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The silence that followed the butterfly woman's disappearance was the kind that made ears ring. Everyone stood there like garden gnomes, staring at the empty space where she'd been floating about like some sort of magical fever dream. Tonks had seen some barmy things in her Auror career, but watching someone turn into a swarm of glowing butterflies and bugger off through solid walls? That was a new one, even for her.
"What the bloody hell is happening?" the young Weasley boy finally burst out, his voice cracking slightly. Tonks couldn't say she blamed him—the poor kid looked like he'd been hit with a Confundus Charm and a Bludger at the same time.
His question hung in the air like a bad smell, and nobody seemed to know how to answer it. Dumbledore was stroking his beard thoughtfully, Kingsley was frowning at the spot where Golden Eye had vanished, and the healers were whispering amongst themselves like a bunch of gossiping pixies.
"That woman," the Weasley girl spoke up, her voice smaller than usual as she looked at Tonks. "You mentioned a creature earlier. What creature?"
All eyes turned to Tonks, and she felt her hair shift to an uncomfortable shade of green. Brilliant. Nothing like being put on the spot when you're still trying to process what you've just witnessed.
"Right," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Well, about three hours ago, I was on surveillance duty—watching Potter's relatives' house, you know—when I saw this golden light from his bedroom window. Bright as the bloody sun for a few seconds, then nothing."
Fred and George exchanged glances. "Golden light?" one of them asked.
She nodded. "So I went in to investigate, didn't I? Used a simple Alohomora on the front door—sorry about that, but it was an emergency—and found Harry bleeding on his bedroom floor."
Hermione Granger made a small, distressed noise. The girl had been hovering near Harry's bed like a protective dragon ever since she'd arrived, and Tonks had noticed the way she kept staring at him. Not that she could blame her—even unconscious and recently near death, Potter had certainly... developed during his mysterious absence.
"I tried the usual healing spells," Tonks continued. "Episkey, Vulnera Sanentur—might as well have been blowing kisses for all the good it did. The wounds just kept bleeding like they had a personal vendetta against magical healing."
"That's when the creature appeared?" Arthur Weasley asked quietly.
Tonks suppressed a shudder at the memory. "Yeah. I was making an emergency Portkey when this... thing started seeping up through the floorboards. Like someone had spilled a bucket of sick-colored paint that decided to come alive."
"What did it look like?" Ginny pressed.
"Like something out of your worst nightmare," Tonks said honestly. "Imagine a human torso. Too many arms and legs sprouting at impossible angles, moved like a bloody great spider. And the head..." She paused, seeing the horrified fascination on their faces. "Mostly featureless except for this gaping, circular mouth full of human teeth. Rows and rows of them, all mismatched."
Molly Weasley went pale as parchment. "That's quite enough," she said sharply, turning to her children with that look mothers get when they're about to lay down the law. "Children, out! This is not for your ears!"
The protest was immediate and predictable.
"Mum, we're not children—" Ron started.
"We have a right to know what's going on—" Ginny added.
"Especially when it involves Harry—" the twins chimed in together.
But it was Hermione who surprised Tonks with the steel in her voice. "I'm not leaving Harry's side, Mrs. Weasley. Not after everything." She moved closer to Harry's bed, her hand hovering protectively near his shoulder. "He's been missing for two weeks, and now he's been attacked by some sort of monster. I'm not going anywhere."
The girl had backbone, Tonks would give her that. Reminded her a bit of herself at that age, though considerably more articulate and less prone to tripping over her own feet.
Dumbledore stepped forward, his usually twinkling eyes serious behind his half-moon spectacles. "I'm afraid you may need to leave soon," he said gently. "We don't yet understand what we're dealing with, and if another such creature appears, your safety cannot be guaranteed."
Kingsley, who'd been standing near the door looking like he was mentally composing his incident report, shook his head. "With respect, Albus, this hospital has wards stronger than the Ministry itself. Nothing can just appear here without triggering half a dozen alarms."
Tonks felt a flutter of relief at his words. Kingsley knew his stuff—if he said they were safe, then they were safe. Right?
