Night hung heavy over Amelia Bones's estate, the air thick with the tension of impending violence. Harry stood at the head of the group of Death Eaters, his face a mask of cold detachment. The darkness within him pulsed in rhythm with his master's command, every thought and action driven by the bond that bound him to Voldemort's will.

Behind him, the Death Eaters were ready, their wands raised, awaiting the signal. Tonight, Amelia Bones, a formidable threat to Voldemort's rise, would fall. There was no room for hesitation or regret in Harry's mind. His purpose was clear, his loyalty unbreakable.

Harry raised his wand, and with a sharp, silent gesture, the assault began. "Burn it down."

A torrent of dark magic erupted from the Death Eaters, slamming into the wards that protected the estate. The very earth trembled as windows shattered, walls cracked, and explosions lit up the night. The sky above flashed with the vibrant light of curses and counter-curses, the wards straining under the sheer force of the attack.

But the defenders were prepared.

From the shadows, members of the Order of the Phoenix and Aurors emerged, their wands blazing with powerful spells. Amelia Bones herself, a towering figure of resolve, stood at the entrance, shouting commands to her allies. "Hold the line! Don't let them breach the wards!"

Beside her, Frank Longbottom and Kingsley Shacklebolt fought valiantly, their spells cutting through the night. The air was thick with the sound of hexes colliding, the crackling of magic, and the roaring flames that began to consume parts of the estate. It was war—chaos in its most violent form.

Harry moved through the chaos like a predator, his wand flicking with precision as he fired curse after curse at his enemies. He was relentless, his eyes cold, his movements eerily controlled. A jet of red light streaked past him, barely missing his face, and Harry turned swiftly, deflecting the next spell with ease before sending a blast of dark energy that knocked two Aurors off their feet.

Through the smoke and flames, Harry spotted a figure in the distance—his father.

James Potter, fighting alongside Frank, was sending spell after spell toward the advancing Death Eaters. For a moment, the battle seemed to freeze around them, and James's eyes locked onto Harry's. The shock, the disbelief, and the raw pain on James's face were unmistakable.

"Harry..." James's voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the noise like a blade.

But Harry didn't hesitate. Without a word, he raised his wand and sent a curse hurtling toward his father—green light flashed as the Killing Curse streaked through the air, aimed directly at James.

James dove to the side just in time, the curse slamming into a nearby tree, splintering it into pieces. "No!" James shouted, scrambling to his feet, his heart pounding. "Harry, stop!"

But Harry was already moving, launching another barrage of curses at his father. The ground beneath James erupted, sending him stumbling back as debris flew everywhere. Harry advanced with cold precision, his wand moving faster than James could keep up with, each spell more destructive than the last.

James deflected what he could, but the sheer force of Harry's attack was overwhelming. He barely had time to recover before Harry sent a powerful blasting curse his way, the explosion throwing James back against a crumbling wall. Gasping for breath, James scrambled to his feet, his mind racing.

Frank Longbottom appeared at his side, casting a shield to protect them from the relentless onslaught. "He's too far gone!" Frank yelled, deflecting a curse that shattered the ground near them. "We have to stop him now, James!"

"I know!" James shouted back, his heart breaking as he watched his son move with lethal efficiency. The boy he had once known was gone—replaced by this cold, merciless force. "But he's my son, Frank. I can't just—"

"You don't have a choice!" Frank barked, sending a hex toward Harry, which was deflected with ease. "He's trying to kill us, James!"

Harry moved closer, his wand flicking as he sent curses flying in rapid succession. Each strike was aimed with deadly precision, and the sheer power behind them was undeniable. James deflected one curse just as another hit the ground near him, sending up a cloud of dust and debris that momentarily blinded him.

Harry's voice, cold and devoid of emotion, rang out through the chaos. "You can't stop me."

James's heart pounded in his chest, his hands shaking as he raised his wand to defend himself. "We have to bind him," James muttered to Frank, his voice hoarse. "We can't let this go on."

Frank nodded grimly. "On three."

Together, they moved as one, sending twin jets of binding magic toward Harry. But Harry anticipated the move. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he deflected both spells, sending them crashing into the ground with a deafening explosion.

"You'll have to do better than that," Harry sneered, his eyes cold and calculating.

