Afternoon light spilled across the green lawns.
Aberforth sat by the path, a fresh grass root clenched between his teeth, eyes narrowed as he watched the kids fooling around down by the Black Lake. He looked lost in another world.
"Ariana… you really should've come here to school."
He muttered it under his breath, then spat out the chewed-up fibers. A couple of curious little bugs waved their antennae, gave the clump a quick poke, and scurried off to call their buddies for the free meal.
He'd only lasted two years at Hogwarts himself, but in the century since, the place had changed more than he could wrap his head around. Inside the castle it didn't hit him as hard, but out here alone—everything felt off, like stepping into somebody else's memory.
The grass stretched out lush and endless, the Whomping Willow lazily swishing its new branches, the Bowtruckles bouncing between the treetops like they owned the joint. He stared for a long time, eyes flicking back and forth, digging through old scraps of his own past.
Back when he was a student, that damn tree hadn't even been planted yet.
Sometimes he felt ancient. Maybe the booze had finally pickled his brain—thoughts didn't snap as quick, memories blurred at the edges. Whole chunks of that night in the valley were just… gone.
Other times he wondered if it had been his own curse that hit Ariana.
He'd sworn he'd hate Albus till the day they buried him, never forgive. Yet after holing up in that office for days, he still hadn't landed the punch he'd been saving for a hundred years.
Time really does wash everything out.
"Man… it all went by so damn fast."
Aberforth was never the sharpest tool. Ever since Ariana died he'd just… drifted. Regrets kept piling up like dirty dishes.
He'd blamed Albus for being too ambitious, too wrapped up in his own big ideas to care about family. But hell, he wasn't any better.
There'd been a girl once. Sweet one. He'd been too much of a coward to fight for her. By the time he heard she had a kid, it was way too late.
One blink and decades were gone.
The old hate in his chest had faded to a dull ache. That punch he'd been saving? The fire behind it was flickering out.
"Headmaster Dumbledore!"
The shout yanked him back to the present. He stood up slow, grass root still dangling from his lips, and turned toward the boy jogging up from the Entrance Hall.
"Oh… Weasley."
Aberforth gave a lazy nod. Couldn't remember the kid's first name, but that shock of red hair screamed Weasley clan.
Percy Weasley—seventh year, Gryffindor prefect, Head Boy, straight-O student, teacher's pet extraordinaire. Even Snape cut him some slack.
With N.E.W.T.s breathing down his neck, Percy lived in the library these days, only surfacing when he hit a wall he couldn't solve alone.
Today he'd spotted the Headmaster from the window and come sprinting.
The two of them met on the path, old man and teenager facing each other.
Percy caught his breath, then laid it out:
"Sir, about the Patronus Charm… Professor McGonagall and Professor Levent both talked to me about it. They said it's tied to what I really believe in, and that ties into what I want to do with my life. I'm… still a bit lost."
Explaining Patronus philosophy wasn't exactly in a barkeep's job description.
Aberforth kept his face blank even as panic flickered inside. "Go on."
"Professor Levent told me different kinds of protection come from different beliefs. He said I might not even know what I truly want to guard—peace for the whole wizarding world, my family and friends, or just Hogwarts itself…"
Percy spilled every doubt he'd been chewing on.
For a kid who could ace every subject, Percy carried big dreams. He'd pictured himself running a Ministry department—or even the whole show—way better than Fudge ever could.
But when Melvin forced him to pick one thing to protect above everything else, Percy suddenly couldn't see his own heart clearly.
Family mattered. Big ideals mattered. How the hell was he supposed to choose?
Aberforth's eyes narrowed. He tried to keep his voice steady, but the words came out through gritted teeth:
"So what you're saying… you're wondering if you should ditch your family for a Ministry job?"
"Uh… kinda, yeah." Percy winced—hearing it from the Headmaster made it sound ten times worse.
"You ungrateful, ambitious little shit!" Aberforth's hand shot out and cracked Percy on the back of the head. "Have they ever ditched you for work? Ever called you a waste of time and locked you in the damn barn? Your mum and dad bust their asses running around just to scrape together time to raise you, don't they?"
Percy hissed, rubbing his skull.
The Headmaster had always been weird, but today he was straight-up unhinged—actually hitting students?
"What advice are you fishing for, exactly?"
Aberforth's voice rose again, raw and furious, like he was yelling at someone who wasn't even there. "You want me to tell you to move out, camp in your Ministry office for ten or twenty years, ignore your little brothers and sister? You think they're holding you back? Ruining your precious future? You selfish—"
Every question came with another smack to the red head. Percy couldn't even get a word in edgewise.
"No—sir—that's not what I—"
Finally Percy clutched his head and bolted like his robes were on fire.
…
Last day of Easter break.
Godric's Hollow, the little graveyard behind the church.
The green-eyed boy in glasses sat cross-legged on the grass, staring at the headstone like it might speak back. A few yards away, the tall man in black robes stood silent guard.
Sunlight hit the stained-glass windows of the church behind them, throwing red, gold, and green patches across the dark stones. Moss crawled over the granite; some inscriptions were so old the letters had worn away to ghosts. One you could still make out the faint Deathly Hallows symbol—Ignotus Peverell, the cleverest of the three brothers who'd asked Death for the Invisibility Cloak and actually outsmarted the bastard.
"Supposedly your ancestors—the Potters come from that line," Sirius said quietly. "The smartest of the Peverell brothers."
