Past
The streets of Diagon Alley were quieter than usual as Harry, Hermione, and Ron approached Gringotts under the cover of a cloudy morning. Each wore a disguise enhanced by Polyjuice Potion, their appearances reflecting unassuming wizards and witches. Hermione carried a forged letter of request from the "Ministry," granting access to Bellatrix Lestrange's vault.
Harry adjusted his cloak, his hand steady on his wand. "This is it. Remember, if something feels wrong, we adapt. We don't fight unless we have no choice."
"Comforting," Ron muttered, pulling at his ill-fitting robes.
Hermione shot him a sharp look. "Focus, both of you. We have one chance at this."
Inside, the grandeur of Gringotts loomed around them: marble floors polished to a mirror shine, towering columns, and an oppressive air of authority. Goblins scurried about, their sharp eyes casting brief, suspicious glances at the trio.
Hermione stepped forward confidently, presenting the forged document to the head goblin. "We're here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic. This is an urgent matter of national security."
The goblin inspected the parchment, his expression unreadable. He nodded curtly, motioning for an escort. "Follow me."
As they were led deeper into the bank, Harry couldn't shake a growing unease. His instincts prickled, warning him that something was amiss.
The cart ride through Gringotts' subterranean vaults was a jarring, stomach-churning experience. The trio clung to the edges of the rickety vehicle as it hurtled through tunnels, twisting and turning at breakneck speed.
Hermione gripped the edge tightly. "We're close," she said, her voice strained. "The enchantments here are getting stronger."
Ron pointed ahead, where the tracks seemed to plunge into a cavernous opening. "What's that?"
The goblin escort smirked. "The dragon."
As the cart slowed, the massive form of a dragon came into view. Its scales shimmered like molten silver, and its eyes burned with a deep, ancient intelligence. The beast was chained, its movements restricted by enchanted manacles.
The goblin gestured dismissively. "The beast guards the high-security vaults. He won't bother you unless you stray."
Harry's gaze lingered on the dragon as the cart continued past. There was something about its eyes—an awareness that unnerved him.
The trio stepped out of the cart at the entrance to Bellatrix's vault, the goblin unlocking the enchanted door with a flick of his clawed hand.
"Make it quick," the goblin said.
Inside, the vault was a chaotic hoard of treasures, cursed objects, and dark artifacts. Hermione immediately began scanning for the cup while Ron stood watch at the door.
Harry's scar prickled as he moved deeper into the vault. He could feel the Horcrux's dark presence, a heavy, oppressive energy that made the air difficult to breathe.
"There," Hermione whispered, pointing to a gleaming golden cup perched atop a pile of jewels.
Harry approached cautiously, his wand raised. As soon as his fingers brushed the cup, the vault erupted into chaos.
The treasures began multiplying, filling the space with an avalanche of objects. Hermione shouted a counter-curse, but the enchantments were too strong.
"Get out!" Harry yelled, clutching the cup as the pile threatened to bury them.
As they scrambled back to the cart, alarms blared throughout the tunnels. The goblin escort panicked, abandoning the trio and leaving them to navigate the labyrinth alone.
"We're sitting ducks out here!" Ron shouted.
Before they could respond, a deep, guttural roar echoed through the cavern. The dragon had been alerted, its chains straining as it reared up, flames licking at the edges of its jaws.
"We're not getting out without dealing with that," Harry said grimly.
Hermione looked at him, her eyes wide. "You're not suggesting—"
"I'll distract it. You two head for the exit."
"No way!" Ron protested. "We're not leaving you—"
"Go!" Harry snapped, cutting him off.
As Hermione and Ron hesitated, Harry stepped forward, his wand drawn. The dragon's glowing eyes locked onto him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
"Nyxtharion," Harry murmured, the name coming to him unbidden as if whispered by the shadows themselves.
The dragon's roar softened into a low growl, its head tilting slightly. There was a flicker of recognition in its gaze, a connection that ran deeper than Harry could explain.
He lowered his wand, his voice steady. "You've been chained here for too long. I can feel it—your anger, your pain. You don't belong here."
Nyxtharion's growl deepened, the flames in its throat dimming. Harry took a step closer, his hand outstretched.
"I'm not your enemy," he said softly. "Help me, and I'll free you."
The dragon hesitated, its massive claws scraping against the stone. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, it lunged—not at Harry, but at the chains binding it.
