The voice came from deeper in the house, carrying a quality that made Remus's chest tighten with recognition and twelve years of suppressed grief. It was definitely a child's voice—bright, curious, unmistakably young—but it held a confidence that suggested someone who'd finally found adults who actually listened to their questions instead of treating them like inconvenient interruptions to more important activities.
"Uncle Moony?" the voice repeated, closer now, accompanied by the sound of footsteps that were trying to balance eagerness with the caution that came from years of learning that excitement often led to disappointment or punishment.
Harry Potter appeared in the hallway, and Remus felt like someone had just reached into his chest and rearranged his entire cardiovascular system while he was trying to maintain basic respiratory functions.
The child standing before him was heartbreakingly beautiful in the way that spoke of Potter genetics mixing with Evans elegance, but also heartbreakingly small in ways that spoke of systematic malnutrition and growth stunted by years of deliberate neglect. He moved with an unconscious grace that reminded Remus painfully of James's athletic confidence, but there was something ethereal about him—like he existed partially in this world and partially somewhere else entirely. His messy black hair caught the light in ways that defied physics, and when he tilted his head with curious interest, it was with the kind of otherworldly beauty that suggested his cosmic partner was never entirely absent.
His clothes were clearly new and properly fitted, but they couldn't disguise the fact that he was built like someone who'd spent most of his life wondering where his next meal was coming from and whether it would be sufficient to sustain basic biological functions.
But it was his eyes that really destroyed whatever remained of Remus's carefully maintained composure. They were Lily's eyes—exactly Lily's eyes, that distinctive emerald green that had made people stop and stare—but they held an otherworldly gleam that suggested ancient wisdom wrapped in childhood curiosity, like looking at starlight through cut crystal.
"Harry," Remus said, his voice breaking on the name he'd avoided saying aloud for twelve years because it carried too much guilt, too much grief, and too much acknowledgment of his systematic failure to honor his friends' trust in his character and judgment.
"Yeah, that's me," Harry said with a smile that could have powered the London electrical grid, unconsciously running a hand through his impossible hair in a gesture so perfectly James that Remus's heart actually stopped for a moment. "Though I've been going by 'The Kid Who Lived to Dramatically Overthrow Dark Wizards' lately. It's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Before Remus could figure out how to apologize for years of abandonment in terms that a ten-year-old could understand and possibly forgive, something emerged from the side of Harry's neck that made Remus's werewolf instincts scream warnings about supernatural entities and possible threats to pack safety.
A second head materialized from what appeared to be living shadow, formed from the same dark, writhing substance that flowed across Harry's skin like armor made of liquid starlight. The entity's features were sharp and predatory, with the kind of dangerous beauty that suggested fallen angels and cosmic horror movies, all carved cheekbones and eyes that held ancient intelligence. When those eyes fixed on Remus, it was like being evaluated by something that had been dispensing justice since before most civilizations had figured out agriculture.
**"Remus Lupin,"** the entity said, its voice carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate in multiple dimensions simultaneously, making the air itself vibrate with cosmic energy that probably violated several local noise ordinances. The voice was like dark chocolate mixed with thunder, attractive and terrifying in equal measure. **"The werewolf who spent years living with European packs while his best friends' son was being systematically abused by relatives who treated him like an unwanted houseguest in suburban purgatory."**
"Well," Harry said cheerfully, apparently completely unbothered by having an interdimensional entity providing commentary from his shoulder, "when you put it like that, it sounds really bad. But hey, fashionably late is still fashionable, right?"
Remus felt his knees go weak as he found himself being evaluated by something that existed on principles beyond his comprehension and definitely had access to detailed information about his personal failures and moral inadequacies. The creature's presence was overwhelming—not just physically, but existentially, like standing too close to a black hole or trying to comprehend infinity.
"I... yes," he managed, his voice carrying the kind of honesty that came from realizing that lying to cosmic entities was probably both impossible and inadvisable. His usual scholarly composure was completely shattered, leaving him looking like a man who'd just realized he'd been living in denial for over a decade. "I failed him. I failed James and Lily. I convinced myself that staying away was responsible, when it was really just cowardice disguised as noble self-sacrifice."
**"Indeed,"** Drakor agreed with the clinical precision of someone who'd reviewed the evidence and found it comprehensively damning. **"Years of systematic avoidance while telling yourself that lycanthropy made you too dangerous for child care, when in reality, werewolf pack dynamics would have provided considerably better emotional support than what Harry actually received from his assigned guardians."**
"Ouch," Harry said, wincing theatrically. "I mean, he's not wrong, but did he have to be quite so... thorough about it?"