Dumbledore's expression remained grave. "I would normally agree with you, Kingsley. But a creature appeared at Privet Drive despite the blood protections, and our mysterious healer appeared here without any of us detecting her arrival. Whatever we're dealing with may not respect our traditional magical protections."
The flutter of relief died a quick death in Tonks's chest, replaced by a cold knot in her stomach. "You mean these things could show up anywhere?" she asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice and probably failing spectacularly.
"I fear that may be the case," Dumbledore replied.
Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. For weeks, Tonks had been complaining about how boring surveillance duty was, wishing for some action to break up the monotony. Well, congratulations, Tonks—she'd gotten her wish. Now she was dealing with monsters and butterfly women who could perform impossible healing magic.
Be careful what you wish for, indeed.
The room fell silent again, but this time it was the heavy, oppressive kind of silence that pressed down on everyone like a weight. Harry lay peacefully in his hospital bed, completely oblivious to the chaos his return had caused. His chest rose and fell steadily, and the color had returned to his face, but that strange dark marking remained unchanged—a half-circle of jagged black lines that seemed to absorb light.
What the hell had happened to Harry Potter during those two weeks? And more importantly, what else was coming for him?
Tonks had the sinking feeling that they were about to find out, whether they wanted to or not.
The uncomfortable silence stretched on for another moment before Ron's attention wandered—typical teenage attention span, Tonks mused—and his eyes landed on the massive weapon lying on the nearby gurney.
"Blimey," he said, stepping closer to get a better look. "Whose is that bloody great thing?"
Tonks followed his gaze to the sword that had been giving everyone headaches since Kingsley had lugged it in. Even lying flat on the medical gurney, the weapon looked intimidating—all dark metal and worn leather wrapping, with subtle silver details that caught the hospital's harsh lighting.
"Appeared with Harry," she explained, still feeling a bit ridiculous saying it. "Found it lying right next to him in all that blood. Tried to shrink it to bring it along, but my magic just... bounced right off."
"Can I...?" Ron gestured toward the sword, already moving before anyone could object. Typical Weasley impulsiveness.
"Knock yourself out," Tonks said, curious to see what would happen.
Ron gripped the leather-wrapped hilt with both hands and pulled upward. His face immediately went red with effort, and after a few seconds of straining, he managed to lift one end of the blade perhaps six inches off the gurney before his arms started shaking.
"Bloody hell!" he gasped, letting it drop back down with a metallic clang that made the healers wince. "How does anyone even use this? It weighs more than a bloody anvil!"
"Language, Ronald," Molly chided automatically, though her heart clearly wasn't in it.
"Let us try," Fred said, or maybe it was George—Tonks had never been able to tell them apart reliably.
"Two heads are better than one," added the other twin.
They flanked the sword, each grabbing an end of the hilt. Working together, they managed to lift it properly off the gurney, holding it horizontally between them for perhaps ten seconds before their faces turned purple with effort.
"Nope," said Fred, panting.
"Definitely nope," agreed George as they carefully lowered it back down.
"But how did Harry carry it?" Ginny asked, peering around her brothers to get a look at the weapon. Then her gaze shifted to the unconscious boy in the hospital bed, and her eyebrows shot up. "And since when does Harry have muscles?"
"He never had muscles before," Ron said, sounding genuinely bewildered as he stared at his best friend. "I mean, never. He was always the scrawny one. Look at his arms!"
Tonks had to admit the sight was quite something. Potter looked like someone who could actually wield that massive sword lying nearby. She caught Hermione Granger stealing glances at Harry's new physique and had to hide a smirk. The girl was trying to be subtle about it, but Tonks had been a teenager once too.
"Two weeks," Arthur mused quietly. "He's been gone two weeks, and he comes back looking like he's been training for months."
"Where could he have been?" Molly wondered aloud, her maternal worry evident in every line of her face.
Kingsley, who'd been listening to the conversation with growing concern, spoke up. "That woman—the one who healed him—she mentioned something about worlds being connected. What did she mean by that?"
"Maybe..." Ginny said slowly, "maybe Harry was in a different world?"
Tonks felt her eyebrows climb toward her hairline. Out of the mouths of babes and all that.
But Hermione shook her head immediately, her bushy hair bouncing with the motion. "There's no such thing as other worlds, Ginny. That's just fairy tale nonsense."
