KEYnote: I decided I didn't like how I did the discussion well enough in chapter 6, thus I changed it to a simple mention and this chapter has the full explanation. I pulled a great deal of the dialogue from the movie Crimes of Grindelwald.
Thank you, Sectrix!
Summer 1995 — The Diadem
Finding the diadem was a simple thing. Stabbing the damn thing was just plain enjoyable.
Harry spelled it down with iron chains for Leta who gripped the Sword of Gryffindor with both hands. She raised it above her head and brought it down as if she was performing a human sacrifice.
Which, she supposed, she sort of was.
It was cathartic, if nothing else.
While the rest of the student body was planning to board the Hogwarts Express in the morning, Leta and Harry had walked through the castle beneath the invisibility cloak to the Room of Requirement.
"You've been nervous the whole way here," Harry remarked as the room shifted from stacks of things to a dorm with two beds to one side, and a sofa and coffee table in front of a fireplace.
Restoring her trunk, Leta sat on the sofa. "There are things I've been meaning to tell you. After Sirius and you shared your family history with me."
Harry shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, Leta."
"I want you to know," she lied.
Harry frowned at her skeptically. If Leta's skin was fairer, he doubtless would have been able to see the heat rising up her cheeks.
"I need you to know," she amended.
Harry sat beside her and flicked his wand to light the fireplace, but didn't pressure her to speak.
"I had two brothers. My mother, Laurena, was originally married to Mustafa Kama. They had a son and a perfect life together. Until my father used the Imperius Curse to seduce and abduct her."
Harry gently covered Leta's hands with his, which she welcomed more than she would ever admit to.
"She died giving birth to me."
Her birth was a sin, the first of many in her young life.
"My father remarried and my younger brother, whom he named Corvus after himself, was born. My father, who had never known love, was suddenly filled with it. All he cared about was little Corvus.
"But when he realized that Mustafa Kama's son had sworn revenge, he sought to hide Corvus where he would never be found. He confided the baby to his servant, who boarded a ship for America."
"The ship that sank," Harry murmured.
Leta nodded. "But it was my fault he died. I killed him." Her free hand ran over the box Sirius had retrieved for her after she had offhandedly mentioned it one night.
She had wanted to destroy it. But she wanted to share it with Harry more, so he could see her for what she really was.
To test him, really—to see if the Boy Who Lived would stay friends with a monster like her.
"My father owned a very strange family tree."
She opened the box, and as if possessing a will of its own, the tree grew upward, faces of her male ancestors unfurling and tiny pink blooms blossoming in poor remembrance.
"It only recorded the men…"
Harry's eyes were solemn behind his glasses, the dancing flames of the fireplace reflecting in the lenses.
"The women in my family were recorded as flowers. Beautiful. Separate."
Harry silently scooted closer to her.
"My father sent me to America, along with Corvus. Irma, my father's servant, was to pose as our grandmother."
Leta shut her eyes, leaning away from Harry even as she held his hand tighter. She wanted to be anywhere else, but she needed…
She needed to be known for herself.
"Corvus never stopped crying. I never wanted to hurt him. I brought him to a different cabin and replaced him with a quieter child. I only wanted to be free of him. Just for a moment. Just a single moment." She took a breath. "I tried to go after him when the lifeboat flipped, but he sank so fast…"
Harry's voice was soft. "You didn't mean to do it, Leta. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known the ship would sink."
She pulled her hand out of his to rub her face. "You're just like Newt, you know that, Harry. Neither of you has ever met a monster you couldn't love."
Harry brushed a lock of her hair out of her face. "Leta, more people have died for me, because of me, than I care to count. If you are a monster, then so am I."
She shook her head. "You aren't–"
He pressed his shoulder to hers. "Leta, if I have learned anything, it's that when the whole world's against you, that's when you have the least control. It's not your fault your mother died or that the ship sank. If anything, it's your father's fault for abducting another man's wife and sending his children away alone. What you are, who you are, is not dependent on the things that happen to you, but who you become afterwards."
