Harry had no memory of falling asleep, nor of getting into bed, but when he awoke, he was under the covers in his bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but judging by the angle of the rays, it was late afternoon. Has it been twelve hours, or thirty-six? Harry wondered. Or even longer? He had a habit of oversleeping after harrowing events, and it wouldn't surprise him.

What did surprise him was that he was not alone. He was startled to see his mother sitting in the corner, dozing off lightly in the rocking chair across his room. "Mum?" he called out uncertainly.

Lily jerked awake, briefly gathering her bearings before her eyes landed on her son. "Harry, dear, you're awake!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side.

"How did I get here?" Harry asked groggily.

"I had to give you a Sleeping Draught and a Dreamless Sleep to calm you down last night," Lily said fretfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I think," Harry mumbled. He sat up in his bed, wincing as his injured shoulder flared up painfully – he must have slammed it into the wall harder than he thought. "Just sore."

"We'll get you checked out at St. Mungo's straight away," said Lily. "We just wanted to wait to be cautious, given that y— given everything that happened last night."

Given that I killed someone, Harry finished the original thought for her. Was that why they hadn't taken him into the hospital earlier – to prevent someone from checking his wand? Was that why Lily was watching him in his sleep, in case he woke up and tried to do something irrational?

But the memories from the Department of Mysteries were slowly returning to him, and the moment he'd decided to take Bellatrix Lestrange's life replayed in his mind. And he felt no different about it than he had the night before. She was a monster that didn't deserve to live. He felt zero remorse, zero regrets about his decision. If anything, it filled him with a sense of pride – he had finally changed something in this timeline for the better, and permanently.

"How's Dahlia?" he asked. "And Neville, and everyone else?"

"Everyone is fine," Lily reassured him. "It's a minor miracle, but no one else died yesterday. Though as I understand it, St. Mungo's had to dedicate an entire floor to accommodate all the students injured at Hogwarts and the Ministry."

"Good, that's good," Harry muttered. "And Dumbledore?"

"He was discharged this morning, as I understand it," said Lily. "They were unable to regrow his arm due to the Dark magic involved, but Dahlia did enough at the scene to prevent any further complications."

"Glad to hear it," said Harry – and he meant it. He was not the Headmaster's biggest fan, but he would have felt terribly if Dumbledore died defending him and his sister. Then, another memory flashed through Harry's mind, sending a chill down his spine. "What about Tonks?"

Lily's smile faltered. "Tonks is alive," she said vaguely. "They're treating her in a special ward at the moment. The Healers don't know what spell Lockhart hit her with, but they suspect it was something nasty that he invented himself."

Harry didn't like the sound of that. Given the man's prowess with Memory Charms, and the decades of extra tutelage under Voldemort in the interim, he could only imagine what kind of damage he could do to someone's mind with a single spell.

Harry got out of bed and began to gather his clothes. "Hang on; let me get a good look at you," said Lily. Harry stood patiently, half-dressed, as his mother examined him. His shoulder had a vaguely purple hue from its hard impact into a wall, and an errant Scorching Curse had grazed his arm, leaving a black mark, but otherwise he felt alright. But Harry got the sense that Lily was examining him for more than physical ailments – she was examining his face, peering into his eyes, as though discerning his frame of mind.

"Got something to ask me?" he snapped, somewhat annoyed.

Lily flinched slightly, blinking rapidly as she pulled away from her son. "No, nothing," she muttered, as she headed for the door. "Get dressed, and I'll escort you to St. Mungo's."

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that his mother was afraid of him. Did she expect him to fly off the handle? Did she think that, by casting an Unforgivable Curse, he would be mentally erratic and unstable? He felt fine – in truth, he felt fully at ease with his actions the night before. If anything, he wished he'd given the same treatment to Lucius Malfoy, and to the werewolf he'd trapped at Hogwarts.

Lily led the way through the Floo into the lobby of St. Mungo's. "You're technically not a Hogwarts student anymore, but you should be able to blend in with the others," she said. "If anyone asks, you were at the school during the attack, but not in the Department of Mysteries. Got it?"

"Okay," Harry nodded. He wondered how intently the Ministry was searching for Bellatrix's killer, but figured the risk couldn't be that high if he was permitted to rejoin the public so soon. Still, he kept one hand firmly on his wand within his robes as they traversed the halls, alert for any sign that he might be in trouble. He wouldn't put it past Fudge to seek retribution for what transpired.

They stepped onto the third floor ward, which was filled with high curtain dividers to create more individual bed space for the injured. "In here," said Lily, thrusting Harry onto a bed in one of the cordoned-off rooms. "I'll go and find you a Healer." And she set off, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

Harry heard the familiar sound of children's laughter all around him as he waited. That was a good sign – he'd imagined a scene of suffering and despair based on what he saw in the Great Hall yesterday, but spirits seemed to be high. Younger students were running around and playing in the halls, and excited conversation floated down the hallway towards him. It felt more like the train ride home for summer vacation than a ward for the dead and dying.

Soon after, a middle-aged Healer entered his space and closed the curtains. "I'm Healer Robinson," she announced. "You were involved in the incident at Hogwarts yesterday, were you?"

