The halls of Hogwarts had always felt like home to Jimmy Potter, a place filled with laughter, competition, and camaraderie. But now, in the wake of Harry's trial, everything felt hollow. The trial had been a public spectacle, a brutal reminder that his brother was gone—not just physically, but lost to the darkness that had consumed him. The unbreakable bond they had once shared as twins was now a memory, shattered by the crimes of the Dark Prince.

Jimmy walked through the corridors in a daze, trying to block out the murmurs and whispers that followed him wherever he went. Harry's name, once spoken with respect and affection, now carried the weight of fear and betrayal. Every step Jimmy took was a reminder of how much had changed, and how alone he felt in the midst of it all. To the other students, he was the Boy Who Lived, but that title meant nothing to him anymore.

He hadn't saved his brother.

The thought cut deeper than anything else. He hadn't stopped Harry from falling into darkness. And now, Harry was gone, sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss—a punishment that felt both inevitable and unbearable.

Jimmy clenched his fists, trying to suppress the surge of anger rising within him. Harry had made his choices, choices that had led him down a path of destruction. But how could Jimmy reconcile the brother he had grown up with, the boy who had once laughed and protected him, with the person who had tortured Alice Longbottom and tried to kill their mother? It was too much to bear.

As he walked, his mind drifted back to memories of their childhood. Back when life was simple—when they were just two boys sneaking out of bed to raid the kitchen for snacks in the middle of the night. Harry had always been the one to lead the mischief, and Jimmy had always followed. They'd been inseparable, two halves of a whole. But now that whole was broken.

"Jimmy."

He looked up to see Hermione rushing toward him, her brow furrowed with concern. He braced himself. He had been avoiding this conversation, but Hermione was never one to leave things unsaid. Since Harry's fall, a rift had grown between them, unspoken but always there.

"Do we have to do this now?" Jimmy muttered, knowing exactly what was coming.

"Yes, we do," Hermione insisted, stopping just in front of him. "I've been thinking about Harry. About everything that's happened."

Jimmy's stomach twisted. "What about him?"

Hermione hesitated, her eyes soft with sympathy but still searching his face for understanding. "I know Harry's gone. I know the Dementor took his soul," she began, her voice low, strained. "But… I can't shake the feeling that this isn't how it was supposed to end. Not like this."

Jimmy's jaw clenched. He had expected her to struggle with Harry's death, but hearing it aloud brought the pain back with brutal clarity. "You know what a Dementor's Kiss means, Hermione," he said, harsher than he intended. "There's nothing left. Harry's dead. His soul is gone, and there's no bringing him back."

Hermione nodded, her lips quivering as she blinked back tears. "I know, Jimmy. Iknowthat. There's no magic that can bring back someone who's had their soul taken." Her voice broke, and she paused to steady herself. "But I can't… I can't let go the Harry we knew. I don't believe he did those things—not willingly. Not even under Voldemort's control. It just—it doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel likeHarrycould've ever done those things."

Jimmy's chest tightened. He had heard the same doubt from others, the idea that the Harry they knew could never have turned so completely. But Jimmy had seen it with his own eyes. "Hermione," he started, his voice hard, "you weren't there when he attacked Mum or Rose. You didn't see him when he tortured Alice. It wasn't Voldemort forcing his hand—it did those things, and we can't pretend he didn't."

Hermione flinched but didn't back down. "But you don't know that for sure, Jimmy. You don't know what was going on inside him. What if—what if Voldemort twisted him so much that he didn't even know what he was doing? Or worse, what if he wasn't in control at all? That wasn't Harry, it couldn't have been. Not the Harry we knew."

Jimmy's hands tightened into fists, the anger bubbling just below the surface. "I want to believe that too," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I want to believe that my brother wasn't responsible. But I saw him, Hermione. Isawhim. He wasn't under the Imperius Curse—there was no one controlling him. He chose to hurt people."

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, but her voice didn't waver. "Maybe he chose those things, but that doesn't mean it was really him. Maybe Voldemort broke him so completely that the Harry we knew couldn't survive. I don't know." She shook her head, her frustration evident. "All I know is that I can't just erase the boy we grew up with. The Harry who saved my life, who fought for good—he's still in my heart, and I can't reconcile that with what he became. I can't accept that he's just… gone."

Jimmy's throat tightened, and for a moment, he struggled to speak. "He is gone," he finally said, his voice breaking with the weight of it. "That Harry is gone, Hermione. Maybe he died the day he turned to Voldemort. Maybe he died long before the Dementor took his soul. But the boy you're holding onto… he's never coming back."

The hallway fell into an oppressive silence, Jimmy's words hanging heavily between them. Hermione stood there, pale and trembling, her eyes filled with sorrow.

"I know," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I know he's gone. But that doesn't mean I can stop caring about him, or stop remembering who he was before all of this. I just—I don't know how to let go of him, even if he's gone."

Jimmy's heart ached. He understood her pain, her unwillingness to let go of the Harry they had loved. But the Harry they had loved was already lost, buried beneath the choices he had made.

"He's not coming back," Jimmy repeated, softer this time. "You have to let him go, Hermione."

She nodded slowly, but the sadness in her eyes didn't waver. "I know," she whispered again, though the words seemed to hurt her as she spoke them. "But I just… I'm not ready."

Jimmy looked away, his emotions too raw to face her. He wanted to scream, to shout that he wasn't ready either. That the loss of Harry had torn a hole in him so deep it felt like it would never heal. But instead, he turned away from her, his voice heavy with the finality of it all.

"Neither am I," he muttered, walking away without another word. Hermione stood behind him, silent and pale, her tears falling quietly as she watched him go.

And in that moment, they both knew the truth.

Harry wasn't coming back. No matter how much they wished for it, no matter how much they held onto the memories, the boy they had loved was gone.

And nothing could bring him back.