Theo sat in the dimly lit room, the only source of light being the soft glow from the bedside lamp. Mia lay on the bed, still and peaceful, her chest rose and fell in a steady was exhausted, both mentally and physically, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Mia's side. He had been sitting there for days, watching over her, unwilling to let her out of his sight.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Theo's heart skipped a beat. He instinctively reached for the wand resting on the nightstand. In walked Jace, his hazel eyes wide with worry, looking around as he spotted Theo.
Theo's voice was a low, urgent whisper as he hissed, "Jace, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Monaco."
"Grandmother''s Galas repeat every year," he admitted, his voice filled with concern. "Aunt Isabelle sent me a letter. I came as fast as I could."
"She's been like this since we got back," Theo said, his voice tinged with worry. "I don't know what to do. Magnus said it might take some time for her to wake up."
Jace moved closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving Mia's face. "We wait for her, Theo. Mia would do it for us. You know how worried she gets if something happens to us."
Theo couldn't help but chuckle softly at Jace's sudden appearance and the fact that Jace had just used his name. "You know," Theo said with a teasing grin, "I don't think you've ever called me 'Theo' before."
Jace's cheeks flushed slightly, and he scratched the back of his head, looking somewhat sheepish. "Yeah, well, I guess there's a first time for everything, right?" He cleared his throat. "Look, Theo, I wanted to talk to you. I know I've been a total dickhead, especially to Mia, and I've already apologized to her. But I also wanted to apologize to you."
Theo's expression softened, and he nodded. "I appreciate that, Jace. All is forgiven." He paused, a curious glint in his eyes. "But I'm curious, what did you and Mia talk about on the day we left for New York?"
Jace hesitated for a moment before he sighed and looked down at the floor. "I confessed my feelings to her," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Theo's eyes bulged in surprise. "You confessed?" he repeated incredulously.
Jace nodded, still not meeting Theo's gaze. "Yeah. I told her how I felt about her. But I... I told her that I had to get her because I wanted my best friend back. I prefer us to stay as friends rather than risk trying to be more and possibly fucking it up."
Theo blinked, processing this information. "I didn't expect that," he said quietly.
Jace finally looked up, his gaze fixed on Mia as she slept peacefully. "I didn't expect it either," he admitted. "But I'm grateful I did it. It made me realize that I need to move on."
Theo couldn't help but be honest. "Jace, I don't think you'll ever stop being in love with her."
Jace turned to look at Theo, a wistful smile on his face. "You're probably right," he conceded. "It's impossible not to but I promise you, Teddy, I'll make sure that whoever Mia dates in the future is worthy of her. She's too amazing to waste her time with stupid gits."
Theo couldn't help but playfully nudge Jace with his elbow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We'll both make sure of that," he said with a grin. "And I'm pretty sure Uncle Enzo and Uncle Alex would agree with us."
Jace chuckled, the tension between them lifting. "Yeah, they probably would," he replied, his smile growing. "But Mia can't know or she'll hex us."
"Remember that time when Mia hexed someone who made her really angry?" Theo asked, shaking his head as he recalled the incident.
Jace let out a rueful laugh, the memory still vivid in his mind. "Oh man, how could I forget?" he said, rubbing his arm as if he could still feel the effects of the hex. "And then she hexed us when we tried to intervene."
Theo shivered at the memory, but he couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, she can definitely defend herself. We won't have to worry about her too much."
Mia felt disoriented, like she was walking through a dream or a long-forgotten memory. She looked around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Everything seemed hazy and ethereal, as if she were walking through a fog of memories. It was a garden, a place of vibrant colors and fragrant flowers.
Her attention was drawn to a small figure, a little girl who appeared to be about two years old. The child was toddling through the garden, her tiny hand outstretched to touch the petals of a blooming rose. Mia watched in fascination, realizing that she was a mere observer in this scene, invisible to those around her.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Mia spotted a massive black dog bounding toward the little girl. Her instincts kicked in, and she was about to shout a warning, to tell the child to move out of the way, but before she could make a sound, something astonishing happened.
The little girl didn't cower or scream. Instead, she squealed with delight and threw her arms around the dog, hugging him tightly. "Padfoot!" she exclaimed, her laughter filling the air as the dog nuzzled her affectionately, seeming to revel in the attention.
Mia watched in amazement as the dog, whom the girl affectionately called "Padfoot," gently urged the child to climb onto his back. With the girl perched atop him, Padfoot began to run, a blur of black fur weaving through the garden's colorful blooms.
As they raced around, Mia couldn't help but smile at the sheer joy on the little girl's face. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. But then, from a distance, a red-haired figure appeared, shouting something as they approached the dog and the girl.
Mia's surroundings shifted once more, and she found herself standing before an old cottage. Winter had descended upon this place, with delicate snowflakes gently falling from the sky, coating the landscape in a pristine white blanket. It was a scene straight out of a holiday postcard.