Harry raised his wand, channeling his magic into the manacles. The shadows around him seemed to ripple and pulse, feeding into the spell. With a deafening crack, the chains shattered, and Nyxtharion roared in triumph.
The dragon's presence sent the remaining goblins into a frenzy, clearing the path for Harry, Hermione, and Ron to escape. Nyxtharion followed closely, its massive wings spreading as it burst into the open air.
The trio landed safely outside the bank, the golden cup clutched tightly in Harry's hand. Nyxtharion hovered above them, its gaze fixed on Harry.
"We've got the cup," Hermione said, her voice shaky. "But what about—"
Before she could finish, the dragon let out a final roar and disappeared into the night, leaving Harry with an overwhelming sense of finality.
As they regrouped, Ron looked at Harry, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. "What just happened back there?"
Harry stared at the cup in his hand, his thoughts racing. "I'm not sure. But I think we've gained more than just a Horcrux."
Chapter 7
As Harry and Buffy stepped further into the warehouse, the temperature shifted unnaturally. The air grew thick and oppressive, charged with the kind of magic that made the skin prickle and instincts scream. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the cracked concrete floor, while the faint hum of raw energy pulsed through the space—a warning of the power that lurked ahead.
Then, as they reached the warehouse's open center, they saw them.
Atop a makeshift throne of collapsed steel beams and broken crates, Glory lounged with effortless grace, legs crossed, an amused smirk playing on her lips. Her crimson dress glowed in the dim lighting, standing out against the ruin like a splash of blood on cold stone.
A few feet in front of her, standing with the rigid poise of a zealot awaiting judgment, was Helios. He didn't lounge. He didn't smirk. He stood tall, imposing, glowing—his silver-cracked skin pulsing with molten gold, his piercing gaze locked on Harry like a judge delivering a death sentence. The light radiating from him made the shadows themselves recoil, casting sharp, flickering contrasts across the ruined space.
Buffy's breath hitched, but she didn't hesitate.
She tightened her grip on the Troll Hammer, her Slayer instincts flaring as she took a firm step forward.
"Where is my sister?" she demanded, her voice fearless, unwavering.
Glory rolled her eyes dramatically, tossing a golden curl over her shoulder. "Ugh. So predictable. You charge in, swing your hammer around, shout something about your sister. Boring." She gestured lazily toward Helios. "Sunshine here was starting to think you weren't coming. And trust me, he's not exactly the patient type."
Helios ignored her entirely, his burning golden eyes locked onto Harry. His expression was unreadable—save for the simmering righteous fury radiating from every inch of him.
"You don't belong here," Helios declared, his voice booming like celestial thunder. Each word sent shockwaves rippling through the air, displacing the thick smoke and sending sparks cascading from the walls. "This world was cleansed of your kind long ago. Your presence is a stain that should have never returned."
"This is the end of your path, Morningstar," he intoned, voice like celestial thunder, reverberating through the unstable structure. "You should not be here. And I will ensure you do not remain."
Harry took a slow step forward, the air shifting around him, the ever-present shadows at his feet curling like living things, waiting to strike. His emerald gaze bored into Helios's, unfazed.
A slow clap echoed through the silence.
Glory smirked. "Ooooh, this is gonna be good." She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, as if settling in to watch a prize fight. "Morningstar versus the Golden Boy. My money's on—eh, actually, who cares? This is entertainment."
Helios ignored her completely, his focus a burning lance aimed solely at Harry. His body tensed, his divine energy flaring outward in waves. The light around him contracted and then exploded outward, the impact alone sending cracks splintering through the concrete beneath them.
Harry didn't wait.
The shadows surged.
The warehouse groaned under the strain of battle, its metal beams twisting and collapsing as waves of fire and darkness clashed within its walls.
At the heart of the chaos, two figures stood locked into an impasse, their power warping reality around them.
Harry stood his ground, feeling the weight of Helios's declaration settle into his bones. Your kind? The words itched at the back of his mind, but he shoved the thought away.
Helios wasn't here for philosophy—he was here to kill him.
Another wave of fire surged toward him, but Harry lifted a hand, and the darkness obeyed. The shadows at his feet surged upward, forming a swirling vortex of midnight tendrils that devoured the flames on impact. The opposing magics hissed and crackled against each other, but neither could fully overtake the other.
Helios clenched his fists. "You wield power that was never meant for you." His voice darkened with contempt. "A mockery of the divine."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Funny. I was just about to say the same to you."