Before James could react, Harry unleashed a powerful explosion curse that shook the entire battlefield. The ground beneath them cracked, sending shockwaves through the air. James and Frank were thrown backward, struggling to regain their footing as Harry pressed the attack, the darkness swirling around him like a storm.

James felt the strain of the battle wearing on him, his muscles aching, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He knew they couldn't keep this up much longer—Harry was too strong, too relentless. But they couldn't give up. They had to stop him, no matter the cost.

With a roar of desperation, James charged forward, his wand slashing through the air as he cast a powerful disarming spell. For a brief moment, it seemed like the spell might connect—but Harry was faster. He sidestepped the spell effortlessly, countering with a curse that shattered the ground at James's feet, sending him sprawling.

Frank, seeing his opening, cast a binding curse aimed at Harry's legs. This time, Harry didn't deflect it in time. The magical chains wrapped around his legs, momentarily slowing him down.

"Now!" James yelled, pushing through the pain as he joined Frank, both of them casting a powerful binding spell together.

The chains of magical energy shot out, wrapping around Harry's body, immobilizing him in place. Harry struggled against the binds, his face twisted in fury as the magic pulsed around him. The ground trembled beneath the force of the spell, and for a moment, it seemed as though Harry might break free.

But the chains held.

Breathing heavily, James and Frank reinforced the bindings, layering them with every protective spell they knew. Harry glared at them, his eyes blazing with hatred. "This isn't over," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "My master will make you suffer for this."

James stood frozen, his heart heavy with grief as he looked at the boy who had once been his son. "Harry..." he whispered, barely audible.

But there was no sign of recognition in Harry's eyes. Only the cold, calculating look of a servant bound to his master.

As the last of the Death Eaters retreated into the darkness, the battle slowly died down, leaving the battlefield eerily quiet. Amelia Bones rushed forward, her face streaked with dirt and sweat, her wand still raised defensively. "We've secured the area," she said, her voice sharp and efficient. "Take him away."

Kingsley and Frank moved quickly, reinforcing the magical chains that held Harry as they dragged him toward the waiting Aurors. But Harry's gaze remained locked on James, his eyes burning with fury and contempt.

"You'll regret this," Harry snarled as they hauled him away. "He will make you all pay."

James stood there, his body trembling, his mind reeling from what had just happened. His son—his Harry—was gone, and in his place stood the Dark Prince, a weapon wielded by the darkest force in the wizarding world.

As the dust settled and the last of the Death Eaters vanished into the night, James felt the crushing weight of the battle. The boy he had once known was lost—completely, utterly lost.

The atmosphere in the Order of the Phoenix headquarters was thick with tension as its members gathered in the dimly lit room of Grimmauld Place. Everyone already knew that Harry had been captured—Frank Longbottom, James Potter, and Sirius Black had been the ones to bring him in, returning just hours ago from a grueling interrogation. James sat at the table, his fists clenched, face hard, while Lily sat beside him, her hand trembling in his. Sirius, pacing furiously, wore an expression of barely contained rage, while Remus sat quietly, his brow furrowed with worry.

Across the room, Frank Longbottom sat stiffly, jaw clenched in a grim line. The battle had left him shaken, not just by the capture of Harry but by the memories of the destruction Harry had wrought. His wife, Alice, sat beside him, her hands trembling slightly—an aftereffect of the torture she had endured, courtesy of Harry. The room was packed with familiar faces—Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Moody, and the rest of the Order—all weighed down by the gravity of what was to come.

Dumbledore stood at the head of the table, his expression somber, his presence more weary than usual. "We've just returned from the Ministry," he began, his voice steady but burdened. "Harry has been interrogated thoroughly. Cornelius Fudge and Amelia Bones have already announced that the trial will be public."

Lily's eyes filled with tears, her voice shaking. "A public trial?" she whispered, disbelief coloring her tone. "They're making a spectacle of him, aren't they?"

McGonagall nodded grimly. "It's not about justice anymore, Lily. The Ministry wants to show everyone that even the Dark Prince can be brought down. But it gets worse," she added, her lips thinning in frustration. "The Dementor's Kiss has already been decided. Fudge won't listen to any arguments against it."

James slammed his fist against the table, his face contorted with anger. "The Dementor's Kiss?!" he growled, his voice thick with rage. "They're going to strip his soul away without even trying to understand what's happened to him!"

