**Agnes's Cottage, Scottish Highlands**
**November 4th, 1981**
"No, no—you're holding it too stiffly," Sirius said, gently adjusting Wanda's wrist. "Wand magic is about flow, not force. Think of it like... like conducting an orchestra. The wand is your baton, and the magic responds to the gesture as much as the intent."
They were in the back garden, safely away from the house where Agnes was putting Harry down for his morning nap. The November air was crisp and cold, their breath misting in the morning light, but Wanda barely felt it. She was too focused on the simple Levitation Charm that kept refusing to work properly.
"*Wingardium Leviosa*," she said again, swishing and flicking her wand at a small stone.
The stone shot into the air like a rocket, sailed over the garden wall, and disappeared with a distant splash into what sounded like a pond.
"Better," Sirius said diplomatically. "But maybe a bit less... enthusiasm?"
Wanda scowled at her wand. The problem wasn't the spell—she could feel her chaos magic eagerly trying to obey, could sense it wanting to simply *will* the stone to float. But forcing that power through the narrow channel of wand movements and incantations felt like trying to pour an ocean through a straw.
Every instinct she had screamed to just *do* the magic. No words, no gestures, just pure intention made manifest.
But that would reveal what she really was. And Sirius was right when he'd pointed out, late last night over tea, that keeping some secrets was smart.
*"The magical world fears what it doesn't understand,"* he'd said, his expression serious despite the lightness of his tone. *"And you, Wanda? You're powerful enough to rewrite reality. If people knew that—if they understood what you really are—they'd either try to use you or try to kill you. Probably both."*
He was right. She'd seen it before, in her own world. The Sokovia Accords. The fear in people's eyes when they looked at her. The way governments and organizations had tried to control the Avengers, register them, make them weapons or prisoners.
She wouldn't make that mistake again.
So she was learning to hide. Learning to channel her chaos magic through the wand in ways that looked like normal wizarding spells. Learning to pretend she was bound by the same rules as everyone else.
It was harder than she'd expected.
"Let's try something simpler," Sirius suggested. He conjured a feather—a real one this time, not a stone—and set it hovering at chest height. "Don't think about making it move. Think about... asking it to. Wizard magic isn't about domination, it's about partnership. You and your wand working together with the world around you."
Wanda frowned. That was almost the opposite of how her chaos magic worked. Her power was about *imposing* her will on reality, bending it to her desire. Not asking permission.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe learning this softer approach would help her control herself better. Help her avoid the mistakes she'd made in Westview, when her power had spiraled out of control and trapped hundreds of people in her delusion.
She took a breath and tried again, this time thinking of it as a collaboration. Her chaos magic, filtered through the yew wand, channeled by the specific movements Sirius had shown her.
"*Wingardium Leviosa*."
The feather wobbled, lifted gently, and floated in a smooth arc across the garden before settling back down.
"There!" Sirius grinned. "See? You just needed to stop trying to murder it with magic."
Wanda couldn't help but smile. "I don't murder things with magic anymore. I'm reformed."
"Right. Which is why that stone is currently terrorizing some fish."
"That was an accident."
"Uh-huh." Sirius's expression softened. "But seriously, you're doing well. Most adult wizards struggle with wandless magic, and you're already incorporating it naturally. The key is just making it look intentional when you use your wand, and accidental when you don't."
That made sense. Wandless magic existed in this world—she'd seen it in the books, characters doing small spells without their wands in moments of emotion or necessity. If she occasionally did minor things without her wand, people would just assume she was particularly talented, not impossibly powerful.
The real trick would be remembering to use the wand for everything major. To make the gestures, say the words, pretend she needed these tools when really they were just... props.
"Let's try something more complex," Sirius said. He banished the feather and pulled out a small mirror. "Transfiguration. Basic color change. Point your wand at the mirror and say *Colovaria* while picturing the color you want. Try for blue—it's easier than colors that don't exist in nature."