With a flick of his wand, the very air around Helios turned against him—black, razor-sharp chains snapped into existence, striking from the shadows, aiming to bind his arms and legs. But Helios twisted midair, his body a blur of solar brilliance, and with a pulse of pure light, the chains burst apart.
The warehouse shuddered as the sheer force of the explosion sent a shockwave outward, shattering the remnants of support beams and windows.
From behind the remains of an overturned storage crate, Buffy gritted her teeth, shielding Dawn as the force of the explosion sent metal debris flying in all directions.
"What—what the hell is he?" Dawn whispered, clutching Buffy's arm.
Buffy didn't answer. She didn't have an answer.
Harry had always been an anomaly. The Scoobies had debated it constantly—was he just another sorcerer? A warlock? A demon? The actual Devil? But this—this wasn't just power. This was something older. Something that made the Slayer in her instinctively wary.
Helios was strong, that much was clear, but Harry wasn't losing. And that was terrifying.
Buffy scanned the battlefield, trying to find an opening—a way to get Dawn out of here before the entire place caved in. But there was no way out that didn't involve crossing through the storm of destruction.
Her grip on the Troll Hammer tightened. "Dawn, the second I move—run."
Dawn hesitated. "Buffy—"
"Run."
Dawn nodded.
Buffy turned her gaze back to the fight, heart hammering.
The wrong move could get them all killed.
Helios descended, his golden aura pulsing, the light around him bending as he gathered his strength.
"You do not understand what you are," he said, voice steady, unwavering. "Of course you don't. The Powers That Be made sure of that."
Harry stiffened at the certainty in his tone.
The words itched at him again, digging under his skin like splinters.
"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.
Helios smirked, his confidence returning. The fanatic's certainty.
"Did you think this power was some mere accident? That you simply stumbled into godhood?" He shook his head, voice laced with disgust. "You weren't supposed to exist anymore. Your kind—your pantheon—was eradicated."
Harry's pulse roared in his ears. Pantheon. Eradicated.
Helios continued, circling him like a predator preparing to strike. "Your power was supposed to be nothing but a memory, a footnote in history. The Powers That Be erased your influence from this world, ensuring the balance remained undisturbed."
The shadows around Harry stirred, responding to his rising emotions.
"You're lying," he said, but there was something unconvincing in his own voice.
Helios chuckled, mocking. "Am I? Then why does your very presence unravel the balance? Why does every force that maintains this reality want you gone?"
A pause.
A heartbeat.
Harry's grip on his wand tightened.
Helios's golden gaze gleamed with triumph. "You're not some wizard who stumbled into a god's power." His lips curled. "You are a god. A true god. And I will not allow your corruption to take root again."
And with that, Helios raised both hands to the sky—and the entire warehouse was consumed in blinding, celestial light.
Buffy turned just in time to see Helios ignite like a miniature sun, his entire form radiating with a heat so intense the air itself shimmered.
Her Slayer instincts screamed at her to move, but before she could react, the flare erupted outward, washing over everything in a wave of holy fire.
The heat was instant, consuming. Everything turned white.
Buffy threw herself over Dawn, the force of the blast sending them tumbling behind a fallen beam.
The last thing she saw before the world was swallowed in brilliance—
—was Harry, standing at the heart of the inferno, completely still.
Waiting.
Unmoving.
And then—
Darkness surged to meet the light.
•The Morningstar's Rebirth *
The solar flare erupted outward, a supernova of divine fury engulfing the warehouse in blinding golden light. The very air itself shimmered, warped by the sheer intensity of the heat, turning steel beams molten and reducing debris to ash in an instant.
For a moment, there was nothing but fire.
Buffy could barely think, her instincts screaming at her to move, to protect Dawn, to do anything—
But then—
The darkness moved.
At first, it was subtle. A flicker in the blinding brilliance. Then it deepened, stretched, solidified, until it wasn't just an absence of light, but something alive—something that fought back.
And at the center of it all, Harry stood motionless, eyes closed, absorbing the power around him.
The shadows at his feet coiled and writhed, unfazed by the flames raging around him. What should have been instant incineration did nothing to him.
Instead, the darkness drank the fire in.
Helios, still hovering above the destruction, watched in horrified realization as the golden fire began to wane, collapse in on itself, sucked into the abyssal void coalescing around Harry.
