James, Lily, Sirius, Regulus, Lucius, and Narcissa sat huddled together at a long, ornate table in the library of Malfoy Manor. The tension in the room was palpable, as they had been on the search for Edwards for months, and their leads had run dry.

James, frustration evident in his voice, ran a hand through his tousled hair. "I just can't believe how someone could vanish without leaving any trace, especially in the wizarding world," he muttered.

Sirius, sprawled lazily on a nearby sofa, propped himself up on his elbows. "Maybe the old woman got the name wrong, mate. It happens."

James shook his head, his expression determined. "She was specific, Pads. Very specific."

Lily, sitting beside James, leaned forward, her emerald eyes filled with concern. "What information do we have at the moment?"

James glanced down at his notes, which were scattered across the table. "According to the old woman, Edward is a young boy, perhaps around Regulus' age," he began, casting a sidelong glance at his daughter's godfather.

Regulus nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "That narrows it down, but it's still a sizable age group."

James continued, "He has blue eyes, and the old woman mentioned that he wore expensive clothes. That might suggest he's from a pureblood family."

Narcissa, her blonde hair cascading elegantly over her shoulders, leaned forward, her fingers tracing a pattern on the table. "And what about when they met?" she inquired.

James nodded, remembering the old woman's words. "Right, she said that he scratched his left forearm aggressively the first year he visited the statue. That could indicate that he's a Death Eater."

As the group delved deeper into their research, the atmosphere in the library grew increasingly tense. Pages rustled, and the soft glow of wands illuminated their determined faces. Lucius, his trademark slicked-back hair and aristocratic demeanor intact, leaned back in his chair, his expression troubled.

"I must admit, I don't recall any Death Eater by the name of Edward, either by first or last name," Lucius commented, his silver eyes scanning the pages of a particularly old and ornate tome. "Regulus?"

Regulus, sitting beside James, frowned in thought. "The woman did mention that Edward might be my age," he said.

James nodded as Regulus tapped his wand lightly against the table. In a swirl of parchment and ink, a copy of the Black family tree appeared before him. It was a sprawling, intricate network of branches and names, tracing generations of pureblood witches and wizards.

Sirius, sitting across from Regulus, glanced at the massive family tree skeptically. "How is this going to help us, Reggie?" he asked, his voice tinged with doubt. "The Blacks are practically in every wizarding family tree."

Narcissa, who had been quietly perusing a dusty book, chimed in, "Perhaps we should narrow it down to those who were around Regulus' age at the time of the incident."

Regulus leaned forward, his eyes scanning the family tree intently. "I was sixteen when I joined the Death Eaters, so we're looking for someone born in the mid to late 1950s."

James continued, "And they should have a blue-eyed ancestor somewhere on this tree. It's a long shot, but it's our only lead."

Lucius, still skeptical but willing to lend a hand, joined in. "Let's start by eliminating candidates born outside that time frame."

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the Hogwarts grounds as Harry and Draco soared through the air on their broomsticks. The Black Lake shimmered beneath them, its surface rippling in the gentle breeze. They executed daring loops and spirals, their laughter echoing across the water.

Draco, feeling a bit fatigued from their impromptu flying session, descended gracefully and landed on the grass beneath a towering oak tree near the lake. He stretched his arms and legs, taking in the tranquil surroundings. Harry followed suit, landing beside him with a contented sigh.

Draco turned to Harry, a thoughtful expression on his face. "How are you holding up, Harry?" he inquired, his gray eyes filled with genuine concern.

Harry flashed him a small, appreciative smile. "I'm alright, Draco," he replied. "What made you ask?"

Draco propped himself up on his elbow, gazing at Harry. "Well, with everything that's been going on—your sister and the whole kidnapping ordeal—our first year at Hogwarts has been quite hectic, hasn't it?"

Harry chuckled softly, the memories of their adventures flashing before his eyes. "You could say that again," he agreed. "But at least now I know the truth about what happened to my sister. It's a relief to be able to talk openly about Hermione with my parents."

Draco looked up at the endless sky, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns in the grass. "Do you really believe your sister is still alive?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Harry's gaze followed Draco's to the heavens above. "Yes," he replied with conviction. "She was a lot like our parents—fighters. I believe she's out there somewhere in the world."

Draco turned his head to face Harry, curiosity in his eyes. "Have you heard anything about those roses we found at Christmas?" he inquired.

Harry shook his head solemnly. "No, not yet," he admitted. "But our family is asking everyone in Godric's Hollow about it. We won't give up until we find out."

Draco's gaze softened, and he reached out to touch Harry's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Have you reopened Hermione's music box?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Harry nodded, a wistful smile on his lips. "Every night before I go to sleep," he confessed. "I just want to hear her laugh and see our parents happy."

Draco watched as Harry's expression grew somber. He settled down on the grass beside him, their shoulders touching. "Your parents are happy, Harry," he said softly.

Harry sat down fully, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's not the same," he murmured. "The smile my dad had in my memories... it's nothing like how he smiles now. Sometimes, Draco, it feels like I'm fighting a ghost—with the memory of my sister."

