The Black Mansion was no longer a quiet, isolated retreat tucked away in New York. With every passing day, it grew more alive—filled with laughter, footsteps racing down hallways, the scent of magical cooking wafting from the kitchen, and the echo of joyful shouts bouncing through the gardens.
Hermione stood in the sunroom one afternoon, watching Teddy morph his hair into a neon blue mohawk, causing Thalia to collapse in laughter on the sofa.
"Don't encourage him too much," Hermione warned playfully, though she was smiling. "He'll start thinking he's a rock star."
"Rock star!" Teddy cried, standing atop a low table, throwing his arms wide. His tiny voice rang across the glass-paned room, drawing laughter from everyone around.
"Alright, rock star," Hermione said, stepping closer with a mock-stern look, "rock stars don't stand on the furniture. Off you go, young man." She lifted him down gently, and he giggled as he wrapped his arms around her neck.
"Mione," he whispered, using the name he'd heard Harry say a dozen times. Hermione's heart melted.
Thalia grinned, hands in the pockets of her dark jacket. "You're good with kids," she said, watching Teddy run off into the hallway. "No wonder Harry trusts you with him."
Hermione brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I've known him since he was a baby. And… well, I'm his godmother. I try to be present when I can."
Callie entered with two big shopping bags, dumping them on the nearby table with a dramatic sigh. "The stores here are amazing," she said. "I bought like six different kinds of perfume. Smell this one!" She sprayed it into the air. "Smells like summer and… maybe deep forest?"
Thalia groaned. "You're worse than the Aphrodite cabin."
"I am from the Aphrodite cabin," Callie replied, flipping her hair. "It's in the blood."
Hermione chuckled. "Just don't turn this place into a salon."
The front door opened then, and Harry stepped in, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, a pair of sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair. "Hey, everyone. Pizza's here."
That declaration caused chaos. Thalia and Callie ran to the dining room shouting over each other about which flavors they wanted. Hermione walked over to help Harry with the boxes.
"Thanks for grabbing lunch," she said, taking two boxes from him.
"No problem. Honestly, I enjoy it. Feels… normal."
Hermione looked at him for a second. "You've built something really good here, Harry. This place… it's full of life. Joy. It's what I always hoped you'd find."
Harry smiled softly. "I don't know what I expected when I came to America. But it's better than I imagined. And having all of you here—it feels like I finally have a family again."
They walked into the dining room together, where everyone had already started taking slices and stacking napkins. Teddy sat on Callie's lap, babbling about his favorite color, which apparently had changed three times that day.
Hermione took the seat beside Thalia. "What were you two up to this morning?" she asked.
Thalia sipped from a glass of soda. "We played tag around the orchard for an hour, then I taught Callie how to throw knives better. She's still a bit slow on the left hand."
"Hey!" Callie protested, but then laughed. "Okay, true."
Harry sat at the head of the table. "I'm glad you're all here. I know this wasn't how I planned my summer, but I wouldn't change it."
"And we're glad you're here," Hermione said firmly. "This house—it feels like Hogwarts, before the war. Safe."
Later that evening, after games in the garden and a magical film playing in the lounge, Hermione and Harry stood near the terrace, looking out at the moonlight reflecting off the small pond in the distance.
"I've been meaning to ask," Hermione said, voice quiet. "You're not… lonely, are you? Raising Teddy, helping all of us?"
Harry shook his head. "No. It's not always easy, but I chose this life. Every time I look at Teddy… or see Andromeda smile, or you laugh, I know it was worth it."
Hermione gently touched his arm. "You're doing an amazing job."
"Thanks," Harry said, eyes glinting with quiet pride. "That means a lot."
Inside the mansion, laughter erupted again—Callie and Thalia racing up the stairs with Teddy cheering them on. And for the first time in a long while, Harry Potter felt completely at home. Not because of magic or titles or destiny, but because of the people he had gathered around him.
A family.
And in that moment, with the stars bright above and warmth in his heart, Harry knew one thing for certain.
This was only the beginning.
The dream began like a whisper—soft, almost unnoticeable.
Harry felt the cold first. A thin mist curled at his feet as he opened his eyes. He was standing on a white, silent platform surrounded by an otherworldly emptiness. There were no walls, no sky, no ground—only the faint echo of the past and the sharp scent of something unearthly.
He knew this place.
King's Cross Station.
But not the real one.
