Chapter Fifty-Six
Marry me.
Marry me.
Regulus had never even told her he loved her.
A truth far too risky to be revealed, even to Julia, he had rationalized in his mind, whenever he felt it; that he had actually fallen. And far too likely to burst the bubble and send her running in the opposite direction.
Well.
That particular horse had well and truly bolted.
Julia had spent some time upstairs with Grace after he'd said it, long enough that he had begun to think that she may opt to just spend the rest of the night up there with Severus' daughter, rather than come back down and risk he might attempt to explain or reaffirm his wish to wed her and ruin her life.
Miss Bradbury, could I, perhaps, entice you to throw away your entire future and join me in my shroud of darkness for the rest of our days? They'd be quite numbered, indeed, but don't let that put you off! That may prove to be a blessing, depending on how this whole war business turns out.
On offer is an entirely unplottable, unstable family home, mandatory resignation from your hard-earned career, the ever-looming threat of torture and death, and a stepson, currently toiling in the delightful throes of teenage angst.
Better be quick. Another proposal like this isn't likely to come up again in your lifetime.
Footsteps on the floor interrupted Regulus' musings and, to his surprise, the woman on his mind was back and was climbing into her sleeping bag at his side.
Neither said anything until she was lying back down beside him, Regulus simply watching her as he felt the bitterness at himself dissolve only to be replaced by a bundle of nerves that he was, actually, going to have to explain himself, now.
Julia met his eyes, giving him a smile; "She's a little firecracker, that one."
"Mhm," Regulus grinned in agreement; "Like her mother that way."
Julia chuckled, giving a nod, but after that neither seemed to know what to say.
That, alone, was enough of an answer to his question.
It wasn't, however, an answer to what was going to come next. Neither wanted to say it, neither had really dared come close to that conversation in the months since they had come together and actually became something; neither had been willing to ask or answer the question as to what it was they were actually doing here.
Living in the moment had always been enough.
And now, he'd ruined that. Broken a rule that, while unspoken, had always been there.
They didn't think about the future.
They didn't think about the future because there wasn't one.
Not for them.
"Julia."
She met his eyes, at the rare use of her name, and she released a breath – it shuddered a little – and gave him a small smile, shaking her head, and touched a finger to his lips, silencing him.
And then she leaned in, replacing her finger with her lips; a kiss so soft and warm and affectionate – he dared, even, to think that it might be love – and then buried her face into the crook of his neck and his shoulder, her arm wrapping around his waist and holding him tight.
Regulus arm came up, holding her to him in turn, just as they had done every day on the couch these past few months.
But there was a tightness in his chest rather than the, previously, ever-present warmth and a knot in his stomach because he knew, even as they lay there in one another's arms, that, soon, this would all be over.
The illusion well and truly shattered.
"Alright, breakfast is up!" Julia announced, stacking up the plates of pancakes along one arm and coming over, serving them up to Malachi, Harry and Grace where they were all sitting waiting at the kitchen counter.
"Can I have ice cream with my pancakes, Julia?" Grace asked, sitting up straighter in her eagerness – as if that might encourage Julia to hand it over – when her plate arrived in front of her.
"I think there's enough sweet stuff on that counter to rot every tooth in your mouth as it is," she said, with an indication at the bottles of sprinkles, syrups, whipped cream and melted chocolate that was lined up in front of them.
"Mr. Black lets us!"
"I can well believe that," Julia chuckled, returning to the stove and breaking some more eggs into the pan.
"Pass the syrup, Harry," Grace said, reaching over Malachi for it. Harry did so, accidentally squirting some over Malachi's sleeve as he did and snickering, making a face.
Malachi grabbed the squirty cream, spraying it in Harry's face, and the two of them burst out laughing.
"Oh, you'll pay for that!"
More syrup was fired in Malachi's face, while Grace cried out – "Hey, you're getting it on me!" – and Julia called out over their laughter – "pack it in, you two!" – but they carried on, and Malachi was delighted that things were back to normal between them, now, so much so that it was as if the last three months had never happened.
"Julia, can I be a flower girl at your wedding?"
"What?"
Malachi immediately stopped what he was doing, attention now all for the exchange between Julia and Grace.
"When you marry Mr. Black," Grace explained, before adding; "I heard him asking you."
Julia was still at the stove and she shook her head, casting a smile their way; "Mr. Black was just kidding, Honey."