"Is it though?" Ron asked, warming to the idea with typical Gryffindor enthusiasm. "I mean, it's Harry. He always gets himself into impossible trouble. Remember the Chamber of Secrets? The business with Sirius? Maybe he found a way to another world."
"Ronald, that's ridiculous," Hermione started.
"Is it more ridiculous than a woman turning into butterflies and vanishing through walls?" Ron shot back. "Because we all just saw that happen."
Touché, Tonks thought. The kid had a point.
Dumbledore, who'd been listening to this exchange with that peculiar expression he got when his students were being more insightful than they realized, cleared his throat. "Whatever the truth may be, I believe it would be wise to arrange more additional protection for Harry. I'll speak with Alastor about stationing someone here."
"Moody?" Tonks asked, trying not to sound too dismayed at the prospect. Don't get her wrong—Mad-Eye was brilliant at what he did, but spending time around him was like being constantly reminded that the world was trying to kill you.
"Your spells had no effect on the creature at Privet Drive," Dumbledore pointed out gently.
Tonks felt heat creep up her neck. "My spells did nothing to that creature. Absolutely nothing. It was like firing stunners at a brick wall."
"Alastor knows magic you do not," Dumbledore said simply. "And he has experience with threats that ordinary Auror training doesn't cover."
That was both reassuring and terrifying in equal measure. If Dumbledore thought they needed Mad-Eye Moody's particular brand of paranoid expertise, then they were definitely in deeper water than she'd thought.
The conversation about Moody was interrupted by a shimmering silver light that materialized near the doorway. A doe stepped delicately into the room.
Tonks felt her eyebrows climb. She'd seen plenty of Patronuses, but this one felt different somehow. Colder.
The doe opened its mouth, and Professor Snape's unmistakable voice emerged, and Tonks remembered why she hated his classes.
"Albus, I must speak with you immediately. It's urgent."
The Patronus dissolved into wisps of silver light, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Dumbledore's face had gone carefully blank—never a good sign in Tonks's experience.
"I must go," the headmaster said simply, already moving toward the door with more haste than his usual measured pace.
"But Professor—" Hermione started.
"I'll return as soon as possible," Dumbledore cut her off gently but firmly. "Please remain here until I do."
And with that, he was gone, leaving behind a room full of worried faces and unanswered questions.
Kingsley cleared his throat, drawing her attention. "Speaking of urgent matters, Tonks, we need to discuss your little Portkey adventure."
Tonks felt her stomach drop. "Oh, bloody hell."
"The Ministry will investigate," Kingsley continued, his expression sympathetic but serious. "Unauthorized Portkey creation is a serious offense, even in emergency situations. Someone will come asking questions."
"Just what I bloody needed," Tonks groaned, running a hand through her hair, which had shifted to a stressed shade of muddy brown. "On top of monsters and butterfly healers, now I get to deal with Ministry bureaucrats."
"I'll head back and try to smooth things over," Kingsley offered. "File the paperwork properly, make sure they understand it was a life-or-death situation. But be prepared—someone will likely want to interview you personally."
"Fantastic," Tonks said flatly. "I live for Ministry interviews."
Kingsley squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before heading for the door. "You did the right thing, Tonks. Potter's alive because of your quick thinking."
After he left, Tonks found herself staring at the unconscious boy in the hospital bed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the rapid turn her quiet surveillance assignment had taken.
For two weeks, she'd been complaining about how boring watching the Dursley house was, wishing for some excitement to break up the monotony. Well, congratulations, she thought grimly. You got your wish in spectacular fashion.
Creatures, impossible healing magic, Ministry investigations, and a mysteriously transformed Harry Potter who'd apparently spent two weeks somewhere that didn't exist according to conventional magical knowledge.
"I wanted action," she muttered to the empty room. "Now I'm not sure I was ready for this."
Dumbledore
Dumbledore Apparated directly into Severus Snape's sitting room with the kind of urgency that would normally earn him a scathing rebuke about proper wizarding etiquette. Today, however, Snape barely glanced up from where he sat rigidly in his high-backed chair, his left arm extended and sleeve rolled up to reveal the faded outline of the Dark Mark.