She let herself lean into his warmth. "I became wretched."
Harry laughed. "No, you became a survivor. And you kept what many people in your position would have lost."
"And what's that?" she asked.
"Your heart."
She looked away from him. "I'd call you strange, but Newt would be disappointed."
"And why's that?"
"Well, he used to say, 'There are no strange creatures, only blinkered people.' And you're not blinkered."
Harry laid a hand over his own heart. "That's the kindest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Leta shoved him, fighting a smile. "You're not as funny as you think you are."
"Ah," Harry wore a smug look, "but you didn't say I'm not funny at all."
"You're not funny at all," Li-Li hissed as the little snake uncurled from Leta's pocket.
That got a laugh out of them both.
Harry reclaimed Leta's hand, smiling. "We're going to be okay. Even if you're not okay today, we will be someday soon."
"You don't know that," Leta retorted. "And you shouldn't make promises you can't keep."
"True." Harry nodded. "But I don't give a fuck anymore. By the time I faced Voldemort, I broke nearly every law imaginable. I used the Unforgivables, I killed people, and got even more people killed protecting me. I lied, I stole, I broke into banks, government buildings, and private properties."
"So have we this summer."
Harry nodded again. "Exactly. I'm not pretending to play by the rules anymore, not this time around. I'm not going to wait for permission to fight this war."
She traced his face lightly with her fingers as she said, "Parabellum, world, parabellum."
Prepare for war.
Harry's smile lit him from within as he leaned into her touch. "The world is not prepared for us. It never could be."
Right then, Leta would have liked nothing more than to kiss him, but her self-doubt restrained her.
Still, she had a good feeling about the war to come.
Chapter 8 — The Ring to Smite Them All
Hermione sighed as yet more giggling and gossiping encroached on her study time. Sure, winter break began tomorrow, and maybe things would be different if the majority of the student body hadn't been gossiping about Harry's relationship with Leta, but it was still frustrating.
"Just give it up," Ron said when she slammed her book shut. "You'll have time over break. Come on, let's go get dinner."
"Fine." Hermione shoved her book into her bag and pulled herself up and around the sofa.
The motion was abrupt enough to make her head swim. But she didn't have long to regret it as she stumbled into Harry, who caught her with gentle hands.
"Harry," Hermione breathed as she looked up into his face, bracing herself for his cruelty.
But his smile was warm as he greeted, "Hermione."
A flush darkened her cheeks as he let go and stepped back.
He looked older than a fifteen-year-old ought to, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
There and gone again, Harry joined the crowd to the Great Hall.
"We can catch him," Ron said, snagging her bag from her with a grunt and leading the way.
She was a lot less optimistic.
Fred and George realized there was something happening and followed them out through the portrait hole and down the steps.
Harry was unhurriedly walking with the crowd. He looked, even at a distance, happy.
Was he the one who was whistling?
Hermione couldn't help but call out, "Harry, what are you up to?"
He stopped, turning to look at her with a smile. And for a moment, she experienced a paradigm shift.
She had seen how attractive Harry had become. She'd seen him flirt with girls and she'd seen him be in love with Leta.
But never had Harry ever flirted with her. He had seen her at the Yule Ball and called her beautiful, but he hadn't been shocked or gobsmacked like Ron had been.
Ron had acted as if she had been one of the boys, or a book brought to life, until suddenly the curse broke and she was the angelic witch at the beast's door holding out a rose.
But Harry hadn't treated her differently. He had always seen her for her, not caring if she was a boy or a girl or a beast in disguise. He had been her first true friend.
And him smiling at her like that, like she was more than what she saw herself to be, as if she were a woman, made her feel as if her heart had learned to summersault.
Hermione hoped Leta understood how lucky she was to have Harry's whole heart.
"I'm off to get you a Christmas present," he said with cheer.
She raised a brow. "What present?"
"The best one of all!" Harry's grin was joyous with a hint of malicious intent. "Voldemort's head in a basket."
Her jaw dropped.
Ron just stared as the twins sniggered.
"Good luck with that," George said.
