**Agnes's Cottage, Scottish Highlands**
**December 31st, 1981 - New Year's Eve**
Wanda stood over Harry's crib, her hands trembling slightly despite her best efforts to remain calm. The cottage was quiet—Sirius had taken Agnes into the village for last-minute supplies, giving Wanda the privacy she needed for what came next.
She'd spent the past week preparing. Reading every text on magical cores she could find, consulting with Healer Strout about developmental magic in infants, even reaching out through careful letters to a few theoretical magic researchers who might understand what she was attempting.
None of them knew the full scope of it, of course. None of them could imagine what she really planned to do.
She was going to weave her chaos magic into Harry's very essence. Make herself part of him, permanently and irrevocably. It went beyond healing, beyond protection—this was transformation at the deepest level.
And she was terrified.
*What if I hurt him? What if I change something fundamental about who he is? What if I'm just repeating Westview on a smaller scale—controlling someone without their true consent?*
But Harry needed this. The Horcrux was still there, dormant but dangerous. And beyond that, he would need every advantage she could give him. Because even with the timeline changed, even with Sirius free and the Longbottoms saved, there would still be challenges ahead. Still people who would try to use him or hurt him.
She needed him to be strong. Protected. *Hers*, in a way that couldn't be undone or broken.
"Okay, малыш," she whispered, reaching into the crib to stroke Harry's dark hair. He was sleeping peacefully, his stuffed lion clutched against his chest. "Mama's going to do something that might feel a little strange. But I promise—I promise—I'm only trying to help."
She pulled out her wand and began.
The first step was to fully map Harry's magical core. She'd done surface scans before, enough to identify the Horcrux and assess his natural magical strength. But this required going deeper. Understanding every layer, every pathway, every potential point of connection.
"*Númen revelio*," she murmured, her wand tracing intricate patterns in the air above Harry. "*Anima monstrare. Magicae fluenta aperire.*"
The spells were a blend—some from wizarding texts, some she'd created herself, all channeled through her chaos magic to achieve precision no normal diagnostic spell could match.
Red mist flowed from her wand and sank into Harry. To any observer it would look alarming—a baby surrounded by scarlet energy, his small body outlined in crimson light. But Wanda's magical senses showed her the truth: her power was flowing through him gently, mapping rather than invading.
And what she saw took her breath away.
Harry's magical core was *beautiful*.
It sat at the center of his being like a star—bright, pure, full of potential. The core itself was still forming, still developing, but already it showed signs of extraordinary strength. James's raw power, combined with Lily's finesse and control. A perfect inheritance.
But it wasn't perfect. Not quite.
The Horcrux sat like a tumor against the core, a black stain of Voldemort's soul fragment wrapped around Harry's own essence. Wanda had seen it before, but this close, this detailed, she could see exactly how it was attached. The dark magic had actually *fused* with Harry's core, using his own life force as an anchor.
That's why it was so hard to remove. The Horcrux wasn't just attached to Harry—it had become part of his magical structure.
But there was something else. Something Wanda hadn't noticed in her earlier scans.
A shimmer of gold, woven through Harry's entire being. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, protective and fierce and impossibly loving.
Lily's sacrifice. The love magic that had saved Harry from Voldemort's Killing Curse.
Wanda had known it was there—Dumbledore's whole plan had revolved around blood protection, after all. But seeing it like this, understanding it on this fundamental level, she realized how powerful it truly was. This wasn't just a ward or a shield. This was love made manifest, written into Harry's very soul by a mother's willing sacrifice.
*Oh, Lily,* Wanda thought, tears pricking her eyes. *You really did save him. Completely and absolutely.*
The love magic was woven so thoroughly through Harry that it had become part of his magical core's structure. It influenced how his magic flowed, how it manifested, how it protected him. Any spell Harry cast would carry traces of his mother's love. Any magic used against him would have to overcome that sacrifice first.
And the Horcrux *hated* it.
Wanda could see the tension—Voldemort's soul fragment recoiling from the love magic, trying to avoid contact, pressing closer to Harry's core to escape the golden light. That's why the containment wards Wanda had placed worked so well. They didn't need to suppress the Horcrux completely. They just needed to press it toward the love magic, which naturally repelled dark magic born of murder and fear.
An idea began to form. A dangerous, brilliant, potentially catastrophic idea.
What if she didn't just separate the Horcrux from Harry? What if she used Lily's love magic as a weapon against it?
Her chaos magic resonated with strong emotions—she'd learned that early, back when her powers first manifested after the Mind Stone experiments. Grief, rage, love, desperation—all of it fed her power, shaped it, gave it purpose and direction.
And what was Lily's sacrifice if not the strongest love imaginable? A mother choosing death to save her child?
Wanda understood that love. Had felt it herself when she'd held Billy and Tommy, knowing they weren't real but loving them anyway. Had felt it every day since she'd taken Harry, this fierce protective instinct that would burn down the world to keep him safe.
If she could weave her chaos magic into Harry's core *through* Lily's love magic, if she could bind them together—her protection and Lily's sacrifice, her power and a mother's love—it might create something entirely new.