Grace frowned; "That's not a very funny joke."
Harry gave Grace a nudge and a grin; "Mr. Black and Julia can't get married, Grace."
"Then why'd he ask?" Grace nudged him back, rolling her eyes, and Harry grabbed her sides and tickled her until she squealed.
Malachi's eyes were all for Julia though, and the way that hers wouldn't quite meet his as she made her way back to the counter, popping the plate of scrambled eggs she'd made up in front of them, and Malachi knew – and he was pretty sure Julia must know as well – that his dad wouldn't joke about something like that.
He started to climb down from the stool he was sitting on, to go and find him – for they'd surely decided to either marry or break up last night – and his dad probably needed to speak to him, then, whichever it was.
But, before he was down, his smiling dad breezed into the room.
"Ah, looks like you lot got the party started without me."
"Good morning, Mr. Black!" Grace grinned at him, passed a face covered in chocolate and a mouthful of pancakes.
His dad ruffled her hair over the counter, giving her a smile – "good morning, Miss Grace" – and then he stepped up behind Julia, where she was standing at the stove.
"Do I have to pick just one?" he asked, his chin on her shoulder.
"Oh, I know you want them all, Black," she met his eyes, with a little smile, before she nodded in the direction of the plate filled with both eggs and pancakes, strawberries scattering the top; "Over there."
"Thank you," he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
And it was as if nothing had even changed between them. Well, he supposed they were a bit more openly lovey-dovey than in the past, but that had been building up all day yesterday.
Maybe they were just pretending everything was fine. Or, maybe, his dad was just joking when – if – he'd actually mentioned marriage. Grace was hardly the most reliable of sources when it came to passing on information, after all, so he relaxed, a bit, just as he felt Harry's elbow nudge into his side before he shot a look in his dad's direction, reminding him:
"Oh, Dad? Is it okay if Grace and Harry stay another night?"
His dad popped a strawberry into his mouth, shaking his head; "Sorry, kids, I've got to get back to the Foundation tomorrow. And Julia's back to work tonight."
"It's cool, we'll just hang out here," Malachi shrugged; "We've got all these board games – if it's okay to borrow them a bit longer?" at Julia's smile and nod, he went on – "and we've still got a ton of food. Harry doesn't have his lesson with Dumbledore until tomorrow night, so they don't really have to go back yet."
He hoped that he was convincing, as Harry had finally managed to persuade him during their whispers in the night that he wouldn't run Emma off if he were to meet her and, now that it had been decided, he was actually hoping that he could.
His dad looked between them for a second, almost appraisingly, before giving a nod; "Yeah. Alright. I'll send an owl to Professor Lupin; make sure he's alright with it."
"Yes!" he and Harry celebrated, simultaneously, grinning in one another's direction.
Julia stepped closer to his dad with a grin and a raised eyebrow; "Why do I get the impression you're going to regret that?"
"I'm fairly certain that I am," his dad nodded, smilingly, and held up a strawberry to her mouth. Julia rolled her eyes, opening her mouth for him to pop it in.
Malachi and Harry rolled their eyes at one another at the display of affection, making sicky gestures.
"Well, I think the both of you should get married," Grace declared, immediately plunging the playful energy of the room into one of complete awkwardness.
His dad and Julia shifted where they were stood facing one another – not looking at each other, now, having quickly averted their eyes from one another at the statement – and when their eyes did meet again, their smiles were no longer so playful, no longer so cheeky – in fact his dad's look a little bit sad – before his dad rubbed Julia's arm as he passed by her, going to get something – probably something he didn't even need – from the cupboard behind her.
And Malachi no longer needed to wonder if his dad had asked her to marry him.
For it was more than obvious – to everyone – that he had.
Grace lined up the pebbles on the sand that she'd found, finding even that more entertaining that the activity that Harry and Malachi and the blonde girl – Emma – had chosen to pass the time with that morning.
They'd stayed another night at Mr. Black's for this?
She'd rather be back at the castle with Uncle Remus.
Mr. Black had been gone only a few minutes, before Harry had knelt before her and explained that they were going out and there were 'rules'.
That meant they were going to be naughty, obviously – Grace was beginning to realise that now – but she was more than eager to be included in Harry and Malachi's deception for the day.