"Give Voldy our best!" Fred cheered.
Harry saluted them before Leta appeared at his shoulder. She gave them all an unimpressed, almost McGonagall-esque look, as if finding them all wanting and leaving much room for improvement, before whisking Harry away in a swirl of dark fabric.
Ron finally regained his composure. "You don't think he's serious, do you?"
"Oh, I think he is," Fred said.
"Really?" George asked, surprising them by being at odds with his brother for once.
"He asked us not to tell Dumbledore," Hermione said. "So we have to keep this to ourselves."
"Breaking rules again, Hermione?" Fred teased fondly.
"Not very prefect of you, is it?" George added with a wry grin.
Hermione's shoulders hunched. "I–I can't help but think that maybe he was right. About this summer and Dumbledore's intentions."
"How do you mean?" Ron asked.
She gave him a guilty look, knowing how much becoming a prefect mattered to him. "Well, what if… What if Dumbledore only made us prefects so we could spy on and isolate Harry? What if there was a reason he didn't make the effort to free Sirius and left Harry with his aunt and uncle? I mean… Dumbledore's never really been involved with Harry except to intervene when something really bad has happened or is going to happen."
"Yeah, but come on, it's Harry! Something's always going wrong around him because there's a bloody dark lord and all his followers out to get him."
"Sure," Hermione agreed. "But I can't help but notice that the Headmaster seems more disturbed about Harry sitting at the Slytherin table than he was when Harry went missing all summer or was forced into the Triwizard Tournament."
"And why are you so calm about him going off to fight Voldemort on his own?" Fred asked.
She shrugged. "Maybe because Slytherins are a bit more clever about surviving than our past Gryffindor-style attack plans have been. And maybe," she added casually, "because I found his essay about making bombs."
They blinked at her.
Fred was the first to break, pulling her into a one armed hug. "You are a terrible prefect."
"Thank you," she said primly.
The twins roared with laughter.
Ron just stared at her as if she'd grown a second head.
oOo
Dearest Tom Riddle,
I hope you enjoyed this past summer as much as I did. Frankly, this year has been bloody brilliant through and through. Niceties aside, I did find it somewhat difficult to strike the proper tone to address you with.
I've decided to just be myself and see where the cards fall. After all, we've known each other for a long time, Tommy, some might even say too long.
I wanted to send my condolences about Nagini's passing (she didn't deserve your bullshit).
Helga Hufflepuff, though not present for commentary, wishes you the worst for defiling her cup (oh, that doesn't sound good, does it?) and for killing her students both recently and during the last war.
Helena Ravenclaw sends her regards, (which should be translated as prayers for your speedy deliverance to Hell).
Salazar Slytherin and his monster are disappointed with your lack of creativity and cleverness. Pouring your soul into a diary; how quaint. Almost as romantic a teenage notion as placing your heart in a locket.
Godric Gryffindor would doubtless be pleased to lend his sword to the cause of eliminating the basilisk (whose venomous properties a goblin-forged blade absorbs rather well) and the other foul trinkets you so carelessly left behind.
I, personally, wish you into a timely non-existence where any future mention of you will be synonymous with the mockery of a pitiful boy pretending to be a scary Dark Lord with delusions of grandeur who could no more defeat a child than conquer a school.
Thus I will conclude with my purpose of this correspondence. This owl is delivering to you my formal declaration of war. I assumed, since you prefer to keep company with rats, your formal declaration is a few years out. A pity you're no better at beginning things than ending them.
Yours Truly,
Harry J. Potter
P.S. Through a series of rather remarkable circumstances, I came into possession of the three Deathly Hallows, and through no small amount of irony given your own failed ambitions, I am now the fabled Master of Death. Unlike you, however, I'm not afraid of dying or the afterlife, especially after surviving the Killing Curse twice now, the second one disposing of our unfortunate connection.
Sincerely, go fuck yourself.
From,
The baby you failed to murder.
Never in living memory had the British Wizarding World bore witness to the likes of such an epic tantrum of a Dark Lord.
