Ruined Citadel – Simulation Gamma
The forest was gone. In its place stood the broken carcass of a long-dead fortress, jagged towers clawing at the ash-grey sky like the ribs of a buried god. Mist hugged the shattered ground, glowing with a sickly violet hue. Magic tainted the air—not just dangerous, but personal, like it remembered blood spilled here and wanted more.
Harry stood at the edge of a ruined archway, breath misting through the reinforced black mask. The white lenses over his eyes flared faintly as they adjusted, scanning. "Right," he muttered, voice deliciously dry. "Death Eaters 2.0. Now with extra angst and even fewer dental plans."
"Split formation," Hermione commanded crisply over comms. Her voice was sharp and clean, surgical in its precision. "Blood Raven and Skadi—northwest breach. Druid, you're with me. Morrigan, high ground. Sniper hexes. Disable, don't toy."
"You sure you can keep up with me and Skadi, Noctua?" Harry asked, tone all velvet sarcasm.
"Try not to get distracted by the color of her aura, Potter," Hermione snapped back. "You have five seconds before I reassign you to mop duty. Again."
"Oh no," Daphne said smoothly, her voice like winter sliding over a blade. "Jealousy really doesn't suit you, Granger."
Hermione didn't dignify that with a response. "On my mark—go."
BOOM. The ruins came to life.
Daphne surged forward, twin blades of glacial blue forming in her hands. Her combat suit shimmered with wards and frost runes, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that made her look every inch a goddess of ice and murder. Harry followed close, flame bleeding from his hands, burning golden-orange where it curled against the cracked stones.
"Try not to stare," Daphne called, dancing through the mist, blades flashing.
"I would," Harry called back, voice rich with amusement, "but you keep making every massacre look like the bloody Winter Olympics."
Above them, Susan ghosted from shadow to shadow along the upper ramparts, her hair a streak of dark crimson in the low light. She whispered over comms, sultry as sin. "Two targets northeast tower. I'll take the one whispering sweet nothings to his wand."
CRACK. A scream. A fall. Silence.
"Target down. You boys can thank me later," she purred.
"Only if you wear that look when you say please," Harry replied.
"Focus," Hermione snapped. "Druid, reinforce the stairwell. Blood Raven, rotate left and intercept the summoner on platform nine. Skadi, stay on his six. Morrigan, eliminate the warlock over the relic chamber. I want that altar clear in ninety seconds."
Neville's voice rolled in, all solid weight and quiet steel. "Holding central. They're throwing heavy bruisers my way, but they're not getting past."
"Because you're a bloody oak tree in riot gear," Harry muttered, vaulting a broken column.
Daphne flashed beside him, flicking her wrist. A spike of ice zipped through the air and nailed a charging beast square between its glowing eyes. It exploded into violet mist.
"You're welcome," she said, not even breaking stride.
"Oh, I'm swooning," Harry said, hurling a fireball that sent two more enemies cartwheeling into oblivion. "Catch me, darling, I might fall for you."
"You fall for anything in a tight suit and sharp cheekbones," she said, smirking.
"Guilty," he said cheerfully. "Though your cheekbones are practically weapons-grade."
From above, Susan chuckled low and dangerous. "Are you two flirting or fighting? Because if it's foreplay, I want in."
"Why not both?" Daphne replied coolly.
Harry grinned. "Group project? I love collaboration."
"Cut the pillow talk," Hermione snapped, voice like a whip. "Potter, take that corridor on the left. Now."
"Bossy," he said, but obeyed. With flair, naturally.
The corridor exploded in hexfire. Daphne leapt forward, blades slicing spells from the air. Harry ducked low, flame bursting in an arc that turned a cluster of specters into flickering ash.
The summoner shrieked from behind a pillar. Daphne didn't hesitate. She hurled an ice spike through the stone—and the thing behind it. Silence fell.
"Altar's clear," she announced.
Harry dropped beside her, a little breathless. "That's my girl."
She turned slowly. "Say that again, Potter, and I'll freeze something you really value."
"Promises, promises," he murmured.