**"Thoroughness is essential when addressing systematic failure,"** Drakor replied with the kind of cosmic satisfaction that suggested he was really enjoying this educational experience. **"Half-measures and polite euphemisms are what allowed this situation to persist for nine years."**
The cosmic entity's gaze fixed on Remus with the kind of predatory focus that suggested it was cataloguing his failures for potential educational experiences involving creative applications of interdimensional accountability.
"However," Harry continued, and his voice carried that strange harmonic quality that suggested Drakor was contributing to the conversation while still allowing Harry to take the lead, "you are here now. You've acknowledged your failures honestly and completely. And you appear to be prepared to take responsibility for providing the family connection that I deserve, regardless of personal inconvenience or social stigma."
The way Harry said it—direct, matter-of-fact, but without bitterness—spoke of someone who'd learned to evaluate people based on their actions rather than their intentions, but who was still willing to give second chances to people who'd earned them.
"I am," Remus said firmly, his voice carrying the determination of someone who'd finally figured out where his priorities should have been all along. He straightened to his full height, and for a moment, looked less like a man crushed by guilt and more like the formidable wizard who'd once fought in a war against dark magic. "Whatever you need, whatever I can provide to help you understand your parents and your heritage—I'm here. I should have been here from the beginning."
"Well," Harry said with a grin that was pure mischief, "better late than never, right? Besides, Sirius told me some of the stories about you three at school, and honestly? I'm kind of impressed you managed to survive to adulthood without getting permanently transfigured into something embarrassing."
Harry stepped forward with movements that were unconsciously graceful, like a dancer who wasn't aware he was performing. There was something almost otherworldly about the way he moved, as if gravity affected him differently than normal people. His expression carried hope rather than the wariness that Remus had been expecting after reading newspaper reports about systematic abuse and neglect.
"Sirius told me about you," Harry said, his voice carrying shy eagerness mixed with that supernatural confidence that came from having a cosmic entity providing commentary on social interactions. "He said you were one of my dad's best friends, and that you used to help them with their pranks at Hogwarts. He also said you were the responsible one, which honestly made me wonder how the castle survived having you three as students."
"Among other things," Remus said, settling down to Harry's eye level with the kind of gentle movement that had gotten him through years of dealing with suspicious werewolf packs and magical creatures who weren't entirely sure whether to trust someone whose lycanthropy made him technically part of their community. His amber eyes held warmth that had been carefully hidden behind scholarly reserve for too many years.
"Your father and I... we were quite the team when it came to creative interpretations of school rules and innovative approaches to driving our professors to question their career choices. Though I should probably mention that most of our 'pranks' were actually carefully planned operations designed to expose bullying behavior and protect students who couldn't protect themselves."
"So you were like... vigilante pranksters?" Harry asked with the kind of delighted interest that suggested this was exactly the sort of family history he'd been hoping to hear about.
"Something like that," Remus said with a smile that transformed his entire face, making him look decades younger and considerably more dangerous. "Your father had very strong opinions about people who picked on others just because they could. We all did."
**"Systematic justice through creative applications of magical education,"** Drakor observed with approval. **"I appreciate the philosophical consistency."**
"Drakor likes you already," Harry said cheerfully. "That's actually a pretty big deal. He's been very... selective... about which adults get his approval lately."
For the next hour, Remus found himself sharing stories about James and Lily that he'd been keeping locked away for twelve years—not just the dramatic moments that had defined the war, but the everyday details that painted a picture of who his friends had been when they weren't saving the world or preparing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good.
"Your father," Remus said, his voice growing animated as he lost himself in memories, "had this habit of running his hand through his hair when he was nervous, which made his perpetually messy appearance even worse but somehow only added to his charm. He'd do it during Quidditch matches, during exams, and especially when he was trying to work up the courage to talk to your mother."
"Did it work?" Harry asked, unconsciously echoing his father's gesture as his own impossible hair fell back into perfectly tousled chaos.
"Eventually," Remus laughed, and it was the first genuine laugh he'd managed in years. "Though I think it was less the hair thing and more the fact that he finally stopped trying so hard to impress her and just started being himself around her."