Malfoy Manor did not survive Voldemort's ire, though Lady Malfoy was able to extinguish her albino peacocks before they became some of the world's most exotic barbeque.
oOo
Harry and Leta watched Voldemort apparate into Little Hangleton before the ruins of the Gaunt hovel.
Harry stepped forward. drawing the monster's attention. "The snakes were cute," he greeted. "But I expected something more elaborate, if I'm being honest."
Destroying the ring had been easy. Getting to it had not, but the biggest obstacle having been spawning snakes had proven simple enough to overcome.
Harry had wooed them all by summoning rats and mice to feed them.
Voldemort raised his wand. "I will kill you."
Leta remained beneath the invisibility cloak as she activated the anti-apparition wards.
"See, you've tried that many, many, times." Harry held out his arms, wand in hand. "Yet here I am."
Voldemort cocked his head. "You think to fight me alone?"
Harry shrugged, ignoring his pounding heart and sweating face. He was prepared, or as prepared as he was going to get before Voldemort freed his other followers.
"You will not die as your parents, quick and painlessly" Voldemort said, taking a step forward. "You will die slowly."
Harry smiled. "Bring it on, Tommy."
Voldemort's expression contorted as he raised his wand, taking another step forward.
It was his first mistake.
With amazingly swift wandwork, he counteracted one of the landmines they had placed throughout the area. Stepping further back, Voldemort found another one.
"I'm waiting," Harry called.
Which was Leta's signal to begin activating other traps.
Voldemort twisted in an attempt to disapparate.
And failed.
With that, Harry began to throw curses and cutting hexes.
Voldemort struck back, but his shots went wide as he was fighting off many different explosives, some of them merely light and some of them rather smelly.
Voldemort screamed with rage, lifting his wand and conjuring fiendfyre, which Leta defused from her moving, hidden position.
Harry managed to get a slicing hex through Voldemort's defenses while he was distracted.
It was disturbing that the Dark Lord didn't bleed.
Well, he did, but the blood seeped sluggishly down the sides of his face.
Voldemort caught on to Leta's presence and screamed, "LESTRANGE!"
Harry scored another hit.
Voldemort hissed at him, then summoned shards of glass that exploded outward in every direction.
Leta's shield charm came into view. Throwing off the cloak, she joined the fight more actively.
It was as if Voldemort was fighting a five-front battle against them and the ground he stood on, layered as it was with different traps with different triggers, so even the ground he had already covered was not safe.
Voldemort snarled, focusing on getting Harry and Leta closer together.
Harry summoned moths, which fluttered about on large spotted wings, dropping when hit with the killing curse.
Leta summoned ravens which served the same purpose.
It still almost wasn't enough. Experience and power were on Voldemort's side, as well as his expansive knowledge of the dark arts.
Eventually, Harry and Leta were shoulder to shoulder, running out of traps and explosives. Voldemort's severe expression turned vindictive as he gained the upper hand.
Summoning was difficult and pairing that with attacks… they were slowing down.
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort shouted.
Green light filled Harry's vision, no moths or ravens to block the path of that familiar light.
Harry froze, remembering the pain of it, fearing the life he might return to.
Leta grabbed him in a hug.
Harry's world narrowed to the gasped breath she released before she burst into flames.
Flames that took the shape of wings, soft feathers brushing his cheeks as Leta took flight upwards.
Harry would have loved to watch her soar, but now was not the time.
Voldemort's face contorted in a look of pure outrage,as if the universe had played a cruel joke on him.
And maybe it had.
Harry sent the strongest Reductor Curse he had ever called, directing it all at the point of Voldemort's right eye.
Those red eyes focused on Harry too late.
There was a heartbeat when their gazes caught each other and Voldemort understood his own imminent mortality.
Then his head exploded, much like a pumpkin, the Dark Lord's body dropping to the ground like any other mortal's would have.
A beautiful corpse, he was not.
Harry sank to his knees, pulling off his cloak as Leta fell into his lap in a plume of flame-hued feathers.
