The Ministry's budget had tanked, the Department of International Magical Cooperation managing to prove how harmful it would be to their economy, and in their haze of celebration it had taken Harry an embarrassingly long while to realize that something was bothering Elia.

He had eased back on his Wizengamot duties, attending the monthly sessions with Elia and leaving most other matters to Neville. Glad to see the back of those months of politicking, Harry had thrown himself into making certain the children were enjoying themselves.

Teddy's sixth birthday was in a few days, and with them not knowing where Aegon and Rhaenys's birthdays fell on their calendar, Harry might have gone a touch overboard in buying gifts. The days leading up to his son's birth were always a mix of joy and melancholy, and Harry wanted to push aside the gloom he knew would hit him full force in a few short weeks.

Now though, now he was worried over what could be bothering the normally unflappable woman.

He found her in the study near her rooms, a room she had commandeered once they began working together on the Wizengamot. There were other bits of parchment dedicated to Westeros; drawings of alliances and the potential state of the country, small notes for any improvements Elia could think of.

Aegon would be king, and she was determined her son be the greatest king the Seven Kingdoms had seen.

He leaned against the door, watching as she bent over a parchment, hand moving to scrawl notes from the thick tome open on her desk. Occasionally, she would exchange words with one of the portraits on the wall, their voices too low for him to make out what was being said, though he was glad they got on well.

He knocked lightly on the door, waiting for her to acknowledge him before he entered. She glanced up, something dark flashing in her eyes as she waved him in.

Worry clawed at him, and he said lightly, "You've been avoiding me."

"I've been busy," she said, turning back to her book.

Raising a brow in surprise, Harry sauntered over to the chair across from her, leaning against the table as he stared at her in surprise.

"Elia," he said lowly, hesitating before he sat in the chair.

She did not look up for some time, and the longer he waited the more Harry realized that whatever was bothering her involved him.

"Have I done something to offend you?"

"Why do you think that?" she asked instead.

Pursing his lips, he held back a glare. On any other day he would have welcomed any banter, but he was more worried than open to a verbal spar.

"You've gone out of your way to avoid me," he stated dryly. "A remarkable feat considering we share a house and eat at the same table."

"As I said, I have been busy these past few weeks," she said curtly.

"Will you look at me?" Harry asked, his irritation growing as she glowered darkly at him before returning to her books.

"Is there anything I can help you with? I have more work to do," she said in a clipped voice, and Harry felt a flare of anger at her words.

"Is that what this is about?" he demanded.

At his words, she finally closed her book; face blank as her eyes pierced his with a cool stare.

"The budget issue has been resolved," he said irritatedly.

"Far be it from me to detail your duties to you, my lord," she quipped sarcastically.

"My duties?"

"Yes, Lord Potter-Black, your duties," she stressed, and Harry withheld a flinch at hearing his title from her. It had been months since she had stopped calling him that, and the return did not bode well for him.

"I've done what I am expected to do," Harry said lowly, eyes darkening in anger.

"The bare minimum, certainly," Elia scoffed, a disdainful twist of her lips. He had not imagined the disappointment that flashed through her eyes, and Harry keenly felt the sting. "Imagine my surprise at hearing countless others congratulate me for managing to pull you from your isolation."

Jaw tightening he gritted, "I prefer my privacy."

"I am aware. But there is a difference between privacy and the complete avoidance you've managed to perfect."

"I don't care," he insisted stubbornly, turning away from her. From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that the portrait was not empty, though he could not be bothered to see which of his relations were paying close attention to this conversation.

"That's your problem, Harry," she said sharply. "You have a title and responsibilities, and yet you treat them as if it were the greatest burden. Why should I help you? The last thing I want is for Aegon to adopt that attitude regarding his future responsibilities."

He flinched at her words, turning back to glower darkly at Elia. She matched him with a fierce stare of her own, though her anger was mingled with sharp disappointment.

"I've done all that was expected of me," he growled. "Every bloody thing they wanted, and sitting through these meetings and having to play at politics when things don't change is pointless."

"How do you expect them to change when you ignore your role?" she scoffed, and Harry let his anger carry him.

"BECAUSE I BLOODY WELL DIED SO THEY COULD CHANGE THINGS!" he snapped, a slight crack telling him his magic had run wild. Her eyes widened in surprise, and Harry hastily stepped back, pulling his magic under control as he avoided her stare.

Before Elia could do more than open her mouth, Harry pivoted to the exit, walking swiftly from the room.

He managed to hold on until he reached the duelling room in the basement, a shout leaving him as he released a wave of raw magic at the first dummy.

"Reparo," he said, before twirling his wand once more. "SECTUMSEMPRA!"

