The start of a new life

by Mary_ofc1

Summary:

Waking up on his 16th birthday, Harry gets the shock of a life time.

Maybe, just maybe he'll survive to adulthood.

Notes:

I'm trying, any feedback welcomed as long as it is constructive.

Chapter 1: Characters- will update as story updates with new character

Notes:

These are the characters I'm imagining as I'm writing

Harrison Jameson Ignotus Peverell-Evanson-Oceanus

 

 

Sirius Orion Oceanus-Nightshade 

 

 

Maurice Elsewood

 

 

Surjini Kalzik 

 

 

Quinn Kalzik 

 

 

Kyle Kalzik

 

 

Mariana Cunningham

 

 

Xenophilus Lovegood

 

 

Luna Pandora Marie Peverell-Prince-Evanson

 

 

Briar Evanson

 

 

Jun Evanson

 

 

Gardenia Evanson 

Chapter 2: The beginning

The morning light seeped through the cracks in Harry's curtains, painting the room in a soft glow. He blinked sleepily, his eyes slowly focusing on the unfamiliar ceiling. His body felt heavy and... different. Harry raised his arms to rub the sleep from his eyes and paused, his gaze lingering on his hands. They weren't his hands. They were covered in scales, tipped with sharp claws. He jolted upright, the weight of his newfound wings pulling at his shoulders.

Moving cautiously, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the cold wooden floor. Each step sent a jolt of discomfort through him as his clawed toes clicked against the wood. His eyes had changed too, narrowed into slits, reflecting the light in a way that was eerily reptilian. Harry felt a pang of panic but pushed it down, telling himself he was just having a weird dream. He needed to wake up.

With a deep breath, Harry stumbled towards the bathroom, his new body feeling clumsy and unnatural. He turned the doorknob with a trembling hand and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights flickered to life, revealing a mirror that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. He couldn't ignore the reflection that stared back at him. The gunk on his wings was thick and caked on, obscuring their true colors. His heart sank as reality set in - this wasn't a dream.

He found a wet rag on the side of the sink and approached the bathtub, his eyes avoiding his reflection. Carefully, Harry began to clean the wings, one feather at a time. Each stroke sent a sharp pain through his body, but he gritted his teeth and continued. The water in the tub grew murky as the grime washed away, revealing the stunning pink and silver beneath. He worked meticulously, afraid to hurt himself or damage these new, fragile-feeling appendages. Finally, after what felt like hours, Harry managed to clean the last of the gunk from his wings. They stretched out behind him, gleaming and powerful, and he couldn't help but admire their beauty. The scales on his arms had become more pronounced, the colors vibrant and mesmerizing. He took a step back, panting slightly from the exertion.

It was then that he heard the creak of the floorboards, alerting him to the presence of the random person in his room. His head snapped around, and he saw a man with a kind smile standing in the doorway, watching him with a mix of curiosity and understanding. The man was tall, with a mess of dark hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through Harry.

"I'd say good morning, Harrison," the stranger said, his voice warm and soothing, "but I suspect it's anything but that for you right now."

The man took a few steps closer, extending his hand. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his clawed fingers clenching and unclenching reflexively. This had to be a hallucination. Or a prank. A very, very nasty prank. But as the man's hand neared him, it remained steadfastly corporeal, not fading away as a figment of his imagination would. The hand was human, but there was something... off about it. A subtle sheen of scales, almost unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. Harry took it, his grip firm despite his trepidation.

"I'm Maurice Elsewood," the man said, his smile never wavering, "and I've come to be your mentor. I know this is a lot to take in, but I assure you, everything is going to be all right."

"My name isn't Harrison," Harry replied, his voice shaking slightly. "It's Harry."

Maurice's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "My apologies, Harry. I've been sent to mentor you in your new... condition." He gestured towards Harry's wings and scales, his tone gentle and non-threatening. "You're a Dragel, a rare and powerful creature, a mix of dragon and human. This isn't something you've asked for, and I know it's not easy to accept, but I'm here to help you navigate through this change."

Harry took a moment to process the words. "What do you mean, navigate? I'm not going anywhere with these," he said, gesturing at his wings. They felt too heavy, too real to be a part of him.

Maurice chuckled softly. "You might be surprised, Harry. Dragels are capable of great things. And as your Oret, it's my duty to teach you how to harness that power, to live comfortably with your new form." He stepped closer, his movements fluid and graceful despite his size. "First things first, we need to get you some clothes that fit. Then we'll start your training."

Harry looked down at himself, noticing the torn fabric of his pajamas and the way they clung awkwardly to his new body. The realization of his transformation was setting in, the shock turning to a sizzling anxiety. "Clothes? Training? I don't understand," he murmured.

Maurice nodded, his expression filled with a gentle patience. "A Dragel, Harry, is a creature of legend, born from the union of a human and a dragon. It's an incredibly rare occurrence, and not widely known even in the magical world. You've inherited the traits of both species, which is why you've got these wings and scales." He paused, studying Harry with a critical eye. "The process of becoming a Dragel can be... confusing. Usually, it's a gradual awakening of powers and physical changes, but it seems in your case, it was rather abrupt."

"My parents," Harry whispered, his mind racing. "Were they...?"

Maurice nodded solemnly. "Yes, Harry, they were Dragels too. It's a hereditary trait, passed down from generation to generation. Your bloodline is quite special, and now it's your turn to carry on that legacy. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, we need to get you dressed." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "You've got a fitting appointment with Madam Malkin in Diagon Alley. She's expecting us shortly."

Harry felt his heart racing as he pulled on the clothes Maurice had conjured for him. The fabric was a strange blend of materials, stretchy enough to accommodate his wings and scales, yet somehow still comfortable. It was like nothing he'd ever worn before. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to reconcile the boy he'd been with the creature he'd become. The pants and shirt were both black, designed to blend in with the shadows and obscure his pink and silver wings. A leather jacket was laid out for him, tailored to fit his new form.

Maurice stepped up behind him, his hand resting on Harry's shoulder. "Ready?"

With a deep breath, Harry nodded. Maurice began to explain the process, his voice calm and reassuring. "You see, Harry, your wings are a part of you now, but they can be hidden when you need them to be. It's a little like folding a pair of spectacles and tucking them into your pocket." He paused, waiting for Harry to nod his understanding.

"Look at your back," Maurice continued, gesturing to the mirror. Harry's eyes followed the line of his spine, noticing the intricate tattoos that had appeared there. They were faintly glowing, almost pulsing with a life of their own. "Those aren't just ink drawings; they're the marks of your heritage. When you want to hide your wings, you'll need to focus on those tattoos and will your wings to fold into them. It's a bit like doing a complicated yoga pose in your mind."

Maurice's hand hovered over Harry's back, his eyes on the tattoos. "Imagine them as a puzzle, Harry. Each piece fitting perfectly into its counterpart. Now, take a deep breath and on the exhale, let your wings melt into your back."

With a flicker of doubt, Harry focused on the tattoos. To his astonishment, his wings began to retract, folding in on themselves like a complex origami pattern. The pain was brief, almost a memory as soon as it was over. He reached back to feel his bare skin, the absence of his wings leaving him slightly off-balance. When he turned to face Maurice, he noticed something else was missing.

"My glasses," Harry murmured, his hand reflexively reaching for his face. They were gone. "How..."

Maurice chuckled, the sound comforting in the quiet room. "Dragels have excellent vision, Harry. You won't be needing those anymore. It's one of the many perks of your new form." He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Now, let's get going. Madam Malkin is expecting us."

The two of them apparated into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, and Harry's new eyes took in the details with a sharpness that left him dizzy. The vibrant colors, the intricate patterns on the buildings, the smells wafting from the shops - everything was so much more vivid than he'd ever experienced before. The lack of glasses was the least of his concerns as he tried to adjust to the sensory overload.

They made their way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where a plump, cheerful woman with a knowing smile greeted them. She ushered Harry into a changing room and began to drape him in fabrics that whispered against his scales. Each piece of clothing was designed to be flexible, allowing for his wings to be revealed or hidden at will. It was a strange, disconcerting feeling, but as Maurice had said, it was a part of being a Dragel.

Madam Malkin's eyes twinkled as she worked, her own subtle scales glinting in the soft light of the shop. "Don't worry, dear," she murmured, her voice lilting. "I've been fitting Dragels for years. Your secret's safe with me."

The fabric she used was unlike anything Harry had ever felt before. It was lightweight, yet sturdy, and as she wove it around him, it seemed to mold to his new form perfectly. Madam Malkin's deft hands tucked and pulled, ensuring that his wings would be hidden, yet not constricted. Each stitch was a silent promise of comfort and protection.

As she worked, Madam Malkin spoke to him in a gentle tone. "You know, Harry, we're more alike than you think. I too was born with these... 'enhancements'. But over the years, I've learned to embrace them, to make them a part of who I am." Her eyes flicked up to meet his in the mirror, and for a brief moment, Harry saw a flash of understanding, of kinship. "You'll learn to do the same, in time."

The fitting continued, with Madam Malkin explaining that she was the first stop for the newly inherited Dragels, tasked with creating garments that allowed them to blend into the human world. She had a knack for it, having been in the business for decades, and had earned the trust of the magical community. Her creations weren't just clothes; they were disguises, armor, and a declaration of identity all rolled into one.

"You're the first one I've seen with pink and silver wings," she said as she tapped a tape measure against his chin, her eyes appraising him in the mirror. "Quite striking. You'll turn heads, I'm sure, once you learn to control them properly."

"What do the colors mean?" Harry asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice. Maurice had been mostly silent during the fitting, his eyes never leaving Harry's reflection.

"Ah, the colors," Maurice said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Pink and silver, quite the rare combination. It indicates that you're a submissive Dragel."

The words hit Harry like a ton of bricks. Submissive? The thought of being lesser than others, of being weak, was something he had never associated with himself. His eyes searched Maurice's for any sign of mockery, but found only sincerity.

"What do you mean, submissive?" Harry's voice was hoarse, his throat tightening around the word.

Maurice's expression grew solemn as he explained. "In Dragel terms, it means that you're the heart of your circle, Harry. You'll be the one others look to for guidance and protection, not because you're the strongest or most dominant, but because of the depth of your spirit and the purity of your intentions." He paused, his gaze searching Harry's. "Submissive doesn't equate to weakness, quite the opposite. It's about empathy, understanding, and the willingness to sacrifice for those you care about."

Madam Malkin nodded in agreement as she pinned a piece of fabric into place. "A submissive Dragel is a rare and precious thing. You're the balance, the one who holds the power of unity. It's a great responsibility, but also an immense honor."

Her words swirled around him, leaving Harry feeling more confused than ever. He'd always been the one to stand up to bullies, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. How could he be considered submissive? Maurice must have noticed his distress because he stepped closer, his hand landing firmly on Harry's shoulder.

"The strength of a submissive Dragel lies in their ability to connect with others, Harry. To form deep, unbreakable bonds. It's about choosing your battles wisely and leading with love rather than brute force." Maurice's eyes searched Harry's, as if trying to convey a message beyond words. "You'll find your bonded, and together you'll form a circle of trust and protection."

The idea of a bonded, a partner who could be just as important as he was in this new world, was both thrilling and terrifying. Harry had never had someone who relied on him in such a fundamental way before. "What happens if I don't find... a bonded?"

Maurice's expression grew serious. "Every Dragel needs a bonded, Harry. Without one, you won't be able to fully realize your potential. The bond amplifies your magic and complements your abilities. It's a symbiotic relationship, one that is crucial to your well-being."

"But what if..." Harry trailed off, his mind racing.

Madam Malkin finished her adjustments and patted Harry's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, dear. It's not something you can force or rush. It'll happen when it's meant to, and when it does, you'll know." She stepped back, allowing Harry to turn and see his reflection fully. The robes she had created for him were a masterpiece, perfectly blending in with his scales and wings.

Harry looked at her gratefully, his eyes shining with a mix of hope and fear. "Thank you," he murmured. "I like how they look."

Madam Malkin beamed, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction. "I'm so glad, Harry. It's not every day I get to tailor for someone with your unique... assets." She winked at him, and Harry couldn't help but smile back. The clothes were surprisingly comfortable, despite being made for such an unnatural form. He felt a strange sense of belonging, as if he'd been wearing them his whole life.

Maurice stepped forward, his eyes scanning the garments laid out before them. "I think we'll need a full wardrobe for Harry, Madam Malkin. He'll need clothes suitable for every occasion, especially given his new... status."

The seamstress nodded, her gaze understanding. "Of course, Mr. Elsewood. I'll prepare a selection that should serve him well."

Maurice pulled out a leather pouch from within his robes and counted out a series of gold Galleons into her outstretched hand. "Thank you, Madam Malkin. I trust you'll handle everything with discretion."

Madam Malkin's eyes lit up at the sight of the coins. "But of course, Mr. Elsewood. The House of Malkin has always valued our clients' privacy above all else." She tucked the pouch away, her expression professional yet kind. "I'll have your full wardrobe ready within the week, Harry. I'll send an owl with the details."

Maurice nodded, his hand firm on Harry's shoulder. "Good. We'll be in touch." He steered Harry out of the shop and back into the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. The young man felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, his thoughts racing with questions and fears. Submissive. Bonded. Dragel. It was a lot to take in, but as they walked, the bustle of the alley seemed to quiet, the chaos of his thoughts giving way to a strange sense of calm.

Chapter 3: The last of Britain.... for now

The goblins at Gringotts stared at Harry with a mix of curiosity and wariness as he and Maurice approached the bank. The grandeur of the marble hallways and the gleaming gold of the doors was a stark contrast to the quiet conversation they were having about his inheritance.

"It's a simple process, Harry," Maurice assured him as they waited in line. "Just a drop of your blood and the goblins will be able to confirm your lineage and any assets that might be waiting for you."

The line moved swiftly, and soon they were standing before a stern-faced goblin teller. "Maurice Elsewood," he announced, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I've brought young Harry here for an inheritance test."

The goblin's beady eyes studied Harry from behind a thick pair of spectacles, his expression unreadable. "Ah, yes," he said, flipping through a massive ledger with a flick of his wrist. "We've been expecting you." Without another word, he called for a runner, a young goblin with a sprightly gait and eager eyes. "Take them to the Potter account manager," he instructed, his tone curt but not unkind.

The runner led them through a labyrinth of hallways, the air growing colder and the light dimmer with each step. The manager's office was nestled deep within the bank, its heavy oak door adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight. The runner rapped his knuckles against the wood, and a gruff voice called for them to enter.

The office was smaller than Harry had imagined, cluttered with stacks of parchment and ancient artifacts. A burly goblin sat behind a desk piled high with gold coins and precious gems, his eyes narrowing as they stepped inside. "You must be Harry," the goblin said, his voice a low rumble. "Welcome to Gringotts. I am Ragnok, the manager of your family's account."

Maurice stepped forward, extending his hand. "Thank you for seeing us, Ragnok. We've come for an inheritance test."

Ragnok's gaze remained fixed on Harry, his expression unreadable. "Very well," he said finally, his voice a low, metallic growl. "But we require a blood sample." He slid a parchment across the desk, its edges singeing with a faint magical glow. "Seven drops from the top corner, please."

Harry's hand trembled slightly as he took the parchment, his mind racing back to the last time someone had asked for his blood. The memory of the man, if he could be called that, was like a snake coiled in his stomach, a constant reminder of the danger he'd unwittingly been born into. But this was different, he told himself. This was about finding his place in the world, about understanding who he truly was. With a deep breath, he pricked his finger with the enchanted quill provided and let the crimson drops fall onto the paper.

The parchment hissed and writhed, the blood disappearing into the ink as if it were water down a drain. The goblin's eyes remained on Harry, his expression unchanged, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Ragnok knew more than he was letting on. "Good," Ragnok said, his voice gruff. "Now, let's see what we have here."

The parchment grew brighter, the flaming edges casting an eerie light across the room. The words swirled and twisted, rearranging themselves into a family tree that grew from the bottom corner. Harry watched as names and dates spun into place, each one a puzzle piece in the story of his heritage. His heart stopped when he saw it, the proof in stark black letters against the gleaming gold: James Peverell-Potter and Lily Evanson. His parents. But there was another name, one that made his blood run cold: Sirius Oceanus-Nightshade. His other parent. His godfather.

The room grew quiet, the only sound the crackle of the magical fireplace and the distant echo of footsteps in the hallway. Harry stared at the paper, his mind reeling. Maurice's grip on his shoulder tightened, but he didn't look away from the parchment. The implications of what he'd just learned were too vast to comprehend.

"How is that possible?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper. "Sirius is my godfather. How could he be...?"

Maurice's hand squeezed Harry's shoulder gently. "Dragel inheritance is complicated, Harry. In a bonded circle, the creation of a child involves three individuals: the bearer, the sire, and the third." His eyes searched Harry's, trying to gauge his understanding. "The bearer is the mother, the sire the father, but the third is the one who provides the magic. It's a complex bond, one that goes beyond blood."

Ragnok cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "Indeed," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But we must continue. There are matters of estate and inheritance to discuss."

Maurice nodded, his grip on Harry's shoulder firm. "Of course," he murmured, his gaze flicking to the parchment. "Let's proceed."

Ragnok leaned forward, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. "You are, young Harry, the last living heir of the Potters, the Blacks, and by right of conquest, Slytherin. Your lineage is unquestionable."

"Conquest?" Harry echoed, his voice hoarse with disbelief. "What does that even mean?"

Ragnok's expression grew solemn. "The Halloween of '81," he began, his gruff voice carrying the weight of the words. "The night Voldemort killed your parents and tried to claim you as his own. But as fate would have it, your mother's love was stronger. When Voldemort failed to kill you, Lady Magic deemed the inheritance yours. When he failed to kill you, and was left incorpiral, there wasn't a way for him to claim the Slytherin lineage again."

Maurice's eyes widened slightly. "You mean..."

"Yes," Ragnok said, his voice a low rumble. "Harrison Jameson Ignotus Peverell-Evanson-Oceanus. Quite a mouthful, isn't it?"

