Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. Just borrowing them for a story and my own imagination.

Chapter 13

The sunlight streamed softly through the curtains of Mia's bedroom, casting a golden hue across the small space. Birds chirped somewhere outside, their melodies light and cheerful, a stark contrast to the lingering heaviness in Mia's chest. As her eyes fluttered open, she lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the memory of a dream to surface—something, anything.

But there was nothing.

No strange visions, no fleeting feelings from forgotten worlds, no cryptic whispers from her subconscious. Just the dull, familiar hum of silence.

She sighed, the sound muffled by her pillow. She had hoped that skipping the Dreamless Sleep Potion might offer her a reprieve from the war-stained waking world—a glimpse into something different, something personal, even strange. But her mind had offered her nothing. Not even a whisper of distraction.

Disappointment pooled in her gut like cold water. There had been something almost childlike in her hope, and it stung now to realize it had been in vain.

Dragging herself out of bed, she dressed in a set of warm clothes—the cottage always held a slight morning chill—and made her way downstairs, her footsteps soft against the creaky wooden staircase. The cottage was quiet, wrapped in a kind of subdued morning stillness that reminded her of those rare peaceful mornings at Hogwarts, before the chaos of classes, battles, or secrets waiting to be unraveled.

The kitchen welcomed her with the scent of tea and toast. Remus was already there, seated at the small wooden table by the window, a steaming mug cradled between his scarred hands. He didn't say anything when she entered—just gave her a small nod and a tired smile. The stove was gently bubbling with what looked like porridge, and the kettle whistled softly in the corner.

She slid into the seat across from him, her body grateful for the warmth of the cushion and the mug of tea he passed her without a word. The two sat like that for a while, in companionable silence. There were no need for words; everything that needed to be said had already been said the night before. Or perhaps it still lingered, too heavy for morning conversation.

Eventually, Sirius appeared, bounding into the room with a kind of energy that made Mia blink. His hair was a mess, his clothes slightly rumpled, but his eyes were alight with something that defied the general gloom in the room.

"How—how do you have so much energy?" Mia asked, unable to help the slight grin tugging at her lips.

Sirius shrugged as he reached for a slice of toast. "Natural charm and decades of sleep deprivation. You get used to it."

Remus snorted into his tea, and Mia finally gave a small laugh.

Harry joined a few minutes later, his hair even messier than usual, and circles dark under his eyes. He greeted them with a grumble and a grunt, sliding into a chair with little ceremony.

"Sleep well?" Sirius asked cheerfully.

Harry glared at him. "Not particularly."

"Good. Means you're ready for Occlumency."

Harry groaned.

They ate slowly, the meal quiet but steadying. There was something oddly comforting in the normalcy of it all—tea, toast, soft porridge, and the creak of the wooden floor. It was a fragile kind of peace, but one Mia held onto for as long as she could.

When breakfast was cleared away and the dishes charmed into the sink, they made their way to the library. The air inside was cool and smelled of old parchment, polished wood, and ink. The shelves lined every wall, filled with volumes both ancient and modern, with magical bindings that shimmered faintly in the morning light.

"Alright," Sirius said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's begin."

He started with Harry.

"Same drill as with Dumbledore," Sirius explained, holding up his wand. "I'm going to try and break into your mind. You try and keep me out. Focus. Think of something neutral, something calm."

Harry nodded, already looking irritated. "Got it."

"Legilimens!"

Mia watched as Harry's eyes glazed over for a moment. His jaw clenched. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. For a second, she thought he might be holding his own.

But then Sirius gave a triumphant shout, stumbling back slightly as he was ejected from Harry's mind.

"Ah! There it is! A lovely little memory of you and Ginny in the Gryffindor common room. Snogging, if I'm not mistaken?"

Harry flushed so red Mia thought steam might come out of his ears.

"Sirius!"

Remus chuckled quietly behind his book.

"Don't worry, it's perfectly natural," Sirius said innocently. "Terrible Occlumency skills though. You lasted what—thirty seconds?"

"I'll do better next time," Harry grumbled.

"Good," Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll get there. Dumbledore had you started well. We'll just build on it."

Then it was Mia's turn.

They'd done this before, but every time Sirius tried to enter her mind, he'd been forcibly thrown out by the wall—something deep in her subconscious that resisted magical intrusion.

"Right," Sirius said, sitting across from her. "We'll take it slowly. I'll try not to touch the wall. Just skim through. You ready?"

She nodded, nervous but curious. She wanted to know what was in there—behind that wall.

"Legilimens."