"Is your Dark Mark active?" Dumbledore asked without preamble, settling into the chair across from his former student.
Snape's black eyes flickered with something that might have been uncertainty—an expression Dumbledore had rarely seen on the Potions Master's face in all their years of acquaintance.
"It's been... strange," Snape said finally, his usual sardonic tone notably absent.
"Strange how?" Dumbledore leaned forward, studying the mark with intense concentration. For a month now, the Dark Mark had been visible but faint—a shadow of its former malevolent prominence. Tonight, however, something was decidedly different.
The skull was still there, etched into the pale skin of Snape's forearm, but the empty eye sockets that had always been hollow black voids now glowed with a red light, like looking into the heart of dying embers.
"The eyes," Dumbledore murmured, his voice troubled. "They're... illuminated."
"In all my years bearing this mark," Snape said, staring down at his arm with evident distaste, "it has never done this. When the Dark Lord calls, it burns. When he's angry, it throbs. Since that night almost fourteen years ago, it faded, looking more like something water can wash away. But this?"
He gestured at the softly glowing red eyes. "This is entirely new."
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, his blue eyes reflecting the strange red glow. "When did this begin?"
"Approximately four hours ago," Snape replied promptly. "I was reviewing my lesson plans when it began to... change. The sensation was unlike anything I've experienced with the mark before."
"Four hours," Dumbledore repeated quietly. "That would coincide with—"
"Potter's return, I assume?" Snape's lip curled slightly. "Your Patronus mentioned the boy had been found."
"Most concerning," Dumbledore murmured, still staring at the mark. "The timing cannot be coincidental."
"Where has the boy been for two weeks?" Snape asked, his voice filled with distain. "The entire wizarding world is holding its breath waiting for news of the precious Potter, and he simply... vanishes?" He added sarcastially, the two knew well that Harry's absent for the last two weeks had been kept quite from everyone. Not even McGonagall knew that Harry had been somewhere, the only ones who knew were the Weasleys, Hermione Granger who had been the first to notice Harry's absent and so she had sent a letter to Ronald Weasley about it, and Arthur Weasley had sent a letter to Dumbledore, informing him, Dumbledore then told Nymphadora, Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, and Snape.
Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment, his expression grave. "I wish I knew, Severus. I truly wish I knew."
Albus Dumbledore, the man who seemed to know everything, admitting ignorance about something as significant as Harry Potter's mysterious disappearance and equally mysterious return.
"What I can tell you," Dumbledore continued, "is that Harry has returned... changed. Physically stronger, bearing wounds that resist magical healing, and accompanied by artifacts that defy our understanding of magic."
Snape's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Artifacts?"
"A sword, completely immune to magical manipulation. And he bears a mark—not unlike yours, but different. Darker."
"And you believe this is connected to my mark's... evolution?"
"I believe," Dumbledore said carefully, "that we are dealing with forces beyond our current understanding. Forces that may not originate from our world."
Snape stared at him for a moment, then looked back down at his glowing mark. "How reassuring."
"I need you to monitor any changes, no matter how small," Dumbledore instructed, rising from his chair. "If the mark's behavior shifts in any way, contact me immediately."
"Of course," Snape replied, already rolling his sleeve back down to hide the unsettling glow. "And Dumbledore? Be careful with Potter. If his return is causing this kind of... reaction... then whatever he encountered during his absence may not be finished with him."
Dumbledore nodded grimly and Disapparated, leaving Snape alone with his thoughts and his mysteriously glowing Dark Mark.
Nymphadora Tonks - Six Hours Later
After what felt like hours of sitting in that uncomfortable hospital chair, watching Harry's chest rise and fall in steady rhythm, Tonks found her eyelids growing heavy. The adrenaline from the evening's chaos was finally wearing off, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion. She tried to fight it, really she did, but the soft beeping of the monitoring charms and the warm hospital air were working against her.
Her chin had just started to dip toward her chest when a voice bellowed through the room like a foghorn.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Tonks jolted awake so violently that she nearly fell off her chair, her wand flying into her hand and pointing directly at the source of the voice before her brain had fully caught up with her reflexes.