It was the ghostly version—the one between life and death. The place where he had once met Dumbledore after Voldemort had struck him down in the Forbidden Forest. The same place where the broken, grotesque fragment of Voldemort's soul had curled beneath a bench, whimpering.
Harry stood still, breath fogging in the chilly air.
He knew this was a dream.
But it didn't feel like a dream.
His scar didn't burn—there was no pain—but magic pulsed through the station like blood through a vein. He looked around, expecting maybe to see Dumbledore again, but the station remained empty for a long moment.
Then, a breeze swept through the mist.
From the other end of the station, a figure approached—his boots echoing softly with each step.
He wore a long black cloak, the hood casting his face in shadow. But Harry felt something strange—something like… kinship. Familiarity. As the man came closer, he lowered the hood.
Harry inhaled sharply.
The man looked like him.
Not exactly, but close enough—a more ancient, darker version of himself. His eyes were like wells of midnight, with an unsettling calm that radiated power. His hair was pitch black, flowing like ink under moonlight.
Harry swallowed.
"Who… are you?" he asked, voice steady but quiet.
The man studied him for a heartbeat longer, then spoke. "I am Thanatos."
Harry blinked. "Thanatos? As in… the Titan of Death?"
"The very one," Thanatos replied, his voice smooth like polished obsidian, echoing slightly in the ethereal space. "More precisely—the Titan of Peaceful Death."
Harry stepped back warily. "Why are you here? Why am I here? What is this?"
Thanatos tilted his head slightly, almost curious. "Because you have questions. And because it is time."
"Time for what?" Harry asked. "You called me your son. But I'm not your son. My parents were James and Lily Potter. You—this doesn't make any sense."
Thanatos's lips curved, not in a smirk, but in something gentler. "I know what you're thinking. But don't worry, child."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "And how exactly do you know what I'm thinking?"
"Because," Thanatos said softly, "every demigod, when they first meet their divine parent, feels a storm of thoughts. Doubts. The same cycle. 'One of them must have cheated,' you're thinking. 'My family is a lie.' But not for you."
He stepped closer.
"In your case, no one cheated. Your parents—James and Lily—they truly loved each other. They raised you, even if only briefly. But their blood was only one part of the story."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Then what am I?"
"You are the consequence of a soul that once refused the burden of eternity," Thanatos said. "Long ago, I had a son—a mortal-born, gifted with my power. Immortal, wise, and powerful beyond belief. But he grew weary of his endless life. So he chose to end it—not by destruction, but by dispersing his essence."
"The Deathly Hallows," Harry whispered.
Thanatos nodded. "Yes. My son created the three artifacts. He split his power—the wand, the stone, and the cloak. And he passed them into the world under the guise of a tale. A tale where he was 'Death' and the Peverell brothers the heroes."
Harry's throat was dry. "But… those are just… stories."
"They are stories based on truth," Thanatos said. "Your tale began the moment you united all three Hallows. When you did, the soul of my son—the remnants he left—chose you."
Harry's heart thumped. "So… I'm not just their master. I'm…"
"You are my son," Thanatos said calmly. "Not born of flesh. But chosen by power. Inheritor of his legacy. When you accepted the Hallows as more than tools… when you embraced their burden and let go of them… they returned to you. They made you what he once was."
Harry felt his knees weaken.
He stumbled back and sat heavily on one of the ghostly benches, gripping the edge with white knuckles.
"So that's why I could resist the Resurrection Stone. Why the Elder Wand bent to me. Why the cloak always felt like more than just invisibility…"
"You are now what my son once was," Thanatos said. "The mortal made immortal. Not by gift… but by choice."
Harry looked up at him, voice quiet and tired. "Why me?"
Thanatos did not smile, but something in his eyes softened. "Because you have already walked through death. You have faced it with love, not fear. Like he once did."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, then looked up again.
"So what now?"
Thanatos turned, his black cloak flowing behind him. "Now, you walk your path. There are others who will fear you. Some who will seek you. You will have allies and enemies among gods, wizards, and monsters alike."
He stopped.
"But remember, Harry. You are not alone. The Hallows are part of you. My son's legacy flows through your soul."
The mist began to rise again, thicker, swirling.
"I'll be watching."
With that, Thanatos vanished into the mist.
The dream dissolved, the white station fading into shadows—
—and Harry sat up with a gasp in his bed, drenched in sweat.
The sun had not yet risen.
The house was silent.