Mia's breath caught as she felt the pressure—not painful, but definite. A presence in her mind. At first, it was like the brush of fingertips against memories long buried.

And then they began to surface.

She saw the Gryffindor common room. Sixth year. Ron leaning in to kiss her awkwardly behind a tapestry. Her cheeks flushed even in the memory.

Then fifth year. Spells flying in the Room of Requirement. Her voice yelling "Stupefy!" as she trained with the DA.

The Yule Ball in fourth year. Viktor Krum's hand in hers as they danced clumsily, her nerves buzzing.

Third year. The night she first met Sirius. The Shrieking Shack, the fear and wonder.

Second year. The day she accidentally turned herself into a cat during a Polyjuice mishap. The whiskers. The tail. The horror.

And then—

Before Hogwarts.

Warm kitchens. The smell of her mum's perfume. The flash of her dad's glasses. Laughter at the dinner table. Her childhood home.

But something was wrong.

It was all… fuzzy.

The images blurred at the edges, like smeared paint on canvas. The faces were vague, features indistinct. Her mother's eyes—what colour were they? Her father's voice—was it deep? Soft?

The colours faded, the moments felt scripted. Like she was watching someone else's memories played out by actors with missing lines.

A cold feeling crept into her spine.

Then, suddenly, Sirius was gone.

She opened her eyes and found him staring at her with wide, troubled eyes. He looked shaken.

"What?" she asked, sitting up straighter. "What did you see?"

He glanced over at Remus and Harry, his voice quiet. "It was like… the memories weren't real. The ones from before Hogwarts. They were there, but not right. They were blurry, inconsistent. Like they'd been… manufactured."

Remus went very still. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he set his book aside.

"You think they were implanted?" Sirius asked.

Remus nodded slowly. "It's possible. False memory implantation is rare but not impossible. Especially with older, unstable magic. If someone had reason to rewrite her early memories—"

"Why?" Mia asked, her voice a whisper. "Why would someone do that?"

Harry looked between the three adults, concern growing on his face.

"We don't know," Remus admitted. "But… if the real memories are behind that wall—the one that's resisting all intrusion—it's likely someone buried them deliberately. And if that's the case, breaking through it could be… dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

"Severe memory damage. Magical backlash. Even identity loss, in the worst cases. We have to be careful."

Mia nodded slowly, though her heart pounded in her ears. She hated the idea of taking things slow, of waiting. But she also knew the risks weren't ones she could ignore.

"We'll take it one step at a time," Sirius said gently. "We'll figure it out. We're not leaving you to deal with this alone."

Later that evening, after a day spent poring over books on mental magic and memory architecture, they gathered again in the library. The pendant lay in the center of the table, its soft blue glow pulsing faintly. A whisper of promise. A hint of secrets waiting to be uncovered.

They didn't know what it might show them. But it was time to try.

Mia sat curled in the armchair, the low light from the fireplace flickering across her face. The tension in the room had long since settled into a thick fog of exhaustion. They had talked through everything they could, and now there was only one thing left to try. The locket.

Her fingers hovered over it where it lay on the table in front of her. For something so small, it felt impossibly heavy. She had carried it with her every day since the day it was given to her, tucked into her robes, never letting it out of sight. And yet, she still didn't trust it. Not fully.

She reached out slowly, hesitating just before touching the cool metal. Her breath hitched in her throat. Then, with firm resolve, she grasped it tightly in her hand and let her eyes flutter shut.

She focused on the Man from her dreams—Ban. The name whispered across her thoughts like a breeze through leaves. Papa, she had once called him. It felt strange now, but familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

"Papa…" she whispered.

And the world shifted.

In an instant, her mind detached from her body. It wasn't like Apparition, not the jarring sensation of being pulled through space, nor was it like dreaming. This was different. Real. Tangible.

Her bare feet sank into soft grass. A warm breeze danced across her skin. The scent of wildflowers and sunlight surrounded her as she opened her eyes.

The meadow stretched out before her just as it had in her dreams—rolling hills, tall grass, and the soft rustling of wind through trees. But this time, there was no question: this wasn't a dream. This was something else. She could feel everything. Every blade of grass, the air moving across her arms, the warmth of the sun on her cheeks. She had never felt so grounded, so alive.

And then, he appeared.

Ban.

He stepped out from behind a tree, just as he always did, his tall frame relaxed, dressed in the simple robes she remembered from her dreams. His hair was longer than she remembered, streaks of grey now mingling with the darker strands, and his eyes—kind and knowing—lit up as they fell on her.