"Erm...yes," said Harry, which technically wasn't a lie. He pulled off his robes and his shirt so she could examine him. She waved her wand over the injured shoulder and whispered an incantation, causing it to shift and pop back into place. She spread a thick paste over the bruised area before moving on. Her wand paused over the mark left behind by the Scorching Charm, raising an eyebrow at him. Harry just shrugged, and she applied more paste to the wound without comment.

"Everything else seems to be in order, Mr. Potter," she said. "No bites or scratches from a transformed werewolf?"

"No," said Harry. "I'm fine."

"Very well," the Healer nodded. "The paste should settle into the skin in about fifteen minutes. After that, you're free to go." And she turned to go, parting the curtains and walking back onto the main ward. She paused at the entrance for a moment, turning back to face Harry and shutting herself back in with him.

"That was a very brave thing you did yesterday, Mr. Potter," Healer Robinson said. "Thank you." And she leaned down to give Harry a kiss on the cheek, before departing down the hall.

Harry was speechless. What was she talking about? he wondered. Does she know about what really happened to Bellatrix? Did somebody spread the word? Does EVERYONE know? It intensified his anxiety, once again expecting a team of Aurors to come bursting in at any moment to haul him off to Azkaban. But he forced himself to stay calm – again, his parents would have known if there was an active warrant out for his arrest.

Once the paste had finished drying on his wounds, Harry got dressed and wandered out onto the ward. He followed the sound of voices towards the end of the hall, wondering where Lily had gone. He passed through another curtain into a larger gathering area, and froze at what he found.

Twenty or so Hogwarts students of all ages were lounging around the space, chatting casually with one another. Many were sporting bandages over their wounds – most on their arms and legs, with the occasional head and neck wound. The room fell silent when Harry entered, staring up at him with wide eyes. Oh, great, Harry thought. Are they afraid of me because they know I'm a killer?

But to his amazement, the students began smiling and clapping at him. "Atta boy, Potter," an older student laughed. "Thank you, Harry!" said another. A few younger students even came up and gave him a hug. Harry was completely bewildered, unsure what to make of this treatment.

"Meeting with fans, are we, Harry?" a mirthful voice asked. Harry turned to see Remus Lupin grinning at him from the corner.

"Uncle Remus!" Harry exclaimed, wrapping the man in a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just visiting the injured," said Remus. "Making sure they know that being turned isn't the end of the world, and that we're working to cure them as soon as possible."

"That's good," said Harry, turning back to the recovering students. "And how many were bitten?"

"Most of us," one of the students replied, indicating the large group seated around the space. "About thirty in all. But nobody died."

"Thanks to you!" a bashful second-year girl beamed up at him.

Harry still didn't know how to react to the reverential looks his fellow students were giving him. He turned to Remus, who clearly sensed his discomfort.

"Come with me, Harry," he said. "I want to show you something." And he guided Harry out of the common area, leaving the other students behind.

"Show me what?" asked Harry.

"Nothing," said Remus. "Just thought you'd like to get out of there."

"Oh," Harry chuckled. "Thanks."

"Now you know how I felt after I killed the basilisk," Remus laughed. "Everyone looked at me like some kind of deity. It's quite uncomfortable, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Harry chuckled, grateful to have someone to commiserate with. "But why does everyone think I'm some big hero? I only rescued a couple students, and hardly anyone saw me."

"Ah," Remus grinned. "You haven't read this morning's Prophet yet, have you?"

"Erm...no," said Harry, suddenly growing nervous. What did they have to say about him this time? Would there be a full-sized photo of him killing Bellatrix Lestrange on the front page?

Remus walked up to a nearby Healer's station and reached over the desk for a copy of the paper lying there. "Check it out for yourself."

Harry unfolded the paper and took in the headline: 'LORD VOLDEMORT RETURNS!' It featured a photo of Dumbledore lying injured on the floor of the Atrium, Dahlia by his side. It was accompanied by an article describing the intense duel that had taken place in the Ministry, which had been interrupted by the arrival of Ministry workers who witnessed the Dark Lord in person.

But that wasn't what drew Harry's eye. A second article took up the lower half of the page, and Harry's stomach dropped when he saw the attached picture. It depicted Harry himself, carrying the injured (fake) Anna Watson up the steps of Hogwarts, a look of grim determination on his face. The headline read: 'THE HERO OF HOGWARTS'. His eyes skimmed over the first few paragraphs of the article:

'There are few positive takeaways from yesterday's multi-pronged attack on the wizarding world. However, one shining example of courage and heroism made itself known in the form of one boy: Harry Potter, aged 15, whose actions saved multiple lives at Hogwarts during the werewolf attacks. Despite being expelled from the school just a month prior, Mr. Potter answered the call to defend his ex-classmates from harm, and did so admirably.

"I saw him take down two werewolves at once," says second-year Johanna Wilkinson, who survived the attack. "He jumped in front of three other students like it was nothing. He looked like a superhero."

"[Potter] has been looking out for his classmates the entire time he's been at this school," says seventh-year George Weasley. "He and his dad didn't deserve what happened to them. They're the only blokes who actually tried to stop what was coming, and nobody believed them."