Maurice nodded solemnly. "Indeed," he murmured. "A powerful name for a powerful young man."

But Harry's mind was racing. "Why did everyone only call me Harry?" he blurted out, looking between the two. "Why not...Harrison?"

Ragnok's gaze was unwavering. "It was the wish of Albus Dumbledore."

Maurice nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. It seems he wanted to make you have a common name. It wasnt his right to do so."

"But why?" Harry asked, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and confusion. "Why would he do that?"

Ragnok leaned back in his chair, his expression inscrutable. "The reasons of Albus Dumbledore are not for me to discern, young Harry," he said, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "It was perhaps a precaution, a way to keep you safe from those who would seek to use you for their own ends."

The room was silent for a moment. Then, Ragnok cleared his throat and continued. "Now, onto the matter of your inheritance. Your family was quite... substantial."

Maurice nodded for him to go on as Harry swallowed hard.

"Your inheritance," Ragnok said, his voice now business-like, "is quite substantial. Your mother and father had amassed a small fortune, which was combined with your godfather's estate. The vault will be yours to claim upon your majority, but I can give you a tour and a sense of what you have been entrusted with."

Maurice's eyes glinted with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "It's quite a responsibility, Harry," he murmured. "But remember, wealth is just a tool. It's what you do with it that matters."

Ragnok steepled his fingers, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Indeed, young Mr. Peverell-Evanson-Oceanus. Your vault is quite... substantial. It's not just gold and jewels, though there are plenty of those. There are artifacts, properties, investments, and a small fortune in rare and powerful magical items. Your parents and Mr. Black had quite the eye for such things."

Money had never meant much to Harry, not really. Growing up, the Dursleys had provided for him in the most basic of ways, and his time at Hogwarts had taught him that friendship and love were far more valuable than any amount of gold. Yet, as he stared at the parchment detailing his wealth, he couldn't help but feel a strange mix of excitement and dread.

"As you can see, Harry," Ragnok said, pointing to a line of numbers that seemed to stretch on forever, "you are quite the wealthy young man. Your vault is one of the largest in Gringotts."

The numbers on the parchment swam before Harry's eyes. He had never seen so much wealth in his life, and it was all his. The weight of it settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, and he felt a strange mix of excitement and dread. "What do I do with it all?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ragnok's expression grew solemn. "You must be wise, young Harry," he said, his eyes gleaming in the flickering firelight. "The temptation to spend without thought is great, but your inheritance is more than just gold and jewels. It's a legacy. Use it to honor your family's name and to make the world a better place."

Maurice nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with something akin to pride. "Perhaps," he suggested, "you could consider funding charities, there should be a list of them."

The goblin slid a thick scroll towards Harry, the parchment quivering with an almost sentient energy. "These are the most reputable and effective organizations in the magical world," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Each one is dedicated to different causes: from the protection of magical creatures to the support of underprivileged families."

Harry's eyes searched the parchment, his heart heavy. The concept of having so much wealth, especially when he knew of those who suffered, was overwhelming. "Is there anything here that specifically helps war orphans?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maurice's eyes softened at the question, and he nodded. "Ah, yes," he said, pointing to a small, almost inconspicuous entry on the scroll. "The St. Mungo's Fund for Magical War Orphans. It provides for the care and education of children who have lost their parents in the fight against Voldemort."

The words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. War orphans. Children who had suffered the same loss he had, but without the protection of the Dursleys, no matter how inadequate it had been. He knew what it was like to feel alone, to be different, and now he had the means to help others who felt the same way.

"I want to donate to that," Harry said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. "I want to make sure they have what they need."

Maurice nodded, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A noble choice," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll arrange for a substantial donation to be made in your name."

The goblin nodded in approval, his sharp eyes flicking to Harry. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss today?" he asked, his tone brisk.

Maurice looked down at Harry, his expression encouraging. "Is there anything else you'd like to know, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Are there... are there any portraits or journals of my parents in the vault? Something that could tell me more about them?"

Ragnok's gaze softened slightly, and he nodded. "There are indeed. Your mother was quite fond of keeping a diary, and your father had several portraits painted." He paused, his eyes flicking to the parchment. "Would you like to see them now?"

Maurice squeezed Harry's shoulder gently. "It's your call, Harry. If you're not ready..."

But Harry's curiosity had been piqued. He nodded firmly. "I want to see them."

Ragnok gestured to the goblin guard who had been standing silently beside the door. "Take Mr. Peverell-Evanson-Oceanus to the vault," he said, his tone brusque but not unkind.

The guard led them through the twisting corridors of the bank, the carts clattering along the tracks as they descended deeper into the earth. The air grew colder, the scent of metal and ancient stone filling Harry's nostrils as they approached his family's vault. The door was a massive slab of steel, unmarked and unyielding. The guard produced a key as long as Harry's arm, sliding it into the lock with a sound like thunder. The vault swung open, revealing a cavernous space filled with glittering treasures.The light from their torches danced off the piles of gold and silver, the glint of jewels casting rainbows on the walls. Harry's eyes searched the vault, his heart racing. He spotted a small, unassuming chest tucked into the corner, its brass fittings tarnished with age. He approached it tentatively, his heart hammering in his chest.

"This is where we keep the more... personal items," Ragnok said, his voice echoing in the vast space.

Maurice nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of what Harry was about to see. The guard opened the chest with a creak that seemed to echo through the ages, revealing a collection of leather-bound books and several portraits, each one wrapped in velvet.

"These are your mother's diaries," Ragnok said, his voice barely a whisper as he held out the top book. "And these are your father's letters to his family."

Harry took the diary, feeling the warmth of his mother's love seep into his fingertips as he opened it to a random page. The ink was smudged, the words a blend of hope and fear, but the love she had for him shone through the parchment like a beacon. His eyes filled with tears as he read the familiar script, feeling the absence of her guidance like a physical ache.

"Can I take these with me?" Harry's voice was thick with emotion as he looked up at Maurice. "I don't want to leave them here."

Maurice nodded, his expression gentle. "Of course, Harry. But you must be careful. These are precious artifacts, not just because of their monetary value, but because of what they contain."

But Harry's mind was racing. "What if the Dursleys find them?" he whispered, the fear of their spitefulness a stark reality. "They'd destroy them. They never liked anything to do with magic."

Maurice's expression grew serious. "We can't risk that, Harry. The diaries and letters are too important. We'll find another place for you to keep them, somewhere safe where you can read them in peace." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "My place. It's warded against muggle eyes and any dark magic that might be searching for you. Until you're ready to move out on your own, your inheritance will be safeguarded there."

The idea of having somewhere to call home, a place where he could explore his newfound heritage without fear, was more comforting than Harry could express. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Maurice's face. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse. "Where is your house?"

Maurice's eyes lit up. "Ah, Nevarah," he said, his voice filled with affection.

"Nevarah?" Harry echoed, the name foreign and exotic on his tongue. "Where is that?"

"It's a realm separate from Earth," Maurice said with a smile, his eyes distant as if he were looking into a memory. "A place where Dragels live in harmony, hidden from the muggle world. It's a place of beauty and danger, but most importantly, it's where you'll find answers to all the questions you have."

The idea of another world was staggering, but somehow, it felt right. Harry had always known there was more to life than the grey existence he'd been living in the cupboard under the stairs. "How do we get there?" he asked, his heart racing.

Maurice's smile grew wider. "By the same way I arrived," he said, gesturing to the floor. "A portal."

The goblin guard's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing, watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and respect. Harry felt his stomach drop as he stared at the spot Maurice was indicating. A portal? It was hard to believe that such a thing could exist, let alone be used for travel.

"But, I can't just leave," Harry protested, his eyes darting to the treasure around him. "What about school?"

Maurice's expression grew serious. "Your education will continue, Harry. But it's important we deal with this now." He glanced at the goblin guard, who nodded imperceptibly. "The wizarding world is not always kind to those with powerful legacies. We must be cautious."

"But what about school?" Harry's voice was a mix of hope and fear. "Can I still go to Hogwarts?"

Maurice's expression grew thoughtful. "We'll figure that out, Harry," he said, his eyes on the pile of gold before them. "But first, we must secure your inheritance. Your safety is paramount."
The guard stepped forward, his movements precise and deliberate. "The portraits of your father are quite large," he said, his tone almost apologetic. "They cannot be brought through the portal as is."

Maurice sighed, his eyes flicking to the portfolio of letters and diaries in Harry's arms. "Perhaps we should leave them here," he suggested, his voice gentle. "Until we can find a more suitable way to transport them."

But Harry's gaze was fixed on the portraits, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. "Can't we shrink them?" he asked, his eyes shining with hope. "Like they do with photos?"

Maurice's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "An interesting idea," he murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It's not commonly done with portraits, but if there's a way..."

Maurice's expression softened at the mention of Harry's owl. "Of course, Harry," he said, his voice gentle. "Nevarah is a realm of magic, and creatures like Hedwig are revered. She will be as welcome as you are."

The guard nodded and gestured towards the chest. "We should wrap the portfolio and the portrait," he said, his tone business-like. "They are not to be parted."

Maurice pulled out a length of enchanted fabric from his pocket, which grew to the size of a large blanket when unfurled. Carefully, they wrapped the chest and the portrait, sealing it with a gentle flick of Maurice's wand. The fabric melded around the items, creating a secure and surprisingly lightweight package. Harry felt a strange comfort knowing that a piece of his past was now in his possession.

The goblin guard nodded his approval and handed Harry a small velvet pouch filled with a selection of goblin-sized treasures to use as bribe if needed. Harry pocketed the pouch, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation at the thought of venturing into the unknown.

"Ready?" Maurice asked, his eyes shining with an excitement that mirrored Harry's.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry said, his gaze lingering on the shrouded package that held his parents' diaries and letters.

Ragnok approached, his movements swift and precise. He held out a small, unassuming stone, the size of a marble but pulsing with an inner light. "Your payment stone," he said, his voice gruff. "Keep it safe, young Harry."

The stone was cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of Harry's palm. It was a deep emerald green, reminiscent of the leaves in the Forbidden Forest during the height of summer. Harry could feel a hum of power resonating from it, a silent promise of security and freedom. "Thank you," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the goblin's.

Ragnok nodded gravely. "Your parents were good people, Harry," he said, his voice tinged with something Harry couldn't quite identify. "They would be proud of the man you are becoming."

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll do my best to make them proud."

Ragnok nodded solemnly, then turned to the guard. "Escort Mr. Peverell-Evanson-Oceanus and Mr. Elsewood back to the foyer," he instructed. "They have matters to attend to before their departure."

The guard took the lead, guiding them through the maze of corridors, the clank of their footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls. The warmth of the vault was replaced with the cool efficiency of the bank's public spaces. Harry felt the weight of the pouch of treasures in his pocket and the comforting presence of the wrapped chest in his arms. The reality of his inheritance was sinking in—his life was changing in ways he had never imagined.

When they reached the foyer, the bustle of witches and wizards conducting their financial business washed over them. The goblins behind the counters looked up briefly before returning to their ledgers and gold scales, seemingly unfazed by the presence of a Dragel in their midst. The guard nodded to Maurice and Harry before disappearing into the throng of customers.

Maurice looked around, his eyes scanning the crowd. "We need to be careful," he murmured, leaning in close. "The less people know about you, the better."

"Why?" Harry whispered back, his heart racing.

"There are those who would seek to harm you," Maurice said, his voice low and serious. "Or to use your newfound power for their own ends. We must keep your identity and inheritance hidden until we can fully understand the extent of your abilities and the threats you may face."

The gravity of the situation settled on Harry like a cold, heavy blanket. He had always known that being a wizard came with risks, but he had never felt so vulnerable. "What do we do now?" he asked, his eyes searching the bustling foyer for any sign of danger.

Maurice pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill from his robe pocket. "First," he said, his expression solemn, "we must write to Sirius. He'll want to know about your inheritance and the option to leave with us."

Harry nodded, his hand tightening around the package that contained his mother's diaries and father's letters. The thought of seeing Sirius again filled him with a warmth that banished the shadows of the bank's cold stones. He watched as Maurice's quill danced across the page, the ink gliding smoothly and forming words that spoke of the revelations they had uncovered and the offer of sanctuary in Nevarah. The quill paused, and Maurice handed the parchment to Harry.

"You should sign it," he said, his voice gentle. "It's your decision to come with me, after all."

Harry took the quill, his hand trembling slightly. He wrote in a large, looping script:

**I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good.**

The words echoed in Harry's mind as he took the quill from Maurice's hand. He stared at the parchment, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily upon him. Was he making the right choice? Was he truly ready to embrace this new world, filled with magic and danger? With a deep breath, he scribbled his signature at the bottom of the letter, feeling a strange sense of finality.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," Harry murmured to himself, a small smile playing on his lips despite the tension. It was a phrase he had heard often from his godfather, and it seemed fitting now more than ever. He had always felt like an outsider in the muggle world, a misfit in a family that never wanted him. But in this world of wizards and dragon-shifters, perhaps he could finally find his place.

Maurice took the parchment back and folded it neatly before slipping it into an envelope. "We'll send this owl to Sirius," he said, his eyes searching the bustling foyer. "Give him two hours to respond. If we don't hear back, we'll have to assume he's unable to join us."

The thought of leaving without Sirius was a heavy one, but Harry knew that they couldn't wait indefinitely. He nodded, his throat tight. "Okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maurice handed the envelope to a nearby goblin, whispering instructions and a hefty tip. The goblin nodded, disappearing into the back of the bank with a swiftness that belied his sturdy build. Harry watched him go, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement. Two hours. That's all the time they had to wait for a reply.

As the minutes ticked by, the gnawing in Harry's stomach grew more insistent. "I don't know about you," he said, turning to Maurice, "but I'm starving."

---------------------------HP---------------------------

Maurice checked his pocket watch, the gold hands pointing to the number two. "It's later than I thought," he said, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "The business of Gringotts tends to make time fly."

"Where can we get something to eat?" Harry asked, his eyes darting around the bustling foyer. The scent of roasting meats and baking bread wafted from somewhere beyond the bank's grand archway, making his stomach growl.

Maurice nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "There's a place down in Carkitt Alley," he said, his expression slightly confused. "But it's not the most well known."

"What's in Carkitt Alley?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Ah, Carkitt Market," Maurice said, his eyes lighting up. "It's a bit of a hidden gem, even for wizards. You'll find a few restaurants, some shops that cater to the more... discerning clientele, a grocer that stocks some rare ingredients, and even a home ware store that sells magical furniture and the like."

"Sounds amazing," Harry said, his stomach rumbling. "Can we go there now?"

Maurice nodded. "Yes, let's," he said, leading the way out of the bank. The cool night air hit them like a slap as they stepped onto the cobblestone street, a stark contrast to the stuffy, gold-laden air of Gringotts. The sun was high, casting a gold light over the wizarding world's financial district, and Harry felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine.

They apparated into a quieter alley, the walls lined with shadowy shops and restaurants that looked like they hadn't seen a customer in centuries. Maurice led him to a small, unassuming restaurant with a sign that read "The Dragon's Roost." Harry's eyes widened at the sight of a dragon skeleton reconstructed as a chandelier, casting a warm, flickering light over the cozy tables. The smell of roasting meats and spices was tantalizing, and his stomach growled loudly.

Inside, the walls were adorned with tapestries that depicted scenes of dragon battles and shelves lined with ancient-looking tomes. The clientele was a mix of wizards and witches, along with a few creatures Harry had never seen before—like a group of goblins in the corner, huddled over a game of chess that seemed to involve more shouting than strategizing. Maurice secured a table and whispered something to the hostess, who nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

The menu was a thick, leather-bound book that had seen better days. The pages were yellowed and dog-eared, and the script was written in a spidery hand that was difficult to decipher. Harry's eyes widened as he scanned the offerings—dragon steak, griffin claw soup, and a dessert called "Goblin Gold Delight" that was apparently made from a rare metal that changed flavor with every bite. He was torn between excitement and skepticism.

Maurice chuckled at Harry's bewildered expression. "The food here is quite good, I assure you," he said, his eyes scanning the menu. "The chef is a bit... eccentric, but he knows his way around a dragon rib."

The hostess returned, a knowing smile on her face. "The usual, Monsieur Elsewood?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Maurice nodded. "Yes, please. And for you, Harry?"

"I'll have the... dragon steak," Harry said, his voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. The idea of eating something so exotic was both thrilling and slightly daunting.

Maurice's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Excellent choice," he said, placing the menu aside. "It's quite tender, especially when they're young. It's a delicacy in some circles."

The waitress, a witch with hair as wild as the flaming torches on the walls, took their orders and disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen. The murmur of conversation and the clink of silverware filled the air as Harry's gaze wandered over the eclectic decor. It was a stark contrast to the gleaming marble and gold of Gringotts.

Maurice leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "Carkitt Alley is known for its exclusivity," he said. "The shops here are not for the faint of wallet. You'll find the finest robes, the most powerful wands, and the rarest ingredients for potions and spells."

The restaurant they chose was dimly lit, with walls adorned with the mounted heads of various magical creatures. The patrons were a mix of high society witches and wizards, their conversations hushed but filled with an underlying current of power. Harry felt out of place in his new, but already slightly worn, robes. Maurice, however, fit right in, his own attire seemingly made from the finest materials, his demeanor exuding confidence and belonging.

"Oret" Harry whispered, leaning closer. "Will I still need my wand in Nevarah? I mean, if I'm a Dragel and all..."

Maurice's gaze flickered up from the menu. "No," he said firmly. "Your wand is a tool, Harry. It's not the reason you're able to do magic, just a foci."

"But I thought..." Harry trailed off, feeling his cheeks warm.

"The wand is a symbol of your heritage, Harry," Maurice explained, his voice gentle but firm. "But your true power comes from within. In Nevarah, you will learn to harness your abilities in a way that is unique to you."

"But what if I need to do magic?" Harry's voice was a mix of uncertainty and hope.

Maurice leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "In Nevarah, you will learn to rely on your innate abilities," he said, his tone unwavering. "You're a dragel, literally made of magic. You won't need a foci to cast. We will train you to."