"Your mother," he continued, his expression growing soft with remembrance, "had this laugh that could light up an entire room and had the power to make even Severus Snape momentarily forget his grudges and personal vendettas. She was brilliant—absolutely brilliant—but she wore her intelligence like other people wear comfortable clothes. Natural, unpretentious, just part of who she was."
Harry listened with the focused attention of someone who'd never heard these stories before and was cataloguing every detail for future reference. His questions were thoughtful and showed the kind of emotional intelligence that suggested he understood the weight of what he was learning about his parents and their love for him.
"What were they like together?" Harry asked quietly, his emerald eyes reflecting the same hope and hunger for family connection that had driven him to call Remus 'Uncle Moony' from the very first moment.
"Magic," Remus said simply. "Pure magic. They looked at each other during quiet moments like they'd discovered something precious that they were determined to protect against whatever darkness was coming. Your father would make these terrible jokes just to hear your mother laugh, and she'd pretend to be exasperated but you could see how much she loved his sense of humor."
His voice grew rough with emotion that had been building pressure for over a decade. "They loved you so much, Harry. From the moment they knew you were coming, you were the center of their world. Everything they did, every choice they made during the war—it was all about ensuring you'd have the chance to grow up in a world that was safe and good and worthy of the sacrifice they were prepared to make."
"They died protecting me," Harry said, and it wasn't a question. His voice carried the kind of quiet acceptance that suggested he'd already processed this information, probably with cosmic entity assistance, but still needed to hear it confirmed by someone who'd known his parents as people rather than just as symbols.
"They died loving you," Remus corrected gently. "The protection, the sacrifice—that was just the practical expression of how much you meant to them. You weren't just their son, Harry. You were their hope for the future, their belief that the world was worth fighting for."
**"Nine years,"** Drakor observed with the clinical precision of someone who'd been taking detailed notes about institutional negligence, **"of having no one share these stories with him. Nine years of not knowing that his parents had been remarkable people who'd died protecting him, rather than the 'drunken car crash' narrative his relatives provided to explain his orphaned status."**
The cosmic entity's voice carried the kind of cold fury that made nearby objects rattle with sympathetic vibration. **"Systematic deprivation of family history, cultural connection, and basic understanding of his own identity and worth. Adding insult to injury through deliberate psychological abuse designed to convince him that he was worthless, unwanted, and somehow responsible for the inconvenience his existence caused to people who should have been honored to care for James and Lily Potter's son."**
"Yeah, well," Harry said with the kind of casual dismissal that suggested he'd already moved past anger into something more practical, "the Dursleys weren't exactly what you'd call 'emotionally available guardians.' But hey, that's what cosmic justice is for, right?"
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Bellatrix, Ted, and Andromeda, who entered the library with the satisfied expressions of people who'd just completed important business involving systematic justice and comprehensive asset redistribution.
Bellatrix moved with predatory grace, every step calculated and controlled, her dark hair flowing like liquid shadow and her pale skin seeming to glow with its own light. When she smiled, it was with the kind of dangerous beauty that suggested fallen angels and forbidden knowledge.
"The Lestrange vault has been completely audited and liquidated," she announced with the satisfaction of someone who'd just used traditional inheritance law to dismantle everything her magical enslavers had built their power on. Her voice carried the precise articulation that came from expensive education mixed with years of systematic rebellion against people who'd tried to control her thoughts and actions.
Ted entered with the kind of controlled professionalism that suggested legal training mixed with barely contained excitement about getting to apply constitutional law to situations involving cosmic entities and systematic governmental reform. His movements were precise and economical, but his eyes held the gleam of someone who was really enjoying getting to use his expertise for comprehensive justice rather than routine bureaucratic procedures.
"All dark artifacts secured for destruction," Ted continued with legal precision, "all documentation of governmental corruption forwarded to international law enforcement agencies, and all liquid assets transferred for reparations to victims of systematic oppression and human rights violations."
Andromeda followed with the kind of quiet dignity that suggested she'd survived decades of family dysfunction through careful observation and strategic patience. Her presence was calming, like still water that reflected everything perfectly while revealing nothing of its own depths.
Bellatrix paused, noticing Remus with the sharp assessment of someone who'd learned to evaluate new people quickly and accurately during her years of forced participation in political operations that required excellent judgment about character and trustworthiness.
"And you must be Professor Lupin," she continued, her voice carrying genuine curiosity mixed with the kind of protective instinct that suggested Harry had acquired another fierce guardian. "Sirius mentioned you might be joining our campaign for systematic justice reform."