He smiled. "Mia."

She hesitated, then called out, "Ban."

He stopped, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into something sadder.

"Ban?" he repeated, his voice quiet. "Not Papa?"

Mia wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly unsure. "I… I don't know you well enough for that, I don't think."

Ban nodded slowly, his smile tinged with sorrow. "Fair enough. Though it does sadden me a little."

He walked closer, slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement might spook her. When he stood a few feet away, he stopped and crouched down, meeting her eyes gently. "Tell me, little one, why have you called me here? I'm guessing there's a reason?"

Mia's voice trembled slightly, but she stood her ground. "I—I need answers. To everything. Who are you? Why do I keep seeing you and the woman? What is this wall in my mind? Why do my older memories seem so fake? What's happening to me?"

Ban raised his hands slowly, a calming gesture. "Whoa, slow down, little one. It's okay. I understand. But I can't answer all of your questions. I'm sorry."

Mia's brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"A lot of things need to stay secret for now," Ban said gently, his tone regretful. "It's for your own safety."

"Keep me safe? From what?" Her voice rose slightly. "Isn't not knowing worse?"

Ban smiled wistfully. "In this case, no, sweetheart. It isn't. Believe me, if I could, I would tell you everything right now. But it wouldn't end well. For you. For anyone."

He stood, brushing his hands off on his robes. "Here's what I can say. The fact that you're here now, that you can talk to me, that you even remember me—that's a sign. The wall in your mind is weakening. Cracking, bit by bit. It will keep breaking down until you remember everything on your own."

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "If I try to hasten that… if I try to pull it down too soon, it will overwhelm you. Your mind could shut down. You could be hurt. You could—" He stopped, his voice catching. "You could die. I don't want that. I can't bear that."

His eyes softened again. "So slow and steady is the only way. Please understand."

Mia felt her frustration bubble up. "But that's not fair!" she cried. "How much longer do I have to go on like this? Not knowing who I am? Who you are?"

"I'm sorry, little one," he said, his voice low. "But I don't know. Time moves differently here. The mind is its own master."

She looked down, her fists clenched at her sides. The grass swayed around her feet, a soft breeze brushing her face. She felt like screaming.

"But," Ban continued, "you're not alone. You never have been. And now you know you can reach me. If you ever need to talk, for anything, I'll be right here."

She looked up, and he gave her a sad but hopeful smile. "Until then, be strong."

And the world faded.

Mia gasped as she returned to the living room. The locket fell from her hand and clattered softly on the table. Her fingers tingled, her legs trembling slightly as the real world settled back into place around her.

She blinked and looked up. Sirius, Harry, and Remus were staring at her, wide-eyed.

"You alright?" Sirius asked cautiously.

She took a deep breath, then nodded. "I think so. That was… different. That wasn't a dream."

"What happened?" Harry leaned forward, his expression tense.

"I was in the meadow again," Mia said slowly. "But it was real this time. I could feel everything. Ban was there."

"Ban?" Sirius asked. "The man from your dreams?"

She nodded. "I called for him and… he came. He spoke to me. He told me that the wall in my mind is starting to break. That's why I can remember him now. Why I can go to him now. But he wouldn't tell me much else."

Remus frowned. "Wouldn't? Or couldn't?"

"Both, I think," Mia said, slumping back into her seat. "He said knowing too much could hurt me. That if he tries to push the wall down too fast, it could kill me."

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "Kill you? That's a bit extreme."

"He said my mind has to do it on its own. That I'll remember everything eventually, but it has to happen slowly."

There was a long silence. Then Harry said, "Well, that was frustratingly vague."

Mia huffed a bitter laugh. "Tell me about it. He didn't tell me anything we didn't already know or suspect."

Frustrated, she stood up abruptly. "I'm going to bed."

"Mia—" Remus began gently, but she shook her head.

"Just… not right now."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the room.

Her bedroom was dimly lit, the curtains drawn shut against the night. She climbed into bed but didn't lie down. Her thoughts were swirling too fast, too loud. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, the locket resting on the pillow beside her.

She couldn't stop thinking about Ban—his voice, his face, the way he had looked at her with such sadness and love. He hadn't felt like a stranger, not really, not even when she called him by name instead of Papa.

What had happened to her?

Who had put the wall there? And why?

She lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling. Sleep didn't come.

Hours passed.

She just kept thinking, hoping that maybe, if she stayed awake long enough, the answers might come to her instead.

Author's note: Hey! I'm back sooner that I thought. No big ramble this time. Just hope you enjoyed it. Bye!