"This…" Helios breathed, his golden eyes widening. "This isn't possible."
And yet, it was happening.
Harry inhaled deeply, his chest rising like he was taking in the breath of the Underworld itself.
When he opened his eyes, they were no longer their usual emerald green.
They were black as the abyss, flecked with shifting specks of starlight, as if the very void of the cosmos had settled into them.
The shadows, once merely an extension of his magic, now moved with purpose, as though something long-forgotten had awakened.
Harry slowly exhaled, and with it, the solar flare died.
The fire—Helios's divine fury—was gone, leaving only the suffocating, endless night in its place.
The warehouse, once consumed in golden fire, now stood in complete darkness—the only source of light coming from the flickering, dying embers around them.
Buffy's breath caught.
Dawn clutched at her arm, her fingers digging in. "Buffy—"
Buffy had no words.
She had faced demons, vampires, hellgods—she had even died before. But this?
This was something else.
This was a god returning to his throne.
Helios staggered back, his entire form flickering, his silver-cracked skin struggling to maintain its brilliance.
"…No," he whispered, horror creeping into his voice. "No, no, no!"
He pointed a trembling hand at Harry, his celestial light stuttering like a candle fighting against a storm.
"You're not supposed to still exist!" Helios shouted, desperate now. "You can't be fully intact! You were erased! You were cast out of this plane! Your dominion was stripped from you!"
Harry stared at him, silent, unreadable.
"You were supposed to be gone!" Helios raged, the light around him flaring wildly. "The Powers That Be ensured it! They cut you away—destroyed your influence! You were not meant to return!"
But Harry was still standing.
Still here.
And Helios was afraid.
The realization hit Harry all at once.
Helios feared him. Not just because of what he had done.
But because of who he was. Not Harry…
"…Hades."
The name rose unbidden from Harry's lips, and the world itself seemed to recoil.
The shadows tightened, the very air shivered, as if some deep, primal force had recognized the name spoken aloud for the first time in millennia.
Harry took a step forward.
Helios took a step back.
"No," Helios rasped, his conviction wavering for the first time. "You're not him. You can't be. He was—"
"Destroyed?" Harry's voice was quiet, yet deafening in the unnatural stillness.
Helios's jaw clenched, but he had no response.
Because they both knew the truth.
Hades was never destroyed.
He had been reborn.
Harry raised his hand, and the shadows surged forward in response.
Darkness rushed toward Helios, forming into twisting, spectral chains, glowing faintly with runes that had not been seen in centuries.
Helios snapped out of his stupor, summoning a final desperate blast of solar energy, but it was too late.
The chains wrapped around his wrists, his legs, his throat, constricting with the weight of a thousand forgotten souls.
Helios gasped, choking on his own light.
Harry stepped closer, his blackened gaze locked on him.
"I should banish you," he said, his voice laced with the weight of ancient authority. "Cast you into the depths where they tried to throw me."
The chains tightened, dragging Helios toward the abyss.
For the first time, the celestial warrior of the Powers That Be knew fear.
"Wait—!" Helios struggled, his body glowing desperately, fighting against the chains that held him.
And that was when the portal opened.
The air rippled unnaturally, and suddenly, a blue-green vortex carved itself into reality.
From the swirling void, a hand reached through—one that was clawed and too-human, gripping Helios's shoulder.
A voice followed, smooth and almost amused.
"Now, now. Can't have you disappearing just yet."
Buffy's blood ran cold.
She knew that voice.
As the owner of the hand stepped fully into view, the dim light flickered across his demonic features. His horned head tilted, his yellowed eyes gleaming with something dangerously knowing.
D'Hoffryn.
The demon lord of vengeance stood halfway between realms, his smirk widening as he gave Buffy a mocking wave.
"Miss Summers. Been a while, hasn't it?"
And with a jerk, he yanked Helios through the rift, severing the chains before Harry could finish the job.
The portal snapped shut.
Helios was gone.
And Harry was left standing in the wreckage, staring at the place where his victory had just been stolen from him.
•The Morningstar's Rebirth *
The silence that followed was deafening.
The warehouse stood in ruin, its skeletal remains barely holding together. Walls crumbled, charred metal beams jutted from the wreckage like broken ribs, and ash swirled in the air like the remnants of a dying storm.
And at the center of it all, Harry stood still, staring at the space where Helios had just disappeared.