But he could still hear the echo of a god's voice in the back of his mind.
"I'll be watching."
The morning light filtered gently through the tall windows of the Black Mansion, casting golden beams across the stone floor and wooden furniture. Birds chirped from the nearby trees, and a soft breeze carried the scent of summer into the halls.
Harry stood at the balcony, overlooking the gardens. The sun warmed his face, but it wasn't the sunlight that gave him the lightness in his chest. For the first time in a long while, he felt peace—genuine, undisturbed peace.
The conversation with Thanatos still echoed in his mind like a song half-remembered. But it wasn't frightening anymore. It wasn't confusing.
It was comforting.
All this time, ever since he first realized what a demigod was, a secret fear had haunted him—that the truth of his heritage meant his mother, Lily Potter, had been unfaithful. That his entire identity had been built on a lie. That he was never meant to be a Potter at all.
But Thanatos had given him clarity.
He was James and Lily's son—completely, wholly, and truly. There had been no betrayal. No shame. His birth had not been some divine accident, but the culmination of something ancient, something powerful—something he had earned. He hadn't been chosen by blood, but by legacy. And that made all the difference.
"Harry?"
Hermione's voice came from behind him, soft and curious.
He turned with a smile, brighter than she had seen in years. "Morning," he said, and stretched his arms out with a satisfying sigh. "You sleep well?"
Hermione nodded, but her eyes studied him closely. "You… you seem different."
"Do I?" Harry asked, then chuckled. "Maybe I am. For the first time in a long time, I think I finally know who I am."
Hermione blinked, surprised by the certainty in his voice. "That's good," she said slowly.
He didn't tell her the full truth. Not yet. Not about Thanatos. Not about immortality. But he did tell her the part that mattered.
"I used to worry," he said, leaning on the railing. "That I was… different, in the wrong way."
Hermione's expression softened. She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Harry… you are different. But never in the wrong way."
He looked at her, grateful beyond words. "Thanks."
They stood there in silence, watching as Teddy played in the yard with Callie and Thalia, laughter ringing in the morning air.
Harry's hand instinctively went to the place where the Elder Wand used to rest in his pocket. The wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak—none of them worked anymore.
They had become silent, lifeless relics.
But Harry didn't mourn them. He didn't need to.
Because the power once held in those three legendary objects now lived within him.
If he focused, he could vanish completely—not just from mortal sight, but from divine senses. Even the Olympians would not find him if he didn't want to be found.
With concentration, he could bring back a soul—not just as a shadow or illusion, but truly restore life if the body was intact enough to house it again.
And his magic… it had grown. Deepened. When he cast spells now, it was like painting with light. The flow of magic responded to his emotions, his thoughts, even his will.
He wasn't worried about his immortality. He had already faced death. He had made peace with it. If the people he loved aged and passed on… he would honor them. Watch over their descendants. Keep their stories alive. That was enough.
He had seen too much pain to waste eternity on sorrow.
"Hey," Hermione said suddenly, nudging him, "you're smiling again."
Harry grinned. "Can't help it. It's a good day."
Hermione smiled back and looked down at Teddy. "He's lucky to have you, you know. I mean it. You didn't just give him a roof or food or toys—you gave him a family."
Harry looked down at the boy who was now running around in a circle pretending to be a dragon. Thalia was mock-fighting him with a wooden sword, and Callie was narrating the "epic duel" with exaggerated hand gestures.
"Yeah," Harry said softly. "He gave me one too."
Hermione stepped closer. "You know, I never thought I'd be saying this, but… I'm glad you allowed me to stay here, Harry. I needed a reset."
He looked at her with warmth in his eyes. "You'll always have a place here, Hermione."
She gave him a quiet nod, her throat tightening just a bit with emotion.
The morning passed like a dream. They had breakfast on the veranda—fresh fruits, pancakes, pumpkin juice, and buttered scones. Andromeda and Aphrodite's sweets were still stashed in the cupboard, and Teddy snuck more than he should have, earning a light scolding from Hermione and giggles from Callie.
Harry didn't speak of Thanatos again that day.
He didn't need to.
His heart was full.
His fears were gone.
And even though the Hallows no longer shimmered in his possession, their power—their legacy—lived in him.
He was no longer just "The Man Who Conquered."
He was Harry Potter—the son of James and Lily, the godson of Sirius Black, the protector of Teddy Lupin, the friend of demigods, and the silent heir of Death.
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