Up above, Susan threw one last violet curse at the warlock over the relic room. The spell hit with a screech and inverted the target mid-scream.
"Warlock down," she whispered. "Blood Raven, still alive? Disappointing."
A low rumble rolled through the ruins. From the altar chamber came a burst of golden light. Everything stopped.
SUCCESS.
Hermione's voice came through with icy satisfaction. "Objective complete. Time: four minutes, twenty-seven seconds. Team cohesion rating: eighty-seven percent."
Neville chuckled, rare and warm. "Only eighty-seven? That's practically a love letter, Hermione."
"I'm saving full marks for when someone's ego doesn't jeopardize the mission," she said.
Harry turned to Daphne, then to Susan, a grin creeping across his face.
"I multitask. Charm, combat, occasional chaos. You knew what you were signing up for."
Susan descended from the balcony like a queen returning from war, hips swaying, eyes glowing. "And what a dangerous package it is."
Daphne crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Next round we let him take a hit. Just to humble him."
"That's already in the next simulation parameters," Hermione said dryly.
Neville raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Seriously?"
Harry clapped his hands. "Brilliant! Danger, sarcasm, and a chance to be murdered by sexy women. My favorite kind of Thursday."
—
Ruined Citadel – Simulation Delta
Training Mode: Aberystwyth Override
Mission Objective: Intercept Resurrection Ritual. Priority: Delphini Riddle.
Everything changed the second the altar flared crimson.
The sky cracked like glass, the shattered simulation bleeding shadow and madness. Above the ruined citadel, a structure unfolded from nothingness—an obsidian altar rimmed with runes older than Merlin's bones. Mist congealed into something thick, coppery, almost alive. It slithered through the rubble, whispering in forgotten tongues.
"Simulation updated," Hermione said through the comm, her voice far too composed. "Parameters adjusted to match Legati Noctis intel. You're looking at an active resurrection array. Codename: Tomb-Breaker."
Harry's HUD pinged.
Primary target: Delphini Riddle.
Secondary leads: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Vladovich Alpha.
Status: Pre-Ritual Phase. Sacrifice window active.
Neville muttered under his breath. "Bloody hell. They're actually doing it."
"Cut the commentary, Druid," Hermione snapped. "Eyes up. Blood Raven, on me. Noctua, Skadi—get me to Delphini. Now."
Harry tilted his head, a sardonic smirk ghosting his lips. "With pleasure. Let's crash a necromantic rave."
They dropped fast and hard.
—
Daphne Greengrass, alias Skadi, hit the outer ring first—a blonde storm in black armor. Ice spiraled from her boots, freezing runes mid-burn. She spun, twin daggers flashing with enchantments and bloody intent.
"Rewriting prophecy with every step, darling," she quipped, slicing a masked cultist across the gut. "Keep up."
"Flatter me later," Harry shot back, catching a curse midair, twisting it like taffy, and hurling it back. The masked attacker exploded in violet flame. "Teen Goth Sacrifice Barbie is about to raise snake-Daddy Voldemort from the grave. I'm in no mood."
Delphini stood at the heart of the altar, glowing like a star born from darkness. Silver sigils bled across her skin. Her eyes fluttered, trance-bound. Draco chanted at the northern pillar, voice trembling. Theo Nott's wand pulsed an eerie green.
Then came the Alpha.
Vladovich. Unmistakable.
Pale as a corpse. Cloaked in silk and something wrong. Fangs gleamed. Eyes like fresh graves.
"You are too late," he hissed. "The blood remembers. And the Lord shall rise."
Susan Bones—Morrigan, sniper, chaos incarnate—crouched above.
"Gods, I hate Parselmouths with martyr complexes," she said. "Permission to ruin his pretty face?"
"Granted," Hermione said, tone like cut steel.
CRACK.
The Vladovich Alpha dodged. Barely. His counter-curse blasted Susan's perch into powder. She rolled mid-fall, landed in a crouch, hair wild, wand drawn.
"That," she snarled, "was. Rude."