As she observed her surroundings, Mia noticed the little girl from her previous vision once again. She was bundled up in a warm winter coat, her cheeks rosy from the cold. Beside her, a handsome man with jet-black hair and piercing gray eyes was helping her build a snowman.
The red-haired woman, whom Mia now recognized as the same person from the earlier scene, watched them closely, her expression a mix of amusement and affection. Mia approached the trio slowly, her curiosity getting the better of her. She drew nearer to the snowman being meticulously crafted in the snow, and she couldn't help but smile as she observed the little girl's enthusiasm.
In the distance, Mia noticed three figures. They appeared to be wizards, their wands raised in unison, as they cast a spell on the cottage. One of them resembled the man who was building the snowman with the little girl. Mia deduced that they must be brothers.
Beside him stood a tall, unruly-haired man with hazel eyes, his expression focused on the spellcasting. And then there was the older of the three, dressed in extravagant clothes and wearing half-moon glasses.
The world around Mia shifted once more, and she found herself standing in the midst of a forest clearing. The scene before her was tense and fraught with danger. Two cloaked figures were locked in a fierce duel, their wands clashing and sparking as they sent spells flying through the air.
One of the cloaked figures was holding a small girl, and though Mia couldn't immediately recognize her, it was clear that the child was in grave danger. Fear coursed through Mia as she watched the battle unfold, helpless to intervene.
Then, in a sudden burst of magic, one of the cloaked figures was blasted backward, crashing against a nearby tree and falling unconscious. The remaining cloaked figure, the one clutching the baby, swiftly disappeared from the scene, leaving Mia standing alone in the forest clearing.
The world shifted once more, and Mia found herself standing in front of her own home. She watched in confusion as the cloaked figure hurried toward the doorbell, pressing it urgently. Moments later, a younger version of her mother appeared at the door, her expression a mix of surprise and concern.
Mia could see that the cloaked figure and her mother were engaged in a heated discussion. The figure held out the baby, desperately pleading with Mia's mother. Mia strained to hear their words, but the sound was muffled and distant.
As the conversation continued, the cloaked figure turned around, and Mia's eyes widened in shock and horror. It was as if she were looking at a carbon copy of her own mother. The resemblance was uncanny, from the shape of her eyes to the curve of her smile.
It was Evan Rosier. But what shocked her to her core was the baby her mother was holding—it was her. She stumbled backward, overwhelmed by a flood of raced through her mind, her sense of reality shaken to its core. How could this be? What was happening, and how was she witnessing these events?
The air was crisp and filled with the gentle fluttering of snowflakes as Harry made his way through Godric's Hollow. The village, nestled in a picturesque valley, had transformed into a winter wonderland under the soft, white blanket of falling snow. The world seemed to have slowed down, as if nature itself was taking a deep breath and savoring the moment.
Each step Harry took left a fresh set of footprints in the untouched snow, a testament to the stillness that had settled over the village. The familiar streets, usually bustling with life, were now serene and hushed. The quaint cottages that lined the cobblestone pathways looked even more charming with their rooftops and window sills adorned in delicate white lace.
Draco followed closely behind, his breath forming little puffs of mist in the chilly air. His blonde hair was dusted with snowflakes, and his gray eyes were wide with wonder as he took in the beauty of Godric's Hollow in noted that the village hadn't changed a bit, as if the world around it had evolved while Godric's Hollow stood still.
Regulus, on the other hand, observed the surroundings quietly, his somber gaze taking in the same sights. James and Lily, standing nearby, couldn't help but wear expressions of deep sadness. For them, Godric's Hollow served as a painful reminder that Hermione was no longer with them, her absence casting a long shadow over the place where they once shared laughter and love.
As Narcissa and Lucius walked alongside, they approached a memorial in the heart of the village, dedicated to those who had perished in combat during the Second World War. It stood as a testament to the sacrifices made by countless individuals. However, their attention was abruptly drawn to an astonishing transformation.
The memorial, as if touched by some magical force, underwent a change that left Narcissa gasping and shedding silent tears. Lucius, wrapped his arms around her, providing solace as he, too, gazed sadly upon the astounding image before them.
The sound of Narcissa's tears caught the attention of everyone present. Turning around in unison, they were met with a breathtaking sight. Before them stood a statue, exquisitely carved in snow-covered stone, depicting three figures. A man with unruly hair and glasses, a woman with long, flowing hair and a warm, kind expression, and a baby girl seated on her father's shoulder. Each of their heads was adorned with a layer of fluffy white snow, like delicate crowns. The baby girl sported a radiant smile, while her parents gazed up at her with adoration.
James and Lily, their eyes filled with a mixture of emotions, found themselves staring at the statue of themselves with Hermione. It was an inexplicable sensation, seeing a frozen moment in time where they were together as a family, a poignant reminder of the happiness they once shared, and a poignant reminder of the loss they endured.