The waitress returned with their food, a platter of steaming dragon steak that smelled heavenly. Harry's eyes widened at the sheer size of his meal, which was served on a platter that looked like it was carved from a single piece of dark wood. The steak was thick and tender, a deep red that seemed almost alive. Maurice's words echoed in his mind as he took a tentative bite, the flavor a mix of something familiar and something entirely new. It was unlike anything he'd ever tasted before—rich and smoky, with a hint of something wild.

As they ate, Maurice regaled Harry with tales of his own adventures, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of shared memories. Harry felt a strange kinship with this man who was so much more than just a mentor; he was a gateway to a world that had been hidden from him his entire life. The stories were filled with danger and intrigue, but they also spoke of friendship and loyalty, things Harry had been craving for so long.

When the last bite of the dragon steak had been savored and the plates cleared away, Maurice leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. "Ah, that was excellent," he sighed contentedly. "Now, Harry, before we head to Nevarah, would you like to explore Carkitt Market a bit?"

The question hung in the air, and Harry's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yes, please!" he said eagerly. "I've never been to a place like this!"

Maurice nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Carkitt Market has a certain charm," he said, rising from his seat and gesturing for Harry to follow.

The alley was narrower than Harry had thought, with the buildings leaning in so close that it was almost claustrophobic. The cobblestone path was worn and uneven, with a sheen of magic that made it seem to shift and shimmer in the light from the flickering street lamps. The smells grew richer, more potent—spells and incenses, the scent of leather-bound books, and something faintly metallic that tickled the back of his throat.

Maurice led him to a shop with a swinging sign depicting a dragon coiled around a wand. "Welcome to Dragon's Hoard Homewares," a deep voice called from within.

The interior was a treasure trove of magical oddities—chairs that moved to follow you, paintings that whispered secrets, and a collection of wands displayed behind a thick glass case, each one humming with its own unique energy. The walls were lined with floating candles that cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating shelves filled with cauldrons of all sizes, shapes, and materials. Harry felt like a kid in a candy store, his eyes wide with wonder as he took it all in.

"This way, Harry," Maurice said, leading him to a corner where a display of magical bed linens fluttered softly. The fabrics were a riot of color and texture, some with embroidered runes that shimmered in the candlelight. "These are enchanted to keep you warm in the winter and cool in the summer," he explained, holding up a set that looked like it was made of pure moonlight.

"Pick whatever you like," Maurice said, his voice filled with encouragement. "This is for your room, after all."

Harry's eyes scanned the array of fabrics before landing on a set that was a deep, almost emerald green with softer aquamarine edges. It reminded him of the Slytherin common room, but there was something more to it, something that whispered of the ocean and the freedom of the skies. He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric. It was cool and smooth to the touch, and when he pulled it closer, the colors shifted, revealing hidden patterns that swirled like the currents of a hidden sea.

Maurice nodded approvingly. "Good choice," he said, his eyes sparkling. "That's dragon-silk, very rare and incredibly comfortable. It's said to resonate with the natural magic of the sleeping dragon."

The shop owner, a burly man with a wild beard, emerged from the back, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Maurice. "Ah, Monsieur Elsewood," he boomed, his handshake firm. "It's been too long."

"Indeed, Mr. McFusty," Maurice said, his eyes twinkling. "Allow me to introduce Harry Potter. He's my new ward, I took custody from his previous gaurdians. "

The shop owner's eyes widened. "Potter, you say?" He took in Harry's features with a critical eye. "I see the resemblance, yes. Lily's eyes, James's cheekbones. You're the spitting image of them both. Welcome to Dragon's Hoard, Mr. Potter."

Mr. McFusty's enthusiasm was infectious, and Harry felt a warmth spread through him at the mention of his parents. "Thank you," he murmured, still stroking the dragon-silk. "The water coloring drew me to it."

Maurice nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, yes," he said. "You seem to be like the waves, able to shift as new currents come in."

The shop owner, Mr. McFusty, took the dragon-silk set from Harry's hands with a flourish. "Consider it a housewarming gift," he said, his voice booming with kindness. "A small token of welcome back to the magical world, and a thank you to your mother from all those years ago."

Maurice raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his gaze shrewd as he assessed the man. After a moment, he nodded. "Very well," he said. "We'll take it before we go."

The shop owner's face split into a grin, beaming wide with genuine happiness. "Excellent choice," he said, wrapping the dragon-silk in paper that whispered with ancient runes.

Maurice led Harry out of Dragon's Hoard and into the bustling alleyway. The air was thick with the aroma of various magical concoctions from nearby apothecaries, and the sound of haggling filled the air. They passed by a store that sold magical pets, the cries and whinnies of creatures unseen by the muggle world. Harry's eyes widened at the sight of a niffler, its long snout snuffling in a cage.

"Come," Maurice said, guiding Harry firmly by the elbow. "We must check for a reply from Sirius."

The owl post office was a quaint building, nestled between a potion shop and a wand emporium. The exterior was painted a soft blue with gold accents, and a small brass sign above the door jingled as they approached. Inside, the walls were lined with tiny cubbies, each holding an owl waiting to deliver a message. The floor was covered in a layer of fresh straw, and the smell of bird droppings mingled with the faint scent of ink and parchment.

Maurice stepped up to the counter, where a stern-looking witch with a beak-like nose was sorting through a stack of letters with a quill. "Excuse me," he said, his voice calm and measured. "We're expecting an urgent response from a Mr. Snuffles. Have any owls arrived for us?"

The witch squinted at them over her spectacles, her eyes darting between Harry and Maurice. "Snuffles, you say?" she repeated, flipping through a ledger. "Ah, yes, here we are."

With a flick of her wand, a small barn owl swooped down from the rafters, a letter clutched in its beak. It fluttered over to Maurice and deposited the envelope with a soft hoot. Harry's heart raced as Maurice broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. His eyes scanned the page, his expression unreadable.

"Snuffles will meet us at the Dursleys' at a quarter to five," Maurice said, his voice tight with tension. "It seems he's eager to leave as soon as possible."

The realization of what they had to do settled on Harry like a heavy shroud. He had to go back to the place where he'd been unwanted for so long, to retrieve what little of his past remained there. The thought of facing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia made his stomach churn.

"Let's not waste any time, then," Harry said, his voice firm despite the anxiety that gnawed at him. "What do we need to do before we leave?"

Maurice nodded, his expression turning serious. "First, I need to visit Madam Maklin's again," he said. "I promised her I'd return for the order in a week. I'll need to inform her that we won't be bringing you this time."

They made their way back to the bustling street, the cobblestones echoing with the sounds of horses' hooves and the distant chime of the Leaky Cauldron's sign. Madam Maklin's shop was exactly as they had left it, the mannequins in the window now dressed in even more extravagant garb that seemed to shimmer and shift with every step they took. Maurice pushed open the door, and the tinkling of bells filled the air.

Madam Maklin looked up from her work, her eyes widening when she saw them. "Ah, Monsieur Elsewood," she said, setting down her needle and thread. "And young Mr. Potter. I trust everything went well at Gringotts?"

Maurice nodded, his expression unreadable. "Very well," he said, his voice a touch formal. "But I'm afraid he won't be able to return for the order after all."

Madam Maklin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is everything all right?" she asked, her concern genuine.

"Yes," Maurice assured her, his voice tight. "We've had a bit of a... change of plans. We need to leave for Nevarah immediately."

Madam Maklin's expression shifted to one of understanding. "Ah, I see," she said, her eyes lingering on Harry. "Well, in that case, let's not waste any more time."

Madam Maklin's assistant, a young witch with a tapestry of stars woven into her hair, emerged from the back of the shop. She was carrying a large garment bag, which she handed to Maurice with a respectful nod. "Your order is complete," she said, her voice a soft melody. "We had put a bit of a... rush on it, so we brought in some extra help to ensure it was finished before the school crowd descended."

Maurice took the bag with a look of surprise and gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his eyes flicking to Madam Maklin. "You've outdone yourself."

The seamstress nodded, her expression a mix of pride and understanding. "It was the least I could do," she said. "Given the... delicate nature of Mr. Potter's situation."

"Thank you," Harry murmured, feeling a lump form in his throat. The kindness of these strangers was overwhelming.

Maurice nodded in agreement. "Indeed, our time is quite limited," he said, his eyes darting to the grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging steadily. "We must be going, Harry."

With a grateful smile, Harry turned to Madam Maklin. "Thank you," he said, his voice earnest. "For everything. I never knew clothes could be... magical."

Madam Maklin's eyes softened, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "You're welcome, dear," she said, patting his arm. "You have quite the journey ahead of you, I suspect."

With a final nod of thanks, Harry followed Maurice out of the shop, the garment bag feeling heavier with every step. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestone street. The air was cooler, hinting at the coming evening. They apparated back to Privet Drive with the ease of old friends, the quiet street a stark contrast to the bustling alleyways of Diagon.

Maurice took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the rows of identical houses. "Remember, Harry," he said, his voice low and intense. "We're in and out. No dramatics, no fuss. We get your things and leave."

The Dursleys' house looked just as Harry remembered—dull and lifeless, with the curtains drawn tightly across the windows. The garden was a patchwork of dead grass and weeds. The sight of it brought a wave of anger and sadness that Harry hadn't anticipated. This was his home, the place where he'd been forced to live, unloved and unwanted, for eleven years.

Maurice's hand was firm on his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked, his voice steady.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "Ready," he said, though his voice was tight.

They approached the front door, and Maurice gave it a firm knock. Harry's heart was racing, and he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He braced himself for the worst, his hand hovering near the pouch with the emerald stone.

The door swung open with a screech, revealing Aunt Petunia's sour face. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Maurice, and she took a step back, her hand tightening around the doorframe. "What do you want?" she spat, her voice as unwelcoming as the cold, dark hallway behind her.

Maurice stepped forward, his posture tall and commanding. "We've come for Harry's things," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We won't be staying long."

Aunt Petunia's eyes widened in shock, her grip on the door loosening slightly. "What things?" she demanded, her voice shrill.

Maurice's eyes remained calm. "Everything that belongs to Harry," he said, his tone firm. "His books, his owl, and his personal items. We need to collect them before we leave."

Aunt Petunia's cheeks flushed a mottled red, and for a moment, Harry thought she might refuse. But something in Maurice's demeanor made her think twice. "Fine," she spat, stepping aside to let them in. "But make it quick."

The house was as stifling as Harry remembered. The stale scent of Dudley's sweat and Aunt Petunia's perfume hung in the air like a toxic fog. Harry's stomach twisted at the memories, but he pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Maurice led the way upstairs to Harry's old room, the place that had been his prison for so many years. The bed was stripped, the walls bare of any personal touches. It was as if Harry had never been there. His heart sank as he realized that the Dursleys had already begun to erase him from their lives.

In the corner, a cage sat, its door ajar. Inside, Hedwig looked up at Harry with a soft hoot. Her feathers were a bit ruffled, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Harry rushed over and opened the cage door, his heart swelling with joy as she stepped out and perched on his arm. "Thank you," Harry murmured to Maurice, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

Maurice nodded, his expression serious. "We'll leave no trace of your old life behind," he said, his eyes sweeping the room. "It's time to claim what's yours and move on to better things."

They collected Harry's books and the few other items that remained, all while avoiding Uncle Vernon's stony gaze from the doorway. Harry's heart raced as he picked up a battered old chest that held his school supplies. The lid creaked open, revealing letters from his mother, a tattered photo album, and a few childhood toys. His eyes fell on the invisibility cloak, which lay folded at the bottom, a silent sentinel of the magical world that had been his only solace.

Maurice noticed Harry's lingering gaze and nodded. "Take it," he said gently. "It's yours, after all."

With trembling hands, Harry lifted the cloak, feeling the warmth of the magic emanating from it. He folded it carefully and placed it in the garment bag. They descended the stairs, the weight of their mission palpable. Uncle Vernon didn't say a word, his eyes boring into Harry's back as they approached the door.

Maurice paused on the threshold, his hand on the knob. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," he said, his voice cool and formal. "We won't be returning."

Without waiting for a response, he opened the door to reveal Sirius Black, aka Padfoot, standing outside, his form almost ghostly in the twilight. The large, black dog looked up at them, his eyes gleaming with intelligence and a hint of mischief. Harry's heart leaped with joy and relief. He hadn't seen Sirius since the fateful night at the cave, and the sight of his godfather brought a rush of warmth to his cold, anxious heart.

"Padfoot," Maurice murmured in greeting, his voice a mix of affection and caution.

The dog's ears perked up, and his tail wagged once before his form shimmered and grew, contorting into that of a man. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, stood before them, tall and lean, his eyes gleaming with the same mischief Harry had seen in the mirror of Erised.

"Maurice?" Sirius said questioningly, his voice low and gravelly, as if he hadn't spoken in years.

Maurice's eyes softened as he stepped aside to let Harry through. "Sirius," he said, his voice filled with a warmth Harry had never heard before. "Thank you for coming."

Sirius's gaze flicked to Harry, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "Couldn't stay away," he murmured, his eyes warm and knowing. "How are you, Harry?"

"I'm good," Harry said, the words feeling true for the first time in a long while. "But I'm ready to leave." He looked back at the cold, unwelcoming house, the garment bag heavy in his hand.

Sirius nodded, his gaze flicking over the bag. "I see you've been busy," he said, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"You could say that," Harry replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

Maurice turned to Sirius, his expression serious. "We need to get going," he said, his eyes flicking to his pocket watch. "The sooner we leave, the better."

Sirius nodded, understanding in his gaze. "Follow me," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I know a safe spot where we can leave from."

They stepped out of the Dursleys' house, and Harry took a deep breath of the cool evening air, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders with each step away from the suffocating environment. They made their way to an empty alley a few houses down, the shadows stretching out like welcoming arms. The muggles passed by, oblivious to the three of them and the magic they were about to perform.

Maurice looked around the alley before pulling Harry and Sirius close. With a murmur he said "Temptrificus Portgas, Nevarah." A medallion of blue light appeared under their feet and whisked them away from Earth.

When the light dissipated, they were standing in the middle of a path, surrounded by buildings that looked as though they had been carved from clouds and painted with the colors of a setting sun. The air was filled with the scent of exotic spices and the distant sound of music that seemed to dance on the wind. Harry's eyes grew wide with amazement, taking in the floating street lamps that cast a soft glow on the cobblestones beneath them.

"Welcome to Nevarah, Harry," Maurice said, his voice filled with a sense of homecoming.

Chapter 4: Revelations

Summary:

Harry learns more about being a Dragel and finally learns some of the names in his family

Notes:

I have no idea how long this story will be, nor do I know how often I'll update.

The next day saw Harry sitting in the living room of Maurices manor. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting dancing shadows across the ancient tapestry on the wall. Harry sat hunched on the worn armchair, a mug of lukewarm tea clutched in his hands, while Sirius reclined on the sofa opposite, looking far too comfortable for the tension humming in the air. Both stared intently at the man perched on the edge of a mahogany desk.

Maurice, Harry’s oret – a guide, a keeper of ancestral lore, a link to the deeper currents of the magical world they were only just beginning to truly grasp – cleared his throat.

“Right then, boys,” Maurice began, his voice surprisingly robust for his size. “You’ve heard whispers of ‘circles,’ of ‘dynamics.’ It’s time we shed some light on the fundamental architecture of our kind. Not just families, not just loyalties, but something far more intrinsic, more… magical.”

Sirius pushed himself up, leaning forward. “So, these circles, they’re not just… a group of friends?”

“No, Padfoot, not just friends,” Maurice said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “They are units of power, purpose, and protection. And within each circle, roles are not always chosen; they are usually known. They manifest naturally, guided by your inherent magic and spirit.” He paused, letting that sink in.

“First, we have the Alpha.” Maurice held up a single finger. “The dominant leader. The anchor. They are the ones who handle the day-to-day. Finances, paperwork, the mundane that keeps the circle functioning in the world. But more than that, they are the decision-makers, the strategists, the ones who carry the weight of ensuring their circle’s safe passage through life.”
Harry immediately thought of Dumbledore, then perhaps Molly Weasley. Sirius, however, looked thoughtful, a glint in his eye that suggested he could just as easily see himself in that role.

“Next, the Beta.” Maurice held up a second finger. “A crucial support role. Think of them as the circle’s internal diplomat. They keep the peace, especially between the Alpha and the Submissive. They are empathetic, understanding, and ensure harmony. They’re the ones who notice when someone’s off, and gently guide them back into balance.”

“So, like a… a therapist, but with magic?” Harry ventured, half-joking.

Maurice chuckled. “Something like that, Harry. They’re the calm in the storm, the voice of reason when passions run high.”
He then leaned forward, his eyes glinting.

"Now, we move to the guardians. The protectors. First, the Gheyo.” His voice took on a sharper edge. “These are individuals of a very specific, aggressive type of magic. Offensive fighters, born for the fray. They live for the fight, for the challenge. Their magic is often raw, explosive. They’re the charge-first, ask-questions-later element, but utterly loyal and devastatingly effective.”

Sirius' eyes widened a predatory grin spreading across his face. “Gheyo, you say? Sounds right up my alley.”

Harry, however, felt a shiver. He’d seen Sirius fight, seen his ferocity. It fit.

“And counterbalancing the Gheyo,” Maurice continued, holding up a fourth finger, “we have the Pareya. A partner, a different kind of guardian. Where the Gheyo lunges, the Pareya defends. They like to make sure everyone is comfortable, safe, protected. Their magic is often more subtle, creating shields, wards, defensive barriers. They are the protective wall, the comfort blanket, ensuring the circle's security from all angles.”

Harry found himself nodding. Defensive magic, ensuring comfort… that felt a little closer to home. He’d always felt a pull to protect his friends.

“And finally,” Maurice’s voice softened, filled with something not quite identifiable as he held up his last finger, “the Submissive. Don’t let the name fool you, boys. They are the heart of a circle. They bring everyone together, hold the emotional fabric tight. Their presence grounds the Alpha, calms the Gheyo, brings solace to the Pareya, and offers comfort to the Beta. More often than not, they possess the largest, purest reservoir of magic within the circle. Untapped power, often empathetic, intuitive, and deeply connected to life itself.”