Wanda took the mirror and focused. This should be simple—she'd transfigured Malcolm into a pig without breaking a sweat. Changing the color of glass should be trivial.
But she forced herself to go slow. To channel her magic properly, use the wand, make it look difficult.
"*Colovaria*," she said, swishing her wand in the pattern Sirius had demonstrated.
The mirror turned blue. Then red. Then a swirling purple-gold that definitely wasn't natural. Then blue again before settling on a shade of scarlet that exactly matched her chaos magic.
"Well," Sirius said after a moment, "at least you got blue at some point during that journey."
"I'm out of practice with subtlety," Wanda admitted, handing back the now-scarlet mirror.
"Or you're just incredibly powerful and unused to throttling it back." Sirius studied her thoughtfully. "You know, you never did tell me the full extent of what you can do. I've seen you teleport, create objects from nothing, break into Azkaban, and turn a man into a pig. But there's more, isn't there?"
Wanda hesitated. How much should she tell him? He'd earned her trust—had accepted Harry immediately, had believed her impossible story, had kept her secrets without question. But there were some things...
"Yes," she said finally. "There's more. In my world, I'm called the Scarlet Witch. I can... reshape reality. Not permanently—not without consequences—but I can rewrite the rules of existence within a certain area. Make things that aren't real become real. Change the nature of matter and energy. I once held an entire town under my control, everyone living the lives I'd imagined for them."
She expected horror. Revulsion. Fear.
Instead, Sirius just nodded slowly. "That must have been lonely. All that power, and no one who could understand it. No one you could trust not to be afraid of you."
Wanda's throat tightened. "You're not... scared?"
"Terrified," Sirius admitted cheerfully. "You could probably turn me into a teacup and I'd have no defense against it. But you won't, because you're not that person anymore. You're trying to be better. Trying to save people instead of control them." He smiled. "Besides, anyone who breaks into Azkaban to rescue someone they've never met can't be all bad."
"I read about you in books," Wanda pointed out. "I did know you."
"You knew a version of me. A story. That's not the same as knowing the person." Sirius's smile turned wry. "The real me is much more disappointing. Less heroic, more damaged, definitely messier."
"I don't know. You're doing pretty well so far. You've been amazing with Harry."
"Harry's easy. He's James's son—I'd die for him without hesitation." Sirius's expression turned serious. "But Wanda, what you're doing—raising him, protecting him, trying to remove that Horcrux—that's harder. That takes daily commitment, not just grand gestures. Are you ready for that?"
"I have to be," Wanda said simply. "I've spent years destroying things. Breaking things. It's time I built something instead. And Harry... he deserves a chance at something better than what was planned for him."
Before Sirius could respond, a sharp crack echoed across the garden.
Both of them whirled, wands raised, magic gathering—
A tawny owl landed heavily on the garden fence, one leg extended with a rolled newspaper tied to it. It hooted indignantly at their defensive postures, as if offended they'd consider it a threat.
"The Daily Prophet," Sirius said, lowering his wand. He approached the owl carefully and untied the paper, trading it for a few Knuts he conjured. The owl hooted again—more pleased this time—and took off.
Wanda moved to stand beside Sirius as he unrolled the newspaper. The headline was massive, taking up half the front page:
**SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT!**
**MINISTRY APOLOGIZES FOR WRONGFUL IMPRISONMENT**
**PETER PETTIGREW CONFESSES TO BETRAYAL AND MURDER**
Below it, a photo—moving, like all wizarding photographs—showed Peter being led into the Ministry in chains, sobbing and confessing. Another photo showed Sirius from years ago, young and handsome and grinning, with a caption reading "Wrongfully Accused: Black Family Heir Exonerated."
"Merlin's beard," Sirius breathed. He sank onto the garden bench, staring at the paper. "It's real. They actually... I'm free. Officially free."