So, for today, her name was Emily, like her friend from the Learning Centre. She was allowed to pick her own name but it had to be quick - it wasn't allowed to be Lily, which she didn't think was very fair, as Harry was allowed to pick James - and once she'd picked it she became a 'muggle'. No magic existed. It was a game, Harry had told her, and she was to 'put her drama queen reputation to work' and be the perfect little actress – breaking character for nothing – and that meant no doing magic, no talking about magic, everything was just normal, muggle like and dull.
Malachi and Harry spent ages just learning how to throw a string on a stick out onto the water.
But even that was more fun than what happened next which was, basically, nothing.
They just stood there forever saying they were waiting for the fish.
Probably even the fish were so bored they'd left this part of the sea.
Harry wanted to fish for longer than Malachi and Emma did, so those two left them and went to sit on one of the big rocks a little further away by themselves, which Harry seemed to think was very funny.
Grace didn't see why that was funny.
Malachi and Emma – his girlfriend, Harry called her – they talked and played the same way that Mr. Black and Julia did; looked right at each other, listening properly, whenever the other was speaking and they would be smiling and laughing and tickling one another, as if no one else was even there.
Grace rolled her eyes, turning her attention to the pebbles before her, staring at them. Even they seemed so much duller than the other pebbles in the world. They were grey, no colour at all to them, no nice whiteness or markings or stripes. Sometimes, when her mummy would take her to the beach – it had been a long time since that had happened – they would gather up the prettiest pebbles to give to…
The thought trailed off.
The pebbles before her suddenly changed colour – turning pink, and then blue, and then white with little brown spots like the ones she had been thinking about a second ago – oops.
Grace quickly stopped.
She wasn't supposed to be doing any magic out here.
The pebbles were still white and brown. Grace gathered them up, quickly, tucking them into her pockets so that Harry wouldn't know what she'd done, and then got to her feet. She approached him, feeling guilty. She mashed it down, hoping she wouldn't be caught.
"Harry?"
"What's up, Grace?"
"Can I have a shot of the fishing stick?"
Harry smiled and gave a nod, holding out an arm to her, and she came and stood in front of him, taking a hold of it and decided it'd be far better if she just pretended she actually cared about fishing for the rest of the morning.
"You think we should tell James it's a lost cause?" Emma said, glancing in Harry's direction.
"James? Oh. No," Malachi waved a hand; "He probably doesn't even care if he actually catches any fish. He just...it makes him feel closer to his dad, that's all."
"Oh. Did he lose him?"
Malachi nodded, looking in Harry's direction; "Yeah. Last year."
"I don't know what I'd do if I lost my dad," Emma said, quietly, looking at Harry with sympathy; "And his little sister, she's so young."
Malachi didn't want to explain that their fathers were different – he probably shouldn't, as it was better to keep things not too mixed up, and, well, Grace had lost her dad too, from what Harry had been telling him about Severus and the memory wipe the night before – so he swallowed, focusing on her first point; "I don't know what I'd do without mine, either."
Emma looked back at him, giving him a little smile when she noticed him watching her. Sometimes, he couldn't help himself and would catch himself just looking at her, and he wondered if that made him weird or, worse, a creep but she never seemed to mind and sometimes he'd catch her just looking at him, too, and he actually liked it – even though he'd start to blush – so, maybe, Emma liked it when he looked at her too.
They were looking at one another now. A bit longer than they usually did.
It was the kind of look where, really, he should do something.
Well. That something was pretty obvious. He'd just been too much of a wimp so far to actually do it.
He should just kiss her.
Harry was right.
He'd wanted to for days – even imagined it, a couple of times, wondering what it'd be like since he'd never actually kissed anyone before – and she kept looking at him like she wanted him to, as well. Like she was just waiting for him to do it first.
So, he did; leaned in quickly and pressed his lips to hers. Their noses bumped a bit and he moved so fast that she jumped a little – maybe talking about dead dad's probably wasn't the opportune moment for this – but he kissed her.
Emma stayed very still, pressing her lips back against his, and he wondered if this was her first kiss, too.
He drew back, opening his eyes, and looked at her, shyly.
She smiled again.
And then her hands came up to each side of his face, tilting his head to the side, and then she kissed him this time.
It was better like that, tilted, their noses not in the way anymore and without that bothering him, he just felt her lips – so soft like he'd thought they would be – and the way they parted ever so slightly beneath his. It was nice, much nicer than he imagined a kiss would be, and he did the same, tentatively kissing her back, getting a little bit braver about it as the second ticked on until the little flutter in his tummy became even more distracting than usual – like somersaults – and his heart began to beat a little too fast in his chest.