The chains of the Underworld, once coiled tightly around his enemy, now lay slack, fading into the darkness as if they had never existed. His power still crackled in the air, but there was no one left to direct it toward.
His first real chance at answers—at understanding who and what he was—had just been yanked away.
And that realization filled him with a fury that burned colder than any shadow.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the ruins.
Harry's head snapped toward the sound, his darkened gaze locking onto the figure stepping from the shadows.
Glory.
The hell-goddess looked entirely untouched by the destruction, her golden curls still perfect, her crimson dress flowing around her like molten silk. If anything, she seemed amused, as if she had just finished watching an entertaining play rather than a battle that could have torn reality apart.
"Bravo," she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. "Really. That was some good old-fashioned, god-tier destruction. Five stars."
Harry didn't move.
His magic still crackled around him, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of what had just happened. He was still on edge, still processing, still ready to fight.
Glory simply tilted her head, watching him.
"You look like you're about to throw another little tantrum," she said sweetly. "Don't worry, I get it. Sun-boy got away, poof, just like that. Tragic, really. But honestly?" Her lips curled. "I knew that idiot wasn't gonna help me find the Key. He was so self-righteous about balance, and blah, blah, blah. He actually thought I'd buy that load of crap?"
She gave a mock gasp, placing a hand over her chest. "Glorificus, our goals are aligned, let's work together!" She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Please. He was about as useful as a wet paper bag in a fire."
Harry kept his stance defensive, watching her carefully.
"You never planned on helping him," he said, voice low.
Glory's grin widened. "Ding, ding, ding!" She twirled a golden strand of hair around her finger. "What, you actually thought I was dumb enough to trust someone like that? I mean, sure, he was pretty, but fanatic types?" She made a face. "Ugh. No thanks. No personality. No fun. And way too chatty."
She took a few casual steps closer, her eyes gleaming.
"But you?" she mused, looking him up and down. "Now, you are interesting."
Harry tensed, but Glory didn't attack.
She just smiled.
A sudden movement from the side—Buffy stepped forward, interposing herself between Harry and Glory before things could spiral.
She tightened her grip on the Troll Hammer, still wary, still ready for a fight if necessary.
"Back off," Buffy said, her voice firm.
Glory blinked, then laughed.
"Oh, relax, Slayer," she waved a hand, almost dismissively. "I'm not gonna throw down with Shadow Boy over here. That was way more fun to watch than it would've been to interrupt. I mean, really—Helios losing his mind? Him actually getting scared?" She sighed, shaking her head. "Delicious."
Buffy didn't lower her weapon. "So what, you just sat back and watched?"
Glory grinned. "Bingo."
Buffy's expression darkened. "You're a monster."
Glory arched an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. "I'm a goddess, sweetie. Big difference."
Buffy opened her mouth to retort, but Harry spoke first.
"Why are you really here?"
Glory's attention snapped back to him.
For the first time, her grin faltered, just a fraction.
And for just a moment, Harry saw it—something knowing in her gaze.
A recognition.
A glimmer of understanding she wasn't sharing.
Then she laughed again, shaking her head. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Harry's magic flared dangerously, but Glory only smirked.
"Careful there, big guy," she teased. "Wouldn't want you to go all 'Dark Lord of the Dead' on me. Unless, of course, you wanna find out what happens when two gods go head-to-head." She winked. "Spoiler alert: I win."
Harry didn't flinch.
But he didn't attack, either.
Glory sighed dramatically. "Well, this was fun, but I think I've gotten everything I need out of this." She sauntered past them, giving Buffy a patronizing little smile as she passed. "Later, Slayer."
Then, as she reached the edge of the ruined warehouse, she glanced back at Harry one last time.
And this time, her expression was unreadable.
"I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you, Morningstar," she said, voice quieter, more serious. "Because if the Powers That Be really are scared of you?"
Her smirk returned.
"Then things are gonna get real interesting."
And with that, she was gone.
As soon as Glory's presence faded, Buffy let out a sharp breath, shoulders tensed like a coil wound too tight.
Harry didn't move.
His mind was still racing, still running through everything that had just happened. Helios's words. Glory's amusement.
The fact that he had let Helios escape—
No.
Not let.
Stolen.
The chains had been working. He had been seconds away from banishing the warrior of the Powers That Be, and then—
D'Hoffryn.
Harry's hands clenched into fists.
Dawn, still hovering behind Buffy, finally broke the silence.
"…Harry?"
