did this time?"
Blank looks all around.
Hermione frowned. "He said he was going to relax."
"That should have been our first clue," Fred said solemnly.
George nodded. "Whenever Harry says 'nothing,' something horrific has already happened."
Percy adjusted his glasses. "Could he have gone back to Hogwarts after the party?"
Petunia looked startled. "Back? Why would he—"
"To work," Fred said brightly. "On the city."
There was a pause.
"The what," Vernon said carefully.
Several adults turned to stare at the younger crowd.
Ginny winced. "Right. You don't know about that yet."
Arthur blinked. "City?"
Hermione straightened automatically, launching into explanation mode. "There's another pocket dimension in Hogwarts now. Time-dilated. The old gate closed, but the professors opened a new one at one to two ratio. Harry adjusted it to one to twenty."
Petunia made a sound suspiciously like resignation.
"It's for a fair," Ron added, gesturing vaguely. "Student-run. Business. Events. Chaos, but the fun kind."
"And Dumbledore and Harry," Abigail continued, "decided that if students were going to be inside for what amounts to forty days, they needed proper lodging."
"And by lodging," George said cheerfully, "we mean an entire city."
Silence.
"You built a city," Amelia said slowly.
"No," Fred corrected, "Harry and Dumbledore did. We just suggested the fair."
Victor, who had been quietly observing, rubbed his temples. "Of course they did."
"And it's not a kingdom," Luna added helpfully. "Yet. Hopefully."
Several adults looked like they might faint.
"So," Petunia said finally, voice very calm in a way that suggested it took effort, "you're telling me that while we were cleaning up cake and pretending not to notice the car, my son may have gone back to Hogwarts and helped build a city inside a time-dilated dimension."
Hermione hesitated. "Possibly."
"And now he looks like he lost a duel with mortality," Sirius added.
Emma closed her eyes. "Lovely."
Bellatrix of all people, crossed her arms. "He's not going anywhere today."
"No argument here," Andromeda said.
Percy nodded. "I'll inform McGonagall."
Fred grinned. "Good luck with that."
George added, "She already knows. She always knows."
Upstairs, Harry slept on, blissfully unaware of the council convened in his name, his magic quietly knitting itself back together while the world decided, once again, to revolve around the consequences of his ideas.
Harry woke at 9:30 with the distinct sensation that his body had been used as a cautionary tale.
Everything hurt. Not sharply. Not catastrophically. Just a deep, structural ache that radiated from bone to muscle to magic, the kind that made even blinking feel like effort. His core felt… hollow. Not empty. Hollowed out, like a cavern that had been scraped clean and was now busy growing larger just to spite him.
"Worth it," he muttered hoarsely, then immediately regretted speaking.
It took him a full ten minutes to sit up, another five to stand, and an unreasonable amount of dignity to pretend the wall had not just saved him from face-planting.
By the time he made it downstairs, moving slowly and with the care of someone who knew better than to rush anything, Moonstone Dunvegan was quiet.
Too quiet.
The main sitting room held exactly one occupant.
Bellatrix sat near the window, back straight, dark hair loose over one shoulder, porcelain cup cradled in her hands. Steam curled lazily upward. She glanced sideways as Harry entered.
"You look like hell," she said calmly.
Harry lowered himself into the chair beside her with a quiet hiss of pain. "Good morning to you too, Aunt Bella."
She arched a brow. "Everyone else left. Jobs. Meetings. Saving the world in more socially acceptable ways." She studied him more closely now. "Care to explain why you resemble a corpse that lost an argument with life?"
Harry stared at the far wall for a moment, gathering himself.
"I don't really want to talk about it," he said finally. Then, after a pause, added quietly, "The fact that I'm still alive and didn't have my existence erased is… nothing short of a miracle."
Bellatrix did not flinch.
But the tea in her cup rippled.
She took a slow sip, expression perfectly composed, eyes thoughtful in a way that had once terrified entire courtrooms. Inside, something recalibrated violently.
Almost erased.
Existence.
She set the cup down with deliberate care. "Harry," she said evenly, "you are a boy who has made the Ministry run in circles, and holds five masteries before most people finish adolescence."
She turned to him fully now. "What, exactly, were you doing that almost unmade you?"
Harry smiled faintly. "See, that's the part I don't want to unpack over tea."
Bellatrix accepted that answer with visible effort. She leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. "You need something."
"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Could you drop me off at Hogsmeade? Side-along."
That did it.
Bellatrix froze.
"Since when," she asked carefully, "do you need someone to take you anywhere?"
Harry exhaled slowly. "Since apparating cross-country right now would be… unwise."
She frowned. "Why?"
"My core's almost dry," he said matter-of-factly. "About two percent and it's rebuilding aggressively. Using magic right now hurts. A lot. Apparating straight to Hogwarts would take more than I want to give."
Bellatrix's gaze sharpened. "Your core doesn't run dry."
"Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Bella but it has done that many times now..." Harry chuckled and then winced. "Not like it's a bad thing."
Bellatrix looked confused and Harry explained how the magical core expanded every time a wizard or witch pushed their cores to the maximum limit. And that's how wizards could gradually and safely increase their strength over time.
Bellatrix nodded as if finding the very answer she had been seeking for a long time. "I see... that is an interesting fact. Quite interesting."
"And," Harry added, shifting slightly as pain flared along his spine, "my body feels like it's been run through a polite but very determined grinder. I can move. I just don't want to tempt fate by tearing space across half the country."
Bellatrix nodded. Moonstone Dunvegan wasn't anywhere near Hogwarts and it was technically even farther than Dursley Mansion, but still it wasn't a distance Bellatrix of all people couldn't traverse.
