Chapter Text
The corridors of St Mungo’s felt quieter than they should have been.
Harriet arrived first, stepping out of the floo with the dull, hollow calm that had settled into her bones over the last few days. The antiseptic smell hit her immediately, sharp and clean and wrong for a place where so much hurt lived. She folded her arms around herself as she walked, boots echoing softly against the stone.
James was already there, pacing near the ward boundary when she turned the corner.
He looked worse than the last time she’d seen him - eyes red-rimmed, hair untidy in a way that had nothing to do with flying. He stopped short when he saw her, relief flashing across his face before guilt followed close behind.
“Harry,” he said quietly.
She nodded. “James.”
There was an awkward beat, heavy with everything they hadn’t said since she’d left Godric’s Hollow.
“I-” James ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I’m sorry. About Sirius. About what he said. I should’ve stopped it before it ever got that far.”
Harriet closed her eyes for a second, exhaustion washing over her - not physical, but the kind that sat behind her ribs and made everything ache.
“You don’t need to apologise for him,” she said, voice steady but tired. “He made his choice. Those were his words.”
James swallowed, clearly wanting to argue, then thought better of it. “Are you… are you okay?”
She gave a small, almost automatic shrug. “I’m fine.”
They both knew it was a lie. They both let it stand anyway.
Without another word, they turned and walked together toward the ward.
Charlus lay beyond layers of shimmering magic - wards nested within wards, soft gold and pale blue light humming faintly in the air. Harriet always felt it then, the way her magic pressed instinctively against the barriers, restless and frustrated, wanting to do something.
Charlus was awake.
The sight of his open eyes stole the breath from her lungs.
He looked smaller than she remembered, thinner, skin pale against the white pillows, but when he saw them his mouth curved into a familiar, gentle smile.
“There you are,” he murmured, voice hoarse but unmistakably him. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
James laughed weakly, scrubbing at his face. “You don’t get to tease us right now.”
Charlus’s eyes crinkled faintly. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”
Harriet felt something crack inside her chest.
“Don’t apologise, you didn’t mean to get sick,” she said softly, stepping closer to the ward. “That’s not how this works.”
“I know,” he said. His gaze lingered on her, warm and searching. “Still… I’m sorry all the same.”
For a moment none of them spoke. The hum of the wards filled the silence.
Charlus’s eyes moved between them, pride and love unmistakable even through the exhaustion. “I love you both,” he said simply. “More than I ever managed to say properly.”
Harriet’s vision blurred. “I love you too,” she said immediately, the words tumbling out before fear could stop them. “So much.”
James nodded, voice thick. “Love you, Dad.”
Charlus smiled again - softer this time, as though the effort cost him. His breathing grew slower, heavier.
“I’m… really tired,” he murmured. “Healers say that’s normal. Don’t look like that.”
Harriet’s hands curled into fists at her sides. She leaned closer to the ward, voice gentle despite the storm inside her. “It’s okay,” she said. “Go to sleep. Just… focus on getting better.”
James nodded alongside her. “We’ll be right here.”
Charlus’s eyes slipped shut, his expression easing as sleep claimed him.
For a long moment, Harriet and James simply stood there, staring at him - at the man who had always been solid, present, safe. The silence between them was thick with grief and fear and love all tangled together.
Harriet felt James’s gaze on her. She looked back, and they shared the same unspoken thought:
Please let him wake up again.
Neither of them said it aloud.
///
Harriet lingered by the floo longer than she meant to.
The ward doors had closed behind her, sealing Charlus away again in layers of light and magic, and she needed a moment before returning to Castle Black - to breathe, to gather herself, to remember how to exist outside that room.
The floo chamber was busy in a subdued, strained way. Healers moved quickly, voices hushed, faces tight. Families stood in small clusters, some whispering, some silent, some already crying. Harriet’s chest felt tight as she stepped forward, reaching absently for the edge of the hearth.
That was when she saw him.
Lucius Malfoy stood a few paces away, speaking quietly to a healer. At first glance he was recognisable -tall, pale, unmistakably Malfoy- but the details were wrong. His hair, usually immaculate, was tied back hastily, strands slipping loose at his temples. His robes were clean but creased, as though he’d slept in them. There were faint shadows under his eyes that no glamour had fully erased.