"He did?" Remus asked, looking between Sirius and Harry with the expression of someone who was beginning to understand that his arrival might have been anticipated and possibly planned for in ways that suggested people had been thinking about his potential contributions to their systematic reform campaign.
Sirius emerged from the shadows near the fireplace with the kind of dramatic timing that suggested he'd been waiting for exactly the right moment to make an entrance. He moved with unconscious arrogance, like someone who owned whatever room he happened to be occupying, but his grey eyes held warmth when they focused on his friends and family.
"Course I did, Moony," Sirius said with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he'd been planning this reunion for weeks and was pleased with how it was developing. "We've been discussing the next phase of our Horcrux elimination project, and frankly, we could use someone with your expertise in Defense Against the Dark Arts and systematic research methodologies."
"Horcrux elimination?" Remus repeated, his voice carrying the careful tone of someone whose scholarly expertise was providing helpful commentary about magical artifacts that definitely shouldn't exist and certainly shouldn't be pursued by children, even children with cosmic entity backup.
Harry's expression shifted as Drakor assumed more direct control of the conversation, his features taking on that ancient quality that suggested something considerably older and more experienced was looking out through his emerald eyes.
**"Tom Riddle's approach to immortality,"** Drakor explained with the clinical precision of someone who'd been systematically dismantling dark wizard soul fragments for weeks and had developed professional expertise in magical artifacts that violated multiple principles of ethical magic use. **"He split his soul into seven pieces, hiding them in objects that would ensure his return even if his body was destroyed. We've eliminated four so far—the fragment that was in Harry's scar, a locket that had been hidden in this house, a diary that Lucius Malfoy was using for political control, and a cup that the Lestrange brothers had been storing in their vault."**
"Soul fragments," Remus said slowly, his scholarly mind immediately grasping the implications of what amounted to the most comprehensive violation of magical law and basic human decency that he'd encountered in decades of studying dark magic. "Hidden in objects. Creating artificial anchors to prevent natural death."
His amber eyes showed the kind of fascinated horror that came from understanding exactly how wrong this was on both magical and philosophical levels.
"That's... that's absolutely monstrous," he continued, his voice carrying academic outrage mixed with growing understanding of exactly what Harry had been dealing with. "The kind of soul damage required to create even one Horcrux should be impossible to survive with any semblance of sanity or humanity intact."
**"Exactly,"** Harry confirmed, his own voice mixing with Drakor's in a harmony that somehow sounded completely natural. **"Three more to go—a ring that's supposedly in the ruins of the Gaunt family hovel, a diadem that once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw and is hidden somewhere in Hogwarts Castle, and the main soul fragment that's currently hiding somewhere after Tom Riddle's original body was destroyed."**
"The main fragment is mobile?" Remus asked, his voice carrying the concern of someone who'd just realized that one of the remaining soul fragments was dangerous, probably homicidal, and definitely under the direct protection of people who had very strong opinions about unauthorized Horcrux elimination.
"Current location unknown," Bellatrix said grimly, her voice carrying information she'd acquired through fifteen years of magical compulsion and forced participation in Death Eater operations. "But he's out there somewhere, probably rebuilding his power base and definitely not happy about losing his body."
"Which brings us to our next objective," Sirius said, his voice taking on the kind of focused determination that suggested he was looking forward to what was probably going to be either routine artifact retrieval or the most educational school visit in Hogwarts history.
His grey eyes held the gleam of someone who was really enjoying getting to plan systematic rule-breaking with proper justification and cosmic entity backup.
"We need to get into the castle to retrieve the diadem. Officially, we'll be visiting Dumbledore to collect family artifacts—specifically, the Potter family invisibility cloak that should have been part of Harry's inheritance and has been sitting in the Headmaster's office for nine years without proper justification."
"Unofficially," Harry added with the kind of anticipation that suggested he was really looking forward to systematic exploration of magical architecture that had been specifically designed to hide important artifacts, "we'll be investigating a room that Drakor identified from Tom Riddle's memories—a place where centuries of students have hidden things they didn't want found."
"The Room of Requirement," Remus said with dawning understanding and growing appreciation for cosmic entity intelligence gathering about Hogwarts secrets that even the Marauders had never discovered during their years of systematic rule-breaking and creative interpretation of school boundaries.