Harry's father, ex-Auror James Potter, was also on the scene at both Hogwarts and the Ministry to protect the young and vulnerable. Potter drew criticism over the past year for his repeated claims of Voldemort's imminent rise, claims that have now been vindicated.

It calls into question Minister Fudge's treatment of the Potter family and his underhanded tactics to have their reputations smeared in the public. Such tactics were employed at this very publication, in fact, leading to our editor-in-chief Barnabus Cuffe resigning late last night.

"I regret the part I played in the destruction of the Potter name over the past year," said Cuffe in a parting statement to the staff of the Prophet. "It has become clear to me based on yesterday's events that Potter and his son are heroes, full stop, and ought to be celebrated for their efforts to save Britain, not punished."'

"Well, that explains the student worship," Harry groaned as he lowered the paper. "How the hell did they even get this picture, anyway?" He found the caption under the photograph, which read: 'Photo courtesy of Hogwarts student Colin Creevey, 14'. He could only chuckle at this...even in another timeline, the boy couldn't help but put Harry on a pedestal with that blasted camera of his.

"You should be proud of what you did yesterday," said Remus firmly, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "I know you don't like being the center of attention, but you should embrace it when it's good news."

"I guess," Harry muttered. He looked up at Remus; the man was studying Harry's face, much the same way Lily was earlier in the day. "Something the matter?"

Remus looked caught by Harry's gaze. "How...how are you feeling, Harry?" he asked tentatively. "I know yesterday was a lot to take in—"

"You're wondering if my mind is altered because I killed somebody," Harry said flatly.

Remus flinched, but to his credit, he did not deny the observation. "It is said that the Killing Curse requires an act of pure hatred," he sighed. "That it taints the soul forever."

"Well, I did hate Bellatrix," Harry reasoned. "For what she did to my grandparents, and what she threatened to do to Dahlia and the rest of my family. And if I hadn't done it, she would have killed my dad, or Sirius, or you."

"Yes, but you could have used a Stunner—" Remus said in a strained voice.

"And send her back to Azkaban?" Harry laughed hollowly. "So Voldemort could break her out again, and she could continue terrorizing my family and countless others? I don't think so. As far as I'm concerned, she lost the right to live a long time ago."

Remus considered this, still looking somewhat pained by the conversation. "I don't disagree with you, Harry," he managed. "Bellatrix Lestrange was a monster, there is no doubt. I only worry what this will do to you in the long term. The Dark Arts are very real, and they can lead well-meaning individuals down a dangerous and troubling path—"

"What difference does it make what kind of magic it was?" Harry demanded. "The result would have been the same if I'd used a Cutting Curse to behead her, or an Aguamenti to drown her. If anything, I picked the most merciful option."

"Again, you aren't wrong," Remus sighed. "It's just...well, never mind. You're safe, and that's the most important thing. We can worry about the rest another time."

"Alright," Harry shrugged. "So, what happens next? Are you going to administer potions to all the turned students?"

Remus grimaced at this. "So you haven't heard that news yet," he said. He took the paper from Harry and flipped ahead to page seven, handing it back for him to read. Harry gasped when he saw the headline: 'EVANS-POTTER POTION FACILITY TARGETED; SUPPLIES DESTROYED'. It was accompanied by a photo of Remus and Alessia's home ablaze and crumbling to the ground.

"The house was attacked while everything else was going on yesterday," said Remus. "They destroyed all of our supplies and removed the ability for us to make more quickly."

"Bloody hell," Harry groaned. "So there are no more potions to cure students?"

"Luckily, we had a few dozen reserves stored at Grimmauld Place," said Lupin. "Not quite enough to cure everyone, though. We can rebuild and start brewing again, but it will take time to source the ingredients and set up a new lab."

"Shit," Harry breathed.

"Yep," Remus agreed. "A pretty masterful stroke on Voldemort's part. By instructing the attackers to leave victims alive and then destroying our supplies, he ensured that all resources would be focused on curing the injured students, while he could continue recruiting werewolves who no longer had the option of a cure."

"Can werewolves stop themselves from killing?" Harry wondered. "Do they have that much self-control?"

"With the false moon they can, yes," said Remus. "When I was transformed in the Chamber of Secrets, I was still conscious of the fact that you children were in danger, and went after the basilisk to keep it away from you."

"Huh," said Harry. It only justified his decision to try and kill the werewolf in the cage even further. It was more than aware of what it was doing, and still decided to go after those innocent students.

"Anyway, I won't keep you much longer," said Remus. "Go check on your friends. I'm sure they're all eager to see you."

"Thanks, Uncle Remus," said Harry, giving the man a hug as they parted ways. He didn't particularly want to be idolized again, but he did want to check on Neville and all the others that had been taken to the Ministry, so he wandered off in search of them.

Harry found himself in an unfamiliar wing of the hospital. He could no longer hear the sounds of students nearby, and assumed he'd taken a wrong turn. He wheeled around to head back the way he came, then did a double-take as a familiar figure wandered out of a doorway into the hall.

"Tonks!" he exclaimed, rushing over to the young Auror. "Are you alright? Bloody hell, I was terrified for you!"