Wanda sat beside him and read over his shoulder:
*In an unprecedented turn of events, the Ministry of Magic has issued a full pardon and formal apology to Sirius Orion Black, previously convicted of the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles. The conviction was overturned yesterday following the dramatic appearance of Peter Pettigrew—alive and confessing to the crimes.*
*Pettigrew, an unregistered Animagus who had been presumed dead, was brought to the Ministry by an unknown witch identifying herself as Wanda Maximoff. Under Veritaserum, Pettigrew confessed to serving as Secret Keeper for James and Lily Potter, betraying them to You-Know-Who, and framing Black for the murders he himself committed.*
*"This is a dark day for the Ministry," said Bartemius Crouch Sr., Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "We failed Mr. Black catastrophically by not granting him a trial. We allowed fear and the chaos of war to override our most basic principles of justice. I take full responsibility for this failure."*
*Black, who could not be reached for comment, is entitled to substantial compensation for his wrongful imprisonment. The Ministry has also launched an investigation into why Black was sent to Azkaban without trial, in apparent violation of magical law...*
Sirius's hands were shaking. "They're calling it a 'dark day for the Ministry.' A *dark day*. I spent less than twenty-four hours in that hellhole and it nearly broke me. If you hadn't gotten me out..." His voice cracked. "Twelve years, Wanda. The books you read—I would have been there for twelve years."
"But you weren't." Wanda put her hand over his, steadying him. "You're here. You're free. You're with Harry. The story is different now."
"Because of you." He looked at her, and there was something raw and vulnerable in his grey eyes. "You didn't have to do any of this. You could have just taken Harry and hidden. Could have left me to rot. But you didn't."
"You're Harry's family," Wanda said. "He needs you. And... I think maybe you need him too."
"Yeah." Sirius's laugh was wet. "Yeah, I really do."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, letting the reality sink in. Then Sirius turned the page, and his breath caught.
"Oh no."
Wanda leaned in to see what had caught his attention. There, below the fold, was another headline:
**DEATH EATERS CAPTURED IN ATTEMPTED TORTURE**
**LONGBOTTOMS SURVIVE ATTACK, CURRENTLY RECEIVING TREATMENT**
*In related news, four suspected Death Eaters were apprehended last night in the attempted torture of Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom. The attack, which took place at the Longbottoms' home, was thwarted by Aurors who had received advance warning of the assault.*
*The captured Death Eaters—Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, and Bartemius Crouch Jr.—are accused of using the Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms in an attempt to learn You-Know-Who's whereabouts. Frank and Alice Longbottom are currently being treated at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where Mind Healers report their condition as "serious but stable."*
*Auror Alastor Moody, who led the operation, credited an anonymous tip with saving the Longbottoms from permanent damage. "We received specific intelligence about the time and nature of the attack," Moody stated. "Without that information, we would have arrived too late. The Longbottoms would have been tortured to insanity."*
*Sources indicate the intelligence came from the same mysterious witch who delivered Peter Pettigrew to the Ministry...*
"You did this too," Sirius said quietly. "You warned them about the Longbottoms."
"I told them the attack was coming," Wanda confirmed. "I didn't know if they'd listen, but I had to try. Frank and Alice—they're good people. Harry's godparents."
"Alice is Harry's godmother, yes." Sirius looked stunned. "In the books—the original timeline—what happened to them?"
Wanda's expression darkened. "The Lestranges tortured them for hours. Frank and Alice were both driven insane by the Cruciatus Curse. They spent the rest of their lives in St. Mungo's permanent ward, unable to recognize their own son. Neville grew up visiting his parents who couldn't remember him."
"Merlin." Sirius's face had gone pale. "And now—"
"Now they're alive. Conscious. The Mind Healers got to them in time." Wanda smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. "They'll recover. They'll get to raise Neville. Watch him grow up. Be his parents."
"Because you changed the story," Sirius said. "Again."
"Because I knew what was coming and could stop it." Wanda stood, pacing. "The problem is, the Cruciatus Curse—it does damage even if it's interrupted quickly. Psychological trauma, nerve damage, sometimes permanent changes to the magical core. Frank and Alice will need extensive treatment."