He looked… tired.
When he turned and noticed her, surprise flickered across his face, quickly smoothed into polite composure.
“Harriet,” he said, inclining his head. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She hesitated only a moment before stepping closer. “Neither did I,” she admitted. Then, softer, more human, “Are you… are you alright?”
Lucius paused.
It was brief, but she caught it - the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his gaze slipped away before returning to her. He exhaled slowly, as though deciding how honest to be.
“My father has Dragon Pox,” he said at last. “Advanced. They admitted him this morning.”
Harriet felt her stomach drop.
“I’m so sorry,” she said immediately. The words came easily, sincerely. “My dad - he’s here too. Same thing.”
Lucius’s expression shifted then, something gentler breaking through the carefully controlled exterior. “Charlus Potter,” he said quietly. “I heard.”
They stood there for a moment, two people who normally existed on opposite sides of too many lines, united by the same quiet terror.
“You have my sympathy,” Lucius added, voice low. “Truly.”
“Thank you,” Harriet said. “And… you have mine.”
Lucius glanced around the chamber, his mouth tightening. “The healers are stretched thin,” he said. “They’re running out of isolation wards. Too many cases, too quickly. The disease is spreading faster than expected.”
Harriet’s brow furrowed. “That sounds… bad.”
“It is,” he said plainly. “If this continues, St Mungo’s won’t be able to contain it.”
An epidemic, then.
The word echoed in her mind, cold and heavy. She thought of Godric’s Hollow, of Potter Manor sealed behind wards for years, of Castle Black with its ancient protections. She thought of school, of crowded corridors and shared tables and students who didn’t yet know what might be coming.
“That’s… worrying,” she said quietly.
Lucius nodded. “Very.”
They stood in silence again, the crackle of the floo fires filling the space between them.
At last, Harriet straightened. “I should go,” she said. “But - Lucius?”
“Yes?”
“If you need anything,” she said carefully, “anything at all… please reach out.”
For a moment, he looked surprised. Then he inclined his head, a fraction deeper than courtesy required. “The same to you,” he said. “You needn’t face this alone.”
She gave him a small, grateful smile.
They parted then, moving in opposite directions. Harriet stepped into the emerald flames, calling out Castle Black just before the fire swallowed her - carrying with her the uneasy knowledge that this sickness was bigger than her family, bigger than grief alone, and growing by the day.
///
Harriet paced the wide, dimly lit hall of Castle Black, Bia padding quietly at her side. She had just returned from the floo, her mind still buzzing with the news from Lucius. Dragon Pox. Charlus. The growing number of cases. The thought of an epidemic made her stomach twist.
“Cas,” she said, finally stopping near the hearth and looking up at her aunt,, “if this - if an epidemic breaks out… what does that actually mean? I mean, for everyone?”
Cassiopeia set her wine aside, her expression grave but composed. “It means the authorities would declare public lockdowns,” she said, her voice measured. “All gatherings restricted, travel forbidden, schools and businesses closed. It’s to prevent the disease from spreading further, to protect as many people as possible.”
Harriet nodded slowly, absorbing the words. She imagined Hogwarts corridors empty, Godric’s Hollow cut off from the world, and her father’s hospital room isolated even further. “So… everyone would be stuck where they are,” she said softly, “and no one could really go see their families, even if they needed to?”
“Yes,” Cassiopeia replied, her eyes meeting Harriet’s. “It would be for their safety… but it would be hard. Fearful. And frustrating.” She paused. “It’s a heavy precaution, but sometimes necessary.”
Harriet sank into a nearby chair, Bia curling into her lap. “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said quietly, almost to herself, her hands resting on the Kneazle’s fur. “I can’t imagine being cut off from Dad… or everyone else.”
Cassiopeia sat opposite her, reaching over to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. “We’ll handle it if it comes to that, Lyra. We’ll make sure you’re not alone.”
Harriet nodded again, feeling a flicker of comfort amid the rising tension. She didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of lockdowns, but she knew she couldn’t ignore it either. “Thank you, Cas,” she murmured, her voice a mixture of worry and relief. “I just… I just want Dad to be safe.”