Tonks, whose head was heavily bandaged and eyes were red-rimmed, stared blankly at Harry for a moment. "Who are you?" she asked.

"It's Harry, Tonks," said Harry. "Harry Potter. Remember? I helped you in the Ministry, after Lockhart hit you with that spell."

But Tonks was scrutinizing his face, clearly not recognizing him. "James?" she asked, frowning. "But you look so young...and your eyes are the wrong color…" She lightly grabbed his face and jaw, as though trying to discern exactly who he was by touch.

"Nymphadora?" a singsong voice called out, as a Healer rushed out of the room after her. "Are you wandering off again? You should be resting."

"I heard footsteps," Tonks retorted. "I don't like sitting in there alone."

"You need to ground yourself with familiar people for a while," the Healer said soothingly. "Your mother will be back soon."

"I'm not a damn child!" Tonks pouted, looking and sounding rather like a child in that moment. "I'm seventeen bloody years old!"

Harry frowned at this. "I thought you were in your twenties," he muttered.

"Miss Tonks here has been suffering some memory loss due to the spell she was hit with," the Healer explained. "As far as we can tell, the last five or so years have been wiped from her memory, and she might have lost even more if the spell hadn't been partially Shielded."

Harry's stomach dropped when he heard this. He knew Lockhart had had decades with which to hone his craft, and he'd already been a specialist with Memory Charms. It only made sense that he'd found a rather nefarious way to hone these talents into a devastating offensive weapon, with a spell designed to annihilate whole years' worth of memories. He could only imagine the turmoil Tonks was going through at the moment.

"Where is my Mum?" Tonks demanded, starting to look frantic. "She—she was supposed to pick me up from King's Cross...how did I get here? Who are you people?"

"Calm down, Tonks—" said Harry, reaching out to give her a soothing hug, but she withdrew from him, still looking at him warily like a stranger. Then a voice called out after him:

"Harry!"

Harry turned; Cedric was hustling down the hallway towards him. "Blimey, it's good to see you!" Cedric beamed. "Professor Lupin mentioned you were here, and we were all looking for you...what are you doing way out here?"

"I just got lost, and ran into Tonks here," said Harry awkwardly.

"I see. Hey there, Tonks, how have you been?" Cedric asked genially.

Tonks had ceased her nervous muttering and was staring, wide-eyed, at Cedric. "Surely that isn't little Ceddie Diggory?" she breathed.

"Ceddie?" Cedric repeated, bemused. "You haven't called me that since our Hogwarts days."

But Tonks still thinks she's in those days, Harry realized. She was looking at Cedric through the eyes of her seventeen-year-old self, viewing the man that the twelve-year-old boy she once knew had become. And based on the way her eyes raked over his broad shoulders and lean frame, she was impressed with what she saw.

"You know – or knew – Miss Tonks five years ago, sir?" the Healer asked Cedric.

"Yes; we were in Hufflepuff together for a couple years," Cedric confirmed.

"Perhaps you should stay with her, then," the Healer suggested. "At least until her mother returns. She could use some familiar faces around her."

"Oh," said Cedric, looking bewildered. "Er...yeah, I can do that."

"When did you get so tall?" Tonks demanded. "Feels like just weeks ago you were asking me for help reaching a book on the top shelf of the library."

"Weeks ago…?" Cedric said, looking confused. He looked to the Healer for help.

"I can explain everything, sir, if you'll join us back inside my office," said the Healer.

"Alright," Cedric shrugged, before turning to Harry. "Neville and the others are looking for you, by the way. They're down that hallway, all the way down on the right."

"Thanks," Harry nodded.

"C'mon then, Dora, let's see what's the matter with you," Cedric quipped, giving Tonks a coy wink as he offered his hand. Harry expected Tonks to fire back with a witty retort of her own, but she instead bashfully took his hand and allowed him to guide her back into the office.

Hope Cedric can help her, Harry thought. He'd said before that he wished to join the Auror program, and presumably that was still Tonks' ambition as well. Maybe Cedric would be able to join her in training and help her get back up to speed. It saddened him that Tonks apparently retained no memory of Harry whatsoever – hopefully she would eventually regain some of what she had lost.

Harry headed down the hallway Cedric had indicated in search of familiar faces of his own. He heard students' voices wafting out from behind closed curtains. He didn't want to stick his head in and invade anybody's privacy by accident, so he wandered down the ward for a while, looking for anyone he knew, until someone called his name:

"Harry?"

He turned; Neville was poking his head out of a nearby curtain. "Alright there, Nev?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, I guess," Neville shrugged, stepping out of his cordoned area to speak with him. His face was peppered with tiny cuts and bruises – Harry suspected that was as much due to Saul's trapped doors than any spellfire he might have received. "How's Dahlia?"

"She's fine," said Harry. "Haven't seen her yet, but she was helping Dumbledore when I left her in the Atrium."

"Yeah, I saw the photo in the Prophet," said Neville. "Did...did Voldemort really have her?"

"Yep," Harry said grimly. "He tried to kill her, but she escaped his grasp and Dumbledore got in between us and him."