Harry and Sirius exchanged a look. The ‘Submissive’ having the most magic? It defied their preconceived notions of power.

“They’re not weak then,” Harry mused aloud, a new understanding dawning. “They’re… essential.”

“Exactly, Harry. Without the heart, the body cannot function,” Maurice confirmed. “These roles are the core. But beyond them, we have what we call the General Ranks. A Healer, for instance, focuses on mending body and spirit. A Carrier, they're submissives who claim solitary who will sometimes carry a circles child. A Companion provides unwavering emotional support and stability. They're usually people without another rank, though anyone can technically claim companion. Then there are the Royals, those born into lines of powerful established circles, and Mages, individuals of extraordinary, often specialized, magical aptitude. These ranks can exist within any of the core roles, adding another layer of purpose and power.”

Maurice clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Now, do you see? It’s not just about blood, or friendship, or even shared goals. It’s about a living, breathing, magical entity. A circle, once formed, is stronger than the sum of its parts. And understanding your own place within that dynamic… well, that’s just the beginning of wisdom, isn’t it?”

Sirius leaned back again, a truly serious expression on his face now. “So, if a circle’s going to be forming around Harry… we need to figure out who’s what, then.”

Maurice’s icy eyes landed on Harry, then Sirius, a knowing glint in their depths. “Indeed, Padfoot. Indeed. And sometimes, the most surprising roles are the most powerful of all.”

Sirius’s grin grew wider, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, Harry, are you going to be our shy, submissive heart?” He teased, nudging Harry’s arm. Harry felt his cheeks heat up, a swirl of emotions – confusion, excitement, and a touch of fear – twisting in his gut.

“It’s not like that, Harry,” Maurice said gently. “Your role in a circle will reveal itself with time and experience. You're a submissive, you'll get to choose who you bond to. But for now, let’s focus on your education and your place in the wider Dragel world. The sooner you understand the dynamics and rules, the safer and more prepared you’ll be.”

With a nod, Harry set his tea aside, his curiosity piqued. “So, how do we start?”

Maurice leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “First things first, Harry, you need a check-up. We must ensure that your transition to this world is as smooth as possible. Your health is paramount, and we cannot afford any surprises. You’ll see Healer Kalzik tomorrow. She's one of the best in Nevarah. Known for her gentle touch and easy going attitude. She’ll make sure you’re in tip-top shape before we delve deeper into your training.”

But Harry balked at the idea. “I don’t need a healer,” he protested, his voice a mix of defiance and uncertainty. “I’ve had enough of that at Hogwarts, I had Madam Pomfrey for that.”

Maurice’s smile was understanding but firm. “Ah, but Harry, this is different. Madam Pomfrey is excellent for the typical human ailments, but she is not equipped to deal with the intricacies of a Dragel’s physiology. You’ve gone through a significant change, and it’s important that we ensure your body has fully adjusted."

“But I feel fine,” Harry insisted, his voice laced with skepticism. “I can still do everything I could before.”

Maurice's gaze was unyielding. “Feeling well and being well are two different matters, Harry. You’ve undergone a profound transformation. Your body is still adapting to the new form and the surge of magic within you. It’s crucial that Healer Kalzik assesses your condition and confirms that you are indeed a healthy young Dragel.”

As if sensing Harry’s reluctance, Sirius leaned in with a playful nudge. “Come on, Harry. If it’ll make Maurice feel better, I’ll go too. Solidarity and all that, right?” His eyes twinkled with mischief and a hint of fear.

Maurice nodded. “It’s not just about making me feel better, Harry. It’s about making sure you’re ready to face the challenges ahead. And if it means we all get a thorough check-up, so be it. It’s been a while since I’ve had one myself.”

Reluctantly, Harry agreed. The thought of going through any kind of medical exam made his stomach churn, but if it was for his own good, he would do it. Plus, the idea of Sirius sitting through the same process offered a strange comfort.

"What else do we need to do?" Harry asked, eager to move on to less daunting topics. "I've got so much to learn, so much to understand."

"Ah, yes," Maurice nodded, his gaze drifting to the bookshelf that lined the wall. "Our first task that we can do today, is to visit the Library. We need to examine your family tapestries."

The mention of 'family tapestries' had Harry's eyes lighting up with excitement. He hadn’t thought about his ancestry much since his test at Gringotts, but the idea of seeing them come to life in the form of moving images was fascinating. It was also a reminder to ask about waking his dad's portrait up.

"You mean, like the one at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, referring to the one in the Headmaster's office that had shown the various Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts throughout the centuries.

"No, Harry," Maurice said with a small smile. "This is nothing like the one in that dusty old school." Maurice paused for a second to think, "have you seen the tapestry in Grimmuald place?"

At Harry's nod, Maurice continued, "Good. That one is similar to ours. Ours show every branch of the family with their corrisponding picture. It'll show each persons bonded and their children. What we need to do is check which branch of each family you are from."

Maurice stood, brushing off his robes. "Would you like to go to the Library now, Harry, Sirius?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Harry and Sirius exchanged a look of anticipation before jumping to their feet.

"Yes, definitely!" Harry exclaimed, rushing to the door, his heart racing.

Sirius chuckled, following close behind. "Slow down, Harry. We've got all the time in the world."

Maurice, seemingly unfazed by their haste, took his time slipping into a pair of well-worn boots, his movements deliberate and graceful. "Patience, young ones," he said, raising a hand. "We shall arrive swiftly enough."

With a flick of his hand, a warm light enveloped them, and the room around Harry and Sirius grew hazy. The floor beneath them disappeared, replaced by a sensation of floating. The air grew thick with the scent of oak and parchment, and when the light cleared, they found themselves in an enormous chamber lined with bookshelves that stretched into the shadows above. The Library of Nevarah was a bastion of knowledge, the heart of the Dragel community. The air was alive with whispers of ancient tomes and the faint crackle of enchanted pages turning.

They hurried after Maurice, their footsteps echoing through the vast space as he led them deeper into the labyrinth of shelves. Harry’s eyes darted around, taking in the thousands of books that contained the secrets of his new world. Each title was written in a language he hadn’t yet mastered, but he knew that with time, he would unlock these mysteries.

As they approached the edge of the library, a side room became visible. Inside was rolls of tapestries arranged alphabetically. Going down the line, Harry kept his eye out for the Evanson one.

“Here we are, Harry,” Maurice said, gesturing to a large tapestry with the Evanson crest emblazoned at the top. It unfurled before them, revealing a stunning depiction of generations of Dragels, their wings unfurling in a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns. Each face was painstakingly detailed, their expressions frozen in time yet filled with life.

As they approached the tapestry, the figures began to move, their eyes following the three of them. Harry felt a strange sense of belonging as he stared at the faces of his ancestors. They were Dragels, just like him.

Maurice's hand hovered over the fabric, tracing the lines that connected the figures. "Your family is quite extensive, Harry. Here," he said, pointing to a spot near the bottom of the tapestry, "is your mother, Lily."

The image of Lily was grayed out, her features blurred as if viewed through a foggy window. Harry's heart ached at the sight of her, knowing that she had sacrificed herself to save him. Yet there she was, a silent sentinel in this tapestry of his lineage.

Maurice's gaze shifted to the space beside her. "And here," he murmured, his hand hovering over an image that was not a person but rather a grim symbol – a skull with crossbones. The area was darker, almost as if a shadow clung to it. "This is your Aunt Petunia's place."

The tapestry rippled, the fabric seemingly repulsed by the touch. Harry leaned in, his eyes widening. "What does that mean?"

Maurice sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving the skull and crossbones. "Your Aunt Petunia," he began, "she bares a death seal. A dark magic that binds her to the fate of another. It’s a powerful, often tragic, bond. When the one she’s linked to passes, her own life force is drained, leaving her as you see here – a mere shadow."

The room grew quiet, the only sound the distant rustle of pages turning in the vast library beyond. Harry stared at the tapestry, trying to imagine his aunt in this world of Dragels and magic. It was a struggle, her life had been so devoid of it.

"But why is she even here?" Harry asked, his voice low. "Aunt Petunia didn’t have magic."

Maurice's expression grew serious. "That's where you're wrong, Harry. She should have. Someone bound her magic, and with it, her Dragel nature. It was a powerful, and unfortunately, common practice among those who feared our kind. But fear is a poor foundation for a life, and it's left her a mere echo of what she could have been."

The room grew still as the revelation settled over Harry like a cold blanket. The woman he'd known all his life had been denied her birthright, her very essence stolen from her. "But why?" Harry breathed, his voice barely audible.

Maurice's hand hovered over the shadowy space, his expression a blend of pity and anger. "That is a question for another day, Harry," he said gently, withdrawing his hand. "For now, let us focus on the living. You have much to learn about your heritage."

They moved on, and as they did, Harry's gaze was drawn back to the tapestry. He searched for familiar names, and his heart skipped a beat when he found it – Sirius Oceanus-Nightshade. The image beside Lily's was not a person, but a name, written in shimmering gold thread. It was clear that Sirius had once had a deep bond with his mother, and the realization of their shared past filled Harry with warmth.

Further along, he spotted another name – James Peverell-Potter. His father. Harry's eyes traced the line from James to Lily, and then to himself. It was strange, seeing his parents’ history laid out before him like a story in a book. He felt a pang of longing for them, for the family he'd never had a chance to know.

Moving closer, Harry noticed something peculiar about Lilys image. It was surrounded by a faint glow, and as he looked closer, he saw that it was connected to several other names – Sirius Oceanus-Nightshade, James Peverell, Remus Lupin, and even Severus Snape. His heart skipped a beat. He knew of the friendship between James and Remus, but to see it so clearly displayed was overwhelming. The tapestry was a silent testament to the bonds that had been forged and lost.

Then he saw another name, one that took him by surprise: Pandora Lovegood. It was a name he had heard in whispers, the mother of Luna Lovegood from his Hogwarts days. The bond between Lily and Pandora was faint, almost invisible, but it was there. Harry wondered what history lay behind that connection.

"Oret," Harry said, pointing at the name. "What does this mean?"

Maurice's eyes followed Harry's finger to Pandora's name. His expression grew solemn. "Ah, Harry," he said, his voice filled with a hint of sadness. "Pandora Lovegood would have been one of your mother's bonded."

"Wait, what?" Harry's eyes widened. "That makes Luna... my sister?"

Maurice nodded gravely. "Indeed, Harry. Your mother and Pandora shared a bond, which makes Luna your sister in the eyes of our community."

The revelation hit Harry like a thunderbolt. "We have to tell her," he said urgently. "We have to bring her here, to Nevarah. She can't stay there, not knowing who she really is. Especially if she won't be safe there."

Maurice nodded solemnly. "Yes, Harry, you're right. But it must be done with care. We cannot just pull her from her life without preparation." He paused, stroking his chin in thought. "I will ask someone to bring her. Someone I trust implicitly, an old friend of mine."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to process the new information. He looked back at the tapestry, his eyes searching for more familiar names. That's when he spotted them – his grandparents. Lily's parents. The sight of their names, surrounded by a warm, golden light, brought a sense of comfort, though he didn't recognize the names. Briar, Jun and Gardenia Evanson. He knew they were still alive due to the gold around their names.

"Oret," Harry said, his voice a mix of hope and trepidation, "Could we...could we contact them? I'd like to talk to my grandparents."

Maurice nodded. "Of course, Harry. But we must proceed with caution. After all, they've been living a different life, unaware of your existence for years." He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting to the tapestry before returning to Harry. "We shall send them a message bubble. It's a safe and secure method of communication. It will allow us to convey our intentions without revealing your presence directly."

Notes:

Let me know who you wish to see in the story.

Chapter 5: Down the rabbit hole we go

Summary:

The last of the library. Off to the healers

Finding the oceanus tapestry was like discovering a piece of Sirius’ soul laid bare. The tapestry was a riot of blues and greens, waves of color that crashed into each other, each thread telling the story of the ancient lineage. It was the polar opposite of the Evanson tapestry – vibrant, alive, and untouched by the shadows of grim revelations. Harry’s eyes widened as he took in the grandeur of it all, the scales of the dragels glinting in the soft glow of the library lights.

But amidst the splendor, one detail stood out to him – the dragels depicted here did not have wings. Instead, they had tails, long and powerful, that swept behind them like the waves of the sea. Their eyes, however, were the same piercing blue as the ocean itself, and Harry couldn’t help but feel drawn to them, to the sense of power and freedom they conveyed. He reached out a hand to touch the fabric, the fibers cool under his fingertips, and felt a sudden jolt of energy run through him.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Maurice asked, his gaze knowing. “The pull of your heritage. The Oceanus line is ancient, Harry. Older than most can comprehend. Your bond to them is strong.”

Their eyes followed the line from Sirius’ name upward. The names above were unfamiliar, the colors of their eyes starkly different from the Blacks Harry knew. He only recognized one name on the tapestry, Regulus Oceanus, Sirius' little brother.

"But where are Walburga and Orion?" Harry questioned, his brows furrowed. "Sirius said his mother was Walburga Black."

Maurice's expression grew solemn as he took Harry's hand and guided it to a section of the tapestry that was as dark as a moonless night. "Here, Harry," he whispered, his finger pointing to a name almost obscured by shadow. "Sirius' true parents are here."

The name was written in a script so fine it was almost invisible. "What happened to them?" Harry asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Ah, the Lost Children of Merrow," Maurice murmured, his eyes clouding over as he spoke. "A tragic tale indeed. A creche, a place where young merrow are nurtured and taught before they come into their powers, was raided by torvak assailants. Infants, all of them, with their futures stolen in the blink of an eye."

Sirius's expression grew grim as he listened, his hand unconsciously reaching for his wand. Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He knew torvaks were supposedly neutral creatures, but he'd never heard of them committing such a heinous crime.

"What...what do you mean, taken?" Harry managed to ask, his voice small in the vast, silent library.

Maurice's gaze grew distant. "The Lost Children of Merrow," he repeated. "Merrows are a rare and ancient line of water-dwelling Dragels. They are known for their cunning and their power over the tides. The creche where Sirius was taken was attacked by torvak assailants. Infants were stolen from their cribs, their caretakers slaughtered without mercy. It's been centuries, and the scars of that tragedy still run deep."

Sirius's hand tightened on Harry's shoulder, his eyes dark with a pain that Harry hadn't seen before. "But why?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What could anyone want with Merrow children?"

Maurice’s expression darkened. He was silent for awhile. Harry wasn't sure if he'd receive an answer.

"I'm not sure why," Maurice suddenly said "they're a beautiful, and alluring species. There was never a definite answer on why. Though, it is widely known that they're the first line of defense in the waters."

Sirius nodded solemnly. "Merrow are fierce protectors, aren't they? And their bonds are unbreakable."

"Indeed," Maurice agreed, his eyes never leaving the tapestry. "Their lineage is steeped in the ancient arts of the sea, and their bonds are as deep and unyielding as the ocean's tides."

Sirius stepped closer, his eyes scanning the tapestry, as if trying to absorb every detail of the lives he'd never known. He repeated the names under his breath, his eyes misting over with a mix of anger and grief. Malik Nightshade, Ryda Oceanus, Lazarus Oceanus. Names he’d never heard, but that now felt etched into his soul.

And then he saw it. His hand shot out, trembling, and pointed to a spot high on the tapestry. "Regulus," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The figure beside the name looked so much like him, yet the eyes – they were a soft, gentle blue, not the piercing black that Sirius had inherited from his mother.

"But how?" Harry asked, his voice echoing Sirius's shock. "I thought..."

"So did I," Sirius murmured, his hand still pointing at Regulus' image. "But here he is, as clear as day."

Maurice leaned in closer, his eyes following Sirius' shaking hand. "What is it, Sirius?"

Sirius' voice was hoarse with disbelief. "Regulus... he's alive." The words hung in the air like a spell that had gone awry.

Maurice peered closer, his eyes squinting at the tapestry. "Indeed," he murmured. "And it seems he's bonded to a Joker named Glynn Gorgons."

Sirius stepped back, his hand dropping to his side. "But, that's not possible," he said, his voice shaking. "Regulus... he's dead. I saw him... in the Black House... he was in that portrait..."

Maurice's gaze remained steady on the tapestry. "The portrait," he murmured. "A clever ruse, perhaps. A way to hide his true fate from those who would seek him."

Sirius felt the color drain from his face. "But why would he... why would they..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.

Maurice's gaze was gentle, understanding the turmoil of emotions coursing through Sirius. "We mustn't jump to conclusions, my dear," he said softly. "The tapestry shows us the truth of their bond, but it does not reveal the story behind it. Regulus had his reasons, I'm sure."

Sirius felt a maelstrom of emotions swirling inside him. The brother he thought he knew had been living a secret life, bonded to someone he'd never heard of. Glynn Gorgons. The name rolled around in his head, unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting. If Regulus was alive and bonded, it meant that he had found love, a bonded.

"A Joker," Harry murmured beside him, curiosity lighting his eyes. "What does that mean in the Dragel world?"

Maurice's expression softened as he explained, "Jokers are special, Harry. They are gheyo that have been transformed under extreme circumstances. When a gheyo is on the brink of death or suffering a great loss, the transformation occurs. It's a last ditch effort by nature to preserve their line, their essence."

"But what does it mean to be a wildcard?" Harry pressed, his curiosity piqued.

Maurice looked thoughtful. "Jokers are unpredictable, Harry. They can be incredibly powerful, but also incredibly dangerous if not handled with care." He paused, his gaze lingering on the tapestry. "Imagine a gheyo with the instincts of an alpha, the cunning of a beta, the grace of a submissive, and the fierce protectiveness of a pareya. They are a blend of all the traits, yet none of them at the same time. They're like a storm at sea – powerful, untamed, and beautifully chaotic."