Cassiopeia squeezed her shoulder gently. “And we’ll do everything we can to keep him -and you- safe.”
Harriet exhaled slowly, letting herself lean into that small reassurance, even as the shadow of Dragon Pox and its potential spread lingered in the back of her mind.
///
Harriet needed a distraction. Her thoughts were spiralling and she wanted -no- needed to do something.
Carefully she pulled the moonstone from its velvet pouch, the soft light of the hearth glinting off its pale surface. She had been tinkering with it in her free time, perfecting it, finishing it.
It was ready.
She held it out to Cassiopeia. “I wanted to see if I could add this to the Ward Matrix here at Castle Black,” she said, hesitation clear in her voice, “It’s… it’s bound with my blood, as part of the protection.”
Cassiopeia took the moonstone in her hands, turning it slowly as she examined it, her eyes narrowing slightly in appraisal. “Hmm,” she murmured, inspecting the intricate crimson lines coursing through the stone. “This is… exceptional work, Lyra. The blood binding is subtle but strong. It resonates perfectly with your magic and will fit into the existing matrix.”
Harriet’s chest lifted and a small, proud smile bloomed across her face, “You really think it’ll help?”.
Cassiopeia nodded, her tone carrying both approval and mild awe, “more than help. It will amplify the wards, strengthen the Castle’s magic, and integrate seamlessly with the existing protections. Your contribution is remarkable.”
Encouraged by the praise, Harriet positioned the moonstone carefully within the existing matrix, muttering the connecting incantations.
Slowly, she felt the stone pulse under her fingertips, almost as if it were alive. The magic of the Castle itself hummed beneath her hands, spiralling through the wards, wrapping around her in warm, crackling waves.
As she pressed the final sigil, a rush of power washed through her. The connection wasn’t just to the wards, but to the Castle itself. Harriet staggered back a little, laughing softly and shakily. “Whoa… it’s… it’s like I can feel every wall, every corridor… everything.”
Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s the Castle responding to you. Few can truly connect this deeply to the matrix. It’s not just about protection- it’s about understanding the pulse of the magic beneath your feet.”
Harriet swayed slightly, gripping the arm of a nearby chair. Her thoughts felt light, almost dizzying. “I… I feel… so weirdly… light,” she admitted, giggling, her cheeks flushed. “Like… like I could just float in the magic.”
Cassiopeia’s eyes softened and faint traces of amusement could be seen on her face, “that’s the exhilaration of bonding with something as vast and ancient as this Castle. Not everyone can handle it, but you… you are attuned in ways most witches and wizards never will be.”
Harriet laughed again, her voice lilting, almost musical. “It’s amazing… I’ve never… never felt anything like this before.” She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the pulsing warmth of Castle Black’s magic course through her, feeling both dizzy and elated, giggling softly into the quiet hall.
Cassiopeia watched her, a small, approving smile on her face. “Enjoy it, Lyra. You’ve earned it. And when you come back down to earth, the Castle will be even safer because of you.”
Harriet opened her eyes, still smiling, a little wobbly on her feet, but radiating a sense of triumph and pure joy. She had never felt so alive, so connected - not just to her magic, but to the home and the family that Castle Black represented.
///
Regulus arrived at Castle Black as the late summer afternoon was softening into evening. The air was warm and carried with it the scent of the sea and apple trees - bees droned lazily between the flowerbeds - and the castle’s stone had shed the day’s heat into the air like a memory.
He expected the usual hush of the library or Cassiopeia’s quiet study, but instead he found the main parlour room alive with a small, unusual ripple - Harriet’s laughter, high and bright, drifting down the corridor.
He pushed the door open and paused. She was sprawled on a low settee beneath a window thrown wide to the garden, sunlight pooling around her like a golden halo. Her hair had come loose from its usual tidy braid, and her cheeks were flushed with that breathless lightness that came to people after something extraordinary had happened.
Her fingers traced invisible runes in the air; when she caught sight of him she grinned like someone who had been keeping a delicious secret.
“Reggie!” she called, waving him over. “You have to see - come on, come out!”
Regulus smiled despite himself and followed her out into the garden. The grass was still warm from the day, and the roses along the low wall threw off an almost dizzying sweetness.