"Blimey," Neville breathed. "I'm glad that she—that both of you are alright."

"Neville," said Harry slowly, trying not to sound too exasperated. "Why did you do it? Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful that you went after her...but why so hasty? Why not inform Dumbledore and the Aurors first?"

"I...I wasn't thinking straight," Neville said. "When he sent me the memory, and Dahlia was...was screaming, I just lost it. He showed me where the portkey was planted in the Great Hall, and I ran. That's all there is to it."

Harry took a deep breath, filled with frustration. "That was...very noble of you, Neville," he sighed. "But you couldn't have taken even ten seconds to tell someone? Me, even? You know I care about her too, more than anybody…"

Neville looked supremely uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot under Harry's questioning gaze. "If it was anyone else…" he stammered. "If he hadn't chosen her…"

"What does it matter?" Harry demanded. "Why her? What's gotten into you?"

Neville opened his mouth to speak, but paused, eyes wide, looking at something over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned; Dahlia was walking across the ward towards them. She looked up and spotted Neville and Harry standing there, freezing on the spot.

There was an awkward stand-off as the three of them stared at each other across the ward. Harry did not understand the sudden tension in the room. "Am I missing something…?" he asked aloud.

Both Neville and Dahlia moved at the same time. They strode forward with purpose, walking quickly towards one another. They met in the middle and embraced, faces melting together in a passionate kiss, holding one another for dear life…

Harry could only stare, slack-jawed, as they eventually broke apart and looked into one another's eyes. A broad smile broke across Dahlia's face, and she giggled delightedly up at him. Neville turned towards Harry, and he too had a goofy smile plastered across his face.

"Erm...sorry, mate," Neville said sheepishly. "But I think we need a minute to chat." And Neville and Dahlia walked off together, hand in hand down the ward and out of sight. Harry could only watch them go, absolutely bewildered. What the bloody hell is going on here...?

"Well, well. It's about time."

Harry wheeled around; Mark Davis had emerged from another cordoned area behind him. His injured ankle appeared to be back to normal, although he leaned heavily on a cane for support. He was watching Neville and Dahlia retreat with a wistful smile on his face.

"Shouldn't you be upset?" Harry demanded, pointing his thumb at the retreating couple. "Longbottom just stole your girlfriend."

"It was only a matter of time, really," Mark chuckled. "I knew they would wind up together eventually."

"You did?" Harry asked, eyebrows raising.

"Who didn't?" Mark shrugged. "The whole school noticed the way they danced around each other after the Yule Ball last year. It was obvious they were both still pining after one another."

"Really?" Harry frowned...this was news to him. "But...but why did you date Dahlia, then?"

"Well, at first it all seemed on the up-and-up," said Mark. "Your sister's a cool gal and fun to spend time with. But she couldn't stop talking about Neville. I could tell she was still infatuated with him."

"Then why didn't she just come out and say so?" asked Harry, bewildered. "And why didn't Neville just ask her out properly?"

Mark laughed openly at this. This irritated Harry – he didn't like being the one left out of the joke.

"You know you're a bloody terrifying bloke, don't you, Harry?" said Mark. "It's an unspoken rule at Hogwarts that you don't mess with Potter's sister, or you'll regret ever being born. I talked to Boot and McClaggen, and they both told me as much...course, neither of them thought things would last with her either."

"So, what was their plan, then?" Harry demanded. "Just take advantage of her real quick and then dump her?"

"Quite the opposite," Mark grinned. "They were too scared of you to try anything with her. Didn't even want to hold hands with her, much less kiss her, for fear that you would be hiding in the corner to hex their bits off. Dahlia was very upset at them for being so passive, for forcing her to make the first move every time."

"Oh," Harry said quietly. He'd been operating under the assumption that all these boys were trying to move things along more quickly with Dahlia – he hadn't considered that perhaps the opposite was true.

"I'm guessing that's why Neville didn't make his move earlier," said Mark. "He respected you too much to act on his true feelings for her. Y'know, he told me once that he regretted not kissing her after the Yule Ball...looks like he finally found the courage."

In hindsight, Harry should had noticed that Neville was still hung up on his sister. He'd caught the boy staring at her from across the room multiple times over the past year, but assuming it was just because she was making a scene with her various boyfriends. Had he been pining after her the whole time? Was he too afraid of Harry to make the next move?

"Well...sorry that happened to you, anyway," Harry offered.

"Eh, no hard feelings on my end," Mark shrugged. "She told me that she admired what you and Katie Bell had and was looking for something like that herself. I wasn't the right person for that – but maybe Longbottom is. Who knows?"

Harry considered this. He hadn't intended to be a helicopter-brother over his sister, but apparently his reputation preceded him. It made sense in hindsight...why would Terry or Cormac risk angering the most powerful student in the school over a girl who was in love with somebody else? He felt that he owed a few apologies, even though he hadn't actually followed through on all of the murderous thoughts he'd felt towards them over the past year.

Then, a different realization dawned on Harry. This must have been the reason Dahlia was chosen to be kidnapped. Neville was being watched too closely; he couldn't be targeted directly. Voldemort somehow must have known that Neville would do anything to rescue her, because of the feelings he harbored towards her. Which meant that somebody within Hogwarts must have told him.