Neville barreled through the eastern flank, tower shield raised, warhammer pulsing. He broke a wall of cultists like a wave.
"Right side clear! Someone shut that summoner up!"
"Skadi!" Hermione shouted.
"On it," Daphne said, launching herself into a spin, frost trailing like comet tails. She slashed the ritual line with surgical grace.
Draco choked. His chant died mid-syllable.
Theo turned.
Harry struck.
Phoenix-fire burst through the summoning ring. Harry stepped through the inferno like a storm made flesh—cloak rippling, emerald eyes glowing.
"Draco," he drawled, voice velvet and venom. "Still haven't grown out of your mummy issues?"
"Some ghosts," Draco rasped, "never stay buried."
He fired a serpentine hex. Harry sidestepped, parried, countered. A swift kick sent Draco crashing into the altar. Stone cracked.
Delphini screamed.
The ritual flared. Runes burned red, then violet, then black. Magic warped.
Time split.
—
FLASH-FORWARD (???):
A burning field.
Hogwarts ablaze.
Delphini crowned in onyx flame.
Voldemort walks beside her.
Susan bleeds out.
Daphne turns away, eyes wet. Hermione whispers: "You were supposed to stop this."
—
SIMULATION RESYNCING.
They snapped back.
Delphini gasped. "I saw it. I remember—"
"Break the ring!" Harry roared.
Daphne moved. Lightning-quick. She severed the final rune.
BOOM.
White-hot light exploded outward. The altar detonated. The Vladovich Alpha screamed as reality tore him apart. Draco and Theo—gone. Apparated or erased. It didn't matter.
Silence reigned.
The mist dispersed. The ruins returned to cold stillness.
Hermione's voice came through the comms, breathless.
"Objective complete. Ritual neutralized."
A pause.
"Team cohesion: ninety-four percent."
Neville whistled. "Getting sentimental as we age."
Harry knelt by Delphini's unconscious body. Her eyes still leaked silver. Her skin was still warm with borrowed power.
Daphne landed beside him. Her cheek was streaked with blood. Her breath came fast.
"What did you see?"
Harry didn't speak at first. His jaw flexed.
Then:
"Something worse than Voldemort."
Susan arrived next, holstering her wand. "Well, shit. That bad, huh?"
"Worse," Harry said. He stood. His eyes lingered on Daphne's, then flicked to Susan. "Still think we should've let me punch Theo in the dick back in Year Six. Might've saved us some trouble."
Susan snorted. "Only if I got to kick Draco too."
Daphne arched a brow. "Ladies first. But I do demand shared custody of the punching."
"Ladies," Harry said, mock-formal, offering both arms. "We'll settle this with a proper duel. Loser has to make me tea in bed."
Susan rolled her eyes, but her grin was real.
Hermione's voice came again. Quieter this time.
"That wasn't a simulation anymore. The Room didn't extrapolate. It remembered."
Harry turned to the altar's remains. Fire curled in his palms, slow and cold.
"It was a warning."
Daphne rested a hand on his shoulder. It lingered just a second too long.
"Then next time," she said, "we kill her first."
Harry's eyes didn't leave the smoldering ruins.
"Next time," he murmured, "we don't just stop the ritual. We stop the girl."
—
Room of Requirement – Default Reset
Post-Simulation Cooldown Mode: Safe Zone – Wards Active
The altar was gone. The violet mist had burned off like fog under a desert sun. In its place: candlelight, conjured warmth, the illusion of peace. Thick rugs muffled footfalls. A low fire flickered in the hearth. The Room of Requirement, in full denial mode, had turned itself into a cozy common room — as if twenty minutes of necrotic hellscape hadn't just tried to eat them alive.
Harry stood by the conjured window, one shoulder braced against the frame, the illusion of rain painting grey lines down his reflection. His emerald eyes tracked nothing. His hands, shoved deep in the pockets of combat trousers, still crackled faintly with ember-light. Like his magic wasn't quite sure if it was done fighting yet.
He didn't turn when Daphne entered — but his jaw clenched. Slight. Telling.