Harriet spun in a circle, arms wide, laughing - the colour in her face and the looseness of her movement made him think of summers when they’d been small and reckless.
For a moment the image of Bellatrix overlapped her, usually their similarities between his cousins were few but in this moment they could have been twins.
“You look ridiculous,” he said, amusement creasing his mouth, but he stepped closer anyway. The sight of her - so unguarded, so oddly luminous - made him forget the small formalities he usually kept.
“It’s the Castle,” Harriet announced, plopping down onto the soft grass like she’d never felt grass before. “I added the moonstone and - oh, you should have seen it, Reg. The magic… it sang. It was like touching music.” She waggled her fingers, and Regulus could see the way her eyes still shimmered as if she could feel threads of enchantment brushing her skin.
Maybe she can.
He sat down beside her, careful not to crowd her. “You’re very high on Castle Black,” he observed with a smile. “Do try not to float away Lyra.”
She rolled onto her back, looking up at the sky as if the ceiling of stars were part of the room. “Tell me something,” she said suddenly, voice mischievous and far too earnest to be merely teasing. “Do you want to kiss Severus?”
Regulus blinked. The question landed in the lazy summer air and seemed to hang there, surprising in its bluntness. He laughed out loud before he could stop himself, the sound quick and bright.
“Yes,” he admitted, more quickly than he would have expected. “I do. I’ve wanted to for months, maybe even years.” He shaded his eyes with a hand and watched her face for the reaction - expecting teasing, perhaps, or a raised eyebrow.
Harriet’s grin widened. “Good. Then you should.” She sat up on an elbow, pushing a loose curl behind her ear.
“And… have you ever kissed Evan?” The question was conversational in tone, as if they were comparing notes on homework, but the flush in her cheeks made him know the answer already.
“I have,” Harriet confirmed, untroubled by the confession. “It was okay… but it wasn't like how it is in books though. Not… not like I imagined my first real kiss would be.”
She pushed her toes into the grass thoughtfully. “I thought, maybe, I’d be swept away. It was polite. Evan is very measured.”
Regulus listened, head tilted. He expected the usual, easy laugh from her - instead she hesitated, then added in a small, almost embarrassed whisper, “Honestly? Sometimes I think… I’d rather kiss the Dark Lord.”
The words struck him like a cold wind. For a beat Regulus couldn’t process whether she was teasing, being intentionally provocative, or speaking with a strange, disorienting honesty. The garden seemed to tilt for an instant, the bees’ drone growing louder in his ears.
“Lyra-” he began, the name catching on the wrong tone in his throat.
But Harriet’s lids were already heavy - the summer warmth and the afterglow of the Castle’s bond had worked their mischief. She blinked once, then twice, and the rest of her words collapsed into a soft mumbled request. Before Regulus could make sense of it, she had shifted, and her head fell against his shoulder with the absolute weight of someone who had finally given up fighting the day.
Instinct took over. Regulus wrapped an arm around her, steadying her as she settled, as if to keep the world from wobbling off its axis.
Her breathing evened; her cheek was warm against his sleeve. He watched her face, relaxed now, all the earlier sparkle smoothed into a gentle sleep. For a moment he let the ridiculousness of the conversation flit past, replaced by a protective, fierce tenderness that made his chest ache in a new, unfamiliar way.
He adjusted his jacket over her like a small, makeshift blanket and glanced out across the garden, where the late sun gilded the hedges and the castle’s towers caught the last light.
“Ridiculous,” he murmured again, softer this time, not to her sleep, not to the air, but to himself.
Regulus sat very still long after Harriet’s breathing settled into the slow rhythm of sleep, keeping her anchored until the light faded and the first stars pricked the deepening blue. The silly confession, the abrupt honesty - it made him more watchful than he expected to be.
“Sleep, Lyra,” he whispered. “I’ll be here.”
///
Regulus gently lifted Harriet from the grass, careful not to wake her as she shifted lightly in his arms, still drowsy from the Castle’s magic. Her small weight was comforting against him, warm and pliant in a way that made him pause, aware of how fragile she seemed after everything that had happened over the past months.