Merlin help whoever that person was, Harry thought mutinously. If I find out you sold my sister to the Dark Lord, I'll make sure you wind up in the same place Bellatrix Lestrange did.

"...Harry?"

Mark's voice snapped Harry out of his angry thoughts. "Huh?"

"I said, the others are in here, waiting for you," said Mark, gesturing towards the cordoned-off room he'd come from. "If you want to say hello."

"Oh. Yes, of course," said Harry. He followed Mark through the curtain, where he found Ron, Hermione, and Damian sitting on the bed, chatting quietly. Also in the room were the three other youngest Weasleys: Ginny, Fred and George. Everyone looked up and beamed when they saw Harry.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, launching herself at him with a hug. "We were so worried...we thought maybe you'd—"

"Maybe I'd what?" he chuckled as she pulled away without finishing her thought.

"Been chucked in Azkaban, of course," Ron scoffed. "Good on you for killing Lestrange, mate."

"Not so loud," Harry hissed, checking to ensure no adults or students were passing by that might overhear.

"What was it like?" asked a wide-eyed Damian. "K-killing someone?"

"Damian, that's not a polite question to ask," Hermione chastised him. But she too seemed curious, scrutinizing Harry as he pondered the question.

"Honestly? Hasn't affected me much," Harry shrugged. "She was a dangerous animal that had to be put down. I don't feel the least bit bad about it."

"Hear, hear," said Fred. "That bitch has had it coming to her for decades."

"We think she was one of the Death Eaters who killed our uncles Gideon and Fabian," said George darkly. "Not that it matters, really – she killed more than her fair share of good people." Ron and Ginny nodded forlornly in agreement with this.

"Were any of you bitten?" Harry asked the gathered Weasleys.

"Just scratched," said Ginny, indicating the thin scars across her face. "Luckily I wasn't turned, so I won't need the potion."

"And we're here supporting our favorite younger siblings," said Fred, indicating himself and George. "The rest of term was canceled, so we don't have to deal with Prefect Percy anymore. Truthfully, he's probably more relieved than we are."

Harry chuckled appreciatively at this. "You guys didn't have to raise so much trouble over me," he said. "I would hate for any of you to get expelled along with me."

"But we owe you so much, mate!" George insisted. "We'd all have been dead in that Department if it wasn't for your training."

"Yeah! I saw Hermione kick Lockhart so hard in the you-know-wheres that he must've seen stars," Ron laughed. Hermione blushed slightly at this, but she nodded her agreement.

"You're all just being nice because of what the Prophet is saying about me—" Harry said dismissively.

"Harry, the Prophet is the one catching up to what we already know," Hermione insisted. "Everyone at Hogwarts believed you and your dad were innocent. We don't need headlines proclaiming you to be the 'Hero of Hogwarts' to know it's the truth."

Once again Harry felt uncomfortable under the reverential gazes everyone was holding him under. He hadn't set out to be a hero to anyone – in fact, he'd tried his damnedest to push Neville into the spotlight in his stead.

"Don't sell yourselves short, either," said Harry. "I may have helped, but you were the ones to overpower those Death Eaters yourselves. And I owe you two thanks as well."

"Us?" said Fred, as he and George frowned. "What did we do?"

"Your shield necklace saved Dahlia's life," Harry pointed out. "Voldemort tried to curse her in the Ministry, but it absorbed the blow."

"Blimey...did it really?" George whistled. "We weren't sure if it would be strong enough for that sort of thing—"

"This bracelet saved my life multiple times last night," Hermione piped up, holding up her wrist to show it off. "I would've been cursed for sure if I wasn't wearing it." Ron, Damian and Mark all nodded vigorously in agreement.

"A remarkable piece of magic," a voice agreed; everyone turned to see James Potter standing in the entrance of their room. He was holding the aforementioned necklace in his hands, examining the cool metal between his fingers. "Dahlia showed it to me last night. Great work, boys."

"Professor Potter!" said Fred Weasley, as he and George stood abruptly to greet the man. "We're honored to help, really."

"Good to hear," James grinned at them. "Because the Aurors could use something like this in their arsenal. Can you two make more?"

Fred and George looked at each other, wide-eyed. "We can," said George. "And we've been working on a full suite of other defensive items, to sell to the public."

"Consider me your first investor, then," said James. "I can help you set up shop and start producing right away. The Ministry would pay top dollar for such quality products." Fred and George looked absolutely stunned by this news, but they each rushed forward to shake James' hand.

"But Dad," Harry muttered, "you don't work for the Ministry anymore…?"

"Er, no, perhaps not," said James. "But I've spoken with Kingsley, and he reckons he can get me back in the Auror Office once things settle down around here."

"But surely Minister Fudge won't allow that?" Hermione frowned. "He doesn't seem to like you that much."

"Is is true you punched him?" asked Damian eagerly. "All the other Hufflepuffs were talking about it this morning." That was news to the others, who looked positively delighted by this thought.