"The room's pretending nothing happened," she said, voice a low murmur. "Tea's conjured. Firewhisky too, if you swipe right on the decanter."
Still, he didn't move.
"I'm still seeing it," he said.
She moved closer, silent as smoke on snow. "The vision?"
He nodded once. "The battlefield. The pyre. The shadows on the walls. And Hogwarts..." His voice caught, just briefly. "It wasn't a warning. It felt like a memory."
Daphne's brow furrowed. Her usual cool, steel-core calm wavered — just enough to show she cared. Too much. "It could be corrupted data. Faulty feedback. The simulations aren't perfect."
"That wasn't code," Harry said, finally turning to face her.
The firelight kissed the angles of his face — all battle-worn beauty and bad decisions. His eyes were too bright, too old. The kind of bright you get after watching stars explode.
"That was prophecy," he said. "Or déjà vu. Or the timeline screaming through the cracks. Take your pick."
Before Daphne could respond, the door hissed open again.
Susan Bones strolled in like a redheaded storm. She had a smirk sharp enough to flay flesh and wore the ruin of her braid like a battle trophy.
"Well," she announced, hands on hips. "That was horrifying. Anyone up for a group cry and a round of emotionally repressed sarcasm?"
Harry snorted, just barely. "Already doing both. You're late."
"I like to make an entrance." She flopped into a conjured armchair with a groan of expensive leather. "Hermione's verbally assaulting Theo's AI clone. Neville's headbutting the corridor walls. So we're the stable ones now. Lucky us."
"Wonderful," Daphne murmured. She was still watching Harry. Too closely. Like she was counting his heartbeats by the pulse in his throat.
"You know," Susan said, propping her boots on the table, "this would be a good time for someone to make a joke about trauma bonding."
"Don't tempt me," Harry said. "I'm British. I process trauma with tea, sarcasm, and sexual tension."
"Well two out of three are here," Susan drawled, eyes flicking between him and Daphne. "Where's the tea?"
"I am the tea," Daphne said coolly.
Harry smirked. "And yet you steep like a slow-burn Greek tragedy."
Susan raised an eyebrow. "Are you two flirting or fighting?"
"Yes," they said in unison.
Then Harry sat down, slow and deliberate, like someone handling shrapnel under their skin.
"I saw the end," he said, quietly.
Daphne's humor faded. "What kind of end?"
"The worst one." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Not a warning. A destination. Like time itself is trying to snap back to a point where we lost."
Susan straightened. Her humor vanished like a mask slipping. "Delphini wins."
Harry nodded. "She wins. Hogwarts burns. And Hermione—" His voice faltered. "She looked at me like I'd already failed."
"You didn't," Susan said flatly. "We didn't."
"She had black fire in her hair," Harry continued. "Not illusion. Real. Her magic made of void. Voldemort wasn't leading her — he was behind her. Like a shadow on a leash."
Daphne's spine went rigid.
"And Draco, Theo?" Harry's eyes darkened. "They weren't forced. They weren't cursed. They believed in her. Like zealots. Like true believers."
A long silence followed.
Then Daphne said, very quietly, "So what do we do?"
Harry looked up, firelight flickering in his eyes again.
"We stop pulling punches."
She didn't blink. "No more 'saving them.' No more treating them like victims."
"Next time we see them," Harry said, "we don't hesitate."
Daphne nodded once. "We kill them."
Susan didn't argue. Just stared at the fire.
Then, softly: "You okay, Potter?"
Harry laughed — bitter and beautiful. "Susan. I'm Harry Bloody Potter. Of course I'm not okay."
That got a small, unwilling smile from her. "Well. At least you're self-aware."
Daphne sat beside him. Her thigh brushed his. She didn't move away.
"You're not alone," she said.
"And annoyingly," Susan added, sliding behind the couch to drape herself over Harry's shoulders like a very snarky blanket, "you're our favorite emotionally-stunted warlock."
"Touching," Harry murmured, "truly. Should I start crying now or wait for the group cuddle?"
"Only if you remove your shirt first," Daphne said, deadpan.