"Bloody hell!" she shouted, heart hammering against her ribs.
Mad-Eye Moody stood in the doorway, his magical eye spinning wildly in its socket while his normal eye crinkled with amusement. The grizzled ex-Auror was actually laughing—a rusty, wheezing sound that might have been charming if it wasn't coming from someone who looked like he'd been chewed up and spat out by a particularly vindictive dragon.
"Not so vigilant now, are you, Tonks?" Moody growled, though his tone held more amusement than criticism. Then his expression shifted, becoming serious. "You were daydreaming, not protecting anyone. If I'd been one of those creatures you described, Potter would be dead and you'd be in pieces."
Tonks felt heat crawl up her neck. "I was resting my eyes, not—"
"You were snoring," Moody cut her off bluntly.
"I don't snore!"
"Like a bloody banchee."
Tonks sighed and slumped back in her chair, feeling properly chastened. She glanced around and spotted Dumbledore entering behind Moody, looking considerably more composed than when he'd left.
"Professor," she greeted him. "How did things go with Professor Snape?"
Dumbledore's expression was unreadable. "Concerning, but manageable for now." He moved to stand beside Harry's bed, studying the sleeping boy with those piercing blue eyes. "I believe it's time we moved Mr. Potter's... acquisition somewhere more secure."
He gestured toward the massive sword still lying on the gurney, and Tonks noticed Kingsley following behind him, looking like a man who'd just been told he had to wrestle a dragon.
"You want me to carry that thing again?" Kingsley asked, eyeing the weapon with obvious distaste.
"With my assistance this time," Dumbledore assured him, though Kingsley didn't look particularly reassured.
Dumbledore then looked at the younger wizards and witch still present in the room. "I believe it's time for you all to return home."
The protest was immediate and predictable.
"But Harry needs us!" Ron complained.
"We want to be here when he wakes up," Ginny added.
"Someone should stay with him," Hermione said firmly.
Molly, however, was already nodding in agreement with Dumbledore. "The Professor's right. Harry is safe now, and you all need proper rest. Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny—gather your things."
"And you too, Miss Granger," Dumbledore added gently. "Harry will be well-protected, I assure you."
Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, but after a long moment, she simply nodded. She approached Harry's bedside, hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
"Get well soon, Harry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Tonks pretended not to notice the way the girl's eyes lingered on Harry's face, or how her fingers briefly touched his hand before she pulled away.
As the Weasleys and Hermione filed out, Tonks settled back into her chair, trying to ignore Moody's disapproving stare.
This was going to be a long night.
Night
The hours after midnight dragged by with the kind of tedious slowness that made Tonks wonder if time itself had decided to take a nap. She'd positioned herself in a chair by the window where she could keep an eye on both Harry and the corridor, while Moody had claimed the spot by the door—naturally, since the man treated every entrance like a potential ambush point. Kingsley had taken up residence near the foot of Harry's bed, looking considerably more relaxed than either of his companions. The Aurors had arranged themselves around the room in what Tonks privately thought of as a "paranoid triangle"
"So let me get this straight," Moody growled, breaking the comfortable silence. "Potter disappears for two weeks, shows up bleeding all over his bedroom floor with wounds that laugh at healing magic, and then some mystery woman appears out of thin air to save his life?"
"That's about the size of it," Tonks confirmed, stretching in her chair. Her back was killing her from sitting in the same position for hours.
"And this woman," Moody continued, his normal eye fixed on her while the magical one continued its surveillance, "she conjured a bloody great tree made of golden light?"
"Right out of the hospital floor," Kingsley added. "I've never seen anything like it. The magic felt...Ancient."
Moody snorted. "Ancient magic, mystery healers, creatures. What's next, dragons made of butterflies?"
"Don't joke about that," Tonks said quickly. "At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if Merlin himself walked through that door asking for directions."
Her gaze drifted to the space where they'd moved Harry's sword—or rather, where Kingsley and Dumbledore had struggled to move it before finally giving up and leaving it on a reinforced gurney near the wall. Even lying still, the weapon screamed power.
"That sword," Kingsley mused, following her gaze. "I've handled plenty of enchanted weapons in my time, but nothing that completely ignores magic. It's like it exists in its own little bubble of impossibility."