He drew back, almost in a daze.
Wow.
He definitely wanted to do that again.
Before he could, something over her shoulder got his attention, passed the dazed experience of it all.
Harry.
Harry was a little bit away with Grace and was giving him two thumbs up behind Emma's back and dancing on the spot: cheering his success.
Emma looked round, swiftly, to see what he was looking at and – although Harry quickly stopped – he didn't stop quick enough for her not to see.
She burst into giggles, turning back round to look at Malachi, and he rolled his eyes at his antics, blushing furiously, before laughing as well.
And then he leaned back in, kissing her again.
Harry had a spring in his step as he headed on his way to his occlumency lesson with Dumbledore.
Everything was good.
The weekend had been great. So great that he'd have happily stayed the rest of the holidays, if he hadn't had these lessons to get to.
But Mr. Black had come back just after lunch and, after conceding to play just one more game of Monopoly with them, had brought him and Grace back to Hogwarts.
Harry doubted Malachi was bothered that they were leaving. He was having plenty of fun, without him.
But they were finally – properly – friends again and he'd learned how to fish, at last, and he smiled – even if he did realise it was silly to be so attached to it, the feelings it evoked about his dad, for his dad hadn't exactly engaged in the pursuit willing – and he was feeling more than a little confident that this occlumency lesson was going to go well.
He was calm – happy, even – in a way he hadn't been for months. For the first time in ages, feeling like maybe there was a little bit of light in the darkness that surrounded them. Snape had always asserted that success in occlumency relied on an ability to maintain calm and composure; he just might manage that, tonight.
And, he was determined that Snape wasn't going to come back and be disappointed in him; he'd make sure he'd at least made some progress in occlumency before their next lesson.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry was surprised to see Professor McGonagall in the hallway, close to the Headmaster's office, and he stopped when it was clear she had something to say.
"I'm afraid the Headmaster has been delayed with other business this evening, but he has sent his assurances that he will not be much longer, and you are welcome to wait in his office until he arrives."
Welcome to wait. Harry nodded, knowing that was an instruction rather than a request, and headed on up.
He smiled at the phoenix that was perched beside the door - "Hey, Fawkes" - as he made his way in and to the chair at front of the desk. Dumbledore had so much stuff, his eyes glancing from this and that, one trinket to the next, and then the Sorting Hat on the shelf and the Sword of Gryffindor encased in glass and mounted on the wall.
His eyes went to the sleeping portraits on the wall, the Headmasters before Dumbledore, and settled on Phineas Nigellas Black. Harry could see that there was a little bit of a resemblance between him and Malachi – certainly between him and Sirius and Mr. Black – but Harry found it impossible to like anything this particular Black had to say. Namely, because it tended to focus on the 'worthlessness' of his great-great grandson – Sirius – whenever Harry was in the room and didn't seem all that impressed by Malachi, either, though Malachi had told him he had never once spoken a word to him, the odd few times he was called to the Headmaster's office. He never mentioned Regulus Black.
Harry's eyes drifted, catching sight of something bright and silver, a light flickering from a slither of a gap in the black cabinet behind him.
He frowned, glancing between the peculiar light and the door to the office, pondering for a moment before he got to his feet to investigate.
He pulled open the door to the cabinet, eyes falling upon a small, stone basin sitting within it. The silvery lights – like a gas or maybe liquid, Harry couldn't tell – swirled within it and Harry stepped closer, curiously, in bewilderment at what it was he was looking at.
He glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of the door – surely Dumbledore would be back, any moment – before he took out his wand, poking at the strange substance.
It swirled more rapidly, and then it formed something beneath the surface. A room; another world it seemed. And Harry leaned closer, unable to help himself if he tried, eager to see what it was.
The lights swirled so much that he couldn't quite see properly – but he knew he didn't recognize the room in the basin – and he leaned closer, thinking he could see Dumbledore in there – maybe that's why he was late – and he leaned closer still, the very tip of his nose touching the substance.
And, then, suddenly he was lurched forward – Dumbledore's office left behind – and he was falling into the blackness and the cold – sucked into the whirlpool until he landed with a thud on his feet in the middle of the room.
Dumbledore was sitting behind a desk. Professor Trelawney was sitting opposite him – looking much, much younger, Harry realized – but, even then, Harry couldn't make sense of what had just happened.