The implications of this revelation were not lost on Harry. The very idea that someone could be transformed into such a being was mind-boggling. "What kind of circumstances would make a gheyo become a Joker?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

Maurice's eyes grew distant, as if recalling a distant memory. "Jokers are born from tragedy," he said softly. "From a desperate need to survive. They are the result of a powerful emotional or physical upheaval that alters the very fabric of their being. It's a rare and dangerous process, one that is not fully understood." He paused, his gaze lingering on Sirius, whose own emotions were a tempest. "But it does happen."

Sirius' mind raced with questions, but he remained silent, digesting the information. Regulus, his lost brother, alive and bonded. It was too much to take in. Harry, sensing his distress, reached for Sirius' hand, offering a silent gesture of support.

Maurice, ever the diplomat, suggested they take their leave from the library to allow Sirius time to process this revelation in private. As they exited, the grand archways whispered with the secrets of the tapestries they left behind, the weight of history pressing down on their shoulders.

Once back in the manor, Sirius retreated to his chambers, leaving Harry and Maurice in the grand foyer. Harry looked up at Maurice, his eyes brimming with questions and confusion. "What do we do now?"

Maurice took a deep breath, his eyes thoughtful. "Now, Harry," he said gently, "we send messages to your grandparents, and to my friend. We must inform them of the truth, but with the utmost care. These are delicate matters, and we don't wish to cause any undue distress." He gestured to a nearby chair, indicating that Harry should sit.

As Harry obeyed, he couldn't help but ask, "Who is your friend, Maurice? The one you talked about earlier?"

Maurice sat down opposite him, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Mariana Cunningham," he said, his voice filled with affection. "A gheyo submissive who is as sharp as a tack. She's like a mother hen with her charges, fiercely protective and incredibly wise. She's one of the most respected gheyos in our community. I've known her for centuries, and she has a military circle. She's known for taking gheyos and shaping them as best as she can."

"What does that mean, a 'military circle'?" Harry questioned, his curiosity growing.

Maurice leaned back in his chair, a proud smile playing on his lips. "A military circle," he explained, "is a specialized group of Dragels that serve the community in matters of defense and protection. They're comprised of at least three suites of gheyos, each with their own unique talents and abilities, working together in perfect harmony."

"And Mariana is their... leader?" Harry asked, trying to wrap his head around the concept.

"In a manner of speaking," Maurice said, his smile widening. "But more importantly, she's her circles submissive. She guides, she supports, but she's also right there in the thick of it when the time comes."

Maurice's eyes grew distant, lost in the tales of Mariana's valor. "Mariana is not one to shy away from a challenge," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "Her circle is known for its strategic prowess and unyielding loyalty. They are the guardians of the peace, and they stand ready to protect Nevarah from any threat that may arise."

The words painted a vivid picture in Harry's mind – a shadowy black-haired woman, her eyes gleaming with the light of battle, leading a team of equally formidable Dragels into the fray. It was a stark contrast to the gentle, nurturing role he'd always associated with submissives.

"Mara," Maurice said, his voice filled with warmth, "lives for the thrill of the hunt. She's a born warrior, Harry. Being a Gheyo submissive doesn't mean she's weak or passive. Far from it. Her role is to be the heart of the circle, the beacon that guides them through the darkest battles."

"But I thought submissives were... you know, not fighters," Harry said, feeling a bit naive.

Maurice chuckled, the sound echoing in the large room. "Ah, Harry, you're thinking of the old stereotypes. A submissive's role is not to be weak or passive. Far from it. Mariana is a prime example of that. Her strength is in her ability to read the tides of battle, to sense the needs of her circle, and to be the rock they lean on when the storm hits." His eyes sparkled with pride. "And when the time comes, she can be as fierce as any alpha."

He stood, his robes fluttering around him as he moved to a bookshelf filled with scrolls. "Her circle is known as the Night's Watchers. They are the eyes and ears of the shadows, the protectors in the dark." He pulled out a scroll and unfurled it, revealing an intricate map of Nevarah. "Mariana and her gheyos help patrol these borders, keeping us safe from the dangers that lurk in the dark."

Maurice pointed to a spot on the map, his expression intense. "There are whispers of unrest in the dragel lands, Harry. Torvaks who do not wish to live in peace. They seek to disrupt our way of life, to claim our lands for themselves. Mariana and her circle are often the first line of defense against such threats."

Harry nodded, his mind racing with questions and scenarios. He knew of the torvaks from his studies, but he had never considered them a personal threat. The thought of Luna, his sister, being in danger from them made his stomach churn.

Maurice, seemingly aware of Harry's tumultuous emotions, offered a comforting smile. "Fear not, Harry," he said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We will bring her here. And we will keep her safe." With that, he turned and made complex motion with his hand. He started to speak a message to the bubble that had appeared. The bubble, a deep blue, glinted in the firelight as it absorbed the words of their discovery and the urgent need to bring Luna to Nevarah.

As Maurice spoke, Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. The thought of his sister being in danger was something he never wanted to consider. Yet here he was, in a world of dragons and tapestries, learning of his own lineage and the potential threats to their newfound family. He sat in silence, watching as the message grew more intense, the colors within the bubble swirling with the gravity of Maurice's words.

Maurice finished his message with a flick of his wrist, sending the bubble on its way. The tension in the room grew palpable as they both knew the implications of what had just been set into motion. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

"I'll wait for her reply," Maurice said, his gaze lingering on the spot where the bubble had vanished. "In the meantime, let's prepare for your dinner, you need to eat Harry."

-----------------------------------------------

The following day saw Harry up early. He was preparing for the visit to the healers, the Kalziks. He was incredibly nervous but trying to put on a brave face. He knew from his talks with his oret that the exam would show all injuries from when he was born to that day.

The only thing to look forward to, in his mind, was that Mariana sent a replay back the previous night. She would be bringing Luna to Nevarah this evening.

"Remember Harry," Maurice said as he helped him into his robes. "You're going to be okay. The Kalziks are some of the best healers in all of Nevarah."

The young dragel nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as they made their way to the exit. The grand halls of the manor were quiet, the morning light streaming through the windows, casting warm shadows across the ancient tapestries that lined the walls.

When they arrived at the healer’s compound, Harry was struck by the smell of mint and eucalyptus, the scent of soothing potions and balms filling the air. The compound was round, with a high domed ceiling. The walls of the location for his exam, he seen once he entered,were lined with shelves upon shelves of bottles and jars, each filled with mysterious substances that glowed with an ethereal light. The floor was a mosaic of swirling blues and greens, reminiscent of the ocean tapestry they had seen in the library.

Surjini Kalzik, a slender dragel with a gentle demeanor and eyes that seemed to see into his very soul, greeted them warmly. "Welcome, Harry," she said, her voice as smooth as the honey-laced tea Harry had enjoyed in the manor’s kitchens. "We're here to ensure you're in tip-top condition."

Her sons, Quinn and Kyle, both young adults with the same piercing blue eyes as their mother, flanked her. Quinn, the elder, had a calming presence that reminded Harry of the rolling waves of the ocean, while Kyle’s sharp features and focused gaze were reminiscent of the swift and deadly predators that lurked beneath the water's surface.

As they approached, Harry felt a strange pull towards Quinn, despite not knowing why. His gaze was drawn to the silent dragel, who had an air of quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him. Quinn's eyes met Harry's, and for a moment, the young dragel felt as if the world had stopped. Quinn offered a nod, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, as if acknowledging somethings Harry doesn't yet know.

Surjini began explaining the process of the exam, her words a gentle lull in the bustling atmosphere. Quinn stood beside her, his eyes never leaving Harry. His expression was open, curious, and something else – something Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. Kyle, on the other hand, spoke for his brother, his voice a clear and steady stream of information that flowed effortlessly.

As the exam began, Harry found his eyes straying to Quinn often. The mute dragel would occasionally place a hand on Harry’s arm or give him a reassuring squeeze, his eyes speaking volumes without uttering a single syllable. Harry felt an odd comfort in Quinn's touch, as if the dragel was silently promising to be there, no matter what the healers might find.

Surjini waved her hand over Harry's body, her eyes narrowed in concentration as a diagnostic charm took effect. The air shimmered around him, casting a soft glow that highlighted every curve and line of his form. As the charm reached the base of Harry's neck, she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The room grew colder, and the shimmering light took on a darker hue. Harry felt a sudden weight in his chest, a painful reminder of his past.

Surjini's gaze snapped to Harry's eyes, her expression one of horror and pity. "I... I'm sorry, Harry," she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I need a moment." She turned away, her robes swishing around her as she rushed out of the room. Harry stared after her, his heart racing.

Maurice looked at him, his face a mask of concern. "What did she see?" Harry whispered, his voice shaking.

Quinn took a step forward, his eyes filled with a silent promise to protect. Kyle's gaze was equally intense, his grip tightening on his wand. "It's alright," he said firmly, though the tremor in his voice belied his words. "Let's wait for Mother to return."

A few moments later, Surjini re-entered the room, her eyes red-rimmed but her demeanor composed. She took a deep breath and approached Harry, her hands trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, her voice quivering. "Your test shows that you bear old injuries, some of which are... quite severe. And there are five... seals upon you."

"What are seals?" Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Surjini took a deep breath, her expression grim. "Seals are magical bindings, usually placed on young dragels to contain their gifts until they learn to control them. But the ones on you... they're different." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Two of these seals are intended to constrict you, to hold you back from finding any of your soulbonded. They would not allow you you to let out a Soul Scream or even a Soul Cry."

The room grew tense as Harry and Maurice absorbed the information. Maurice's grip tightened on Harry's shoulder, his own concern mirroring Harry's. "But the other three," Surjini continued, "These are normal. They're family seals, ones meant to keep you from hurting yourself with gifts that are prevalent in those lines."

The revelation shook Harry to his core. He had always felt a strange sense of detachment from the wizarding world, and now he understood why. The seals had been a prison, holding back the essence of who he truly was. "Can you remove them?" Harry asked, his voice a mere whisper.

Surjini's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of pity and determination. "The soul seals are delicate," she replied, her voice measured. "They've been placed by someone powerful with malicious intent. Quinn," she nodded towards her son, "has the necessary skills. But the family seals... they require the consent and participation of the heads of your lineage."

Quinn stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cover Harry's trembling one. His touch was warm, a silent promise of support. Harry looked up at him, searching for answers in those piercing blue eyes that held a hint of sadness.

Surjini spoke again, her voice filled with regret. "The soul seals are a violation, Harry. They were never meant to be placed on you, not like this."

Quinn's gaze was unwavering, his hand still covering Harry's. He nodded solemnly. "I'll take care of it," he mouthed, the promise clear despite his inability to speak.

Surjini nodded, her eyes filled with trust in her son. "Quinn will remove the soul seals today," she announced. "But for the family seals, we must wait until we have the consent and assistance of the heads of your lines." She paused, her gaze flicking to Maurice. "And until we're certain it's the right time."

Quinn's grip on Harry's hand tightened, and the young dragel felt a surge of gratitude. Despite not knowing him well, he trusted Quinn implicitly. Maurice, however, was visibly tense, his eyes flicking between Harry and the Kalziks. "Are you sure it's safe?" he asked, his voice tight.

Surjini nodded, a steely determination in her eyes. "The longer those soul seals are in place, the greater the risk to Harry's well-being. We must remove them as soon as possible."

Maurice nodded gravely, his gaze never leaving Harry's. "And the family seals?"

Surjini sighed, her expression a mix of regret and resignation. "As much as I wish we could remove them now, we must proceed with caution. The heads of your family lines must be present and consenting for their removal. It's a matter of tradition and respect."

Maurice nodded in understanding, though his eyes remained clouded with worry. Harry could see the cogs turning in his mind, planning their next steps. "Very well," he said firmly. "We shall await their response."

Quinn, who had been quietly observing the exchange, gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. The silent dragel's eyes spoke volumes, filled with a fierce protectiveness that was both surprising and comforting. Harry felt his fears ease slightly under the weight of Quinn's promise.

The exam continued with the removal of the soul seals. It was a painful process, each seal releasing a torrent of suppressed magic and emotions. Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out, his eyes squeezed shut as Quinn worked with a steady hand. The air crackled with energy as the seals were broken. With each snap, Harry felt lighter, as though a part of him that had been trapped for years was finally set free.

When the second soul seal broke away completely, Harry's instincts roared to the surface, overwhelming him with a sudden, primal need. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring into Quinn's, the silent dragel's pupils dilated with concern and something else – something Harry hadn't expected. It was a need, a hunger that matched his own. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks – Quinn was one of his soulbonded.

Quinn's hand didn't move from Harry's, his thumb stroking the back of Harry's hand soothingly. The action sent a shiver of warmth up Harry's arm, and he couldn't help but lean into the touch. The questioning chirup that had escaped him was met with a soft, understanding nod from Quinn, who seemed to understand the tumult of emotions Harry was experiencing.

Maurice, ever observant, noticed the change in Harry's demeanor and the unspoken communication between him and Quinn. He gave Harry a knowing look, one that said 'we'll talk about this later'. Harry felt a blush creep up his cheeks, but he couldn't look away from Quinn. The silent dragel's eyes searched his, the unspoken conversation between them more eloquent than any words could ever be.

Finally, Harry found his voice. "What happens now?" he croaked, his eyes never leaving Quinn's.

Maurice cleared his throat, his expression a mix of understanding and hesitation. "Well," he began, "you know, in our society, when we find a soulbond, there are two paths we can take. The first is to exchange claiming bites immediately. It's a way to solidify the bond, to let the world know you belong to each other."

He paused, giving Harry time to process the gravity of what he was saying. The young dragel felt his heart pound in his chest, his eyes still locked with Quinn's. Maurice continued, his voice softer, "But the second option is to wait, to get to know each other, to court."

"Court?" Harry asked, his voice a mere whisper. The word was unfamiliar in this context, a relic from a romance novel he'd read long ago.

Maurice nodded, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Courting is when two soulbonded individuals take time to learn about each other, to understand one another's hearts and minds. It's a traditional Dragel custom, allowing the bond to grow naturally before the final claim."

The concept was both alien and fascinating to Harry. He'd read about human courtship in books, but the idea of it being a magical and societal rite was new to him. His thoughts swirled with questions and excitement. "What does that involve?"

Maurice's smile grew. "Courting is a beautiful process, Harry. It's a time of discovery and growth. You'll spend time together, learn each other's likes, dislikes, fears, and dreams. It's about building trust, respect, and affection before you decide to bind your souls forever."

Quinn nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving Harry's. The silence between them grew thick, the unspoken understanding palpable. It was as if they were already speaking a language that only soulbonded could understand.

Maurice, recognizing the depth of the moment, cleared his throat gently. "Quinn," he said, his voice low and respectful, "would you be willing to court Harry?"

Quinn's eyes never left Harry's. He nodded, his thumb still caressing the back of Harry's hand. It was a silent affirmation, one that made Harry's heart race with excitement.

Maurice's eyes lit up with a hint of relief and happiness. "It seems you have made your choice," he said, his voice filled with a warmth that had been absent since the revelation of the seals. "Now, let's focus on healing and learning more about each other. We have a busy day ahead."

With a gentle nod, Quinn released Harry's hand, stepping back to give him space. Harry felt the loss of contact like a cold breeze, but he knew they had made a significant step in their journey together. The anticipation of the impending freedom was almost too much to bear.

Chapter 6: LUNA -mmmhm sorry- Introducing Miss Luna

The young dragel felt a mix of excitement and anxiety, his thoughts racing with the prospect of a future unshackled from the constraints of the soul seals. As they finished up with the Kalziks, he couldn't help but cast glances at Quinn, who remained stoic yet ever-present.

Maurice, seemingly reading Harry's mind, turned to the mute dragel. "Quinn, would you be so kind as to stay with Harry while I go and arrange the next steps?"

Quinn nodded, his expression unreadable but his eyes warm. Harry felt a pang of separation anxiety as Maurice left the room, but the silent presence beside him was comforting. The bond between them, though new, felt as ancient as the tapestries they had seen in the library.

As Maurice left, the brothers looked at Harry with curiosity. "You know," Kyle spoke up, "it's not just you who needs to be checked over. As your mentor and protector, Maurice should be in top condition too."

"I know," Harry murmured, still lost in thought. "He promised me he would get one as well."

Surjini nodded. "It's important for all of us to be in our best health," she said, her eyes flicking to the door Maurice had just exited through. "But let's not worry about that right now. We have other matters to attend to."

The rest of the exam was a blur for Harry. His mind was racing with the thought of his soulbond with Quinn and the promise of Luna's arrival. The Kalzik brothers were professional and thorough, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency, as if every moment that passed was a moment lost with his sister.

When they finished, Kyle offered to show him around the compound to wait for Maurice. Harry nodded, eager for the distraction. They wandered through the corridors, the walls adorned with photos depicting scenes of different realms and mythical creatures. The colors danced in the dim light, casting a mysterious aura around them.

As they walked, Harry couldn't shake the thought of Sirius. He had only met him recently, but the bond he felt was undeniable. He hoped his health was as strong as Quinn's touch had made him feel. "Is there a place we can send a message to Sirius?" Harry asked, his voice echoing slightly in the hallway.

Kyle nodded. "Follow me," he said, leading Harry to a small alcove with an enchanted mirror. "This will reach him at the manor."

Harry stepped closer, his reflection warped and distorted in the magical glass. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Sirius," he called out, his voice echoing in the small space. The mirror's surface shivered before resolving into the image of the older dragel, his eyes wide with concern.

"What is it, Harry?" Sirius replied, his gaze darting around the room as if expecting danger to be lurking nearby.

"I just had my medical exam with the Kalziks," Harry began, his voice a mix of excitement and anxiety. "They said we all need to be in top condition. So, I wanted to remind you about the promise you made to get checked too."

Sirius's expression tightened, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice strained. "I remember that. But I'm feeling perfectly fine. No need to bother the healers with my trivialities."

"But you promised," Harry said, his voice firm. "We can't ignore your health."

Sirius sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping. "Fine," he conceded. "But only because you insist."

The mirror's surface shimmered as Sirius's form faded away, leaving Harry feeling both relieved and anxious. He knew the truth of what had happened to Sirius – the years in Azkaban, the pain and suffering he had endured. The thought of his parent hiding his own health concerns was almost too much to bear.