"Can you help them?" Sirius stood too, the newspaper forgotten. "With your chaos magic—the reality-rewriting thing—can you heal them?"
Wanda was quiet for a long moment, considering. "Maybe. Probably. But it would be complicated."
"How complicated?"
"I'd need to understand exactly what the curse did to them. Map the damage at a level most Healers can't see—soul-deep, where magic meets consciousness." Wanda turned to face him. "And I'd need to do it carefully, make it look like I'm using healing spells from your world. If I just wave my hand and fix them, people will ask questions. Questions I don't want to answer."
"So you'd need to study their injuries first," Sirius said, understanding. "And learn enough healing magic to make your fixes look legitimate."
"Exactly. Which means..." Wanda gestured at the garden, at the scattered evidence of her morning's practice—the missing stone, the color-shifting mirror, the slightly scorched patch of grass where she'd accidentally overcharged a Severing Charm. "I need to get much better at this. At using my wand, channeling my magic properly, making it look like I'm working within your world's rules."
"How long will that take?"
"I don't know. Weeks? Months?" Wanda ran her hand through her hair, frustrated. "The power is there—I can feel it, ready and eager. But controlling it, disguising it, making it look normal... that's the challenge."
Sirius was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then: "What if we visited them? The Longbottoms, I mean. Alice and I were in the Order together—we were friends. It wouldn't be strange for me to check on them after the attack. You could come as my... I don't know, companion? Friend? Co-parent of my godson?"
"Mysterious interdimensional witch who delivered Peter Pettigrew and warned the Aurors?" Wanda suggested dryly.
"Well, yes, that too." Sirius smiled. "But seriously—if you came with me to St. Mungo's, you could see them. Assess the damage yourself. Figure out what needs to be fixed."
"And if the Healers are suspicious?"
"Then we tell them the truth—that you're studying magical healing and want to observe. St. Mungo's welcomes interested witches and wizards all the time. They're always desperate for people willing to learn the field."
Wanda considered it. The idea had merit. She did need to see Frank and Alice, both to assess what healing they needed and to reconnect Harry with his godmother. And visiting publicly, with Sirius, would be far less suspicious than trying to sneak in later.
"We'd need to be careful," she said. "Dumbledore will be looking for Harry. The Ministry will want to ask me questions about where I came from and how I knew about the attacks. If we show up at St. Mungo's—"
"Then we show up, answer some basic questions, and leave before anyone can corner us properly." Sirius's grin was pure mischief—the Marauder showing through the trauma. "Besides, I'm officially innocent now. They can't arrest me. And you... well, you haven't actually broken any laws, have you?"
"I kidnapped Harry from his legal guardians."
"You rescued Harry from future abusers," Sirius corrected. "And given that I'm his godfather and legal magical guardian—which I am, James and Lily's will was very clear—I'm giving you permission retroactively. Harry stays with us."
"Does it work like that?"
"No idea. But I'm a Black, heir to one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain. Until proven otherwise, I can probably argue that I have the right to determine Harry's custody." Sirius's expression turned serious. "And I choose you, Wanda. I choose us. We're Harry's family now."
The words settled over Wanda like a warm blanket. *Family.* She'd lost her family—Pietro, Vision, Billy and Tommy. Had thought she'd never have that again. But here was Sirius, this half-broken man she'd known for less than two days, offering her exactly that.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Okay. We'll visit St. Mungo's. We'll see Alice and Frank. And I'll figure out how to heal them without revealing what I really am."
"That's my Scarlet Witch," Sirius said fondly.
"Please don't call me that in public."
"What should I call you?"
"Wanda is fine." She paused. "Or... I don't know. What do magical people call their partners when they're raising a child together but aren't married?"
Sirius blinked. "Are we partners?"
"We're co-parenting Harry. What else would we be?"
"I just... I didn't want to assume." Sirius's ears had gone slightly pink. "I mean, you're brilliant and powerful and impossibly attractive, and I'm a recently-exonerated convict with trauma issues and a tendency to make terrible decisions."