Draco lay on the grass, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked at Harry seriously. "You know, Harry," he began, "you and your sister are two completely different people. Comparing yourself to her will only make you end up hating her."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "It's strange to love someone you've never met," he admitted. "But I could never hate my sister. She was my parents' greatest source of happiness, and thanks to her, I'm alive today."

Draco couldn't help but smirk, teasingly adding, "Well then, I guess that nickname of yours, 'The Boy Who Lived,' doesn't bother you all that much."

Harry's frown deepened. "It does bother me," he retorted. "Because the people who say it don't truly understand what it implies. It's not something to be proud of, Draco. It's a reminder of a dark time and the scars it left."

Draco's expression softened as he looked at his friend. "To me, Harry, you'll always be my best friend," he said sincerely. "Honest, loyal, and a Gryffindor until death."

Harry couldn't help but feign tears, throwing himself dramatically on top of Draco. "Oh, Drakey," he said dramatically, "those are such nice words."

As Harry leaned in, trying to plant a playful kiss on Draco's cheek, Draco put on an exaggerated look of disgust and pushed him away. "Ugh, get off me, you sap!"

Harry chuckled and sat back up. "You wound me, Draco," he teased.

Draco rolled his eyes, a mischievous glint in his gaze. "Save the kisses for Pansy, Potter."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Why would you say that?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Draco, with a sly smile, raised his eyebrows and then lowered them suggestively. "Oh, I've seen the two of you way you two flirt, it's hard to miss."

Harry's indignation flared. "We're not flirting!" he protested.

Draco chuckled at Harry's reaction. "Well, Harry, mark my words," he said with a knowing grin, "Pansy will end up being the next Lady Potter."

Harry couldn't help but blush at the idea, and he shook his head in disbelief. "You're impossible, Draco."

Draco couldn't contain his amusement at Harry's blush, and he playfully pinched Harry's rosy cheeks. "Look at you, all grown up," he said, feigning sentimentality as he wiped away an imaginary tear from his eye.

Harry swatted Draco's hand away, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. "Cut it out, Draco," he muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment.

But Draco was relentless in his teasing, laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, this is priceless," he chortled. "you're turning as red as a Weasley's hair,"

"Draco, stop laughing, you look like an idiot," Harry shot back, trying to regain his composure.

But before Draco could respond, a soft, lingering kiss landed on Harry's cheek, and a familiar voice greeted him. "What's up?"

Startled, Harry turned to find himself face to face with Pansy, her lips curving into a sly smile. Draco, still chuckling, pointed at the two of them, unable to contain his mirth.

Pansy raised an elegant eyebrow, her gaze shifting between Harry's crimson face and Draco's uncontrollable laughter. "What's going on with him?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Harry shot Draco an annoyed glare, then turned to Pansy. "Ignore him, Pans," he said, his tone slightly exasperated. "He's just being his usual, obnoxious self."

Draco continued to laugh, thoroughly entertained by the whole situation, while Pansy shook her head in amusement, her lips quirking into a small smile.

Blaise, Ron, and Neville came into view, each carrying their broomsticks. Blaise gave a casual wave as they approached the trio sitting under the tree. "Hey, you guys want to join us for a bit of Quidditch?" he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Harry saw this as a perfect opportunity to escape Draco's relentless teasing. He grinned at Blaise, Ron, and Neville. "Do me a favor and take my idiot best friend with you," he replied, casting a sidelong glance at Draco, who was still laughing.

Draco feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "I am deeply wounded, Harry," he said with mock hurt in his voice.

As Blaise, Ron, and Neville agreed to Harry's request and began to walk towards the Quidditch pitch, Harry seized the moment. He gently took Pansy's hand, a small smile playing on his lips, and without a word, started walking in the opposite direction.

They didn't venture too far from their friends, and as they moved away, Draco couldn't resist shouting after Harry, "I love you, Harry!"

Harry didn't miss a beat. He turned back toward Draco, a smirk on his face, and with a good-natured chuckle, he extended his middle finger in Draco's direction.

Pansy playfully nudged Harry as they walked together through the Hogwarts corridors. "Where are you taking me?" she asked pouting. "I wanted to play Quidditch!

Harry, with an amused glint in his eyes, turned to her and said, "We'll go later, love, but first, I want to show you something."

Hand in hand, they made their way to Gryffindor Tower, climbing the stairs to Harry's room. Harry began to search around until he found what he was looking for. He motioned for Pansy to sit on the bed with him.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, teasing him. "If you want me in your bed, Potter, you'll have to at least take me on a date first."

Harry's cheeks reddened as he remembered his earlier conversation with Draco, "I... I wasn't implying that," he stammered.

Pansy chuckled and patted his cheek gently. "Relax, Potter, we're only eleven," she said with a playful wink. "Maybe if you ask me on a date in two years, I'll consider it."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Deal," he said.

Pansy leaned back on the bed, her expression turning more serious. "Alright, Potter, what's this big secret you want to show me?"

Harry placed his finger in the lock of a small, ornate musical box that belonged to his sister and handed it to Pansy. She opened it, and a delicate, melodic tune filled the room. The box projected images on the wall, images that Harry knew by heart.