"Pro-professors! I'm sorry. I was just –"
"Of course, not all can boast to having the inner eye…" Professor Trelawney was speaking to Dumbledore, neither of them even acknowledging his presence, much less the fact that he had just dropped in on them from the sky – from another dimension – and Dumbledore was nodding, politely, and even Harry could see he was unimpressed with what the woman before him was saying.
Harry stepped towards them, not even listening to the words spoken between each of them, for this was clearly some sort of staff appraisal meeting. Or, maybe, an interview; it certainly sounded like it was an interview, the questions and the answers that were being exchanged back and forth.
Harry felt a moment of panic seize him; had he somehow stepped into some weird time warp and thrown himself back into the past? If that were the case, how was he supposed to get back?
He looked, hurriedly, around the room, for any sign of the basin that had sucked him into this place but it was nowhere in sight.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry stepped up closer to him, quickly waving a hand in front of him, but he carried on speaking with Professor Trelawney as if Harry were not even there.
Harry stepped back, eyes going in the direction of the door, before he headed towards it. Maybe the basin would be through there.
It was open a crack, Harry noticed, so he made to go out but when he reached to try and open the door, his hand just went through it, unable to make any changes to whatever strange place he suddenly found himself.
"Well, I must thank you for your time, Miss Trelawney," Dumbledore said, getting to his feet and making his way around the desk, before reaching to shake her hand; "I shall be in touch –"
Harry leaned to look through the gap between the door and the wall, at what was beyond it, and then stopped, stunned where he stood, to find himself suddenly eye to eye with beady dark eyes – eyes that were very, very familiar to him.
It was Snape.
A much, much younger Snape.
He barely even looked older than him.
"Professor Snape?" Harry said, frowningly, even though he knew at this point that the other man couldn't hear him.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches."
Harry spun round.
Professor Trelawney stood in the middle of the room – though she would surely be on the floor had Dumbledore not had such a tight grip of her hand and arm, eyes upon her in concern – and her eyes were glazed, her mouth sagging; her voice loud and harsh, nothing at all like she sounded in Harry's divination lessons.
"…born to those who have thrice defied them, born as the seventh months dies –"
"Oi! What you doin' in here!" a voice behind the door called out, and Harry heard a thud and a scuffle but he ignored it, stepping closer to Dumbledore and Trelawney to hear, this…this thing.
"…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."
There was utter silence in the wake of the words spoken.
No one moved.
A moment, two, before Professor Trelawney came back to herself, looking at Dumbledore and clearing her throat; "Oh. Pardon me, Professor. I don't know what came over me for a minute, there. It must be the stuffiness of this room."
Dumbledore was looking at her with concern and, Harry recognised, great interest, now, that hadn't been there before; "Are you alright, Miss Trelawney?"
Harry frowned, not listening to any more, as the two exchanged meaningless pleasantries, but then anything else spoken seemed meaningless in the immediate aftermath of what had just been said.
"The one with the power…" Harry murmured, with a frown, replaying the words in his head; "born as the seventh…"
Had that been about him?
It…it had to be.
Marked as his equal.
The equal part, obviously, made no sense, for he was certainly no way Voldemort's equal, as Snape was always so keen to point out.
Snape.
Harry quickly looked back at the gap.
Snape was gone.
"Harry."
Harry wheeled round at the sound of Dumbledore's voice, at someone actually addressing him, and found the Headmaster – a second Headmaster – at his side.
"I think we've seen quite enough, wouldn't you say?"
He took Harry's arm and the same cold whirlwind of a spin came over him once more, before he landed with a thud back in Dumbledore's office.
Harry stumbled back from the basin; "What…what was – is – that? Was…was that real?"
Dumbledore clicked the door to the cabinet shut, indicating with a nod that Harry take a seat at the desk, as he moved to do the same; "That is a pensieve, Harry."
A pensieve.
Harry knew what they were. He'd heard about them before. His mum used them, sometimes, as part of her work.
Harry sat down, slowly, realizing what that meant; "That…that was one of your memories."
"I find sometimes that I have just a little too much up here to think clearly," Dumbledore said with a smile, as he sat behind his desk; "Particularly in these times. It is useful, easier even, to be able to sort them out in this manner; look for patterns, clues which may provide answers to questions we are searching for now. Much better than trying to remember every detail from memory."