"You broke out of Azkaban with me after knowing me for five minutes," Wanda pointed out. "That's actually a pretty good decision, all things considered."
"Fair point." Sirius's smile was crooked, vulnerable. "So we're... partners. In parenting and life-saving and possibly other things if you're interested but no pressure."
"Let's start with parenting and life-saving," Wanda said, but she was smiling. "The other things can wait until you've had more than two days of freedom and I've had more than two days with my son."
"Your son," Sirius repeated softly. "You really mean that, don't you? Harry's yours now."
"He's ours," Wanda corrected. "Yours and mine. And we're going to give him everything he deserves."
From inside the house, Harry's cry echoed—not distressed, just awake and wanting attention.
"Speaking of which," Sirius said, "I think someone's ready for lunch."
They headed inside together, leaving the newspaper and scattered practice materials behind. Agnes was already in the kitchen, warming a bottle, while Harry fussed in his high chair.
The moment Harry saw Wanda, his face lit up. He reached for her with both hands, babbling something that might have been "Mama" or might have been nonsense, but either way it made Wanda's heart clench.
"Hello, малыш," she murmured, lifting him from the chair. "Did you have a good nap?"
Harry grabbed her face with both hands and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on her cheek.
"I'll take that as a yes," Wanda laughed.
Sirius watched them with an expression of such pure fondness that Agnes, glancing over from the stove, had to hide a smile.
"Ye two are guid together," she said. "The three o' ye, I mean. Ye look like a family."
"We are a family," Wanda said firmly. She looked at Sirius. "Aren't we?"
"Yeah," Sirius said, his voice rough with emotion. "Yeah, we are."
Harry, oblivious to the weight of the moment, tried to eat Wanda's nose.
"Right," Wanda said, gently redirecting him toward the bottle Agnes had prepared. "First we eat. Then we plan. Then we go save more people, because apparently that's what we do now."
"Could be worse life goals," Sirius observed.
"Could be better ones too."
"Name one."
Wanda thought about it while Harry drank his bottle, his eyes already drifting closed again—a food coma in progress. "I can't, actually. Saving people seems pretty good."
"Told you." Sirius conjured himself a cup of tea and settled at the kitchen table. "So, St. Mungo's. When do we go?"
"Tomorrow," Wanda decided. "That gives me the rest of today to practice wand magic, prepare what I'll say if people ask questions, and figure out how to assess curse damage without looking suspicious."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight we're a normal family. We have dinner, we put Harry to bed, we maybe read stories or watch him try to eat his own feet. Normal things."
"I don't remember normal," Sirius admitted. "It's been years since I did anything that wasn't war or prison or running."
"Then it's time to learn," Wanda said gently. "For Harry. For us."
She glanced down at Harry, who'd finished his bottle and was now sleeping against her shoulder, his small hand fisted in her shirt, completely trusting.
This was why she'd been pulled here, she realized. Not just to save Harry from the Dursleys or Sirius from Azkaban. But to build something. A family cobbled together from broken pieces, held together by choice rather than blood.
It wasn't the family she'd lost. Billy and Tommy would never be real in the way Harry was real. Pietro was gone forever. Vision was gone forever.
But this—Harry and Sirius and maybe even Agnes, who'd become part of their strange household—this was something new. Something worth fighting for.
Worth being better for.
"Okay," she said quietly, more to herself than to Sirius. "Tomorrow we visit St. Mungo's. We see Frank and Alice. We start figuring out how to heal them."
"And today?"
Wanda looked at Harry's sleeping face, at Sirius's hopeful expression, at the warm kitchen that was slowly becoming home.
"Today we practice being a family," she said. "That seems like magic enough."
---
**St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London**
**November 5th, 1981**
The entrance to St. Mungo's was, in Wanda's opinion, absolutely ridiculous.