It was easy to forget how slight his cousin truly was when she had such a large presence. Not loud like Bella, or even dramatic like Severus - No, Lyra was the sun, bright and able to pull others into her gravity without even trying.
By the time he reached her room, the late summer light had softened into a golden glow that spilled across the stone walls. He eased her onto the bed, tucking the covers around her with a tenderness that felt instinctual, as though he were guarding more than just her sleep.
Regulus paused when Bia immediately leapt onto the bed, circling Harriet once before settling against her side with a soft, contented purr.
“Look after her, Bia,” Regulus murmured, leaning down to stroke the Kneazle’s fur. “She’s… had a long day.”
Bia blinked slowly up at him, golden eyes glimmering with intelligence, and let out a deep, rumbling purr. The look she gave him was almost human in its certainty - Obviously.
Regulus chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “Of course. I knew you’d manage.”
He lingered for a moment longer, watching Harriet’s chest rise and fall with the slow rhythm of sleep, the faintest curl of a smile brushing her lips. Then he straightened, stepping back. “Rest well,” he whispered softly, letting the door close gently behind him.
As he walked toward the floo, the warmth of the evening fading into the cool shadowed corridors of Castle Black, his mind churned. Harriet’s words from earlier - about kissing the Dark Lord - replayed in his head, sharper each time.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what that meant: the pull she felt, the dangerous allure, and what it might do to her, to them, to the fragile balance of loyalty and influence she navigated so precariously.
He clenched his jaw, forcing down the worry that bubbled in his chest. Harriet was strong, far stronger than he sometimes gave her credit for, but the thought of her entangling herself with someone so dangerous, so… consuming, made his stomach tighten. What would this mean for the future? For the people she cared about? For him?
A shadow of fear passed through him, sharp and unwelcome, but he forced his steps onward, toward the floo. Whatever came next, he knew one thing - he would be ready, and he would protect her, no matter what. The weight of that promise settled in his chest, heavy but resolute, as he disappeared into the swirling green flames.
///
Harriet woke slowly that morning, a dull ache settling behind her eyes and a heaviness in her limbs that made even sitting up feel like a chore.
She could remember working on the wards yesterday, adding the moonstone to the matrix but after that… everything gets hazy - though she could have sworn she saw Regulus?
Cassiopeia noticed her state immediately when Harriet wandered into the sitting room - hair mussed and eyes half-lidded - if the faint but amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips was anything to judge by.
“You’re lucky,” Cassiopeia said lightly, though the hint of mirth in her voice couldn’t mask the warning. “Magical hangovers are a thing, Lyra. If you want to work with wards professionally, you’re going to get used to mornings like this.”
Harriet groaned, plopping down on the couch. “I thought it was just bad luck," she muttered, rubbing her temples.
Cassiopeia rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. “Try a Pepper-up potion,” she suggested, reaching into the small cabinet.
Harriet took it hesitantly, grimacing at the sharp taste. Almost immediately, warmth spread through her body, and the fog in her head began to lift, though a residual weariness lingered.
She took a deep breath and felt the familiar surge of magical energy from the castle around her, grounding her.
By mid-morning, Harriet was ready. She floo'd herself to St. Mungo’s, stepping into the familiar, antiseptic-scented halls with her shoulders squared despite the ache in her muscles.
She had hoped James might already be there, but space beside her father remained empty. With a soft sigh, she made her way to the edge of the wards. She couldn't help but notice the small changes. His breathing was steady, but there was a faint pallor to his skin, and as she looked deeper out she noticed the subtle weakening of his magical aura - a frailty that tightened her chest.
She rested a hand lightly on the ward, feeling the ebb and flow of his magic. It was so much weaker than it had been, a faint, threadlike shimmer compared to the strong, confident presence she remembered. It sent a pang of fear through her; the man who had always seemed unshakeable now felt so fragile.
A healer arrived quietly, a soft step on the floor, his robes barely brushing the ground. Harriet looked up, noticing the slight tightness around his eyes and the set of his mouth. He lowered himself to speak near her ear.
“There’s been no significant change overnight,” he said gently, his tone careful. “The treatments are still not having the effect we hoped for.”