Harry turned to look at her, mouth twitching. "Skadi, are you flirting with me?"
"I'm daring you to be vulnerable while hot. It's an elite maneuver."
Susan grinned wickedly. "I'm just here to watch the sexual tension crackle like a bonfire."
"Careful," Harry said. "You flirt with both of us, and you might start a ménage prophecy."
"I don't kiss Gryffindors on the first apocalypse," Susan quipped.
"Second apocalypse, then?" Harry asked.
"Third," she purred.
Daphne rolled her eyes, but her lips curved. "You two are insufferable."
"And yet you sit beside me," Harry said.
"Mostly to make sure you don't combust."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be. I usually let people burn."
Harry leaned back, firelight finally dying in his hands. "Then let's make sure next time…"
He looked between them — the witch with voidfire in her blood, and the other with blades for words and loyalty like frostbite.
"…she doesn't even get to light the pyre."
Daphne's smile was winter-sharp.
Susan's eyes glinted like polished steel.
"Deal," they said together.
And in that quiet room, with the storm behind them and the next war ahead, the three of them sat — not broken, not whole, but ready.
And gods help whoever tried to stop them.
—
The fire had dwindled to embers, casting flickering shadows that danced like secrets across the worn rugs. Susan was draped upside down on the armchair, one boot hooked over the backrest, reading aloud from a conjured book in a deliberately awful French accent.
"Le chat est... très mauvais..." she drawled, perfectly mocking.
Daphne, boots kicked off and one knee tucked close to her chest, sipped her tea with the practiced elegance of someone who could poison you with a glance and leave you wanting more. Her eyes kept flicking to Harry — like a hunter watching her favorite prey.
Harry, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, leaned back against the conjured window, the illusion of rain tracing silver rivulets down the glass. His emerald eyes were all sharp edges and smoldering embers. He watched Daphne like she was a question he wasn't sure he wanted answered — but damn if he wasn't going to ask anyway.
He finally broke the silence, voice low and sharp as a dagger.
"Skadi," he said, voice dripping with mock solemnity, "why in Merlin's name have you been flirting with Morrigan?"
Daphne didn't miss a beat. She arched a perfectly sculpted brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Because," she said smoothly, "I find it entertaining watching you squirm."
Across the room, Susan raised a hand lazily without looking up.
"Confirmed," she said, voice teasing. "Flirtation is rampant and quite delicious."
Harry snorted. "And you," he jabbed at Susan, "have been egging her on like a devious imp on a sugar rush."
"Guilty," Susan grinned, flipping a page with theatrical flair. "But can you blame me? You two are insufferably attractive and therefore absolutely doomed."
Daphne's smirk deepened. "You didn't stop me, though. When I caught you flirting back."
Harry's eyes narrowed, a slow grin spreading like wildfire.
"Touché. So, Skadi, should I be worried? Is there a secret I'm not in on? Something I should know before I start planning my next witty retort?"
Daphne set her tea down with precise care, like she was measuring out just how much truth to reveal.
"Four years ago," she began, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you remember the Goblet of Fire?"
Harry's smirk faltered. "You mean the part where my name exploded out like a cursed firework? Yes, I remember quite vividly."
"I remember you, too," Daphne said softly, eyes glinting with memory. "Furious, isolated, the whole school treating you like a joke or a liar. Everyone except Hermione... and me."
"Ah, the Ice Queen and the Gryffindor Girl Scout," Harry teased, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I was terrified, and, if I'm honest, a bit aroused."
Susan chuckled, clutching her side dramatically. "Oh, please! That's gold. And here I thought it was my French accent ruining the mood."
Daphne ignored the jab and continued, "That night, when you asked me to the Yule Ball—I still can't believe it—you, the King of Sarcasm, asking me out. I thought you were joking."
Harry grinned, leaning forward, emerald eyes glittering with mischief. "Let's be honest: I thought you'd hex my spine out through my mouth."
"You looked like you wanted to," Daphne countered, voice a little breathier now.
"I always want to," he murmured.