He draped his cloak over her as she shifted from a phoenix back to her beautiful self. Her clothes had been burned away, her wand dropped in the grass beside them.
He hugged her tightly, tears flowing freely as he swallowed his outrage that she would dare to give her life for his.
"I love you," Leta mumbled, resting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping him in her arms, pulling him close.
Harry kissed her temple. "I love you too. More than anyone or anything, Leta Lestrange, I love you."
"You're free." Her tears soaked his shirt. "We won the war."
Harry laughed wetly. "I think I'm going to be able to pass my exams in peace this year."
She laughed too, and Harry shed many more tears before he was able to pull himself together enough to leave.
Theirs was a quiet victory.
They told Sirius, of course, but Sirius, apparently, failed to mention it to the Order as he hadn't been attending Order meetings.
Therefore, summer break arrived before Dumbledore realised what they had done. By which point the Slytherins had already won the House Cup.
Harry and Leta passed their exams with flying colours.
It was the best year of his life, and though it was inconceivable to him, each year that followed was even better.
Epilogue
No one understood the full extent of what Leta, Harry, and Sirius had done to defeat Voldemort until years later when Luna Lovegood published an exclusive article in her father's magazine.
And even then most people did not believe the printed firsthand accounts.
To say Harry was forgiven by his friends and extended family was… a tad untruthful. When he had come clean to them, there had been some reasonable outrage and feelings of over-protectiveness, so he had retreated from them further.
It wasn't until he underwent mandatory sessions with a mind healer during his graduate studies in Egypt that he was able to salvage his friendships.
Hermione, unsurprisingly, was the bigger person and put past hurts aside–after Harry described his past, the future that would never be, in great detail. While the relationship they might have had was long past, there was no truer friend than Hermione Granger.
Ron, likewise, was all too ready to put the past behind them but he could not pretend to understand all that Harry had become during the war. That Ron could at least retain some of his childhood innocence was, perhaps, one of Harry's greatest victories against Voldemort. So although they never regained all that they had lost, Harry remained grateful for the new friendship they built and happier still for the path Ron independently forged for himself.
George and Fred recreated fireworks, which they named Tom-Te-Mort Trippers that they sold proudly alongside a framed copy of Luna's article.
Unexpectedly, due to his profession, Harry became closer with another Weasley, Bill, who became something of a mentor to both himself and Leta. Upon graduation, they both settled into positions as Curse-Breakers working for the Egyptian Bureau of Magical Archeology.
Sirius followed Harry and Leta, becoming the best grand-dogfather any family could hope for. And considering Harry and Leta together had no less than eight children who were both adored by the locals and revered as demonic forces the gods themselves rejected from the afterlife. Sirius had more than enough to do herding said demonic forces being their self-appointed nanny.
Leta Lestrange-Potter wore her name, her legacy, and herself without shame or apology. Despite the appearance of following her husband's dreams, it was her own that she pursued. She became a woman known not for her physical beauty, but for the beauty of her character and intelligence.
She loved her daughters and sons and not one of them doubted their parents' affections for them, no matter how wickedly they sometimes behaved nor how humble their ambitions.
On the Lestrange-Potter family tree, boy or girl, every cherished bloom belonged to a beloved name.
The Potters never returned to Europe. Their small, terrifying clan of desert flowers remained bound to the waters of the Nile. Wherever they strayed in the world, they always returned home. And how any of them were remembered was of little concern to any of them.
For their legacy was that of a man and a woman who had loved one another, who had cared for a world that turned on them, and gave to their descendants the joy of being loved for themselves without expectation of who they ought to be.
Leta and Harry could be found each morning, to the end of their days, watching the sun crest above the desert horizon. Holding hands, a serpent, a kitten, or bird perched on their shoulders or laps as they greeted the new day together with a fresh cup of tea.
For all the curses in the world, for all those who had stood against them, theirs was a blessed life.
oOo
AN: Thank you to everyone who shared their reactions or thoughts with me about this story, you keep me connected and are the motivation behind my continuing to share my muses.