They stood in front of what appeared to be a shabby department store—Purge and Dowse, Ltd., according to the faded sign—on a busy London street. The windows were boarded up, the door looked rusted shut, and there was absolutely nothing to indicate this was the entrance to magical Britain's premier hospital.
"You're sure this is it?" Wanda asked, shifting Harry on her hip. He was awake and curious, trying to grab at everything they passed.
"Positive." Sirius approached the window display, which showed a moth-eaten mannequin in clothing from approximately 1920. He leaned close and said, clearly but quietly, "We're here to visit Frank and Alice Longbottom. Spell damage ward."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the mannequin's head turned—actually turned, in a movement that should have been impossible for a plastic head—and gave them a slight nod.
The door swung open.
"After you," Sirius said with a flourish.
Wanda stepped through and immediately understood why magical people didn't just use normal doors.
The interior of St. Mungo's bore absolutely no resemblance to the shabby storefront. The entrance hall was enormous, gleaming with white tile and floating candles, full of bustling activity. Witches and wizards in lime-green robes hurried past with clipboards and potion vials. A woman with what appeared to be dragon pox sat in one corner, carefully not breathing fire on anyone. A wizard with his head on backwards was having an animated argument with a Healer about whether this was an emergency.
"Welcome to St. Mungo's," a cheerful witch at the reception desk called. "Do you have an appointment, or is this an emergency?"
"Neither," Sirius said, approaching the desk. "We're here to visit patients. Frank and Alice Longbottom, spell damage ward."
The witch's expression immediately shifted from cheerful to sympathetic. "Oh, yes. Poor dears. They're in the Janus Thickey Ward—fourth floor. But I should warn you, they're not receiving many visitors yet. The Mind Healers want to keep them calm while they recover."
"I'm Sirius Black," Sirius said. "Alice and I served in the Order of the Phoenix together. And this—" he gestured to Wanda, "is Wanda Maximoff. I believe you've heard of her?"
The witch's eyes went wide. "You're the one who brought in Peter Pettigrew! And warned about the attack! Oh, my goodness, yes, of course you can visit. Let me just..." She scribbled something on a piece of parchment that folded itself into an airplane and zoomed off toward the upper floors. "There. Healer Strout will meet you on the fourth floor. She's the one treating the Longbottoms."
"Thank you," Wanda said.
They headed for the stairs—there was a lift, but Sirius insisted the stairs were safer after a memorable incident involving a malfunctioning elevator and a man who'd been stuck halfway between floors three and four for six hours.
The fourth floor was quieter than the entrance hall. The walls here were painted a soothing blue, and the lighting was dimmer, less harsh. Soft music played from somewhere—Wanda couldn't identify the instrument, but it sounded like a cross between a harp and wind chimes.
A stern-looking witch in healer's robes was waiting for them. She was perhaps fifty, with iron-grey hair pulled back in a severe bun and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Mr. Black," she said, her voice clipped but not unkind. "And Miss Maximoff, I presume?"
"Just Wanda is fine," Wanda said.
"Miriam Strout. I'm the primary Mind Healer for the Janus Thickey Ward." Healer Strout's gaze dropped to Harry, and her expression softened slightly. "And this must be young Harry Potter. Alice will be pleased to see him."
"How are they?" Sirius asked. "Frank and Alice—the paper said serious but stable."
"That's accurate." Healer Strout gestured for them to follow her down the corridor. "The Cruciatus Curse does cumulative damage—the longer exposure, the worse the effects. Fortunately, the Aurors interrupted the attack quickly. Frank and Alice were exposed for perhaps ten minutes total, with breaks between applications."
"Ten minutes," Wanda said quietly. She'd been tortured before—by HYDRA, during the experiments—and knew what even a few minutes of agony could do to a person's psyche.
"Ten minutes is enough to cause significant trauma," Healer Strout said. "But not enough to cause permanent insanity, which is what we were most concerned about. Both patients are conscious, lucid, and aware of their surroundings. However, they're experiencing severe pain, nerve damage, and psychological aftereffects. The nightmares alone—" She shook her head. "It will be a long recovery."