"Thank you," Harry whispered to the mirror, though the words felt inadequate. He turned to Kyle, his eyes pleading. "Can you keep an eye on him? Make sure he follows through?"

Kyle nodded solemnly. "I will," he promised. "But now, let's get back to the waiting room. Maurice shouldn't be much longer."

The waiting room was bathed in a warm, comforting light, the walls lined with ancient tomes that spoke of healing spells and potions. Harry picked one up, his eyes scanning the pages automatically. The words were in a language he hadn't seen before, but the images painted a vivid picture of the art of dragel healing.

Quinn sat beside him, his presence a silent reassurance. Harry felt the weight of his gaze and looked up to find Quinn watching him, a soft smile on his face. Without a word, Quinn reached out and placed a hand on Harry's arm, his touch a silent promise to be there for him through it all.

As their skin made contact, a warmth flooded through Harry, and suddenly, Quinn's voice was in his mind, clear as day. "Don't worry," he said, his eyes filled with kindness. "We'll navigate this together."

The words, though unspoken aloud, resonated clearpy within Harry's mind, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. It was a strange sensation, but also incredibly comforting. Quinn's touch was a lifeline, a bridge between their minds, allowing them to communicate in a way Harry had never experienced before.

Maurice returned, his expression unreadable. Harry looked up from the book, setting it aside, his heart racing. Maurice's eyes searched his, as if looking for something, but he said nothing. "Everything's in order," he simply said.

"Ready to leave?" Maurice asked, his tone gentle.

The question brought Harry back to reality. He nodded, placing the book back on the shelf with trembling hands. The bond with Quinn was still new, and the depth of his emotions was overwhelming. "Yes," he said, his voice a little too loud in the quiet room.

They left the healer's compound, the cool evening air hitting them like a wall as they stepped outside. The stars twinkled in the sky, a stark contrast to the warm glow of the healing center behind them. Maurice took a deep breath, his expression unreadable as they began their walk back to the porting location.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, looking up at Maurice. The older dragel nodded, his eyes a little too bright in the moonlight.

"As well as can be," Maurice replied, his voice tight. "But it seems we have more to deal with than we anticipated."

They had barely left the compound before Maurice's expression grew serious. "Mariana Cunningham has returned," he announced, his eyes meeting Harry's with a hint of trepidation. "She arrived with Luna and a Xenophilius Lovegood."

"Why is Xenophilius here?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. The name was vaguely familiar from his father's letters, but he had never met the man.

Maurice's gaze was solemn as he explained. "Xenophilius has been raising Luna since your parents passed away," he revealed. The words hit Harry like a sledgehammer, and he stumbled slightly, Maurice's hand shooting out to steady him.

"What?" Harry managed to get out, his voice barely above a whisper. "But why?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Maurice said, his voice tight with emotion. "But she's at the manor, waiting for us."

The revelation left Harry reeling. The manor – the place he had only just left, feeling like he had finally found a home, was now filled with uncertainty and unanswered questions. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. "Okay," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's go."

Maurice's hand on his shoulder was a comforting presence as they made their way back to the portaling location. The journey felt both too long and too short, with Harry's mind racing with thoughts of his sister and the mysterious Xenophilius Lovegood. As they arrived, Maurice's grip tightened. "Remember, Harry," he said, his eyes serious, "stay calm and let things unfold naturally."

With a deep breath, Harry nodded. "I will," he murmured, trying to still the butterflies in his stomach. Quinn stepped back, his eyes never leaving Harry's. The bond between them thrummed with a silent understanding, a promise that they would be together soon.

Maurice spoke the incantation, and the world around them swirled into a kaleidoscope of colors. "Temptrificus Portgas Emerald Hollow," he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of their situation. The two of them appeared back at the manor, the cold rush of displaced air giving way to the warm, familiar scent of home.

The manor looked the same as they had left it, but something had changed – the air was charged with anticipation and tension. Harry could feel it in the very fabric of the building, as if the stones themselves were holding their breath.

Maurice gave him a reassuring nod and Harry took off, his legs carrying him through the hallways with a newfound urgency. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the quiet manor, each beat of his heart echoing in his ears. He didn't know where to find Luna, but his instincts pulled him forward.

Turning a corner, he heard faint voices drifting from a nearby room, one of them unmistakably Luna's. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickened his pace, the anticipation of finally meeting his sister after all these years threatening to overwhelm him. He pushed open the door to find her sitting by the fireplace, her eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of fear.

As she caught sight of Harry, the tension in her posture melted away, replaced with a soft smile that mirrored their mother's. She looked at him with a familiar warmth, and he knew in that moment that she recognized him, despite the years they'd been apart. "Luna," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Without waiting for a response, Harry closed the distance between them in three long strides, his arms outstretched. Luna's eyes searched his for a brief moment, then she leaped to her feet, her arms wrapping around him tightly. The warmth of her embrace was unlike anything Harry had ever felt. It was as though she were filling a void he hadn't even known existed, a piece of him that had been missing for too long.

Xenophilius looked on from a nearby chair, his expression a peculiar blend of sadness and relief. Harry felt a twinge of curiosity about this man who had raised his sister, but the emotions of the moment were too overwhelming to give it much thought. "I'm so sorry," Harry whispered into Luna's hair. "For everything."

Luna pulled back slightly, her gaze searching his. "Sorry?" she repeated, a hint of confusion in her voice. "Why are you sorry?"

"For not being there," Harry said, his voice thick with regret. "For not knowing about you, for not finding you sooner."

Luna's smile grew sad. "Don't be sorry, Harry," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "Everything happens for a reason. I've had a good life with Mr. Lovegood."

Her words didn't lessen the guilt Harry felt, but they did ease some of the tension in the room. He looked at Xenophilius, who nodded solemnly. "Your mother was a dear friend," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "I promised her I would look after Luna until the time was right."

"Thank you," Harry managed to say, the words feeling inadequate. He knew nothing about the man before him, but he could feel the love and protection he had given Luna. It was a debt he could never truly repay.

But the question of their separation still burned in his mind. "Why were we separated?" Harry asked, his voice trembling. Luna's gaze flickered to Xenophilius, then back to Harry.

The older man sighed, his eyes misting over with memories. "Right before your parents died, I was sent patronus to protect you both," he began, his voice thick with regret. "But I couldn't get to you in time. Dumbledore had already taken you."

Luna's grip on Harry tightened, her eyes wide with understanding. "You tried to save us?" she whispered.

"Yes," Xenophilius said, his voice filled with a sadness that seemed to hang in the air. "But Dumbledore had already kidnapped Harry. I arrived just in time to take you to safety."

Luna's grip on Harry tightened, her eyes welling up with tears. "I didn't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I thought you forgot about him."

Xenophilius stood, his own eyes glistening. "Never," he assured her, stepping closer. "Your parents made me promise to keep you safe, to raise you until it was time for you to know the truth." He paused, looking between Harry and Luna. "And now that you're both here, together, I can rest a little easier."

Luna looked up at Harry, her gaze hopeful. "Does this mean we can be a family again?"

Harry's heart swelled with love for his sister. He nodded, his voice filled with emotion. "Yes," he said, the word resonating in the quiet room. "Yes, Luna. We can be a family again."

The relief on Xenophilius's face was palpable as he stepped back, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Thank you for being here for her."

Luna's smile was like the dawn after a long, dark night. She looked at Harry, her eyes full of hope. "What now?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Now," Harry said, his voice firm, "we build a life together. I'll always be here for you, Luna."

The words hung in the air, a promise that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the manor. Maurice looked on, his expression a complex mix of pride and concern. The bond between Harry and Luna was clear to see, a bond that had survived years of separation and deceit.

"We'll need to explain everything to her," Maurice said quietly, his gaze flickering between the siblings. "The Dragel society, your heritage, the dangers we face."

"What dangers?" Luna asked, her curiosity piqued.

"It's a long story, but the most important thing to know is that you're not just a witch, Luna," Harry began, his heart racing as he prepared to reveal her true identity. "You're a Dragel, just like me."

Luna's eyes widened, her grip on Harry's hand tightening. "A what?"

Maurice stepped forward, his voice calm and reassuring. "A Dragel," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "A magical being with the ability to transform into a dragon. It's your heritage."

Luna looked between them, her expression a mix of disbelief and wonder. "But I've never..." she began, her voice trailing off as she searched her memories for any hint of her draconic lineage.

"Who exactly are my parents?" She asks quietly. She knows Harry is her brother, but she's not sure who his parents actually are.

Maurice sighs quietly, he knew this was going to be something he couldn't actually answer right then. "To be completely sure, you'd need to take an inheritance test. I'm not familiar with the spell that would tell you right now."

"But I thought we did that already," Harry says, his voice tinged with confusion.

"You did, Harry," Maurice replies gently, his eyes meeting Harry's. "But the test only showed your parentage. For Luna, we know that Pandora carried her. We don't know who her sire or third are."

Luna's eyes dart between them, trying to piece together the puzzle of her existence. "But why would I be different?"

Maurice takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's not unheard of for a dragel siblings to have had different sires," he explains. "Dragels bond in circles. The entire circle is considered parents to the children but that doesn't mean that each child will have the same parentage."

Luna nods, her eyes still wide with shock. "But who could my other parents be?"

"We'll figure it out together," Harry promises, squeezing her hand. "But for now, let's just focus on getting to know each other and learning about our new life as Dragels."

Luna nods, her eyes never leaving Harry's. "Okay," she whispers, her voice shaking slightly. "But what about Mr. Lovegood? Can he stay?"

"Of course," Harry says immediately, his voice filled with conviction. Maurice nods in agreement. "You're as much a part of this as we are," he adds looking at Xeno, his eyes warm with acceptance.

Xenophilius looks between them, his expression a mix of surprise and gratitude. "Thank you," he says, his voice choked with emotion. "I never wanted to keep Luna from her heritage, but I had to protect her."

Maurice nods, his gaze understanding. "We'll explain everything to her," he says. "But first, let's all sit down."

They move to the cozy seating area by the fireplace, and Harry can't help but feel like he's stepping into a scene from a fairytale, one where long-lost siblings are reunited. Xenophilius takes a seat in a high-backed chair, his eyes never leaving Luna as she sits next to Harry on the plush couch. Maurice sits on the edge of the armrest, his hand resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Luna," Maurice starts, his voice calm and steady. "When Harry came into his inheritance a couple of days ago, he discovered that he is not only a wizard but a Dragel, too. I rushed to his side as soon as I could."

Her eyes wide with wonder, Luna listens intently as Maurice continues to explain the complexities of the Dragel world – the circles, Harrys seals, and the bonds that define their existence. Harry watches her, his heart swelling with love and a newfound sense of responsibility. He knew that Luna was special, but he had no idea just how special she truly was.

"So, I'm a dragon?" she whispers, her voice filled with awe.

Maurice smiles, a gentle warmth in his eyes. "Dragel, actually," he corrects, his tone soothing. "It's a bit more nuanced than that. You see, we're a magical race with the ability to transform into dragons, but we're sentient, with our own culture and society."

Luna's eyes light up with curiosity as she looks at Harry. "So, you're a dragon too?"

Maurice nods, his expression softening. "Dragel, actually," he repeats, enunciating the word with gentle care. "It's a term that encompasses more than just our ability to transform. It's about who we are as a people, our heritage, our culture."

The room is silent for a moment, the crackling fire the only sound as Luna processes this revelation. Harry watches her, his heart pounding with excitement and fear for what comes next. He knows the road ahead is fraught with challenges, but he's ready to face them with his sister by his side.

Chapter 7: Time shkip

One month later, while Harry was sword training with Beaker, he finally broached the subject that's been on his mind for awhile. He remembers asking Maurice, when they first met, if he'd be going back to Hogwarts. He has yet to get an actual answer.

"Beaker," Harry said slowly, "will Luna and I be returning to Hogwarts?"

The griffin paused mid-strike, his beak open in surprise. "Ah, Harrison," he said, his tone a mix of regret and finality. "No, you won't be returning to that place."

"But why not?" Harry pressed, his eyes searching the creature's sharp gaze for any hint of a reason.

Beaker chuckled, his feathers ruffling with the motion. "Can you name one year, Harrison, that you weren't in some sort of danger at that school?"

The question hit Harry like a cold splash of water, and he sputtered, trying to find the right words. "But, but..." he stuttered, his mind racing through his tumultuous years at the wizarding school.

Finally, he found his voice. "But what about my friends?" Harry's eyes searched Beaker's, his grip on the sword tightening.

Beaker's gaze softened, his feathers flattening out. "Your friends will still be in your heart, and you in theirs. But your place is here, now, with your sister and your people. You have much to learn about being a Dragel, and Hogwarts can no longer provide the protection or education you need."

The words stung, but Harry knew deep down that Beaker was right. His heart felt torn at the thought of leaving behind the life he'd known, but the bond with Luna, the promise of a new family, and the allure of his true heritage called to him. "But I have to go back," Harry murmured, his voice filled with determination.

Beaker's gaze was knowing, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "To what?" he asked, his tone gentle. "To a world that has kept you in the dark about your true nature? That has tried to shackle you?"

"But my friends," Harry said, his voice tight with emotion. "They need me."

Beaker nodded, his eyes understanding. "Your friends will be there for you, but your destiny lies here, in Nevarah. Your place is with your sister, learning about your heritage, and growing into the Dragel you're meant to be."

The griffin leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And if you go back, Harry, you won't be able to see Quinn." The mention of his soulbonded sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Quinn, who had become a pillar of support and understanding in such a short amount of time. Quinn, whose silent presence had become as essential to him as breathing.

The field grew quiet as Harry digested Beaker's words. Quinn, his soulmate, the person he was destined to be with, was here in Nevarah. The thought of being separated from him was unbearable.

Without a word to Beaker, Harry abruptly turned and started walking away from the training grounds. The grass whispered under his feet, the cool evening air carrying the faint scent of rain. He needed to be alone to think, to feel, to breathe. The gravity of his decision weighing heavily on his shoulders, he didn't notice the ground beneath him begin to slope upwards until he reached the crest of the hill overlooking the sprawling manor.

As he stared into the twilight, the shadows began to stir restlessly around him, as if echoing his tumultuous emotions. They twisted and turned, stretching out like living tendrils, reaching towards him. Harry felt a strange kinship with them, a kinship that seemed to resonate from deep within his soul. It was as if the shadows knew his pain, his confusion, his fear.

The bond between Harry and Luna grew stronger with each passing day. They spent hours poring over ancient texts in the library, learning about their heritage, their powers, and the expectations that came with being Dragels. Harry felt a sense of belonging he had never experienced before, a connection to something far greater than himself. Yet, the thought of leaving his friends, of turning his back on the world he had known for so long, haunted him.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Luna looked up from her book, her gaze thoughtful. "You know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've been thinking about Hogwarts."

Her words brought Harry out of his reverie, his eyes snapping to hers. "What about it?" he asked, his heart racing.

"I think I understand now," she said, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Our place isn't there anymore. It's here, with our family."

Her words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. He knew she was right, but the thought of leaving his old life behind was still a difficult pill to swallow. "But what about the people I care about?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. "What about Ron and Hermione?"

Luna's expression softened, understanding the struggle Harry was facing. "They're a part of you, Harry," she said gently. "And you're a part of them. But you have to follow your heart, your instincts. You're not just a wizard anymore. You're a Dragel, and your destiny lies with us."

Her words echoed in the quiet of the library, the crackling fire the only sound punctuating the silence. Harry leaned back in his chair, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the flickering flames. The warmth of the room did little to combat the cold realization that his world was forever changed.

"One day on earth is four here," Maurice had said when they first arrived in Nevarah. It had been a month since they left Britian behind, and the truth of those words was now starkly apparent. A month here, and it felt like a lifetime had passed. Harry's hand moved to his pocket, fingering the edges of the Gringotts gem, the cold stone a stark reminder of the wealth and responsibility now at his fingertips.

He watched as the shadows grew longer, stretching out like the days here in Nevarah. The concept was still alien to him, but he found a certain comfort in the extended hours of light. It was as if time itself was giving him more moments to absorb his new reality, to get to know Luna and learn about the world of the Dragels. Yet, with each day that passed, the ache for his old life grew stronger.

For Harry, the month in Nevarah had been a whirlwind of emotions, a blend of joy and sorrow that had forever changed him. But for his friends in Britian, it had only been a week and a half. A week and a half since they had heard from him, since they had any clue as to where he had gone. The thought of their worry, their confusion, gnawed at him like a persistent ache.

Maurice noticed Harry's distant gaze and knew what he was thinking. He stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Write to them," he suggested gently. "Send them a letter. It will ease their minds and give you a chance to explain."

"But what do I say?" Harry asked, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "They're not going to understand any of this."

"Tell them the truth, but not all of it," Maurice advised, his eyes wise and knowing. "Let them know you're safe, that you've found your family, but keep the details of Nevarah and being a Dragel to yourself for now. There's a way to bridge the gap between worlds without tearing them apart."

With a heavy heart, Harry took a deep breath and nodded. He knew Maurice was right; he couldn't burden his friends with the overwhelming reality of Nevarah and his true heritage. It was a secret that could endanger them all.

Luna looked at Harry with understanding. "I'll help you," she offered, her voice soft. "We can write to them together."

They decided to wait until the next morning to compose the letters, needing the night to gather their thoughts. Harry felt a pang of sadness at the prospect of telling his friends he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts, but the bond with his sister was too strong to ignore.

The following day, as the sun streamed in through the library windows, Harry found Luna sitting at the large wooden table, surrounded by parchment and ink bottles. She looked up as he approached, her expression a mix of excitement and nerves. "Ready to write?" she asked, holding out a quill.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry said, taking a seat next to her. "But before we start, there's something I've been wondering."

Luna's eyes met his, curiosity lighting her features. "What's that?"

"What about your friends?" Harry asked, his voice gentle. "Do you miss them?"

Luna's eyes grew distant as she thought of her schoolmates at Hogwarts. "Theodore Nott was my closest friend," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "And Cassius Warrington was always kind to me."