"Potter's gotten stronger too," Moody observed, his magical eye swiveling to focus on Harry's sleeping form. "Muscle development like that doesn't happen overnight. Whatever he was doing for those two weeks, it involved serious physical training."
"Combat training, I'd say," Tonks added. "Those weren't random injuries he came back with. They were sword wounds. Someone was trying to kill him, and they knew what they were doing."
"But who?" Kingsley asked. "And where? He can't have been anywhere in Britain—we'd have found him."
"Maybe not Britain," Tonks said slowly, remembering Ginny's earlier suggestion. "That woman—the healer—she mentioned something about worlds being connected."
Moody's scarred face twisted into a skeptical frown. "Other worlds? Come off it, Tonks. You're starting to sound like one of those Unspeakables and their crackpot theories."
"Crackpot theories that might explain why Potter came back looking like he'd been through a war," Kingsley pointed out. "Think about it—two weeks here, but enough time wherever he was to build muscle, learn to fight, and apparently make some serious enemies."
"Time moving differently," Tonks murmured, the pieces clicking together in her mind. "Like those old fairy tales where someone spends a day in the fairy realm and comes back to find a century has passed."
"Except backwards," Kingsley said. "Two weeks here, months somewhere else."
Moody was quiet for a long moment, his magical eye still spinning but his expression thoughtful. "I've seen enough impossible things in my time not to dismiss anything outright," he finally admitted. "But if Potter really was in some other world, fighting some kind of war..."
"Then whatever he was fighting might follow him back," Tonks finished, feeling a chill run down her spine.
"Exactly what that creature at Privet Drive might have been," Kingsley said grimly. "An advance scout."
The room fell silent as they all contemplated this disturbing possibility. Harry lay peacefully in his hospital bed, looking younger and more vulnerable than his new physique suggested, completely unaware that he might have brought interdimensional warfare to their doorstep.
"Well," Tonks said finally, trying to inject some levity into the increasingly dark conversation, "at least we know he can handle himself in a fight now. That sword didn't get those notches from cutting vegetables."
"Small comfort if—" Moody began, then suddenly went rigid, his magical eye snapping to focus on something behind them. "Quiet," he hissed, his wand appearing as if out of thin air.
Tonks and Kingsley immediately fell silent, their own wands sliding into their hands as they turned to follow Moody's gaze. The room looked empty, the shadows undisturbed, but something felt wrong. The air itself was cold.
"I don't see anything," Kingsley whispered.
"Neither do I," Tonks agreed, but her Auror instincts were screaming that they weren't alone.
Moody's magical eye was spinning frantically now, tracking something invisible to the rest of them. Without warning, he raised his wand and shouted, "Stupefy!"
The red jet of light shot across the room and struck something that definitely wasn't empty air. Whatever it hit flew backward and slammed into the wall with bone-rattling force, suddenly becoming visible as a figure dressed in dark, form-fitting clothing tumbled to the floor.
Tonks blinked in shock. Where moments before there had been nothing, now a man crouched against the wall, somehow having appeared out of thin air. He was tall and lean, wrapped in dark cloth, and in his hand was a curved dagger with a distinctly reddish tip.
The figure straightened slowly, seeming completely unaffected by Moody's stunner, and turned toward them. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but Tonks could feel his attention focus on the scarred ex-Auror.
"Impressive," the stranger said, his voice carrying an accent she couldn't place. "The one-eyed one saw me."
Tonks felt her blood turn to ice. Whatever this thing was, it had been invisible—completely invisible—until Moody's spell had forced it to reveal itself.
"What do you want?" Moody barked, his wand trained on the mysterious figure. "Put down that knife and identify yourself!"
The stranger's hood shifted slightly, and Tonks caught a glimpse of what might have been a smile beneath the shadows. Then he laughed—a cold, hollow sound that made her skin crawl.
"Lord Rykard wants the Tarnished," the figure said, his voice carrying that strange accent that seemed to twist familiar words into something alien.
Tonks felt her confusion deepen. "What the bloody hell is a Tarnished?" she muttered.