She looked away, a moment of vulnerability slipping through the cracks. "But here's the thing. Susan… she had a crush on you too. Quietly, in the shadows. She was your unseen shield when the whole world turned its back."
Harry blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Seriously? Susan? The red-headed, chaos-wielding assassin?"
"Exactly that one," Daphne said, a small smile curling her lips. "She never made a move, never said a word, but she was there."
Susan shrugged with a wicked grin. "I've always been a sucker for impossible boys with tragic pasts. And that mouth? Irresistible."
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "I didn't know."
"Because she didn't want you to," Daphne said softly. "You already had Hermione, then me. And then... You broke up with me."
His smile faded, replaced by a shadow of guilt. "I thought it would protect you."
"I know," she whispered, "and I still wanted to kill you for it."
They both chuckled bitterly.
Daphne's voice softened, almost confessional. "I cried for two days. Then I heard you'd disappeared with Sirius and Hermione—to train with assassins. I cried for them instead."
Susan finally sat up straight, eyes warm but serious.
"You're back now," Daphne said. "And so are we."
Harry's gaze softened, fingers reaching out to brush hers. "I never stopped loving you."
She caught his hand, holding it like a lifeline. "I know."
The room held its breath.
Harry's voice broke the silence, half-joking, half-pleading. "So, what does Morrigan have to do with all this?"
Daphne's fingers traced light circles on the back of his hand. "A few months after the Ball, Susan came to me. Proposed a theoretical... arrangement."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Theoretical?"
Daphne nodded, steady as ever. "About marrying you. Both of us."
Harry blinked hard, trying to process. "You mean... plural marriage? Like... magical polygamy?"
Susan gave a slow nod, eyes sparkling with devilish charm. "It's a thing. For certain bloodlines. Royals, high-value magical carriers, and boys with prophecy trauma and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass."
Harry shook his head, half amused, half exasperated. "You asked her?"
Susan raised an eyebrow. "I asked her. She's got you first. I respected that."
"And you?"
"I said I'd talk to you when the time was right," Daphne said softly. "But then Cedric died, the graveyard happened, you broke up with me... Everything went to ashes."
Harry exhaled, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "You were going to share me?"
Daphne's eyes flashed steel. "You're not a prize to be split. But at fifteen? We were both expected to carry our lines. Susan's the last Bones, I'm the eldest Greengrass. It made sense."
"And now?"
"We're back. Together. We'll figure it out."
Susan leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "You're slightly more terrifying now. And I've grown fond of sharp objects and punching things. But yes—the crush has aged very well."
Harry raked a hand through his hair, still stunned but grinning.
l "This is so much to take in."
Daphne's smile was gentle, teasing. "I didn't say you had to decide anything tonight."
Harry's British sass was back full-force. "I'm confused, flattered, mildly aroused, and painfully aware that I'm starring in the most dangerous, sexiest magical soap opera since Merlin invented drama."
Susan grinned, waving a hand like she owned the moment. "Darling, we passed 'soap opera' about five apocalypses ago."
Daphne smirked, nudging Harry's shoulder. "We good?"
Harry's hand squeezed hers, warm and steady. "Always."
Susan leaned back, eyes glittering mischievously. "So... fourth apocalypse?"
Harry groaned, mock exasperation loud enough to make the fire dance. "Can I please survive one life-shattering revelation without being flirted into a coma?"
"Nope," they said in perfect sync, and the room echoed with laughter, promise, and something dangerously close to forever.
—
Moments Later
The embers sputtered their last golden sparks, casting soft, flickering shadows that wrapped the room in a fragile kind of calm. Daphne lounged back against the armchair, one knee drawn up, eyes half-lidded but utterly lethal in their calm. Harry leaned against the conjured rain-streaked window, hands buried deep in his pockets, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips like a secret he wasn't quite ready to share. Susan sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping the pages of a spellbook with one eyebrow cocked, the mischievous spark in her bright red hair practically crackling with anticipation.
Then—bang—the door exploded open with a force that nearly knocked the tea over.