Harriet nodded, forcing herself to remain composed. “I understand,” she said, her voice steady even though a part of her wanted to scream in frustration. She hesitated, then asked softly, “Is… is he in pain?”
The healer shook his head reassuringly, though the concern in his expression betrayed him. “No. He’s stable in that sense. The potions and infusions keep him comfortable. He isn’t suffering.”
Harriet’s hand lingered on the ward. What she wouldn't give to be able to be next to him, to touch him, to hug him. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the quiet settle around them, the hum of the hospital, the faint scent of herbs and potion residue, and the soft beeping of monitors forming a fragile cocoon.
Even though he was asleep, even though she could do nothing to fix the treatments’ inefficacy, she vowed silently to remain by his side.
Her mind wandered to the weeks ahead- the exams she had yet to sit, the Ward matrices she had been strengthening at Castle Black, the looming responsibilities she had been shouldering alongside her grief.
Each challenge now felt heavier, layered with the helplessness of watching her father lie so weakly. And yet, despite it all, she stayed standing, her hand warm against the wards, determined to give him her presence, her focus, and, if nothing else, her unwavering love.
///
James arrived at St. Mungo’s breathless, as though he’d been running even though the Floo had delivered him straight into the atrium. His eyes found Harriet immediately, small and still beside the isolation ward, her shoulders drawn tight as if she were holding herself together by will alone.
“Harry,” he said softly.
She turned, and the moment she saw him whatever fragile balance she’d been maintaining slipped. James crossed the distance in two strides and wrapped his arms around her. Harriet pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing him in - home, familiar, safe - and for a second allowed herself to lean.
“They said there’s no change,” she murmured when she pulled back. “The healer… the new treatment isn’t helping. They don’t think he’s in pain, but-” Her voice caught. “But he’s getting weaker.”
James nodded, jaw tight, and turned toward the ward.
Charlus lay beyond the shimmering barrier, pale against the white sheets, his magic barely perceptible now - no longer the steady, warm presence it once had been, but a thin, flickering thing. James swallowed and stepped closer, placing his hand against the ward as if proximity alone might help.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice. “It’s me. I’m okay. We’re okay.” He glanced sideways at Harriet, then back at Charlus. “The cottage in Godric’s Hollow is… well, it’s a mess, honestly, but it’s coming along. Harry’s already been fixing the wards. You’d be proud - she made them twice as strong.”
Harriet gave a faint, tearful huff of a laugh and moved closer to the barrier, her fingers hovering just shy of the magic separating them from him.
“And Sirius,” James continued, carefully. “He’s… Sirius. But he’s alright. We’re managing.”
For a few moments there was only the quiet hum of the ward and the shallow sound of Charlus’s breathing.
Then Harriet noticed it.
The pauses between breaths were growing longer.
Her chest tightened painfully. She leaned closer, eyes fixed on her father’s face, on the way his breathing no longer had rhythm - just effort.
“James,” she whispered.
He followed her gaze, and his face changed. The forced steadiness fell away, replaced with something raw and frightened. He looked at her then, searching her face, almost as if asking permission.
Harriet took a breath that shook all the way through her.
“Daddy,” she said softly, voice trembling but clear. “It’s okay.” She swallowed hard. “If you’re tired… if you don’t want to fight anymore, that’s okay. We’ll be alright. I promise. We’ll look after each other.”
James stiffened, instinctively, a flash of protest in his eyes - but then he really looked at her. Saw the certainty beneath the grief. The love, not the fear.
Slowly, he nodded.
“She’s right,” James said, voice breaking. “You don’t have to keep going for us. We’ve got each other. I swear we’ll be okay.”
Harriet’s hand pressed flat against the ward now, her magic stirring faintly, aching uselessly against the barrier.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”
Charlus’s breathing hitched once -just once- and then eased, the tension in his face softening as if he were finally resting.
The ward remained steady. Silent.
Too silent.
James let out a sound that was half breath, half sob, and Harriet’s knees threatened to give way. He caught her without thinking, pulling her into his chest as the healer approached quietly from behind, already knowing.
Charlus Potter slipped away gently, without struggle, leaving behind only the echo of his love - and two children standing on the wrong side of a ward, holding on to each other as their world changed forever.