But before anyone could respond, Moody's magical eye began spinning frantically. "Five others," he growled, his scarred face grim. "Spread around the room. They're all invisible."
Tonks looked around desperately but saw nothing except empty space and medical equipment. Even the visible assassin seemed to flicker at the edges of her vision, as if her eyes couldn't quite hold onto his form.
The stranger made a subtle hand gesture, and suddenly he vanished completely, leaving only empty air where he'd been standing.
"Shit," Tonks breathed.
"Stay close!" Moody shouted, immediately beginning to fire spells in seemingly random directions. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!"
Red and blue jets of light shot across the room, occasionally striking something invisible with wet, meaty sounds. Tonks and Kingsley could only follow Moody's lead, firing their own spells based on instinct and the ex-Auror's barked directions. Occasinally, a few of them would become visible after a spell hit them, but they didn't seem harmed by them, and they would make the same hand gesture, and be invisible again.
"Left! Behind the bed! Two of them by the door!"
Tonks spun and fired a Stunner where Moody indicated, but had no idea if she'd hit anything. This was like fighting smoke—how could you battle enemies you couldn't see?
She was turning to cover another angle when she felt it—the whisper of steel against the fabric of her robes. A blade pressed against her stomach, cold and sharp enough that she could feel it through her clothing.
"Moody!" she gasped.
The ex-Auror spun and fired without hesitation, his curse striking something directly behind her. Tonks felt whatever had been holding the knife stumble backward, but as Moody moved to protect her, she saw him jerk suddenly, his hand flying to his stomach where red was already beginning to seep through his robes.
"Alastor!" Kingsley shouted, spinning to help his colleague.
But the damage was spreading. Tonks felt a line of fire across her back as something invisible slashed at her, and she heard Kingsley cry out as he too was struck. The sound of cold laughter echoed around them from multiple directions—they were being toyed with, cut down piece by piece by enemies they couldn't see.
They were losing. Badly.
Tonks pressed her back against Moody's, both of them bleeding and desperate, while Kingsley tried to cover their flanks despite his own wound. This was it—they were going to die in a bloody hospital room, killed by invisible assassins while Harry Potter slept peacefully in his bed.
Then a voice cut through the chaos, calm and clear and utterly unexpected.
"Law of Regression."
The words carried a weight that seemed to press against Tonks's eardrums, and suddenly the air around them shimmered. Like a veil being pulled away, six figures materialized throughout the room—all dressed in the same dark, form-fitting clothing as the first, all holding those curved daggers with their ominous red tips, some with blood in their daggers.
Tonks spun toward the source of the voice and felt her jaw drop.
Harry Potter was standing beside his hospital bed. And in his hand, blazing with golden light that seemed to push back the shadows, was a sword that definitely hadn't been there moments before.
But it wasn't the physical sword lying on the gurney—this was something else entirely, made of pure light that hurt to look at directly.
"Harry?" she breathed.
The lead assassin—the one who'd been pressed against the wall earlier—stepped forward, his hood falling back to reveal a pale, sharp-featured face with eyes like chips of black ice.
"Come with us, Tarnished," he said. "Lord Rykard requires your service."
Harry's expression didn't change, but Tonks caught something cold and dangerous in his green eyes. "I have no business with the God-Devouring Serpent," he said flatly.
The words meant nothing to Tonks, but they seemed to have an effect on the assassins. Several of them shifted slightly, their grips tightening on their weapons.
"So be it," the leader said.
They vanished again, all six of them, but this time Harry was ready.
What followed was less a fight than a systematic execution. Harry moved in a way that seemed impossible, his golden sword cutting through the air in precise arcs. Each swing found its target despite the assassins' invisibility, and each strike was followed by a wet sound and a body hitting the floor, suddenly visible in death.
The first assassin materialized as he fell, clutching a wound across his chest that glowed with residual golden light. The second appeared as Harry's blade took his head clean off. The third tried to attack from behind, but Harry seemed to sense him coming, spinning to drive his sword through the invisible figure's heart.
One by one, they fell, until only the leader remained.
Tonks saw the final attack coming—a desperate lunge from behind while Harry was finishing off another assassin. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Harry was already moving. He shifted slightly to the right, letting the blade pass harmlessly beside him, then grabbed the assassin's wrist with his free hand.
