The air hung heavy with the quiet aftermath of battle, the smoke of spellfire mingling with the first hesitant rays of dawn.
And then, like a shiver passing through the fabric of the world, life returned where it had been taken.
In the shattered Great Hall of Hogwarts, among the scattered remnants of fallen heroes and enemies alike, three figures gasped back into being.
Fred’s eyes snapped open, the echo of an explosion still ringing in his ears. Beside him was Remus, whose hand skittered across the cobbles to find Dora’s, warm, wandering, frantic. They clutched each other, confused, exhilarated by the sound of cheers from outside.
Far away, on a windswept Cornwall beach, a lone house elf let sand slip freely between his fingers.
Above London, a snowy owl arched her wings over the rooftops while a man blinked up from the floor at a Veil it seemed he had only just fallen through.
Finally, in sleepy Godric’s Hollow, James Potter stirred upon the threshold of a ruined house, his last recollection – Halloween, a shadow in the window – giving way to a misty May morning some seventeen years later.
From the next room came a sharp intake of breath – his wife, alive. Then a cry: “Harry? Harry! James, quick – they’ve taken Harry!”
Life surged where it had ended, for some mere moments ago. Dark magic, mastery over death, or the dying breath of one whose splintered soul was channelled back into that from which he had claimed so much – none could be sure. Yet with eyes re-opened, they might make sense of a world where fate was interrupted, their futures achingly unknown.
Oxygen fills his lungs, and Harry holds onto the breath as though it’s hope.
There’s no room for doubt.
“Vulnera Sanentur.”
A sickly yellow sheen washes over the wound. Flesh stitches around a blade. The breath trips out of Harry’s lungs. Hope overwhelms, thick and cloying. His focus wavers. Honey turns to molasses. Staunched blood spills, messy and hot. His throat clicks around a sob.
“It’s too late.”
People gather around him. Harry doesn’t dare look away as long fingers loosen in his shirt.
Harry’s failing. Nobody else can die, not for him—
He suppresses desperation, as he always must, twisting his thoughts in another direction. To stages which make regeneration possible in the first place.
“Vulnera Sanentur,” he breathes again. Superimposes reality with the image of Bellatrix’s knife sliding smoothly free. Organs knitting together. Torn flesh sewn, smooth and seamless. Dobby: healthy, whole.
It’s working. The magic flowing through him is startlingly delicate, a whisper in a torrent's stead. Incredulity and desperation burn and blur together as the grey hue eases from Dobby’s skin. The dagger clatters to the ground, gleaming red. A sliver is all that’s left behind, smaller than the insects Harry’s practised on.
Somebody chokes around their shock. Maybe him. A familiar voice, unusually firm, snaps to be quiet.
Harry presses carefully over a hand buzzing with renewed energy. It tightens in his shirt. Glassy eyes regain focus. Harry can do little more than watch, breathless. Is it enough? Was he?
Bulbous blue eyes swell with familiar awe. Harry’s heart trips. Starts slowing, abandoning frantic attempts to escape his chest.
“Can you hear me?” A whisper. “Do… d’you know where we are?”
“Wes being at Shell Cottage,” Dobby says, tears dripping down his long nose. “Harry Potter be making Dobby better. Harry Potter be saving Dobby!”
Harry chokes around a mad laugh as relief floods through him. “You saved me first, Dobby. You saved all of us. Thank you.”
Dobby sniffs noisily as he breaks into a wide smile, eyes creasing. “Its being Dobby’s pleasure, Harry Potter. Dobby is glad yous being safe.”
“There’s no way…”
Harry drags his eyes up. Around them stand Bill, Fleur, Dean, Luna and Griphook. The rise and fall of Dobby’s chest is steady beneath his palm.
“Thank Magic,” he breathes, closing his eyes for the briefest respite. Relief can suffuse, but never last. “Where’s Hermione?”
“Ron’s taken her in,” Bill says. “She’ll be fine.”
Griphook’s eyes catch on his. Suspicion lines his face, yet the moment he sees Harry looking back he dips his head. Dean catches the exchange and seems to read wariness where Harry finds respect. He hurries to help Griphook into the cottage, Fleur following at their heels.