Hermione stormed in like a storm-cloud with a vendetta, hair pulled back tight enough to warrant a Patronus, eyes flashing with Athena's wrath and Hermione's trademark no-nonsense scowl. Neville shuffled in behind her, muscles tight but steady, like someone who'd just wrestled a vine-strangled boggart and won.
"What on Merlin's crusty wand have you been doing for the last forty minutes?" Hermione demanded, voice sharp as basilisk fang, eyes drilling straight into them. "Neville and I have been knee-deep in cursed fail-safes and simulation nightmares, and you lot?" She gestured at the tea, the smirks, the dangerously relaxed postures. "Flirting like this is some kind of emotional wellness spa day?"
Harry's emerald eyes never wavered. He smirked, sharp and slow like a blade sliding from its sheath. "Building an emotionally healthy harem. You?"
Hermione blinked. Half amused, half horrified. "A harem?"
"Not just any harem," Daphne said, voice smooth and dangerous, leaning forward like she was about to pull a knife—only it was a kiss waiting to happen. "One with high stakes, higher magic, and enough drama to drown the entire Ministry."
Susan grinned, hair catching the firelight like a flame of its own. "We do apocalypses on the side. This? Child's play."
Hermione folded her arms, trying to look stern but failing spectacularly as a tiny smile threatened the corners of her mouth.
"Fine," she said, voice still clipped but warmer. "But if I find one curse broken, or any magical malpractice in this 'polyamorous circus'—"
"You'll hex us all to the seventh circle of Azkaban," Harry finished with mock solemnity. "Got it. Crystal clear."
Neville cracked a grin, stepping forward with that easy confidence he'd earned surviving every nightmare Hogwarts could throw at him. "I volunteer as curse-sniffer."
Susan laughed, bright and sharp. "Like a bloodhound on a scent. I like it."
Harry stretched, rolling his shoulders with the lazy grace of a man who knew he was walking the tightrope between disaster and brilliance—and having a bloody good time doing it.
"Well then, Hermione," he said, voice dipped in honey and irony, "since you're so keen on keeping us in line, how about you schedule some of that simulation magic into this side of the operation? We're a team, after all."
Hermione shot him a look that mixed 'exasperated babysitter' with 'smitten schoolgirl'—and Harry raised a single brow.
"Besides," Daphne added with a slow, teasing smile that was all promise and danger, "you might want to keep a close eye on us—we've got ways of turning messes into power plays."
Harry's eyes flicked between Daphne and Susan, that sharp dance of unspoken tension crackling like static electricity.
"So," he said, voice dropping low, "Daph, when exactly did you plan on telling me you moonlight as a part-time enchantress-slash-heartbreaker? Because I'm pretty sure I need a warning label."
Daphne smirked, leaning close enough that her breath was a teasing promise against his skin.
"Oh, sweetheart," she purred, "I gave you plenty of warnings—starting the moment you decided I was more than just a pretty face with a wicked smile."
Harry's grin deepened, emerald flames dancing. He reached out, fingers brushing hers with just the right mix of challenge and affection.
"Careful, or I might start believing you're trying to steal my soul instead of just my sanity."
Susan winked, tossing a playful glance at both of them. "And here I thought I was the troublemaker."
"Oh, darling, you're the wildfire," Daphne said softly, eyes gleaming with wicked fondness.
Hermione cleared her throat, breaking the charged moment with the sharp efficiency of a steel blade.
"Okay, lovebirds," she said, tone no-nonsense but with the barest hint of a smile, "enough romance. We have to deal with the traps Cedric left behind before the Ministry decides to explode."
Neville nodded, pulling a small, glowing orb from his cloak. "And I think I just found the nastiest one yet."
Harry rolled his eyes but smiled.
"Right. Back to saving the world, then. With just a pinch of flirting to keep the spirits up."
Daphne threw him a mock glare. "You're insufferable."
"And you love it."
The fire cracked, rain whispered ancient secrets against the windowpane, and somewhere deep inside Hogwarts, magic waited—ready to ignite.