Harry gave an uncertain nod.
"I suppose why bother when you could just take them out and look at them, again," Harry said, while looking frowningly in the cabinet's direction, where the pensieve was now hidden; "Um…oh. I'm sorry, Professor. I…I know I shouldn't have looked. The cabinet door was open…well, a little and I..."
"I quite understand, Harry," Dumbledore said, warmly.
Harry kept his eyes on the floor, as the words that Professor Trelawney had said kept replaying over and over in his mind, and he drew in a breath, raising his eyes back up to look back at him.
"That was about me, wasn't it? What Professor Trelawney said."
Dumbledore inclined his chin ever so slightly, an acquiescence.
"What was it? Some sort of…prediction? Or a…a prophecy?"
It sounded so ludicrous. There was no such thing as prophecies. Not real ones. And especially not about him.
He was not special.
But, he realized, it was about him. And Voldemort had marked him. And Snape had been so sure that he had to be ready to fight him…
Harry swallowed.
Snape knew about this.
Harry met Dumbledore's eyes.
"A great number of foresights are made; not all come to pass," Dumbledore explained; "In this particular case, yes. This predication is one that concerned both yourself and Tom."
Harry glanced away.
There was a prophecy about him. A prophecy that said he was supposed to be the one that was meant to defeat Voldemort.
What?
Harry shook his head.
But that was absurd.
How the hell was he supposed to do that?
"Harry?" Dumbledore's voice was concerned and as warm as it ever was when he spoke with him.
Harry met his eyes.
"Is there anything you wish you discuss?"
Harry considered it a moment.
No.
Snape knew about this.
Harry shook his head; "No, Sir."
Dumbledore held his look for a moment, as if to give Harry a chance to reconsider, before he gave him a smile; "My door is always open to you, Harry, should you change your mind."
Harry nodded, tried for a smile, but it didn't really come; "Thank you, Sir. Um…do…do you mind if we hold off on the lesson? I…I don't think I –"
"Certainly, Harry," Dumbledore nodded; "We shall resume our lesson on Wednesday evening, if that is convenient?"
Harry only nodded, glad of the dismissal, and got to his feet, heading from the office.
Harry made his way back to Remus' chambers in a daze, his mood far altered from the elation he had felt making his way there, as he tried to make sense of what he had just seen and learned.
There was a prophecy about him.
About him and Voldemort.
One that said he had powers – powers – that Voldemort didn't and he was supposed to be able to use these mysterious powers to be able to defeat the very wizard who was currently waging a war and that even Snape and Mr. Black and Dumbledore, combined, had been unable to defeat.
Harry could have laughed.
He could have laughed and laughed, for it was so ridiculous, if he were not, also, so horrified.
If the fate of the entire wizarding world truly did rest upon his shoulders, it was no wonder Snape was so convinced that they were doomed.
Harry stepped across the threshold into Remus' chambers, giving a polite smile in Remus and Tonks' direction, where they were sitting at the kitchenette.
"Oh, I was just leaving, Harry –" Tonks began to stand up, but Harry held up a hand.
"No, don't. I mean, stay. I'm…I'm just gonna go to bed," he told them, not really wanting to speak to anyone.
He wondered if Remus knew. But if Remus knew, then his mum must know, and he was surely sworn to secrecy by her, so Harry would get nowhere asking him about it.
His mum must know. Snape knew.
He would have told her.
Harry climbed into the transfigured bed that Remus had set up in Grace's room for the holidays, eyes going to his sleeping sister's form a few feet away.
He was supposed to be able to save her.
Save everyone.
Well.
No.
He could, also, just die, as well, the prophecy had suggested that, too.
The much more likely of the two events to happen.
Neither can live with the other survives.
Harry leaned his head on the pillow, eyes going to the bedside table that sat between his and Grace's bed.
He frowned, when he noticed a little collection of white and brown spotted pebbles sitting upon it. Those were odd. They didn't look like any pebbles he'd ever seen.
He guessed Grace had picked them up from the beach that morning.
But nothing on the beach had looked like that, Harry would have noticed.
Well.
He should have noticed.
He supposed he must have just missed them, too focused on the ocean to pay attention to the rocks, and Grace knew not to use magic out there. He'd told her and she'd promised.
Besides, he'd know if she had because that would have triggered the Trace and then someone from the Ministry would have heard about it.
But no one had come for them.