“We should get Dobby inside, too.” There’s an odd note in Bill’s voice that pulls back Harry’s wandering attention. “The fire’s on. Will you be all right to walk, Luna?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Luna's focus turns her into a stranger in the sunlight. She steps close, kneeling beside them in the sand. “Thank you so much for rescuing me from that cellar, Dobby.”
Brown blossoms across Dobby’s cheeks as awe paints his features in painstaking transparency. Harry wants for a world where a simple thanks isn’t enough to earn his regard. A world where he expects to be appreciated for all he’s done, and all he will do.
“You are being welcome, Luna Lovegood.” Luna’s smile glows brighter. She swipes a tear away with her palm.
“Dobby, can I-- is it all right to carry you? I’m not sure you should be walking, yet…”
“Harry Potter shouldn’t be carryings an elf,” he says, matter-of-fact.
“How about a friend?” Harry asks, and Dobby curls into his shoulder with a sudden sob of joy.
“Dobby could…” the elf sniffs. “Dobby could be using help from friend Harry Potter, sir.”
Harry practically floats to his feet, careful to keep Dobby close. Every breath serves as a reassurance. “I’m glad.”
He strides towards the cottage, Bill and Luna at his sides. His scar prickles and burns. The terrain blurs in and out of focus. Harry watches Voldemort punish those left behind at Malfoy Manor. His rage is terrible as ever, yet it does not penetrate and suffuse Harry. The high of his victory—of saving Dobby—throws the edges of himself and Voldemort into striking clarity.
“Harry, you’re shaking,” Luna murmurs, hand brushing his shoulder. He starts to reality in front of the fire as Bill hurries off. There’s a soft space directly before him, clearly transfigured with Dobby in mind. Harry settles him carefully onto the cot.
“I’m fine. Is this all right? We can put you closer or farther from the fire.”
“This is being perfect, sir.” Dobby watches Harry sharply, a marvellous contrast to his previously vacant gaze. He seems to share Luna’s concern.
“Your scar is bleeding,” she says.
Oh.
Luna murmurs a spell and hands him a damp washcloth. Harry takes care of the bleeding with a few simple swipes. The pain isn’t debilitating. Harry feels strong. In control. Alive.
Death is losing, fought off several times today. Voldemort’s presence, always so overwhelming, feels small. His night continues appearing in flashes… flying to the highest cell of Nurmengard… slaying its prisoner…
Ideas spin dizzyingly, dodging partners with grace, unwilling to come together. Harry stares at the blood and dirt coating his hands. Horcruxes. Hallows. Immediate concerns, and yet…
Harry stands, ignoring the wave of dizziness that crashes through him. “I’m going to wash up,” he tells them, “and then we’ll make a plan. Why don’t you get something to eat, Luna? You must be hungry.”
To his relief, she shakes her head. “It can wait. I’ll stay with Dobby.”
Even if Harry worries after her thinness, it is no greater than his own, Ron’s, or Hermione’s.
He makes quick work of getting clean. The sink feels like a luxury. Red water spins down the drain. Realisation strikes, electrifying knowledge to recognition.
So what if Draco Malfoy had been being tortured in his own home by his Aunt, and then seeing Hermione tortured pushed him over an edge and made him jump in to help them all escape?
I asked myself that question, and then I wrote it!
Unforgivable
Chapter 1 is posted, and the next handful are already written. This story is pouring out of me at a breakneck pace.
It is a slow burn with eventual smut, but it’ll be the first true slow burn I’ve ever written, and I can already tell it’s gonna be my favorite story so far.
Rated E for that EVENTUAL smut ;) Art from @ladykenz347 coming soon!
HEA. DRAMIONE. Updates on Wednesdays. Let’s gooooooooo
After the war, Harry struggles to cope with loss, HHR bond during this. One of the biggest losses is Hedwig. Dobby (who survived) decides to find a new owl for his friend and rescues a snowy owl from the RSPCA that was handed in with major wing injuries resulting in one having to be amputated. Harry on seeing the owl realises it's Hedwig (who'd use a killing curse on an owl anyway?) and Hermione works out a way to give her flight back.
AU where dobby lives and then Harry hires him but not as a normal house elf but as the protector of the family and he pays him 10 galleons a week and dobby spends the rest of his life knitting Harry, Ginny and their children socks and protecting them from all perceived dangers, real or imaginary.