"Can we help?" Wanda asked. "I have... some training in healing magic. If there's anything I can do—"
Healer Strout stopped walking and studied Wanda with those sharp eyes. "What kind of training?"
"Unconventional," Wanda admitted. "I'm not a licensed Healer. But I understand magic on a fundamental level. How it affects the body and mind. How to repair damage."
"And where did you receive this training?"
"A long way from here." Wanda met her gaze steadily. "I know you have no reason to trust me, Healer Strout. I'm a stranger with no credentials in your world. But I warned the Aurors about the attack in the first place. I saved Frank and Alice from something much worse. And I'd like to help them recover, if I can."
Healer Strout was quiet for a long moment. Then: "The damage from the Cruciatus Curse is complex. It affects not just the nervous system, but the magical core itself. Traditional healing spells can address the physical symptoms—the pain, the tremors—but the magical damage is more difficult. It requires... finesse. Understanding. The ability to sense magic at a level most Healers never achieve."
"I can do that," Wanda said with absolute certainty. "I can sense magic. I can see how it's damaged and what needs to be repaired."
"Then you're welcome to observe," Healer Strout said. "And if you have suggestions, I'm willing to listen. Merlin knows we need all the help we can get with curse damage." She resumed walking. "But I should warn you—even with the best treatment, Frank and Alice may never fully recover. The psychological trauma alone could take years to heal."
"How long before they can go home?" Sirius asked. "See their son properly?"
"Weeks, at minimum. Possibly months." Healer Strout stopped in front of a door marked "Private—Janus Thickey Ward, Room 3." "They're stable enough for short visits now. But please keep it brief. No more than fifteen minutes. And if either of them becomes distressed—"
"We'll leave immediately," Wanda promised.
Healer Strout nodded and opened the door.
The room beyond was larger than Wanda expected, with two beds separated by a privacy curtain that was currently drawn back. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, and someone had placed fresh flowers on the bedside tables—white lilies and blue forget-me-nots.
In the first bed, Frank Longbottom sat propped up against pillows. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes and bandages wrapped around his hands—burn marks from where he'd fought back against his attackers, Wanda guessed. But he was conscious and alert, and when he saw Sirius, he managed a weak smile.
"Black. Didn't expect to see you here."
"Wouldn't miss it," Sirius said, moving to his bedside. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by the Knight Bus. Repeatedly." Frank's voice was hoarse, strained. "But alive. That's more than I thought I'd be a few days ago."
In the second bed, Alice Longbottom was sleeping. Or at least, Wanda thought she was sleeping—her eyes were closed, her breathing even. But there was a tension in her face, lines of pain even in rest, that suggested she wasn't fully at peace.
"Alice is having difficulty staying awake," Healer Strout said quietly. "The pain makes it hard for her to sleep naturally, so we've been using Dreamless Sleep Potion. But it's not a long-term solution—the potion can become addictive if used for more than a few weeks."
Wanda moved closer to Alice's bed, her magical senses extending carefully. She didn't touch—didn't want to startle the sleeping woman—but she let her chaos magic probe gently, mapping the damage.
It was worse than she'd expected.
The Cruciatus Curse had torn through Alice's nervous system like lightning, leaving scorch marks on her magical core. Wanda could see the pathways where magic flowed through the body—in most people, they were smooth, integrated. In Alice, they were fractured, bleeding energy, trying desperately to heal but unable to close the wounds properly.
And deeper, in the part of Alice that was pure consciousness rather than body, there were scars. Psychological trauma written in magic itself, places where terror and agony had burned so hot they'd left permanent marks.
Healer Strout was right. This would take months to heal, maybe longer. Maybe never, if the magical community didn't have better treatments than what Wanda was seeing.
But Wanda wasn't limited to traditional healing.
She had chaos magic. Reality-warping, soul-deep power that could rewrite the rules of existence itself.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!