"But here," she continued, her gaze returning to Harry, "I've found something more." She gestured to the vast library around them, the shelves groaning with ancient texts that spoke of their heritage. "I've found family, a place where I truly belong."

Her words resonated within him, and Harry nodded solemnly. He knew that feeling all too well. "I miss them too," he admitted, picking up a piece of parchment. "But I think they'll understand, in their own way."

The siblings spent hours crafting their letters, sharing stories of their new lives while carefully omitting the magical aspects of Nevarah. They talked about the beauty of the land, the kindness of the people, and the sense of belonging they had discovered. Each word was chosen with care, a delicate dance of truth and omission.

As they sealed their letters with a flick of their wrists, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was leaving a part of himself behind. Yet, as he looked at Luna, her eyes sparkling with excitement at the prospect of their future together, he knew that this was the right path.

"I'll take these to Britian and send them by owl," Maurice said, plucking the letters from the table. "They should reach your friends by tomorrow morning."

The siblings watched as Maurice disappeared into the hallway, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Luna turned to Harry, her expression a mix of hope and fear. "Do you think they'll be okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"They're strong," Harry replied, trying to convince himself as much as her. "They've been through a lot with me."

Luna nodded, but the crease between her brows didn't ease. "I just hope they won't think we've abandoned them," she murmured.

"They'll understand," Harry said, trying to sound more assured than he felt. "They know we're not the type to run off without a reason."

The siblings turned their attention back to their studies, eager to learn more about their new world. Over the next few days, they focused on their training and bonding, with Harry's lessons with Beaker and his Oret growing more intense as he began to grasp the extent of his powers. Meanwhile, Luna showed an innate talent for potions, often spending hours with Surjini in the manor's enchanted kitchen.

One crisp morning, as the sun painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, Maurice announced that they would be meeting their grandparents, Briar, Jun, and Gardenia Evanson. Harry and Luna exchanged nervous glances, their hearts racing with excitement and a hint of trepidation. They had heard so much about them and now, they would finally get to know their living relatives.

Chapter 8: Meeting the Evansons

The journey to the grand Evanson estate was filled with anticipation. The walk through the lush countryside of Nevarah was serene, allowing them to gather their thoughts and rehearse what they would say. As they approached the grandiose manor, the siblings couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer size and beauty of the place. It was a stark contrast to the cozy, cluttered house in which they had grown up.

Upon their arrival, they were greeted by a trio of stern-faced elders. Harry recognized the resemblance to the portraits he had seen in his mother's old room - the sharp angles of their faces, the piercing gaze that seemed to see right through him. They were introduced as Briar, Jun, and Gardenia Evanson, their grandparents from the Lily's side.

The initial greeting was tense, filled with unspoken questions and a palpable air of scrutiny. The grandparents took in the sight of Harry and Luna, their eyes lingering on the unmistakable signs of their heritage - Harry's emerald eyes and Luna's silver hair. Maurice had prepared them for the formalities, but nothing could have readied them for the emotional weight of the moment.

"You're nervous," said a gentle voice, breaking the silence. Harry and Luna looked up to find their grandmother, Jun, studying them with a knowing smile. "Don't be," she continued, her eyes twinkling. "We're just happy to finally meet you both."

"But we've never met before," Harry stuttered, his palms sweaty.

"It matters not," Briar said firmly, his voice like the rustling of leaves. "You are the children of our flesh and blood. The circumstances of your birth do not change that."

Gardenia, one of the Evansons pareya, stepped forward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "We've missed so much," she murmured, reaching out to cup their faces in her delicate hands. "Let us not waste any more time on what could have been. Instead, let us focus on what is to come."

The grand tour of the estate was an overwhelming experience for Harry and Luna. Each room held a piece of their heritage, a story waiting to be told. The walls whispered with secrets and history, and every artifact they passed spoke of a legacy that was now theirs to carry. They walked through halls lined with portraits of ancestors, their eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces, searching for a spark of recognition.

"I can't believe we're actually related to all these people," Luna murmured, her eyes wide with wonder as they entered a grand ballroom, the ceiling a mural of swirling galaxies.

"It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" Harry said, his voice tight. "But it's nothing compared to the portrait I have back at the manor'. It's of our mom and dad, actually."

Luna's eyes grew wide, and she looked at him with a mix of awe and curiosity. "Could I see it?" she asked, her voice tentative.

"Of course," Harry said, a smile playing on his lips. "It's our history, after all."

The siblings spent the afternoon getting to know their grandparents, sharing stories of their lives in Britian, and listening to tales of their ancestors. The grandparents were curious about the wizarding world and its customs, and Harry and Luna found themselves explaining spells, Quidditch, and the peculiarities of wizarding politics. The evening passed in a blur of laughter and conversation, the tension of the earlier days forgotten.

As night fell, the family gathered in the grand dining hall for dinner. The room was a symphony of candlelight and gleaming silverware, the long table groaning with a feast that could have fed an army. Harry and Luna sat between their grandparents, feeling both honored and intimidated by the formidable figures that were now their kin.

The conversation at dinner was a delicate dance of curiosity and caution. Harry watched as his grandparents studied them, their expressions a mix of pride and concern. He knew they had much to learn about the world of wizards and the life they had led, and he felt a burgeoning responsibility to represent their mother's lineage with dignity.

"Tell us, Harry," Briar said, his eyes sharp despite his gentle tone, "what do you know of your mother's family?"

"Well," Harry began, his voice a little shaky, "I know she has a twin sister named Petunia."

Briar's expression grew solemn. "Yes," he said, his voice low. "The two of them were taken from us as infants. It was a dark time for our family, a loss we never truly recovered from."

"But she's still alive," Harry said, his voice firm. "And I know her."

Briar's eyes narrowed, his expression one of disbelief. "You know her?" he repeated, his tone skeptical.

"Yes," Harry said, his voice firm despite his nerves. "Petunia Dursley. She's my aunt."

Briar's eyes widened, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. "You speak the truth?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"I do," Harry said, meeting his grandfather's gaze. "But she's not the infant you remember. She's... changed."

The room grew still, the air thick with unspoken tension. Luna reached for Harry's hand under the table, squeezing it gently in support. He took a deep breath and continued. "Aunt Petunia is...spiteful. She's not kind to me, or to anyone who doesn't fit her narrow view of the world."

Jun spoke up, her voice a gentle melody that seemed to calm the storm brewing in the room. "Tell us more," she said, her eyes never leaving Harry's. "We need to understand."

Harry took a deep breath and recounted the years of abuse and neglect he'd endured. The meager meals, the cupboard under the stairs, the endless chores, and the cruel words that stung worse than any physical blow. Luna's grip on his hand grew tighter as he spoke, her eyes filling with horror at the thought of her brother's suffering. The grandparents listened in silence, their expressions a mix of anger and sorrow.

When he mentioned Dudley, the topic brought a peculiar twist to the conversation. "He's growing up," Harry said, his voice devoid of warmth. "And he's becoming... different."

Luna looked at him quizzically. "Different how?"

"He's... nicer," Harry said, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. "He's started helping around the house, and he even thanked me once."

Luna's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "Dudley Dursley, thanking you?"

"I know, it's hard to believe," Harry said with a small shrug. "But it's true. I don't know what happened, but overnight he went from a bully to... well, almost civil."

Briar and Maurice shared a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher. Concern flickered in their eyes, a silent communication that left him feeling more confused than ever.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, his voice tentative. "Is it something about Dudley?"

Briar and Maurice exchanged a knowing look, one that sent a chill down Harry's spine. It was a look that spoke volumes, a silent conversation filled with unspoken warnings and hidden knowledge. "It's concerning," Briar finally said, his voice measured. "Very concerning indeed."

"Why?" Harry pressed, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to the story than they were letting on. "What do you mean?"

Briar's expression grew serious, his gaze unwavering. "Some things are best left unsaid, Harry," he said firmly. "For now, let us focus on the matters at hand."

The meal continued, but the mood had shifted. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that his grandparents were keeping something from him, something important about his aunt and uncle's family. He cast a sidelong glance at Luna, who seemed lost in thought, her eyes distant and unfocused.

"You know," she said finally, her voice soft, "I always knew there was something special about us. Something that made us different."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his voice a little hoarse. "But I never thought it would be this."

"Magic," Luna whispered, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "It's a gift, but also a burden."

Her words resonated with Harry, the weight of his newfound heritage pressing down on him. "What do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Luna took a deep breath. "Well, in the wizarding world, people are either born with magic or they aren't," she said, her voice barely above a murmur. "But here, in Nevarah, it's different. Being a Dragel isn't just about what you can do, it's about who you are."

Her words hung in the air, and Harry felt the gravity of her statement. In the world he had always known, magic was something to hide, something to fear. But here, in this land of his mother's people, it was as natural as breathing. It was a part of everyone's identity, woven into the very fabric of their existence.

He thought back to the people they had met so far in Nevarah - the guards at the gates, the staff at the manor, even the passersby in the street. They all moved with a certain grace, an unspoken power that seemed to emanate from within them. It was in the way they talked, the way they carried themselves, and the subtle flicks of their wrists that did the work of a hundred muggles.

"Do we have any other relatives?" Luna's question hung in the air like a shimmering droplet of dew, untouched by the warmth of the room.

"Ah, yes," Briar said, his eyes distant as if peering into a memory. "Your mother, Lily, was one of twelve children in our circle."

"Twelve?" Harry and Luna said in unison, their eyes widening with astonishment.

"Yes," Briar nodded. "Each of your mother's siblings has children of their own. You have many cousins, scattered throughout the lands."

The siblings exchanged a look of wonder, the concept of having such a large family a stark contrast to the lonely life they had led in Britain.

"What are their names?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Briar's eyes searched his grandchildren's faces, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Your aunts and uncles?" He paused for a moment, as if savoring the thought. "Let's see, your aunts are Petunia, as you know, and then there's Pellany, Aurora, Beatrix, Sephrina and Rihanna. Your uncles are Yarrow, Darwin, Elverin, Calum, and Terix."

The names tumbled through Harry's mind like a handful of leaves in the wind, each one a new branch on the tree of his family tree that he never knew existed. Luna's eyes grew misty with the thought of meeting these new relatives. "What are they like?" she asked eagerly.

"Each one is as unique as the stars in the sky," Jun said, her eyes twinkling with pride. "But you will meet them in time, my dears."

As the evening grew late, Maurice indicated it was time for them to leave. The siblings exchanged reluctant nods, not ready to part from their newfound family. But the promise of tomorrow's adventures and the comfort of their letters winging their way to Britain filled them with a sense of purpose.

Before they could take their leave, Maurice pulled Jun aside. "Jun, if I may," he began, his voice low and urgent. Harry watched as the two adults stepped into a secluded corner, their expressions a blend of concern and determination. They spoke in hushed tones, their eyes flicking to him every few moments.

Jun nodded solemnly as Maurice spoke, her gaze shifting to Harry, then back to the floor. When Maurice finished, she took a deep breath. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," she said, her voice measured.

The siblings exchanged puzzled glances as they were ushered out of the dining hall. The walk back to the manor was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts about the conversation they hadn't been privy to. The warmth of Luna's hand in his own was the only reassurance Harry could cling to.

Once they were back in the manor, Harry couldn't help but feel drawn to the portrait of his mother and James. The painting seemed to call out to him, whispering the secrets of his lineage, and he found himself unable to resist its siren call. With a deep breath, he made his decision. "Luna, I need to do something," he said, his voice filled with a mix of determination and fear.

Luna looked up from her book, her silver hair shimmering in the candlelight. "What is it, Harry?"

"The portrait," Harry said, his eyes never leaving the painted figures. "I think it's time I talked to them."

Luna looked at him, understanding dawning in her gaze. "You want to wake them?"

"Yes," Harry said, his voice a whisper. "I need to know more about our mother, about our family. I think they can help us."

With a nod of agreement, Luna stood up and followed Harry to the portrait. Together, they approached the frame, their hearts racing. The painting was more alive than any photograph could ever be, the colors rich and the figures almost breathing. Harry reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it hovered over the sapphire stone set into the frame.

"Mom?" he murmured, pressing the stone. The portrait rippled like water before the figures within sprang to life, their expressions a mix of surprise and joy. James looked exactly like Harry remembered him, with his unruly black hair and mischievous grin, while Lily was a vision of beauty and grace, her emerald eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Harry," Lily breathed, her hand reaching out as if to touch her son. "You've found us."

James' eyes searched Harry's face, a smile spreading slowly. "Look at you," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "You're just like your mother."

"And you, Luna," Lily's voice was soft, a caress that seemed to fill the room. "So much like your father."

The siblings felt a swell of emotion, looking into the eyes of the parents they had never known. The portrait was a gateway to a world of memories and love that had been lost to them for so long.

"Mom, Dad," Harry said, his voice cracking with unshed tears. "We've missed you."

Chapter 9: Ch. 8

Notes:

Hey look, I posted! I meant to post this yesterday but I forgot to. So here ya go

Realm: Earth
Location: The Burrow
Subject: Harry

Ron and Hermione were concerned. It's been days since they've heard from their best friend. Last time this happened, Ron and the twins had to rescue Harry from his relatives.

"I don't like it," Hermione said, her voice tight with worry as she sat next to Ron at the cluttered kitchen table.

"Me neither," Ron agreed, his eyes scanning the parchment in his hands for the umpteenth time. "No owl from Harry, not even a trace on the Marauder's Map."

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently, her mind racing. "We have to do something," she said decisively. "We can't just sit here and wait."

Ron nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "I'll send an owl to Professor McGonagall," he said, standing up. "Maybe she knows something."

"Good idea," Hermione said, her eyes never leaving the map. "And I'll check in with Hagrid. He might have heard something."

As the two were moving to start their self imposed tasks, they saw an owl winging its way towards them.

"Maybe it's Harry," Hermione said hopefully, getting up to open the window.

The owl swooped in, dropping a letter on the table before landing gracefully on the windowsill. Hermione picked it up, her heart racing. The parchment was thick and unblemished, the seal a deep blue with the imprint of a dragon.

"It's not Harry's writing," she murmured, frowning.

Ron leaned over to get a closer look. "Let's see," he said, taking the letter from her. He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the neat, unfamiliar script.

"It's from someone named Maurice," he said, his eyebrows shooting up. "It's about Harry and Luna."

Hermione took the letter from him, her eyes scanning the page with growing alarm. "What does it say?" she whispered.

Ron read the letter aloud, his voice hushed. "Your friends, Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood, are safe and well. However, recent events have transpired that require our immediate attention and their full discretion. They have embarked on a journey of discovery, one that will reveal truths long hidden from them."

Hermione's eyes grew wider with every word, and by the time Ron finished, she had grabbed the letter from him. "What does this mean?" she asked, her voice a tremble.

Ron looked equally puzzled. "I don't know," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But it's definitely not from Harry."

Mrs. Weasley bustled into the kitchen, her eyes immediately finding the letter on the table. "What's this?" she asked, her gaze flicking between the two of them.

Ron handed it to her, his expression grim. "It's from Harry," he said. "But it's not written by him."

Mrs. Weasley took the letter, her eyes scanning the parchment with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"It's signed by someone named Maurice," Hermione explained. "They say Harry and Luna are on a 'journey of discovery'. And that it's about something that was hidden from them."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed as she read the letter, and then she looked up, her gaze meeting theirs. "Maurice," she murmured, almost to herself. "The name sounds familiar."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "Do you know him?" Hermione asked, hope flaring in her voice.

Mrs. Weasley nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving the letter. "I do," she said, her voice tight with something unspoken. "But now is not the time to discuss it. What's important is that Harry and Luna are safe."

The tension in the room was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to thicken the air around them. "What do we do?" Ron asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Weasley handed the letter back to him, her expression unreadable. "We trust," she said firmly. "For now, we trust that Harry knows what he's doing. He's not a child anymore, and if he's chosen not to tell us about this... journey, then he has his reasons."

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that rattled the kitchen window. A piece of parchment, seemingly out of nowhere, fluttered into the room and landed on the floor. Hermione leapt up to grab it, her heart racing.

"It's from Harry!" she exclaimed, her eyes scanning the unmistakable scrawl that was his handwriting. "But it's not his usual paper."

Ron leaned over to see for himself, his stomach doing a somersault. Harry's letters usually contained tales of adventure and friendship, but this one was different. The paper was thick and luxurious, almost glowing in the candlelight, and the wax seal was stamped with the same dragon emblem as the mysterious letter from Maurice.

Hermione broke the seal with trembling hands, her eyes devouring the words. "It's Harry," she murmured, her voice thick with relief. "He's okay."

Ron leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "What does he say?"

Hermione's eyes darted over the parchment. "He says he's found out something amazing," she began, her voice quaking slightly. "Luna's his sister."

Ron's jaw dropped. "What?" he sputtered. "But that's impossible!"

Hermione nodded, her eyes glued to the letter. "It seems Harry and Luna have discovered some sort of hidden heritage," she said, her voice shaking. "They've gone to a place called Nevarah."

Mrs. Weasley's hand flew to her mouth, dropping the pan she had been holding. It clattered to the floor, echoing through the silent kitchen. She stared at the letter, her eyes wide with shock. "Nevarah?" she breathed. "How is that possible?"

Without a word, she turned on her heel and hurried from the room, her robes billowing out behind her. Ron and Hermione watched her retreating back, their eyes wide and mouths agape. The room felt suddenly colder, as if a door to the outside had been flung open in the middle of winter. They exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing: what could be so secretive, so urgent, that Molly Weasley would leave them like that?

"Well, she's obviously heard of Nevarah," Ron said, his voice still a bit shaky. "But why would Harry and Luna have a hidden heritage there?"

Hermione's eyes searched the letter for any clues. "It says something about a festival in two years' time," she said thoughtfully. "It's a celebration of their lineage, and it's incredibly important for them to be there."

Ron frowned. "Two years?" he repeated. "What could be so special about a festival that Harry would just take off without telling us?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes never leaving the letter. "Maurice is mentioned," she said, her voice taking on an edge of excitement. "Harry wrote that he's met his new guardian, and that he's helping them understand their heritage."