Frank's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and controlled. "Understand what, James? He tortured my wife. Alice can barely hold a spoon without shaking. The public isn't interested in 'understanding.' They want justice for what he's done."

James shot him a pained look, his voice rough with grief. "I don't excuse what he's done, Frank. But Harry is still my son! Do you really think this is what he wanted? Do you think he had any choice in all this?"

Sirius, still pacing, snapped, "This trial isn't about Harry. Fudge is using him as a pawn to prove to the world that he's got things under control. It's a show. He doesn't care about the truth."

Arthur Weasley, sitting with his leg—severed by Harry in an attack—propped up on a chair, spoke in a low, calm voice. "Harry's actions can't be ignored, James. People have suffered because of him. I know you want to believe he didn't choose this path, but when people see their loved ones maimed or killed, it's hard to convince them otherwise."

Kingsley, who had fought alongside James during the capture, leaned forward, his deep voice breaking through the tension. "The public won't care about the nuances. They've been living in fear of Voldemort's return for years. To them, Harry's just a symbol of that fear. Fudge will use this trial to show that even the Dark Lord's most dangerous servant can be dealt with."

Sirius stopped pacing, his voice rising with frustration. "And that's what Fudge wants! To parade Harry around like some kind of trophy, and then let the Dementor's Kiss be his grand finale. He's not interested in hearing the truth—he just wants to win."

Lily, her voice trembling but determined, spoke up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What about the Imperius Curse?" she asked, her voice fragile with hope. "Was he under it? If he was, that could change everything. They wouldn't—"

Dumbledore shook his head, his expression heavy with sorrow. "The Ministry had Unspeakables examine him, Lily. There was no trace of the Imperius Curse. The evidence they have is compelling."

Lily's face crumbled, and she clutched James's hand tightly, her last hope slipping away with Dumbledore's words.

Frank's voice, hard and unforgiving, cut through the tension. "Even if they had found traces of Imperius, Harry pleaded guilty. He didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. He stood there, proud of what he's done, and admitted to everything."

The room fell into a suffocating silence. James's face contorted with grief, his voice barely a whisper. "Guilty?" He looked around the room, his eyes begging for any sign of hope. "He pleaded guilty?"

Sirius stopped pacing, his fury fading into disbelief. "He admitted it?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes. He pled guilty to every charge, openly and without remorse. His plea sealed the door for him. The Dementor's Kiss is now certain. There's no appeal, no leniency. The Ministry believes they've captured the Dark Prince, and Harry's own confession ensures that nothing can stop this now."

Lily broke into quiet sobs, the sound of her grief echoing through the room. "He's still my son," she whispered, her voice breaking. "He's not just some puppet for them to destroy. There has to be a way to save him. We can't just let them take his soul like this."

McGonagall's face softened with sympathy, but her tone remained firm. "The Ministry won't listen to pleas for mercy, Lily. They've already decided his fate. The public is scared, and they want to see the Dark Prince punished."

Frank leaned forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "People aren't going to forgive him, James. You saw what he did to Alice. He hurt too many people. Whether he chose this or not, he has to pay for it."

James's voice shook with desperation as he looked around the room. "I'm not asking for him to go free! I know he has to answer for his actions, but a Dementor's Kiss? That's not justice—that's erasing him completely. That's destroying any chance of ever getting him back."

Arthur sighed heavily, his expression solemn. "People have suffered because of Harry's actions, James. People have lost their families, their homes, their livelihoods. The public will want him to pay for that."

The silence that followed was thick with the weight of unspoken truths. No one dared to contradict Arthur's words, not even James. Deep down, they all knew that Harry's actions had left scars that couldn't be healed.

Frank's voice, low and bitter, broke the stillness. "They'll want him to suffer, just like the people he hurt. You saw what he did to Alice, James. There's no coming back from that."

Sirius, his face twisted with fury, stepped forward. "But he's not just a weapon for Fudge to use! We can't let them take Harry's soul just to make a point. He deserves the chance to be heard, to show that there's still something left of him."

Remus, who had been silent throughout the conversation, finally spoke, his voice quiet but resigned. "The truth won't matter to the Ministry. They've already painted Harry as the Dark Prince, and the Dementor's Kiss was always going to be his sentence. Fudge is doing this for control, not for justice."