Pansy's eyes widened with fascination. "What's this?" she asked, captivated by the moving images.

Harry's smile was both fond and nostalgic. "That girl in the images is Hermione," he explained, "she's my sister. This music box holds memories from her early years when my parents were in hiding from Voldemort."

Pansy, captivated by the images, cooed, "She's adorable. But why aren't you in any of these memories?"

Harry chuckled softly. Well," he said, "there's a bit of an age difference. She's two and a half years older than me."

Pansy turned to Harry, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you for showing me something so important to you," she said sincerely.

Harry shrugged modestly. "It's nothing," he replied, though the fondness in his eyes suggested otherwise. In that moment, he realized that sharing this piece of his past with Pansy had brought them closer, and he was grateful for her presence in his life.

Isabelle and Enzo sat in their dining hall, the remnants of their dinner scattered across the table. The ambiance was cozy, with the soft glow of candles casting dancing shadows on the walls. As they sipped their wine and shared the occasional smile, the doorbell rang, its chime echoing through manor.

Isabelle's brows furrowed, and she exchanged a perplexed glance with Enzo. Their daughter was away at Durmstrang, so it couldn't be her returning unexpectedly. Checking the time, they both realized that it was far too late for any anticipated visitors.

Isabelle whispered, "Who could that be at this hour?"

Enzo shrugged, "I have no idea, but we're about to find out."

Enzo carefully folded his napkin and placed it on the table. He rose from his chair and made his way towards the ornate front door. With a sense of caution, he turned the brass doorknob and pulled the door open, revealing an eclectic group of individuals on their doorstep.

At the forefront of the group stood a man dressed in an eccentric ensemble. His pinstriped suit, red tie, long black traveling cloak, purple boots, and lime green bowler hat clashed in a way that was hard to ignore. Despite his flamboyant attire, the man exuded an air of authority. His gray hair was wrinkled with age.

Behind the ostentatious leader stood a man with disheveled black hair and hazel eyes. His attire was similar. He wore black pants, black boots, a black vest over a white shirt with a black tie, all underneath a dark red trench coat. Enzo couldn't help but think they looked like a vintage version of the police.

Beside the man with glasses was a counterpart with tied-up black hair and gray eyes. This man appeared more intrigued by the mansion's surroundings than the situation at hand. He sported a similar outfit, albeit with his shirt partially unbuttoned and no tie or vest.

The man in the lime green hat extended a gloved hand toward Enzo and introduced himself with an air of importance. "Good evening, sir.I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic," he declared.

Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Good evening. Minister of Magic? What can I do for you at this hour?"

The minister, now rubbing his hands together, adopted a more serious tone. "I'm looking for Isabelle Rosier. Is she here?"

Enzo's gaze narrowed, his protective instincts kicking in. "Isabelle is my wife. May I ask why you're looking for her?"

Cornelius Fudge seemed to hesitate for a moment, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I'm afraid it's a private matter, Mr…?"

"Grimaldi. Lorenzo Grimaldi." Enzo offered, frowning clearly uneasy about the situation.

After a brief pause, he reluctantly stepped aside, allowing the minister and his companions to enter the mansion. "Very well, Minister. Please, make yourselves comfortable in the living room. I'll inform my wife of your arrival."

Enzo turned and made his way back to the dining room, where Isabelle awaited with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Who was at the door?" Isabelle asked her husband.

Enzo sighed, "It's the Minister of Magic, Izzy. He's looking for you. Says it's a private matter."

Isabelle's eyes widened in surprise as she processed the information. "The Minister of Magic? What could he possibly want with me at this hour?

Isabelle and Enzo, clearly puzzled by the unexpected visit, made their way into the elegant living room. Enzo settled onto a plush sofa, his arm instinctively wrapping around his wife for comfort and support. They exchanged a knowing look, their thoughts racing with questions about the peculiar guests.

The minister, Cornelius Fudge, turned his attention to Isabelle. With a polite nod and a warm smile, he greeted her, "Isabelle Rosier, pleasure to meet you"

Isabelle returned the greeting with a small, polite smile. "Actually, it's Isabelle Grimaldi now. Rosier was my maiden name."

The minister's expression shifted, and he offered an apologetic nod. "My apologies for the mistake, Mrs. Grimaldi."

Curiosity brimming, Isabelle leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the minister. "May I ask what brings the Minister of Magic of England to my home?"

The minister's face took on a somber tone, his eyes growing grave. He sighed deeply before responding, "I'm afraid, Mrs. Grimaldi, that I am the bearer of unfortunate news."

Isabelle's heart skipped a beat, her worry palpable as she leaned closer to the minister. "What 's wrong?"

Minister Fudge hesitated briefly, his gaze shifting momentarily to the man with messy black hair and hazel eyes who stood silently nearby. Then, with a deep breath, he returned his focus to Isabelle and delivered the news. "I regret to inform you that your brother has passed away."

Isabelle gasped, her hand covering her mouth in shock and disbelief. Her eyes welled up with tears as she struggled to process the heartbreaking revelation. Enzo tightened his grip around her, offering her a wordless gesture of support.