Some graves were newer, kept tidy by living relatives. Two rows back sat the Dumbledore plot—Kendra and little Ariana. The inscription read:
"Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
Every so often a familiar surname popped up—some families had whole rows, others had died out completely and their descendants had left Godric's Hollow for good.
Sirius didn't linger. He led Harry straight to James and Lily's stone.
The Potters were buried together. Their marker was newer, carved from white marble that seemed to glow even in shadow. The lettering was crisp, easy to read from ten feet away:
James Potter
Born 27 March 1960
Died 31 October 1981
Lily Potter
Born 30 January 1960
Died 31 October 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
"Lily never liked our crew much back at school," Sirius told his godson, voice low. "We were all show-offs. Potions class, Slughorn asks a question—James and I would start cracking jokes, messing up the whole lesson. Lily would bail us out by nailing every answer and earning the points back."
"Luckily our professors didn't play favorites with Slytherin. They'd still call on Lily when we needed house points. That's how we scraped by for the House Cup a few years."
"Every teacher knew she was the real deal. Slughorn adored her—piled on the extra credit. Snape was brilliant too, though. Whenever he stole her spotlight we'd corner him after class, away from Lily, so she wouldn't get mad."
Harry pressed his lips together, staring at the stone like he couldn't picture his dad as that kind of jerk.
Sirius looked ashamed. "We were young and stupid. Did everything on impulse. Snape fought back the only way he knew how, but he was half-blood and the Slytherins treated him like dirt…"
Harry's eyes narrowed. He'd always figured Snape was pure-blood through and through.
He shook his head, letting it go. "Before we head back to Hogwarts, can we swing by the old house?"
"You sure you don't want to fix it up? It's the Potter family home."
"After I graduate. Maybe."
"I still remember you as a baby, barely a few months old, yanking your own socks off and stuffing them in your mouth…"
"Sirius!"
"Okay, okay…" Sirius chuckled, brushed dust off the stone, then turned. "Let's go see the old place. Your crib might still be salvageable. I had a bedroom there too—your grandparents treated me better than James half the time."
Harry stood and followed.
Half the house was rubble now. Hedges and weeds had taken over; bricks lay buried under nettles. The main walls still stood, but the whole top right side had been blown clean off. The iron gate was rusted shut.
Magic in the air sensed Harry's approach. A wooden sign rose out of the tangle of weeds like a flower blooming in fast-forward. Gold letters shimmered:
On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,
Lily and James Potter lost their lives.
Their son, Harry, is the only wizard ever known
to have survived the Killing Curse.
This ruin stands as a monument to the Potters
and a reminder of the violence that tore their family apart.
All around the neat carving were dozens of messages left by visitors—witches and wizards from every corner of the country, names, initials, little notes of encouragement. Thirteen years later the ink still glowed like it had been written yesterday.
…
Hogwarts, Saturday.
Second-to-last day of Easter break. The lazy vibe had finally snapped. Students crammed the library, the lakeshore, the grounds—everyone racing to finish homework before Monday hit like a freight train.
After dinner, with curfew still a couple hours away, the library and Great Hall stayed packed with kids copying notes and begging for references.
Classic end-of-break ritual.
Melvin cut through the corridors on his way back to his office, running into Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs left and right. Whether they had his class or not, he reminded them all: assignments due Monday, no extensions, late = automatic zero.
Both houses were notorious for procrastination. Groans followed him down the hall.
He got distracted watching the chaos and lost a few minutes. When he finally pushed open his office door, his two remedial students were already there. Yurm had let them in and even dragged out the teapot and snacks like a proper little host.
"Meep?"
The snake on the desk spotted Melvin and gave a lazy tail flick.
Yurm had finished shedding. The old skin was tucked away in its nest like treasure. Melvin knew it carried strange magic, but the little serpent guarded it like a dragon with gold—no one was touching it. Research would have to wait.
"Professor Levent."
Harry and Hermione stood up to greet him.
Maybe from all the Legilimency practice, Hermione's eyes looked deeper now, a little more mysterious. There was a quiet intensity about her that hadn't been there a few days ago.
Legilimency wasn't strictly Dark Magic, but reading minds still left a mark on the caster. He'd have to warn her later.
Melvin filed the thought away and turned to Harry, who'd been gone since the first day of break. "Back from visiting your parents?"
Harry seemed steadier too—magic flowing smoother, less frantic. The wild edge had softened.
"Yeah, got back from Godric's Hollow this afternoon." Calm voice, calm eyes.
"Tsk… you've got a mountain of homework waiting, buddy."
Melvin glanced at Hermione. "Don't let him copy yours. Hide it. If I catch your Muggle Studies papers looking too similar, you're both getting detention."
Hermione pressed her lips together and shot Harry a quick look but said nothing.
Harry's calm cracked instantly into pure embarrassment.
Then came the duel practice. Since summer, Harry had been through one emotional roller-coaster after another—pulling power from his own soul and the shard of Voldemort's still lodged in his scar. The buildup was insane. His Disarming Charm now packed a knockout punch that could send you flying.
Even Hermione practicing her Shield Charm didn't dare take one head-on.
Her growth was just as impressive. All the Legilimency drills had sharpened her combat instincts—she could read Harry's intent before he moved, dodging wand flicks and firing back little jinxes in the openings.
Yurm watched from the desk, eyes sparkling with obvious delight.