"Yes, it's true," James said with a sheepish grin. "And yes, he was quite angry when he came to. He attempted to bring charges against me with the DMLE, but they've got more important things on their plate at the moment. Besides, rumor has it the Wizengamot will call for a vote of no-confidence soon."

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. "Who d'you reckon will replace him?"

"That's a complicated question," James sighed. "I would've preferred Dale Greengrass myself, but he's still rattled from the France incident and wishes to lay low for a while, for his family's sake. Amelia Bones is also reluctant, but I intend to put her name forward for the job."

"I bet you could be Minister, sir," said Mark Davis. "I would vote for you if I could." The other students murmured their agreement with this.

"I'm flattered," James smiled softly, "but my talents are needed elsewhere. War is coming, and it'll be all hands on deck soon." That sobering thought lingered in the contemplative silence that followed.

"Anyway, Harry, I'd like a word when you have a moment," said James. Harry nodded and followed his father back out onto the ward. They walked to a quieter area, where James turned to examine his son.

"How are you feeling?" asked James.

"D'you want my honest answer?" Harry sighed. When James nodded, he said, "I'm sick and tired of everyone asking me how I'm feeling. I feel just fine. And no, I don't regret what I did to Lestrange, nor will I apologize for it. I'm glad she's dead."

James took in these words, nodding slowly to himself. "Did I ever tell you about the first person I killed?" he eventually asked.

"No," said Harry, surprised.

"I was just nineteen, still in training for the Order," James sighed. "I was staking out a business with Moody in Knockturn Alley when we were ambushed by three young Death Eater recruits. Moody managed to capture two of them, and I hit the third with a Cutting Curse."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "I don't understand—"

"I ran over to help Moody secure the other two while he contacted the Aurors," James explained. "By the time I got back to the third, well...he'd been bleeding out from the neck for at least five minutes or so. I might've been able to stabilize him if I'd gotten to him sooner."

"Blimey," Harry muttered. "But, he wasn't entirely innocent, was he? He wouldn't be in that position if he hadn't attacked you first."

"That's what Moody told me," James muttered. "But I still couldn't sleep for weeks over it. My father always taught me that killing another man was the worst thing one could do."

"You were at war!" Harry protested. "It was him or you! What were you supposed to do?"

"I know," James sighed. "I eventually got over it, and I was forced to take several more lives before the war ended. But the first was always the hardest. That's why everyone's worried about you, Harry. It doesn't matter if she deserved it or not – these things weigh heavily on the soul no matter what."

Harry considered this. He supposed he couldn't be too upset with his parents and uncles being concerned for his well-being after such an event. After all, no normal fifteen-year-old should be capable of casting an Unforgivable Curse with such potency. Even Harry was surprised he'd managed it.

"Did you ever use the Killing Curse?" Harry asked softly.

"Only in training," said James. "We had to learn how in the Auror program, in order to understand how it works. I managed it only once against a training dummy and haven't used it since."

"How did it feel?" Harry asked.

"Like an adrenaline rush I'd never felt before," said James. "It's one of the rawest forms of magic there is: channeling pure rage and anger into something so powerful, so destructive that nothing can survive its wrath."

"Huh," Harry said quietly.

"That is why Dark magic is so dangerous, Harry," said James sternly, looking his son in the eye. "It feels amazing. It's the best high you'll ever feel, and you'll be left chasing that feeling for the rest of your life. But it will consume you if you let it."

"I understand," Harry nodded. He couldn't say he felt good about killing Bellatrix in the moment – it had merely been an instinctual reaction. But maybe he was just so caught up in the adrenaline and fear of the moment that he hadn't noticed it at the time. The thought of the Killing Curse behaving like an addictive drug was certainly a chilling one.

"This isn't the future I wanted for you," James said softly. "First losing Hogwarts, and now this...you're too young to be dealing with all of this. I wish I could keep you out of this war, but I know I can't. All I can do is beg with you not to lose yourself to it. Do what you must to protect yourself and those around you, but don't let your emotions control you. They will lead you down a path of temptation from which there is no return. Please, promise me."

James had tears in his eyes, looking imploringly at his son. Harry felt himself getting choked up at his father's plea as well.

"I promise," Harry nodded. James wrapped his son in a warm, protective hug, which Harry gratefully returned. Part of him had worried that his father would view him as some kind of monster for what he had done. It was a stupendous relief to know that wasn't the case. To Harry, there was no feeling more powerful than knowing his parents still loved him.

After a moment, the two recomposed themselves and drew apart. "Anyway, Kingsley says the Ministry isn't opening an investigation into Lestrange's death," said James. "The official story is that one of the other Death Eaters hit her by accident during the battle, and everyone who was present agreed to keep quiet. We should try to keep it that way for now."

"Agreed," Harry nodded. He definitely did not intend to flaunt Bellatrix's murder to anyone. He had enough trouble with his peers worshiping him, and this would only intensify Voldemort's hatred of him and his family. The other Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries had witnessed what he did, too, and it wouldn't be long before the Dark Lord himself was made aware of just who had felled his most fearsome follower.

"We should head home soon," said James, looking around the ward. "Have you seen your sister?"

"She's somewhere nearby," said Harry. "Probably in an empty closet somewhere, snogging Neville Longbottom."