It took awhile, but Hermione and Ron finally came to the conclusion to trust Harry. They hoped to be able to make it to the festival Harry was so excited about. They just had to either find a way to contact Harry again, or hopefully get Mrs. Weasley to reveal what she knows.

"Should we tell anyone else?" Ron asked, breaking the silence.

Hermione's eyes snapped up from the letter, meeting Ron's. "No," she said firmly, her voice brooking no argument. "Not until we know more."

"But what if they're in trouble?" Ron protested, his mind racing with the worst possible scenarios. "What if we need to help them?"

"Ron, if Harry and Luna are in danger, I'm sure Mrs. Weasley would have told us," Hermione said firmly, folding the letter and tucking it into her robes. "They have to trust us too."

Ron nodded reluctantly, his eyes lingering on the spot where the letter had been. "But what do we do now?"

"We wait," Hermione said, her voice calm and resolute. "We wait and we watch. We keep an eye on the news, and we keep our ears to the ground for any whispers of Nevarah or this Maurice."

----------‐----------------------

Realm: Nevarah
Location: Clothing store

Harry was exasperated. He's tried on at least 30 different shirts and so far, only one of them has been approved. He's tried and ready to be done with this.

"Let's just pick something," Harry said, his voice edging towards desperation.

Luna, ever the optimist, merely giggled at his plight. She rummaged through the racks of clothes with a fervor that suggested she was hunting for a mythical beast rather than the perfect shirt. "Patience, Harry," she chided gently. "This is an important decision."

"Why?" Harry huffed, his eyes scanning the array of garments that had been laid out before him. "I just got a whole new wardrobe before leaving Britian."

"But these are for your wings, Harry," Luna said, holding up a shimmering top that seemed to change color with every movement. "They need to be seen, to be appreciated."

"Yet we will be getting brand new clothes in three months Luna. Specifically for the Hunt," Harry sighs. "Not only that, but they'll be tailored to make my wings stand out."

Luna's eyes sparkle with understanding, and she nods. "Ah, yes. But these are for now, for everyday wear. Besides, it's not just about the wings, Harry. It's about embracing your new life here. These clothes are a declaration of who you are."

With a sigh, Harry allows himself to be led over to the tunic section. The fabrics are unlike anything he's seen before—soft, lightweight, and seemingly alive with color. He picks up a tunic in a deep emerald hue, the color a couple shades darker than his eyes.

"This one?" Luna asks, holding up a tunic that's a vibrant shade of blue, almost the same color as the sapphire that had led them here.

"No," Harry says with a shake of his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "This one." He shows her the soft silver tunic he's found. In the light, it seems to melt into a warm coral hue, reminiscent of the setting sun.

Luna takes the garment from him, her eyes widening in approval. "Perfect," she murmurs, holding it up to his chest. "It's as if it was made for you."

The shop assistant, a young woman with wings the color of fresh mint, nods eagerly. "It is indeed a fine choice," she says, her smile revealing a hint of pointed teeth. "It will complement your eyes exquisitely."

With Luna's approval, Harry tries on the silver tunic. It fits like a glove, the fabric clinging to his form in all the right places, showcasing his growing muscles from the sword training. The gold stitching around the edges shimmered faintly, catching the light in a way that made him feel both regal and fierce.

"It's beautiful," Luna said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "It suits you so much better than the ones from Britain."

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling a bit self-conscious. "But we've been here for hours. What about the reservation?"

Beaker chose that moment to enter the shop. "Luna, Harry, it's time to go. The reservation is in twenty minutes. Buy what you chose, now."

The siblings exchanged a knowing look. Beaker was not one for shopping and had been waiting outside, his patience wearing thin. Luna handed the mint-winged assistant the tunic Harry had selected, along with a few other items she had found for herself.

"We'll take these," Harry said firmly.

The assistant bobbed her head, her smile never wavering, and began to wrap their selections in a soft, velvet fabric. As they paid and left the store, Harry couldn't shake off a sense of unease. The excitement of their new lives in Nevarah was slowly giving way to the reality of their situation. They had left their old lives behind, and while the adventure was thrilling, there was a part of him that felt like he was losing his grip on who he truly was.

Chapter 10: Lunch

Making their way through the throng of people, Harry contemplated everything that's happened. He became a dragel, a nameless submissive dragel at that. He found a soulbonded healer, before the Hunt even began. Luna, his precious sister, made it safely to Nevarah.

He honestly couldnt imagine life without her. He's been told about circles and he honestly wondered how his would work. Would he and Luna make a merged circle, would they have separate ones, but live in the same location? He just wasn't sure. He knew he'd need to speak to her about it though.

Luna's hand slipped into his, her fingers cool against his skin. "You're thinking too loudly," she murmured, her silver eyes dancing with amusement. "The future will come when it's ready, Harry. For now, let's just enjoy lunch with our grandparents."

The restaurant's entrance loomed ahead—a cascade of living vines framing an arched doorway where Beaker stood tapping his foot impatiently. Inside, the air hummed with low conversations and the scent of roasted spices, a stark contrast to the sterile quiet of the clothing shop. Jun and Briar waved from a corner booth draped in silvery linens, their smiles warm but strained. They had already ordered for them.

As Harry slid into his seat, a movement caught his eye. A man sat beside Briar, partially shadowed by the booth’s high back. His wings—dense, charcoal-black, and folded tightly—were unlike any Harry had seen in Nevarah. The man’s gaze locked onto Harry, sharp and assessing, before flicking to Luna with unnerving stillness.

"Harry, Luna," Briar said, gesturing toward the stranger. "This is Zane. One of our bonded." Zane’s nod was a blade’s edge—precise and devoid of warmth. His voice, when he spoke, was gravel scraped over stone. "Your grandparents speak highly of you both." The words held no inflection, yet Harry’s dragel instincts coiled tight. This man was a predator wrapped in human skin.

Luna tilted her head, her spoon hovering over her soup. "Your shadows taste like midnight storms," she murmured. Zane’s eyes narrowed—a fraction—before his expression smoothed into impassive granite. Jun cleared her throat. "Zane handles security for the family. He’s been reviewing the... Petunia situation." Harry’s stomach dropped. The Dursleys. The cupboard. The fists. Across the table, Zane’s gaze never wavered, dissecting Harry’s every flinch.

Briar laid a hand on Zane’s arm. "Easy, love. They’re just children." Zane’s voice cut like shaved ice. "Children with five soul-crushers carved into their magic. And a blood-traitor aunt who stinks of stolen life-force." The air crackled. Harry’s wings snapped open instinctively—a shield between Luna and Zane’s coiled violence. Jun hissed, "Not here."

Quinn’s magic surged in Harry’s mind—a silent snarl of *Mine*. Zane’s nostrils flared, catching the ripple of power. "Your healer-bonded," he stated, not a question. "Tell him to stand down unless he wants his throat ripped out." Harry’s sapphire flared cold against his chest. The restaurant’s chatter died to whispers. Beaker stepped closer, one hand resting on his blade.

Luna’s spoon clinked against her bowl. "The nargles are very loud today," she announced, silver eyes wide and unblinking. "Especially the angry one." Zane stared at her. Then, slowly, a razor-thin smile split his face. "Clever girl." He leaned back, the tension snapping like a cut wire. "Eat your soup, little seer. We’ll speak of knives and vengeance later."

Harry kept his wings half-flared, the silver tunic shimmering with the movement. His voice dropped low, a hiss that carried only to Zane. "Threaten Quinn again," he murmured, green eyes locked on the predator across the table, "and I won't wait for later. I'll carve the apology from your throat myself." The sapphire at his chest pulsed once, icy and bright.

Zane didn't flinch, but a flicker of surprise—genuine, sharp—passed through his obsidian gaze. A slow, predatory grin replaced the thin smile. "Bold," he acknowledged, the gravel in his voice rougher. "Good. Weakness gets you killed here, little Dragel." He leaned forward slightly, ignoring Briar’s warning pressure on his arm. "Your healer’s magic touched *me*. That’s a challenge. Or an invitation. He should choose which."

"It might be bold, but it's a threat I can easily back up," Harry replies with deliberate lightness. "Not only that," he says slowly, "but I can guarantee that my grandparents won't stop me."

Zane's grin widens, revealing unnaturally sharp teeth. "I like you," he declares, the predatory edge softening into something resembling approval. "You've got fire beneath that submissive shell. We'll work on that."

Harry doesn't return the smile. He keeps his wings half-flared, the silver tunic shimmering with restrained power, his gaze locked on Zane. "I don't like you," he states bluntly, his voice flat and final. The statement hangs in the air, cutting through the restaurant's ambient noise. He doesn't elaborate, doesn't justify. It's a raw, instinctual rejection that resonates in his core – the Dragel part of him recoiling from Zane's aura of cold violence and the human part remembering too many Dursley sneers. Luna hums softly beside him, a sound of agreement, her silver eyes fixed on Zane with unnerving stillness.

"Clearly," Harry adds, his tone sharpening as he deliberately shifts the focus, "Aunt Petunia’s charming personality must come from your side, Zane. The resemblance is uncanny." He lets the insult land, watching Zane’s expression carefully. "That particular blend of entitled cruelty and utter disdain for anyone deemed lesser? Pureblooded arrogance, I assume." Harry’s voice is deceptively calm, but his knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the table. He feels Quinn’s magics presence coil tighter, a silent echo of his own tension, ready to spring.

Zane’s smile vanishes. A low growl vibrates in his chest, the sound more animal than human. "You test me, boy," he warns, the air crackling with restrained violence. "Your aunt reeks of stolen magic and broken oaths. Her fate is sealed." He leans forward, eyes boring into Harry’s. "But insult *my* bloodline again, and I’ll show you what true cruelty looks like."

Harry takes a slow sip of water, "and I'll slice your head clean off your shoulders before you can take a step towards me."

Zane stills. Utterly. The predator’s stillness is more unnerving than the growl. His black wings shift minutely, a whisper of death against the booth’s velvet. "You couldn’t," he states, flat and certain. "You’re untrained. Soft."

Harry doesn’t argue. He closes his eyes. Not to retreat, but to reach. Down, deep, past the simmering Dragel instincts and the cold pulse of Quinn’s bond, to the core of magic that sings like lightning in his veins. He calls to the memory of the sword: the weight of it, the cool grip, the sharp edge that tasted basilisk venom. *Mine*, he thinks, not with ownership, but with kinship. *Now.*

Air shivers. A ripple tears through the restaurant’s ambient noise. Between one breath and the next, it’s there—gleaming silver, ruby-pommeled, its point resting lightly on the polished floor between Harry’s feet. He hadn’t summoned it *to* his hand; he’d summoned it *present*. The Sword of Gryffindor hums, a low, resonant thrum that vibrates in Harry’s bones. Silence crashes down. Every eye in the room locks onto the blade, a relic of legend suddenly grounded in the mundane.

Harry’s eyes snap open, green fire meeting Zane’s obsidian glare. His voice is a soft, dangerous rasp. "Would you like to try?" He doesn’t gesture to the sword; its presence is the challenge. It speaks of basilisk venom, goblin craft, and the raw defiance that carved a path through a Chamber of Secrets. Luna gently nudges her soup bowl aside, clearing the space, her expression serene.

Zane’s gaze flicks from the blade to Harry’s face. The growl dies in his throat, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. "Gryffindor’s lost steel," he murmurs, recognition dawning in his eyes. "Forged in conquest, quenched in venom." His knuckles whiten where they grip the table edge, the only sign of tension in his otherwise controlled frame. "You summoned it *here*? Through wards?"

Harry doesn’t blink. "Yes." The word hangs, simple and brutal. He feels the sword’s pulse—a living thing, coiled and waiting. He remembers the Chamber’s damp horror, the acrid sting of basilisk blood, the desperate weight of the blade as it plunged into scaled flesh. "And I’m the one who drenched it." The admission is raw, stripped bare. He doesn’t mention Fawkes, or luck. Only the truth: his hand, the thrust, the venom that had slicked the metal and sealed a monster’s fate. The sapphire at his throat pulses cold, a counterpoint to the memory’s heat.

Zane leans back slowly, the obsidian sheen of his wings rippling like disturbed water. A low, guttural sound escapes him—not a growl, but something akin to respect. "Venom-forged," he acknowledges, his voice rough. "That changes things." His gaze flicks to Briar, then Jun. "The boy isn’t soft. He’s lethal." He turns back to Harry, his eyes sharp, calculating. "But summoning a relic doesn’t make you a warrior. It makes you a target. That blade’s song calls to things far older and hungrier than you."

Harry doesn’t lower his gaze. The sword’s presence thrums against his magic, a familiar, grounding weight. "It’s bonded to me," he states flatly. "It answers *me*. Not the past, not legends. It won’t cut unless I will it." His voice holds no boast, only cold certainty. He remembers the Chamber’s echoing silence after the basilisk fell, the sword warm and humming in his grip, its magic weaving with his own in a pact sealed by blood and venom. It obeys his intent, not his fear.

Zane’s eyes narrow, assessing. "Intent isn’t instinct, boy," he counters, his tone a low rasp. "A weapon like that demands more than courage. It demands control you haven’t earned." His gaze flicks pointedly to Harry’s still half-flared wings, the silver tunic shimmering with the tension radiating from his frame. "Until you master that, you’re waving a beacon in the dark. And Nevarah’s shadows are deep." He leans back, the implied threat hanging like unsheathed steel.

"Why do you assume I’m untrained?" Harry’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and direct. His green eyes lock onto Zane’s obsidian gaze, unwavering. "Because I’m submissive? Because I’m young?" He gestures subtly toward the sword, its ruby pommel gleaming under the restaurant’s soft light. "This didn’t find its way to me by accident. I’ve fought battles you couldn’t imagine." The words are quiet, but they carry the weight of basilisk venom and graveyard echoes. Luna hums softly beside him, a sound of affirmation.

Harry leans forward, his wings tightening against the booth’s velvet. "I was trained by the remnants of Ryker’s Bane." The admission hangs in the air, stark and deliberate. Zane’s expression shifts—surprise flickering beneath the granite. Ryker’s Bane: a name whispered only in Nevarah’s darkest corners, a military unit erased from history after a Torvak slaughter. "Survivors," Harry clarifies, his voice low. "Men who knew how to turn shadows into knives. They didn’t coddle me. They taught me to survive." He doesn’t mention the frozen Scottish woods, the relentless drills, or the scars hidden beneath his tunic. Experience had honed him—Hogwarts’ chaos, Voldemort’s cruelty, the raw will to protect.

Luna’s spoon clinks softly against her bowl. "And Maurice Elsewood," she adds, her voice dreamlike yet cutting through the tension. "He showed Harry how to build instead of break." Harry meets Zane’s gaze. "Maurice is my Oret." The word resonates with finality. Oret: more than mentor. The one who shapes the soul. Zane’s eyes narrow, reassessing. An Oret’s endorsement was unassailable in Dragel society—a shield and a testament. Maurice Elsewood’s reputation, a blend of ruthless precision and unyielding loyalty, suddenly reframes the boy before him. Not just lethal. Anchored.

Zane leans back, the obsidian sheen of his wings rippling. "Fine," he concedes, the gravel in his voice grudging. "You have teeth." But his eyes remain cold, dissecting. "Teeth aren’t enough. You’re still raw. Untested in *our* wars." He gestures dismissively toward the sword. "That relic? It’s a crutch. Rely on it, and the first true predator you meet will shatter it—and you. Nevarah doesn’t fight with honorable steel. It fights with shadows, poison, and betrayal you won’t see coming." His gaze flicks to Luna. "Your sister’s visions won’t save you when a blade slides between your ribs from behind."

Harry doesn’t flinch. He lets the sword vanish—a silent ripple of air—leaving only the memory of its hum. His voice drops low, dangerous. "You talk of Nevarah’s monsters. But have you ever faced one?" The question hangs, sharp as the blade’s edge. "Not just another predator playing at war. A real monster. Something that breathes decay and laughs at pain. Something that would devour your shadows whole." He leans forward, green eyes blazing. "I have. I looked it in the eye. And I *killed* it." The air crackles with the unspoken name: *Voldemort*. The sapphire flares, icy against the heat of his defiance.

Zane’s knuckles whiten on the table edge. A flicker of uncertainty—rare and raw—crosses his face. Harry presses the advantage, his voice a blade-whisper. "You think you’re the only threat here? You’re wrong. Threaten Quinn again. Threaten Luna. Threaten *anyone* I claim as mine." Harry’s wings snap fully open, silver fabric shimmering like captured lightning. "I won’t give you a duel. I won’t give you warning. I’ll end you where you stand. Right here. Right now." The promise hangs, absolute. No bravado. Just cold, lethal certainty. Quinn’s magic coils approvingly in his mind, a silent *Yes*.

"Leave." The word isn’t loud, but it slices through the restaurant’s strained silence. Harry doesn’t look at his grandparents, doesn’t glance at Luna. His gaze remains locked on Zane, green eyes hard as cursed emerald. "You’re not wanted here. Not at this table. Not near my family." He leans back slightly, a deliberate dismissal. "Your presence poisons the air." Luna nods beside him, her spoon tracing patterns in her untouched soup. "The nargles agree. They’re choking on your shadows."

Zane’s jaw tightens, tendons standing out like cords. He doesn’t move, but his eyes dart sharply—a predator seeking allies. He looks to Briar first, the silent plea clear in the obsidian depths: *Rein him in. Control your grandson.* Briar meets his gaze, his expression unreadable, his hand resting protectively near Luna’s arm. There’s no nod, no word of support. Only the faintest shake of his head—a warning, not an endorsement. *This is Harry’s line. You crossed it.*

Jun clears her throat, the sound like shattering glass in the stillness. "You should go, Zane," she says, her voice cool and clipped. "We’ll discuss Petunia later. Without the theatrics." Her gaze flicks meaningfully toward the restaurant’s entrance, where curious onlookers have paused their meals. "This isn’t the place for posturing." She doesn’t look at Harry, but her posture—spine straight, shoulders squared—radiates quiet approval. The Evanson matriarch had chosen her side.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Trying to Survive