"You know about it?" Sirius asked, his voice carrying surprise mixed with the kind of competitive curiosity that suggested he was slightly offended that someone else might have discovered Hogwarts secrets that had escaped the Marauders' attention during their legendary careers in academic mischief.
"I've heard rumors," Remus replied with the scholarly caution of someone who'd spent years researching magical architecture and had learned to be careful about drawing definitive conclusions from incomplete evidence. "A room that appears only when someone has great need, that adapts its configuration to provide exactly what's required. Most scholars assumed it was either legend or metaphor."
**"According to Tom Riddle's memories,"** Harry said, accessing information that had been acquired through cosmic digestion and systematic absorption of dark wizard intelligence, **"it's very real, and he used it to hide the diadem during his time as a student. The room responds to genuine need and can create space for anything—including storage for objects you want to ensure are never found."**
"Which means," Drakor added with the satisfaction of someone who'd just figured out an elegant solution to a complex problem, "that we can use Tom's own memories to locate exactly where he hid the artifact, retrieve it for systematic elimination, and complete our campaign to permanently discontinue his immortality project."
"I'd like to come with you," Remus said, his voice carrying the determination of someone who'd just figured out how to contribute meaningfully to systematic justice reform while also addressing some personal business involving institutional failure and accountability.
His amber eyes held the kind of controlled fury that suggested twelve years of guilt had crystallized into very specific demands for answers about systematic negligence and child endangerment.
"I have some questions for Dumbledore about his decisions regarding Harry's placement and welfare," he continued, his scholarly composure completely abandoned in favor of protective instincts that had been building pressure for over a decade.
"Questions like why he assured me that Harry was 'healthy and happy' with his relatives, when the medical evidence suggests systematic abuse and neglect that should have been obvious to anyone who bothered to conduct basic welfare checks."
"Oh, this is going to be educational," Sirius said with the kind of anticipation that suggested he was really looking forward to watching Dumbledore attempt to explain systematic institutional failure to people who'd spent twelve years dealing with the consequences of his decisions.
His grin was absolutely predatory, showing teeth in a way that suggested his years in Azkaban had not improved his opinion of authority figures who made decisions about other people's lives without consulting the people most affected by those decisions.
"I mean, not that I have any personal grievances about spending twelve years in prison without trial while the Headmaster knew perfectly well that Peter Pettigrew was alive and responsible for betraying James and Lily," Sirius continued with the kind of casual tone that suggested he was really looking forward to having this conversation.
"Or that Harry was being systematically abused by people who should have been grateful for the privilege of caring for a war hero's son," he added, his voice taking on an edge that made the air around him shimmer with barely contained magic.
Before anyone could respond to this cheerful promise of comprehensive accountability for educational administrators, there was another knock at the front door—this one carrying the measured rhythm of someone conducting official business and possibly delivering news about governmental developments that would affect their systematic reform campaign.
"Director Bones," Kreacher announced, appearing with his usual dramatic timing but carrying an expression that suggested this visit was both expected and potentially significant for ongoing political developments. "Requests consultation with the Black family regarding recent governmental transitions and administrative opportunities that may require immediate consideration."
"Administrative opportunities?" Ted asked, though his legal mind was already beginning to process the implications of what sounded like career advancement in governmental positions that had recently been vacated through educational experiences involving cosmic justice.
Amelia Bones entered the library with the kind of controlled professionalism that suggested she was either delivering excellent news or terrible news, and had prepared for both possibilities with appropriate documentation and possibly emergency protocols for crisis management.
She moved with the confident authority of someone who'd spent years in law enforcement and had developed excellent instincts for reading dangerous situations and potentially explosive political developments. Her presence filled the room in a way that suggested she was used to being the most competent person in any given crisis.
"Given recent... developments... in the Ministry's leadership structure," she began diplomatically, her voice carrying the careful neutrality of someone discussing political situations that involved missing persons, cosmic entities, and systematic governmental reform through methods that definitely weren't covered in any constitutional framework.
"The Wizengamot has requested that I consider accepting nomination for the position of Minister of Magic, on an interim basis while we implement comprehensive reforms to prevent future systemic failures and ensure proper governmental accountability."
The silence that followed was the kind of profound quiet that usually preceded either great revelations or complete nervous breakdowns about the fundamental nature of political authority and its relationship to cosmic justice.
"They want you to become Minister," Sirius said slowly, his voice carrying the dawning realization that their systematic reform campaign had just achieved the kind of comprehensive governmental restructuring that usually required decades of political maneuvering and possibly several revolutions.