She stood abruptly. "We are leaving now."
Harry blinked. "That was quick."
Then Bellatrix pulled him to his feet, wrapped an arm firmly around him, and turned.
Hogsmeade was just beginning to wake properly when they arrived.
Morning mist clung to the rooftops, the cobblestones still damp with cold, and the air carried that faint mix of baked bread, sugar, and magic that only the village ever managed to produce.
Harry swayed the moment they landed.
Bellatrix caught him instantly, arm locking around his waist with practiced precision. "Merlin's bones," she muttered, "you weigh more when you're half-dead."
Harry snorted weakly and leaned into her shamelessly. "Aunt Bella."
"Yes?"
"Honeydukes."
She stopped walking.
Slowly, she turned her head and stared down at him.
"…You nearly erased yourself from reality," she said flatly. "And the first thing you want is sugar."
Harry smiled, tired and unapologetic. "I have priorities."
She sighed so deeply it sounded like a life choice being reconsidered. "One day," she said, steering him forward anyway, "you are going to explain why you are like this."
"Today is not that day," Harry said cheerfully, hanging on for dear life.
It was, admittedly, a sight.
Bellatrix was not short, but Harry had shot up again recently, and now he was a good head taller. He leaned heavily on her shoulder, long legs moving carefully, posture somewhere between dignified wizard and exhausted cat. Anyone watching would have seen a glamorous woman escorting a very tired, very stubborn boy who looked personally offended by gravity.
"Glamour," Harry added absently as they neared the shop. "You're still not officially back yet."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes but flicked her fingers. Her features softened, dark hair shifting slightly, presence dampened just enough to be forgettable. Still elegant, just… ordinary.
"I hate this part," she muttered.
"I know," Harry said gently.
Honeydukes' bell chimed as they entered.
Warmth hit them immediately, thick with sugar and chocolate and nostalgia. Shelves gleamed. Jars sparkled. Somewhere, something fizzed ominously.
The shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter and froze.
"Well I'll be jinxed," he said, breaking into a grin. "Harry Potter. Thought you'd forgotten my shop existed."
Harry chuckled, easing himself upright just enough to wave. "Been a bit busy, Mr. Flume"
The man barked out a laugh. "Only you would call earning five masteries before thirteen 'a bit busy.'"
Harry flushed instantly. "You didn't have to say it like that."
"Oh I absolutely did," Ambrosius Flume said gleefully. "What'll it be?"
Harry considered for exactly half a second. "Twenty packs of everything I usually get."
The man blinked. "Everything."
"Yep."
"And," Harry added, "if there's anything new that's normal, throw that in too. Nothing… experimental."
"Shame," Flume sighed, already reaching for boxes. "But fair."
Bellatrix stared at Harry. Then at the shelves. Then back at Harry.
"Why," she asked carefully, "do you need that much sugar?"
Harry shrugged, wincing slightly as his body protested. "Helps speed up magical energy refueling."
She stared harder.
"You are insane."
"Productively," he said.
The shopkeeper laughed as boxes began appearing, stacking higher and higher. Chocolate frogs. Fudge. Toffees. Truffles. Caramels. Nougat. Licorice. Bars, blocks, assortments, crates.
It kept going.
Bellatrix watched the growing wall of sweets in mute disbelief. "Are you preparing for a siege?"
"Recovery," Harry corrected.
By the time the last box was stacked, it looked like a small fort had been erected in the middle of Honeydukes. Eighty, maybe a hundred boxes, varying sizes, packed tight and humming faintly with preservation charms.
Flume tapped the ledger with his quill, peered at the numbers again, then looked up at Harry over his spectacles.
"One thousand seven hundred and eighty-four galleons," he repeated mildly. "And that's just what you can see. There's another hundred or so boxes still downstairs."
Bellatrix stared at him.
Then at the wall of sweets.
Then very slowly back at Harry.
"…You bought the basement," she said.
Harry tilted his head, "Not really. This is only about 20% of their stock for the week.. I think."
Harry nodded like this was perfectly reasonable, paid without hesitation, and began stowing the boxes away one after another until the impressive wall of sugar simply… wasn't there anymore.
Flume chuckled. "Same as always. Pleasure doing business, Harry."
Harry smiled back, tired but genuine. "See you soon."
Bellatrix followed him out into the cool Hogsmeade air, still shaking her head slightly.
"You know," she said, "when I was your age, buying even a single Chocolate Frog felt like a luxury."
Harry glanced sideways at her. "What did you usually get?"
She laughed, a soft, almost nostalgic sound. "Chocolate Cauldrons. Only thing with a bit of bite. Had firewhiskey in them back then. Drove my mother mad."
Harry hummed, reached into his pouch, and pulled out two neat boxes. He handed them to her.
Bellatrix blinked. "Harry—"
"Enjoy," he said simply.
Then, as if that wasn't enough, he produced a bottle and pressed it into her other hand. Dark glass. Heavy. Proper.
"Muggle-brewed," he added. "One of the better ones. Thought you might like it."
Bellatrix stared at the bottle, then at him.
"You are entirely too generous for someone who can barely stand upright," she said quietly.
Harry shrugged, the motion costing him more than he let on. "I don't need to be generous to my dear aunt, right... It's normal."
For a moment, she looked like she might say something more. Then she didn't.
Harry straightened as much as he could and began the long, slow walk toward the castle, each step measured, deliberate. He didn't look back.
Bellatrix watched him go, sweets tucked under one arm, bottle in hand.
The boy walked like someone who had survived something he shouldn't have.
With a soft crack, she vanished.