Moody grunted from the corner, his voice rough with anger. "Fudge doesn't care about justice. He wants to make an example of Harry. This trial is his way of showing that he can handle Voldemort's forces."

Lily wiped her tears, her voice trembling but filled with determination. "We have to do something. We can't just let them take him like this."

But her words hung in the air, unanswered. The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the truth pressing down on everyone. No one spoke, not even James or Sirius, who usually had no shortage of fight in them. They exchanged looks, torn and conflicted, their eyes reflecting the painful reality they were facing.

Harry had done terrible things—things that couldn't be undone. And while they loved him, there was a growing, unspoken belief that maybe he couldn't be saved from this fate. Maybe, after everything, he wasn't worth making fools of themselves, not when the world saw him as the Dark Prince.

Frank's heavy sigh broke the silence, his voice cold and unyielding. "It's better this way," he said, the bitterness clear. "With no Dark Prince, it means one less key player for Voldemort. After what Harry did to Alice... to so many others... this is the only way forward."

Lily's quiet sobs filled the room, her body trembling as she clutched James's hand. The weight of Frank's words was like a knife to her heart, but she couldn't argue with him. She couldn't deny what Harry had become.

Dumbledore, who had been silent for most of the meeting, finally spoke, his voice soft yet somber. "The Ministry will not change its course. The Dementor's Kiss is certain. There is no turning back now."

His tone was final, devoid of any glimmer of hope.

The silence that followed was suffocating. No one dared speak further. Even James and Sirius, torn by grief, knew deep down that there was nothing left to fight for. Harry was beyond saving, and all that remained was to face the inevitable end.

The atmosphere in the Ministry of Magic was thick with tension as the Potter family sat in a quiet, isolated room, waiting for what would be their final meeting with Harry. The trial was set to begin in just over an hour, but before that, Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had granted James Potter's request to see his son. It was highly unusual for a case like this, but Amelia understood the gravity of the situation and allowed the family this one last chance to say goodbye.

Lily sat between James and Jimmy, her hands trembling as she tried to compose herself. The reality of what was happening pressed down on her, almost suffocating. Beside her, James was rigid, his jaw clenched, doing everything he could to remain strong for his family. Jimmy sat in silence, his eyes red from the tears he refused to shed, staring blankly at the floor.

Sirius stood quietly nearby, his usually boisterous energy completely subdued. He had insisted on being there, knowing that James would need him by his side. Remus, however, had stayed behind at the house, looking after Rose, who was too young to face the horrors of what was about to happen.

Amelia entered the room, her expression solemn but sympathetic. "It's time," she said quietly. "You'll have a few minutes with him before the trial begins."

Lily's breath hitched, and she clutched James's hand as they stood. Her heart felt like it was being torn apart, knowing that this was the last time she would see her son before the trial, before whatever horrible fate awaited him. James, still holding her hand, gave a brief nod to Amelia.

"Thank you," James said, his voice rough with emotion.

The small room was bare, except for a single table and a few chairs. Amelia gestured for the guards to bring Harry in, and moments later, the door opened, revealing him. Shackled and emotionless, Harry entered the room, his eyes vacant, devoid of recognition or any sign of the boy he had once been.

Lily was the first to break, her voice shaking as she stepped forward. "Harry… my boy, please, say something. Look at us. Don't you remember who we are?"

Harry's cold gaze met hers, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, with an unsettling calm, he spoke. "I belong to my master. Everything I've done, I've done for him. There's nothing else to say."

Lily staggered back as if she had been struck. Tears streamed down her face, her hands trembling violently. "No… no, this isn't you, Harry. This isn't my son…"

James stepped forward, his voice harsh, but cracking with emotion. "Harry, you don't have to do this. You're still our son. You can still—"

"No," Harry interrupted, his tone emotionless, as if reciting facts rather than having a conversation with his father. "You don't understand. This is who I am now. I chose this."

Jimmy, who had remained silent until now, stepped closer, his face twisted with disbelief and pain. "Harry, how could you? You tortured me, your own brother. You tried to kill Mum… you even hurt Rose. How could you do that? How could you fall so far?"

Harry looked at Jimmy, his twin, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no flicker of the boy who had once stood beside him, laughed with him. "You are nothing to me now. None of you are. My master's will is all that matters."