To Harry's surprise, James laughed at this. "Are they an item now?" he asked. "Well, it was only a matter of time, wasn't it?"

Did everyone bloody know about this but me?! Harry thought grumpily. But he followed along after James in search of Dahlia.

Fortunately, they did not find her and Neville in any compromising positions. They were sitting in a corner by themselves, holding hands and talking in quiet tones. Dahlia's head was resting on Neville's shoulder, and Harry couldn't help but think that he had never seen her look so relaxed before – even with any of her previous boyfriends. She had no urge to flaunt the relationship with grandiose shows of affection...she was simply content to be there with him in the moment.

James politely cleared his throat. "Ready to go, darling?" he asked. Dahlia nodded her head, and she and Neville both stood, still holding hands.

"Come and visit sometime this summer?" Neville asked hopefully.

"I'll try," Dahlia promised. And they shared a tender kiss before breaking apart. James merely gave Neville a respectful nod before following his daughter from the ward. Neville eyed Harry warily, as though anticipating some kind of retribution. But Harry just nodded and turned to follow his family home.

Lily joined the family in Godric's Hollow a few hours later, having spent the afternoon and evening sifting through the rubble of her potions lab. "Managed to salvage a few samples," she announced wearily. "We might be able to scrape together enough potions to cure all the students before fall term begins."

The Potters enjoyed a quiet dinner together in relative silence. None of them needed to speak to know they were all thinking the same thing: they were all lucky to be alive. War was on their front doorstep, and every quiet moment of togetherness was one they could not take for granted.

That night, Harry had difficulty falling asleep. His mind was still whirring from everything that had happened over the past day and a half. The second war had begun, and his family had finally been vindicated, although that was little comfort for what he knew was to come. Voldemort had moved out of the shadows, and his attacks would be more overt and brutal now than ever before.

Harry knew now that he would never be strong enough to stop him on his own. He'd seen first-hand just out of his depth he was, how thoroughly outclassed he was by Voldemort. But that didn't mean he couldn't make a difference. Harry would continue training, continue fighting as best he could, to protect those around him.

At some point in the middle of the night, he heard a quiet knock on his door, and someone slipped into his room. "Harry?" Dahlia whispered. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered back. "Can't sleep."

"Me neither," Dahlia muttered, shifting uncertainly. "Can I...stay in here tonight? I don't want to be alone."

"Of course," said Harry. He scooted over to make room for her as she slipped into bed beside him. Even with the distance between them he could feel her trembling...he could only imagine how traumatizing it was to be in the clutches of Lord Voldemort.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her. "Did he...hurt you?"

Dahlia stiffened a bit at the question. "He used the C-Cruciatus," she whimpered. "For twenty seconds or so, according to the Healers afterward. But it felt like an eternity."

"Shit," Harry breathed. "I know it's no fun. But in my experience, the muscle spasms should go away in a week or two."

Dahlia took a moment before responding to this. "How are you not afraid all the time?" she asked. "You always act like none of this phases you. And you stared down You-Know-Who in the Atrium like it was nothing."

"Truthfully? It was the scariest moment of my entire life," said Harry. "I thought I might lose you. I've just gotten good at hiding the fear and focusing on what I need to do."

There was another long silence as Dahlia processed this. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered. "For everything. You've always been there for me when I needed it."

"Always," said Harry.

"I haven't been there for you lately," Dahlia sniffled softly. "You were going through a lot this year too, and I was being a total bitch to you."

"You helped me figure out what to do about Katie," Harry pointed out. "And you defended me to your friends."

"Still, I'm sorry for everything," Dahlia whispered shakily. "I was unhappy, and making bad decisions, and I was too prideful to ask you for advice."

"It's alright," Harry reassured her. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for scaring the shit out of all your boyfriends."

Dahlia giggled. "Try not to give Neville too hard of a time?" she said hopefully. "He's terrified of you."

"What can I say? I'm overly-protective that way," Harry quipped. "So if you hurt that boy, Merlin help me Dahlia, I'll make sure you regret it."

Dahlia laughed openly at the quip. "Love you, idiot," she whispered affectionately.

"Love you too, moron."

Dahlia fell into sleep shortly after, but it was clearly not a restful one. She murmured discontentedly under her breath, still twitching lightly and tossing and turning from some kind of nightmare. Harry scooted closer to her and gently took her hand, just as she'd taken his in the Hospital Wing last June. She gradually calmed down, her rapid breaths settling to a gentler rhythm as rest overcame her.

Harry lay awake a while longer, contemplating the future. It occurred to him that he'd surpassed his life span in the previous timeline, having survived the Department of Mysteries fiasco. He was now officially flying blind, his foreknowledge of events no longer useful in any way. He knew no more about what the future held than anyone else.

He had no idea what the year to come would look like for him. But he knew he had his family's love and support, no matter what ugly things he had to do to keep them safe. And that knowledge allowed Harry to finally fall into an uneasy sleep.

A/N: I had planned to end Year Five with this chapter, but as usual the length got away from me so I'll wrap it up next week. A few more loose ends to tie up, but also plenty more to open up for Year Six and beyond!