The curved dagger clattered to the floor as Harry drove his golden sword through his attacker's chest. The leader looked down at the blade of light protruding from his ribs, then up at Harry's impassive face.
"The Serpent... will not forget..." he gasped, then collapsed.
The golden sword dissolved into motes of light, leaving Harry standing among six corpses in his hospital room, looking perfectly calm despite having just committed multiple homicides.
"Well," Moody said after a moment, pressing a hand to his wounded stomach, "thanks for the help, Potter."
Harry turned to look at them, and Tonks saw something in his eyes that made her take an involuntary step backward. Harry Potter was dangerous.
"But," Moody continued, his tone becoming distinctly unfriendly, "you have a lot of explaining to do."
Harry nodded slowly, his gaze moving from Moody to Kingsley to Tonks, taking in their wounds and their shocked expressions.
"I suppose I do," he said quietly.
The adrenaline was wearing off now, and Tonks suddenly became acutely aware of the burning pain across her back where one of those invisible bastards had slashed her. She reached around to touch the wound, hissing as her fingers came away sticky with blood.
"Bloody hell," she muttered, then noticed another line of fire along her thigh that she hadn't even felt during the fight. "Oh, come on!"
Kingsley, despite his own wounds, immediately moved to help her. "Let me see," he said, drawing his wand. "Episkey."
Nothing happened. The cuts continued to bleed steadily, showing no signs of magical healing.
"Vulnera Sanentur," Kingsley tried again, more forcefully this time.
Still nothing. If anything, the wounds seemed to throb more painfully, as if actively resisting the magic.
This was the same thing as Harry's wounds. "Shit, hey, can that one eyed woman appear and heal us as well?" Tonks asked Harry with a pleading look.
Harry, who'd been standing quietly among the corpses of the assassins, looked up at her question. "Their blades are fused with Grace," he said matter-of-factly, as if this explained everything. "You can't heal them with normal magic."
Tonks stared at him. "What the hell is Grace?"
Instead of answering directly, Harry closed his eyes and whispered the same words she'd heard from the mysterious woman hours earlier: "Minor Erdtree."
The effect was immediate and identical to what they'd witnessed before. Golden light bloomed from the floor beneath Harry's feet, spreading upward and taking shape—trunk, branches, leaves—until a luminous tree of pure energy stretched toward the ceiling. The warm, comforting glow filled the room, and Tonks felt that same sense of ancient power she'd experienced when the butterfly woman had performed the same spell.
Golden dust began to drift down from the ethereal branches, settling on her wounds. Where it touched, the burning pain immediately began to fade, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread through her entire body. She watched in fascination as the gashes on her back and thigh closed themselves, the skin knitting together seamlessly until only faint silver lines remained.
"Bloody brilliant," she breathed, flexing her leg experimentally. The pain was completely gone.
Kingsley and Moody were receiving the same treatment, their wounds sealing under the gentle fall of golden pollen. The grizzled ex-Auror was staring at Harry with an unreadable expression, his magical eye spinning slowly.
As the last of their injuries healed, the golden tree gradually faded, its light dimming until only the memory of its warmth remained. Harry swayed slightly as it disappeared, and Tonks noticed he looked paler than before.
"That takes a lot out of you, doesn't it?" she observed.
Harry nodded but didn't elaborate.
Moody, apparently deciding that immediate medical crisis took precedence over his growing list of questions, drew his wand and began the familiar movements to conjure his Patronus. "We need Dumbledore," he growled.
The silver light that emerged from his wand took the shape of a massive grizzly bear, its ethereal form towering over them with impressive bulk. But as the Patronus solidified, Tonks noticed something odd.
The bear's attention wasn't focused on Moody, as Patronuses normally were with their casters. Instead, it was looking directly at Harry, and there was something unmistakably fearful in its posture—ears back, head lowered, as if confronted by something dangerous.
Moody either didn't notice or chose to ignore his Patronus's strange behavior. "Find Albus Dumbledore," he instructed the bear. "Tell him the Potter brat is awake."
The bear hesitated for another moment, still staring at Harry with that odd wariness, before bounding away through the wall.
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