It cleaved into three pieces, each flying in different directions, and Harry spent the next hour or so flinging spells at the dummies to repair and destroy them in short order.

Green flashed in his vision, his breath coming in short gasps before he threw one last curse, bits of wood and ash flying around as the wards strained to control the surge of magic.

Dropping to the floor, Harry buried his face in his knees, eyes screwed shut as memories assaulted him.

It was some time before he felt a pair of hands on his own, and he blinked in surprise as he felt Elia shift in front of him.

"You shouldn't be here," he croaked, voice hoarse from shouting.

"Where else would I be?" she said, hand tightening on his.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound being Harry's ragged breaths as Elia swiped her thumb in circles across the back of his hand.

"The accident you spoke of," he heard her say lowly, a slight hitch in her voice. "The one in the war…"

He chuckled darkly, a slightly pathetic sound in his ears. "Turns out facing a magical death is not something to do if you want kids."

"Harry," she began, though he cut in before she could say more.

"I went willingly," he told her, hearing her breath catch as her hands tightened on his. "It was the only way. That's what the memories said. Congratulations Harry," he added bitterly.

"Seventeen years of life being groomed to die at the right moment, and I went willingly at the end of it. Else what was the point? What did my parents die for? It wasn't them he was after; they weren't born as the seventh month dies. Not Sirius, who went to literal hell-on-earth after they died, who died protecting his stupid godson.

No, no. Either must die at the hands of the other, that's what it said. So I did it; I wanted my friends to live, I wanted the war to end. I wanted to die. I was tired of it all, so I went into the forest and I stood still and let him kill me. I couldn't even do that properly."

"Harry," she said sharply, hands gripping his face as he lifted his head to look at her.

"I don't want your pity," he muttered, seeing the slight sheen of tears in her eyes,

"I've never pitied you," she told him, black eyes serious though he saw a glint of sadness.

"Narcissa lied," Elia said, and he nodded slightly.

"Draco was still in the castle, and she was tired of the war," he replied, blinking furiously as the memories assaulted him.

To his surprise, Elia leaned her forehead on his, "And then?"

He blinked back tears, closing his eyes as he felt the weight of her resting against him. If he focused, he could remember every detail of that night.

"They saw it happen – his Death Eaters. Everyone else thought it was a rumour, but the ones that were there and had escaped knew what they had seen. One of them…" he swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat.

"One of them killed Andromeda," Elia whispered softly, and Harry could only nod in agreement.

"It took four of them to take her down. They didn't think they'd be able to kill me, but the rest of my family was fair game. They forgot they were dealing with a Black," he told her with a watery chuckle.

Harry had returned to find a dying Andromeda, the bodies of four Death Eaters surrounding her as she bled out in his arms. Three years they had spent planning their attack, and Harry had lost the last parent he had in the blink of an eye.

"I hated them," he continued, voice thick with tears. "All of them, from the bloody courts that let them get away in the first place, to the Aurors who seemed to do everything but their jobs. It's why I stopped."

She tightened her hold on him, and Harry felt the tears fall as Elia murmured soothing reassurances.

He didn't know how long they sat there like that, but Harry found himself with an armful of Elia, his face buried in her shoulder.

"Thank you," he murmured, shifting slightly in embarrassment.

"There's no need to thank me," she said softly, eyes focused on his. "Though perhaps a better method of letting things out in future. I imagine all this anger and yelling is not good for either of us."

He managed a weak grin, moving to stand and help her up. "Any ideas?"

"Not as of yet," she replied, staring at him in slight concern.

"I'll be fine," he told her.

"Harry, what I said earl…"

"You were right," he admitted, even as she shook her head.

"Harry…"

He cut her off by pulling her into a swift hug, his face pressed against her head as he murmured his thanks once more before making his way to his room, leaving a slightly stunned Elia behind in the duelling chamber.


In the early hours of the morning, Harry found himself walking into Andromeda's solarium. He made his way to the exposed brick wall, scraping his finger against the rock to allow his blood to flow. At first touch, the brick fell open, the illusion revealing the small hiding place within the walls. He had spelled every inch of this room, in addition to the wards placed here by countless Potters before him for several centuries.

There, nestled next to a long wand with three ridges was a plain stone, smooth and unassuming.

Lifting it from its spot, Harry held the small rock in hand, hesitating slightly at the thought of what he wanted to do. He'd not used the stone once, had no portrait as he did of the others, and he firmed his resolve. Twisting the stone thrice, Harry closed his eyes as a slight breeze filled the room, imprinting the ghostly feeling of a hand running through his hair to his memory.

"Herakles."

"Hi Mum," he whispered.