Buffy's posture was rigid, still gripping her weapon. "Harry, talk to me. Are we about to have a bigger problem than Glory?"
Harry didn't answer right away.
Because no, he wasn't okay.
Nothing about this was okay.
But as the last of the magic faded from the air, as the weight of what had just happened settled, he realized something.
He didn't just want answers anymore.
He needed them.
No more speculation. No more guessing. No more being kept in the dark about who and what he was.
If the Powers That Be wanted him gone, he needed to know why.
The battle was over.
The warehouse, once a battleground of fire and shadow, now stood in ruins—its skeletal remains barely holding together. Walls crumbled, steel beams jutted from the wreckage like broken ribs, and ash swirled through the air like the dying remnants of a storm.
Harry stood at the center of it all. Alone.
His body still hummed with residual power, the air around him thick with magic, like the world itself was struggling to process what had just happened. The warehouse was dead quiet, save for the occasional groan of metal cooling after being scorched by divine fire.
Everything was still.
Too still.
The weight of the moment pressed against his chest. He had won. Helios was gone. Glory had left, entertained but unconcerned. And yet…
Why did it feel like something had been taken from him instead of gained?
A few yards away, Buffy pulled Dawn to her feet, glancing between Harry and the remains of the battlefield.
She still held the Troll Hammer, but she didn't lift it again.
Instead, she just looked at him.
Not with gratitude.
Not even with distrust.
With something unreadable.
Harry felt the shift. The moment the battle was over, something had changed between them. He could see it in the way Buffy's jaw tightened, in the way her Slayer instincts were still screaming at her, warning her that he wasn't just some wizard anymore.
Maybe he never had been.
Dawn hesitated, glancing between them before tugging on Buffy's sleeve. "Buffy?"
Buffy didn't answer immediately. She looked at Harry one last time, her gaze guarded, sharp. Then, finally, she spoke.
"Stay away from my sister."
Not a threat. Not an accusation.
Just a fact.
Harry didn't react. He didn't even blink.
He just watched as Buffy turned and left, leading Dawn away from the wreckage, from him. Neither of them looked back.
And just like that, they were gone.
Harry exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.
Alone.
He was alone.
The realization settled like a stone in his gut. The fight had been a distraction, an escape from a truth he had been avoiding ever since arriving in this world.
This wasn't his home.
The people he knew, the life he had fought for—it was 68 years in the past.
If he even had a past to go back to.
Everyone he had ever loved, everyone who had ever mattered to him, had either moved on or were long dead. The world he had bled for had forgotten him.
And here, in this new world, he had no place.
No war to fight. No prophecy to fulfill. No side to stand on.
Just a growing power inside him that wasn't supposed to exist.
For the first time in a long time, Harry felt truly lost.
He turned his gaze downward, staring at his hands. The shadows that had once obeyed his every command now coiled faintly at his fingertips, almost uncertainly, as if waiting for him to decide what they were supposed to be.
What he was supposed to be.
He closed his fingers into a fist, snuffing them out.
The silence stretched.
Harry took a slow breath, preparing himself to leave—except, before he could, a soft, almost musical voice cut through the stillness.
"You look like you could use a friend."
Harry froze.
That voice.
It was impossible.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned.
And there, standing in the moonlight that filtered through the wreckage, was Luna Lovegood.
She looked exactly as he remembered her. The same dreamy expression, the same knowing eyes that saw through everything without ever looking too hard. Her long blonde hair shimmered faintly, moving as if caught in a breeze that only she could feel.
She smiled, tilting her head.
"Hello, Harry."
A/N: Okay everyone this will start a new arc which will be fully explained in the next chapter. I will need some time to write and fully flesh out the next arc so it will be around a month until the next chapter will be out.
Review responses:
scyfl: I feel like this is just a personal opinion. Without description you have bare facts and this is a fiction not a science textbook. If there are inconsistencies then the review should have been about those. Thank you for the review.
Guest review: Um thanks for the review. And yes this will be a great username for your future reviews for yourself. Or maybe this is just your mothers name either way it works.
rrumeerdksirf: Thank you! Honestly I don't take them seriously. Troll reviews are similar to bad press. All press is good press. Most people don't actually pay attention to guest reviews because they are trolls just trying to get a reaction.
Reviewer: Thank you!
Remzal Von Enili: I am aware of the issue and have sent an email on it. Hopefully it will be fixed soon.