—
Meanwhile back in Starling City
The Foundry — Hours After the Fight
The low buzz of overhead fluorescents cast long shadows against concrete and steel. The hum of the monitors echoed like a second heartbeat. The air smelled like antiseptic, scorched metal… and blood.
Oliver stood with his arms folded, leaning against the steel support beam near the stairs, eyes fixed on the figure lying motionless on the table. His jaw was tight. His hood and vest hung from a nearby rack, stained and silent like empty armor.
Diggle stirred with a low groan, muscles tensing as consciousness dragged him back. He blinked into the green glow, his brow furrowing. Then—
"Damn it."
His voice was gravel and static.
Oliver stepped forward, his tone neutral, but his relief evident in the slow release of breath.
"You're awake."
Diggle's eyes found him through the haze.
"You shot a guy through the face… and I took a bullet. Pretty sure that's not how backup is supposed to work."
Oliver gave a wry, humorless smile. "You weren't supposed to be there."
Diggle tried to sit up. His face twisted with pain. Oliver stepped in and braced a steadying hand on his good shoulder.
"Don't," Oliver said firmly. "Bullet nicked you high, missed the artery, but Lawton laced it with curare. I had to use something from the island to counteract the toxin."
Diggle grunted. "Of course you did. Because what's a near-death experience without some jungle voodoo brewed in a coconut shell?"
"You're welcome."
"Next time, maybe don't bring me back just to lecture me."
Oliver didn't respond right away. He turned to a nearby tray and peeled off the last of his gloves, dropping them with a wet snap.
Diggle watched him. The bruises on his face were still dark. His breathing shallow, but strong enough.
Finally, Diggle broke the silence.
"So that's what you've been doing? Running around the city dressed like Robin Hood with a kill list and zero impulse control?"
Oliver met his eyes. His voice dropped, quieter. "I'm doing what no one else will. I gave up my soul for this city. I made peace with that a long time ago."
Diggle shook his head. "No, you didn't. That's just the story you tell yourself to make the bloodstains easier to wash off."
Oliver tensed. "You don't understand—"
"Then explain it to me!" Diggle snapped, forcing himself upright despite the pain. "You think you're the only one who's seen darkness? You think you're the only one who's lost people?"
Oliver stepped forward. "I lost five years. I lost everything."
Diggle stared him down. "And now you're trying to fix it by turning into a goddamn executioner?"
"I'm trying to stop men like Lawton—before they kill more people. Before they kill you."
Diggle let out a bitter chuckle. "Hell of a job you're doing."
Oliver's voice cracked with restrained frustration. "You think I want this? That I like putting people in the ground? You think it doesn't haunt me?"
Diggle held up a hand. "I think you've built your entire mission on the idea that you get to decide who lives and who dies. And I don't care how many arrows you have—no one gets to make that call."
Oliver exhaled. Slowly. His fists were clenched.
"I didn't ask for you to follow me."
"No," Diggle said. "But you didn't stop me, either."
Oliver looked away. The monitors flickered. Somewhere in the city, a car alarm wailed into the night.
Diggle swung his legs off the side of the table. Winced. "So what now? You patch me up and then expect me to be your sidekick? Run recon while you put another name in the morgue?"
"I need someone I can trust," Oliver said, quietly. "Someone who'll keep me grounded."
Diggle stood slowly, swaying, but he didn't fall. He stared at Oliver with steel in his gaze.
"Then stop killing people."
Oliver looked back at him, eyes cold but honest. "I can't promise that."
Diggle's jaw flexed. "Then I can't fight beside you."
The words hit harder than a punch.
Oliver didn't stop him as he limped toward the elevator.
"You're a good man, Oliver," Diggle added as the doors opened. "But if you keep walking this path… you won't stay that way."
The elevator closed. The Foundry fell silent again.
Oliver stood alone, staring at the place where his friend had been just moments before. He turned slowly, gaze falling to the green hood on the table.
Blood still stained the fabric.
He picked it up.
Put it on.
No more waiting.
If he had to walk through hell to save this city… then so be it.
---
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