Something that would not only protect Harry but actively *destroy* the Horcrux.
*It's risky,* the rational part of her mind warned. *You're talking about combining three different types of magic—chaos, love, and a Horcrux's dark energy—all inside a toddler's developing magical core. If it goes wrong—*
*It won't go wrong,* she told herself firmly. *I won't let it.*
Wanda took a deep breath and began the working.
She started slowly, carefully. Her chaos magic—normally wild and destructive—was refined to its purest essence. Just raw possibility, creative force, the power to transform what is into what could be. She stripped away the anger and grief and darkness, keeping only the love. The protective instinct. The fierce determination to keep Harry safe.
The scarlet mist that flowed from her wand now carried that intention. Pure, focused, maternal love channeled through reality-warping power.
She guided it toward Harry's magical core, but didn't try to force it in. Instead, she let it pool around the golden strands of Lily's protection, seeking harmony rather than dominance.
*I'm not here to replace you, Lily,* Wanda thought, directing the thought toward the love magic as if Lily's consciousness might somehow still linger in her sacrifice. *I'm here to help. To strengthen what you started. To be another mother who loves him.*
The gold light seemed to pulse in response. Not hostile, not rejecting. Curious, maybe. Testing.
Wanda pushed more chaos magic forward, letting it wrap around the golden strands like a vine around a trellis. Red and gold, intertwining. Two mothers' love—one who'd died for her son, one who'd chosen him across universes—binding together.
The magic began to merge.
It happened slowly at first. A strand of gold accepting a thread of red, weaving together into something new. Then faster, the two types of magic recognizing something compatible in each other, something that resonated.
The color began to change.
Red and gold swirled together, mixing, transforming. The combined magic took on a deeper shade—not quite red, not quite gold, but something richer. Darker. More intense.
Crimson.
The new magic—this hybrid of chaos and love, of chosen family and blood protection—spread through Harry's magical core like wildfire. It didn't disrupt his natural magic or change his essential nature. Instead, it reinforced everything that was already there. Made it stronger, more resilient, more *protected*.
And when it reached the Horcrux—
The reaction was immediate and violent.
The dark magic recoiled as if burned. Voldemort's soul fragment, which had been dormant and contained, suddenly thrashed against its prison. Not trying to possess Harry or influence him—it was trying to *escape*.
Because the crimson magic was anathema to it. Worse than love magic alone, worse than chaos magic alone. This combined force was specifically designed to protect Harry, and it recognized the Horcrux as a threat.
The crimson light surrounded the Horcrux like an immune system attacking a virus. Wanda watched in amazement as the dark magic began to dissolve—not slowly, not over months of careful extraction, but *now*. The soul fragment was being destroyed by the very magic meant to protect Harry's core.
*This wasn't supposed to happen yet,* Wanda thought frantically. *I was just establishing the connection—the separation was supposed to take weeks—*
But there was no stopping it now. The crimson magic had its target, and it was relentless.
Voldemort's soul fragment screamed—a psychic wail that Wanda felt in her bones. The Horcrux tried to dig deeper into Harry's core, tried to hide, tried to anchor itself more firmly.
The crimson magic followed.
It burned through every connection point, severing the dark magic from Harry's life force with surgical precision. The Horcrux's anchors—the bonds that had made it nearly impossible to remove without killing Harry—they dissolved like spiderwebs in flame.
And then, with a final desperate shriek, the soul fragment came *loose*.
It hovered in the space above Harry's scar, suddenly visible even to normal sight—a twisted, corrupted thing that looked like smoke shaped into the echo of a screaming face. Voldemort's fragment, torn free and exposed.
Wanda didn't hesitate. She pointed her wand directly at it.
"*No more Horcruxes,*" she said, and her chaos magic blazed.
The fragment tried to flee—tried to escape into the ether, find another host, survive somehow. But Wanda's magic was faster. It wrapped around the dark soul piece like chains, holding it in place while the crimson magic that still flowed through Harry surged outward.
The two forces—her reality-warping power and the protective hybrid she'd created—converged on the soul fragment.
And destroyed it.
The Horcrux didn't dissolve slowly or fade away. It *unmade itself*. One moment it was there, thrashing and shrieking. The next, it simply ceased to exist. Not dead, not gone—it had never been. Reality itself rejected it, rewrote the rules to say that this piece of Voldemort's soul had no place in existence.
Silence fell.
Wanda stood frozen, her wand still raised, staring at the empty space where the Horcrux had been. Her heart was pounding, her hands shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion.
*Did that actually just—*
Harry stirred in his crib and began to cry.
Wanda dropped her wand and reached for him immediately, gathering him into her arms. "Shh, shh, it's okay baby. I'm here. Mama's here."
But even as she soothed him, she was scanning him frantically with her magical senses. Checking to make sure she hadn't damaged his core, hadn't hurt him, hadn't—
Harry's magical core blazed in her perception, brighter than before. Stronger than before. And threaded through every part of it, woven into his very essence, was that new crimson magic. Her chaos magic and Lily's love magic, permanently fused, becoming something entirely unprecedented.