"They want someone who actually understands the importance of due process, proper investigation, and treating people with basic human decency to take charge of implementing the changes necessary to prevent these failures from happening again," Amelia confirmed, her voice carrying the kind of professional satisfaction that came from finally getting the opportunity to fix systematic problems that had been frustrating her for decades.
"And," she added with the kind of meaningful look that suggested she was about to propose something that would make everyone's lives significantly more interesting, "they want to ensure that any future educational experiences involving cosmic justice are conducted through proper legal channels with appropriate oversight and documentation."
**"Oh, I do like her,"** Drakor observed with cosmic approval. **"Very practical approach to governmental reform and supernatural accountability. Much more civilized than simply consuming everyone responsible and letting the bureaucracy sort itself out."**
"Plus," Amelia continued, her voice taking on the tone of someone who was about to deliver news that would make their systematic reform campaign considerably more effective, "as Minister, I would have the authority to authorize comprehensive investigations into pure-blood family practices, international magical corruption, and systematic human rights violations that extend beyond British jurisdiction."
"Meaning?" Bellatrix asked, though her voice suggested she was already anticipating the answer and looking forward to it with the kind of dangerous enthusiasm that came from having been systematically oppressed for fifteen years and finally getting the chance for comprehensive legal revenge.
"Meaning we could make this reform campaign international in scope," Amelia said with the satisfaction of someone who'd just figured out how to turn systematic justice into comprehensive policy reform. "Every marriage contract that includes enslavement provisions, every government that's been compromised by magical compulsion, every institution that's been maintaining oppression through willful ignorance—all of it subject to proper investigation and appropriate accountability."
"International scope," Ted repeated thoughtfully, his legal mind already processing the implications of applying constitutional law and human rights principles to magical societies that had been operating without proper oversight for centuries. "We're talking about comprehensive reform of the entire magical world's approach to individual rights and governmental accountability."
**"Now that,"** Drakor said with the kind of cosmic satisfaction that suggested he was really looking forward to systematic educational experiences on an international scale, **"sounds like exactly the kind of comprehensive reform campaign that cosmic justice was designed to support."**
"So," Harry said cheerfully, apparently completely unbothered by the implications of accidentally starting an international magical revolution, "we're going from 'rescue Harry from abusive relatives' to 'overthrow systematic oppression across multiple magical governments.' That seems like a reasonable escalation of objectives."
He grinned with the kind of supernatural confidence that came from having a cosmic entity providing strategic advice about revolution and justice reform.
"I mean, we've got cosmic entity backup, legal authority through proper governmental channels, international jurisdiction, and a really good track record with systematic justice applications. Plus, Drakor seems to enjoy the work."
**"I do find comprehensive justice reform very satisfying,"** Drakor agreed cheerfully. **"Particularly when it involves educational experiences for people who really, really deserve to learn important lessons about accountability and consequences."**
"Plus," Sirius added with the kind of predatory grin that suggested he was really looking forward to international applications of systematic justice, "we've got the best possible motivation—protecting Harry and making sure these problems never happen to anyone else."
"And," Bellatrix added with dangerous satisfaction, "we have comprehensive documentation of exactly how these systematic failures work, thanks to fifteen years of forced participation in Death Eater operations and pure-blood family politics."
"Right then," Remus said, his voice carrying the kind of scholarly enthusiasm that suggested he was looking forward to applying his expertise in Defense Against the Dark Arts to systematic justice reform on an international scale. "I believe we have a school visit to plan, cosmic entity who apparently enjoys meeting dragons, and at least three more dark wizard soul fragments to eliminate before Tom Riddle's immortality project can be permanently discontinued across all dimensions."
"Just another typical family planning session," Harry said with the kind of supernatural cheerfulness that suggested he was really enjoying having a family that specialized in cosmic justice and systematic reform, "involving international revolution and interdimensional artifact hunting."
**"I do love comprehensive family projects,"** Drakor observed with cosmic satisfaction. **"Very satisfying to watch systematic oppression being dismantled through proper cooperation and traditional family values like honesty, accountability, and creative applications of cosmic justice to people who really, really deserve it."**
As they settled in to discuss the logistics of visiting Hogwarts while simultaneously planning international governmental reform, Harry couldn't help but feel that his life had finally achieved the kind of interesting complexity that made cosmic entity partnership feel completely natural.
The revolution was almost complete. And it was going to be beautiful.
---
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