As they gathered around the statue, they couldn't help but notice the countless items that had been left as offerings. It was as if the entire wizarding world had come together to pay their respects to the memory of Hermione. Among the offerings, the most prominent were children's books, their colorful spines poking out from the snow. They stood as a testament to Hermione's love for learning and her passionate pursuit of knowledge, even at a young age.
Stuffed toys of all shapes and sizes surrounded the statue, as if guarding it with their cuddly presence. Some were well-loved and weathered, while others looked brand new, gifts from those who wished to offer comfort and companionship to a girl who could no longer hold them.
The ground around the statue was littered with an assortment of notes, some carefully placed under rocks or tucked between the pages of books. These handwritten messages carried a profound weight of emotion. Some were addressed directly to Hermione. "Please come home," read one note, while another simply stated, "We miss you."
Other notes were dedicated to James and Lily, filled with heartfelt condolences and sympathy for the unimaginable loss they had suffered. These letters spoke of shared grief and the enduring impact Hermione had on the lives of those who knew her, no matter how briefly.
Amidst this sea of offerings, Draco's keen eyes fell upon a black rose, its petals covered in a pristine layer of snow. Attached to the rose was a letter, and Draco reached out to grab it.
"Uncle James!" Draco exclaimed, holding the letter aloft. "This letter, it's addressed to Hermione."
James, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and trepidation, quickly snatched the letter from Draco's hand. He examined it carefully, checking for any hidden curses or hexes before slowly opening it. Inside, he found just three short words:
I'm sorry, Hermione
Lily, her eyes filled with anticipation, asked, "James, what does the letter say?"
James swallowed hard, his hands shaking violently as he replied, "It's someone asking for Hermione's forgiveness."
Sirius, snatched the letter from James's grasp and furrowed his brow in thought. "Who on earth could be asking Hermione for forgiveness?"
Regulus chimed in with a touch of humor, "Well, it's safe to say it wasn't Dumbledore."
Narcissa's voice rang out, drawing their attention. "There's another black rose over here! And it has the same letter as the one Draco found."
A sense of urgency filled the air as the group began to remove the snow, revealing more black roses hidden beneath the pristine layer. In total, there were ten black roses, each bearing the same letter.
Lily, her voice barely above a whisper, spoke. "There's one for every year that has passed since her kidnapping."
Lucius, always composed, asked to see one of the letters. The others handed one to him, and he studied it closely. Then, with a sudden realization, he blurted out, "This letter... it could be from the one who kidnapped Hermione."
Sirius, his brow furrowed in deep thought, turned to Lucius with a hint of incredulity in his voice. "Lucius, this just doesn't make sense. Kidnapping someone in the first place is wrong and illegal. But then ask for forgiveness? That's not just wrong; it's sick and twisted."
Regulus, interjected, "Lucius might have a point. The person who wrote this letter could be feeling guilty for what they did to Hermione. After all, the letter is addressed to Hermione, not her parents. It's as if they're asking for her forgiveness only."
Narcissa, tears still in her eyes, cried out in agreement, "That's a horrifying thing to do!"
Lucius, nodding at Regulus's words, spoke with a measured tone. "I don't believe the person feels guilty for the kidnapping itself. It's because it's Hermione."
James, his anger and frustration building, interrupted. "It's the same thing, isn't it? They kidnapped her, and now they're feeling guilty about it."
Sirius, beginning to grasp the complexity of the situation, turned to James and tried to explain. "No, James, it's not the same thing. Think about it this way. You wouldn't feel the same level of regret if you stole from me as you would if you stole from, say, Snivellus, right? You know stealing is wrong, but the guilt would hit you harder if you stole from me. That's what's happening here. The person might not feel guilty about kidnapping in general, but they feel worse because it's Hermione."
Lily, with a thoughtful expression on her face, chimed in as the discussion continued. "Not many people knew that Hermione was called Hermione. WeHer birth was kept an absolute secret. The Daily Prophet didn't even mention the new Heir to the House of Potter."
Regulus furrowed his brow and asked, "So, who exactly knew about Hermione's birth who that she was named Hermione?"
"You know, not many people even knew that Hermione was called Hermione," Lily said, her voice tinged with sadness. "Her birth was kept a secret, and the Daily Prophet didn't even mention the new Heir to the House of Potter."
"So, who exactly knew about Hermione's birth and her name?" Regulus asked, seeking clarity.
"The list is rather short," Sirius explained. "Those who knew about Hermione's birth included members of the Order, Kreacher, James' parents, and us. As for her name, Dumbledore and us."
Lucius, slightly puzzled, questioned. "But everyone on that list was told."
"I knew about Hermione before Sirius told me," Regulus admitted.
Sirius couldn't hide his surprise and curiosity. "How did you find out?"
"I saw Hermione's name in the Black family tapestry,"
"So, what you're all telling me is that the possible suspects for these letters and black roses are basically Dumbledore and half of the fucking wizarding world," James exclaimed, his disbelief evident in his tone.