Jimmy's face contorted in agony, his fists clenched at his sides. "How can you say that? How can you throw everything away? You're my brother, Harry!"

But Harry's expression didn't change. His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. "Not anymore."

Lily's sobs grew louder as she crumpled into a chair, her heart shattered. James tried to hold her together, but the devastation in his own eyes was clear. He had lost his son long before this trial, and now, in this moment, any last thread of hope had been cut.

Sirius, who had been standing near the back, suddenly exploded with fury. "How can you sit there and talk like that, Harry? You were one of us! We fought for you! We never gave up, even when it seemed like you were lost. And this—this is what you've become?"

Harry's gaze flickered briefly to Sirius, but there was no recognition, no regret. "You wasted your time."

Sirius slammed his hand on the table, his face a mask of anger and sorrow. "We loved you, Harry. We still do! Don't you understand what you're doing to your family?"

Harry's response was cold and calculated. "It's not my concern."

The room fell silent, the weight of Harry's words suffocating the air. Lily's sobs echoed in the stillness, the sound of a mother's heart breaking in the most brutal way.

James took a slow step toward Harry, his voice thick with pain. "Is this really the last thing you want to say to us, Harry? Is this really how it ends?"

For the briefest moment, Harry hesitated. His eyes flickered—something unreadable flashed across his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Yes," he said, his voice steady. "This is how it ends."

Lily cried out, collapsing into James's arms. Jimmy turned away, unable to look at his brother any longer. Sirius paced angrily, fists clenched, while Remus, who had quietly entered the room behind them, looked at Harry with a mixture of deep sorrow and helplessness.

The guards re-entered, their presence signaling that time was up. James nodded to them, though he looked as though the life had been drained from him. He and Lily turned away, guiding her back toward the door, though her cries never ceased. Jimmy followed silently, his heart broken, his mind numb.

As they left the room, Sirius lingered for a moment longer. He stared at Harry, his anger fading into an exhausted grief. "You were family," he whispered. "You still are, even if you don't believe it."

Without waiting for a response, Sirius turned and walked out, leaving Harry alone with the guards.

The courtroom of the Ministry of Magic was filled with a heavy, oppressive silence as the trial of Harry Potter—the Dark Prince—unfolded. Every corner of the room was packed with high-ranking officials, members of the Wizengamot, the press, and wizards and witches who had come to witness the final moments of a boy who had once been the shining star of his family, now turned into one of the darkest figures in recent history. The tension in the air was palpable, and at the center of it all sat Harry, shackled and impassive, his face a cold mask as the proceedings dragged on.

Amelia Bones stood at the podium, her voice unwavering as she recounted the list of Harry's crimes. "Harry James Potter, under the name of the Dark Prince, you stand accused of acts of unspeakable horror in service to the Dark Lord. These acts include but are not limited to the murder of Cedric Diggory, the torture of Alice Longbottom, the maiming of Arthur Weasley, the killing of Hestia Jones, and numerous attacks on both Muggles and wizards alike."

She paused, the weight of her words pressing down on the room like a leaden blanket. The gathered crowd shifted uncomfortably, and Lily Potter let out a soft sob, her face buried in her hands. James sat rigid beside her, his arm around her shoulders, his own face pale and drawn. The list of crimes had cut through them like knives, each word another blow to the hope they had desperately clung to for so long.

Amelia continued, her tone somber. "Perhaps the most grievous of these acts are the attacks on your own family. The injuries inflicted on your brother, Jimmy Potter, your sister, Rose Potter, and the attempted murder of your own mother, Lily Potter." She looked up from her parchment, her eyes locking onto Harry's blank face. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as every eye turned to Harry. For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze sweeping across the sea of faces before finally landing on his parents. Lily's tear-streaked face trembled, and James's jaw was clenched tightly, his hand gripping hers.

Harry spoke, his voice cold and emotionless. "I belong to my master. Everything I did, I did willingly." His words hung in the air like a death knell. "I have no regrets."

Lily's sobs broke the silence, her body shaking as James pulled her closer. The courtroom buzzed with murmurs of shock and disbelief, but no one—not even Dumbledore, seated in quiet resignation among the Wizengamot—could intervene. The crimes were too severe. The damage was done.

Amelia's face hardened. "Then it is with great sorrow that I, in accordance with the law, sentence you to the Dementor's Kiss. Your soul shall be taken, and justice will be served."

The verdict, though expected, sent a shockwave through the room. A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd, but Lily's cries pierced through it, her voice filled with the raw agony of a mother about to lose her son forever. "No! Please, no!" she cried, her hands reaching toward Harry as if she could somehow pull him back from the abyss. "Someone, stop this! Please!"

But there was nothing anyone could do. The Dementors had already been summoned. Their dark, hooded forms glided silently into the room, their very presence sucking the warmth and light from the air. The temperature dropped sharply, and Lily's sobs grew louder, more desperate, as the hooded figures approached Harry.

The cold, stone chamber where prisoners met their fate felt even more suffocating as the Dementor loomed over Harry. The creature's rattling breath filled the silence, and the crowd watched, horrified, as it reached out with its skeletal hands.

Lily broke from James's grip, throwing herself toward Harry, but James pulled her back, his own voice choked with emotion. "Lily, please…"

Her screams and sobs echoed through the chamber, but no force could stop what was about to happen. The Dementor leaned in, its hooded face inches from Harry's.

The moment stretched, agonizingly slow. Then, the Dementor's icy grip closed over Harry, and a deep, guttural sound escaped the creature as it began to drain his soul. Harry's body tensed for a brief moment, his cold expression flickering with the barest hint of fear. But it was fleeting. His eyes glazed over as the life was sucked from him, his body going limp in the chair. The room seemed to grow even colder, the breath of every onlooker visible in the chilled air.

Lily collapsed, wailing as Harry's body slumped forward, soulless and empty. James, his own face streaked with silent tears, held her tightly, his heart breaking as he watched the shell of his son—the boy they had once loved—reduced to nothing more than a hollow vessel. Jimmy sat in stunned silence, unable to process the sight of his twin brother, who had once been his closest companion, now nothing more than a lifeless husk.

The rest of the Order members sat in solemn silence, some shaking their heads in disbelief, others wiping tears from their eyes. Frank Longbottom clenched his fists, his face tight with pain as he thought of the horrors Harry had inflicted on his wife, Alice. Arthur Weasley glanced down at his missing leg, the weight of the loss almost unbearable, but still, no one could bring themselves to look away from the broken Potter family before them.

As the Dementors withdrew, leaving Harry's soulless body behind, the silence in the chamber was suffocating. No one dared to speak. In any other circumstance, Harry would have been taken back to Azkaban, left to waste away in a cold, desolate cell until his lifeless body met its end. It was the fate of all prisoners condemned to the Dementor's Kiss.

But Lily Potter couldn't bear that thought. She couldn't bear the idea of her son—empty as he was—being taken away, locked in a place where no one would care for him, where no one would remember the boy he had once been.

Her voice, broken and weak, trembled as she whispered through her sobs, "Please… please let me take him home. Let me take my boy home." It was a mother's final plea, her last act of love for a son she had already lost.

Dumbledore, seated quietly in the back, his face etched with sorrow, rose to his feet. His eyes met Amelia Bones's across the room. He had known Amelia long enough to know that pity alone wouldn't sway her, but as Head of the Wizengamot and James's superior, Dumbledore carried the weight to make such a request. Stepping forward, his voice low and measured, he addressed her.

"Madam Bones," Dumbledore began gently, his gaze soft but firm. "Lily only asks for the chance to take her son home. A small mercy, given all that has already been lost."

Amelia Bones, her face stern and unreadable, looked down at the broken family. She wasn't one to be easily moved by emotion, and she knew the rules—prisoners like Harry, condemned by the law, were to be sent back to Azkaban. But under Dumbledore's gaze, and with the weight of this tragedy heavy in the air, she found herself hesitating.

The room was thick with tension, every eye on her as she considered the request. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gave a solemn nod. "You may take him, Mrs. Potter," she said quietly. "He may go home with you."

It wasn't pity that moved her to grant this mercy—it was something deeper, a recognition of the sheer weight this family had borne, and the understanding that Harry, even now, was still their son. Amelia, though resolute in the law, knew there were moments when humanity had to come first.

Lily didn't hesitate. She rose from her place on the floor, cradling Harry's cold, lifeless head against her chest, tears falling silently as James moved to support her. Together, they would take him home—not as a prisoner, not as a condemned man—but as the boy they had once loved. It was the only thing left they could do for him.