The scar on Harry's forehead still existed—she could see it, faintly, a lightning-bolt shape across his skin. But when she examined it with magic, there was nothing there. No dark energy, no soul fragment, no lingering trace of Voldemort.
Just a scar. Nothing more.
"Oh my god," Wanda whispered. "It actually worked. You're free, Harry. You're completely free."
Harry had stopped crying and was now looking up at her with those bright green eyes—Lily's eyes. He reached up and touched her face with one small hand, and Wanda felt a pulse of magic. Not his natural magic trying to manifest. The crimson magic recognizing her, responding to her touch.
He was marked now. Not by Voldemort's curse, but by two mothers' love—one who'd died for him and one who'd rewritten reality itself to protect him.
The door banged open downstairs.
"Wanda?" Sirius's voice, concerned. "I felt something—like a surge of magic—are you okay?"
"Up here!" Wanda called. "We're fine! Better than fine, actually!"
Footsteps thundered up the stairs. Sirius burst into the nursery, his wand drawn, his expression wild. Agnes was right behind him, slightly out of breath.
"What happened?" Sirius demanded. "There was this pulse of power—red and gold—everyone in the village felt it, people were panicking—" He stopped, staring at Harry. "Merlin's beard. His scar. It's different."
Wanda looked down. The lightning bolt scar was fainter now, almost invisible. More like a birthmark than a curse wound.
"The Horcrux is gone," she said quietly. "I was just trying to establish the connection—weave my chaos magic into his core so I could separate it later—but something happened. My magic and Lily's protection, they... merged. Created something new. And it destroyed the Horcrux completely."
"Destroyed?" Sirius moved closer, his own magical senses obviously examining Harry. "You're sure? It's not just suppressed or hidden?"
"It's gone. Unmade. Erased from existence." Wanda felt tears of relief threatening. "He's free, Sirius. Harry is completely free of Voldemort."
Agnes made a soft sound of joy. Sirius just stared for a moment, then laughed—loud and delighted and slightly unhinged.
"You did it," he said. "You actually did it. You removed a piece of the Dark Lord's soul from a baby and the baby is *fine*." He ran his hands through his hair. "Do you have any idea how impossible that should be?"
"I'm aware," Wanda said dryly. "I was there."
"What about the magic you added? The crimson stuff?" Sirius's expression turned more serious. "What exactly did you weave into him?"
Wanda explained while Harry dozed in her arms, his small hand still clutching her shirt. She told them about the chaos magic refined to pure protective instinct, about how it had merged with Lily's love magic, about the crimson hybrid that now threaded through Harry's entire magical core.
"So he's part you now," Sirius said slowly. "Magically. Like... like you're his mother in a magical sense, not just emotional."
"Yes." Wanda looked down at Harry's peaceful face. "I marked him. Changed him. Made him mine in a way that can't be undone." She took a shaky breath. "I know that's probably wrong. I know I should have waited until he was older, until he could consent. But I—"
"You protected him," Sirius interrupted firmly. "You gave him every advantage you could, made him as safe as possible, and destroyed the piece of Voldemort that would have haunted him for the rest of his life. That's not wrong, Wanda. That's love."
"But I changed who he is fundamentally—"
"No." Agnes spoke up for the first time, her voice gentle but certain. "Ye didnae change who he is. Ye gave him a gift—protection, power, love. But the core o' him, the soul, that's still his own. Still James an' Lily's boy." She moved closer. "Ma granny used tae say that children are shaped by the folk who raise them. That love leaves marks, changes us, makes us intae who we become. Ye've jist... made that literal."
Wanda wanted to argue, wanted to insist she'd overstepped, crossed lines that shouldn't be crossed. But looking at Harry—still himself, still perfect, just now safer and stronger—she couldn't quite make herself believe she'd done wrong.
"What happens now?" Sirius asked. "With him carrying both your magic and Lily's?"
"I don't know," Wanda admitted. "The crimson magic—this hybrid we created—I've never seen anything like it. It combines reality-warping potential with unconditional protective love. As Harry grows, as his own magic develops, that influence will shape him."
"Shape him how?"
"Make him powerful, definitely. His spells will carry more weight, more potential, than normal wizard magic. But also..." Wanda paused, trying to find words. "They'll be protective by nature. Defensive rather than offensive. He'll instinctively want to help people, defend the vulnerable, stand between threats and innocents. Not because he's programmed to, but because that's what the magic *is*. Pure protection."
"So you've made him into a hero whether he wants to be or not," Sirius said. It wasn't quite an accusation, but it wasn't entirely approving either.
"I've made him into someone who will have the power to choose," Wanda corrected. "And the instinct to choose correctly. But the choices will still be his. Free will isn't determined by instinct—it's determined by action."
"I hope ye're right," Agnes said quietly. "But either way, whit's done is done. No sense worryin' over it now."
"Practical as always, Agnes," Sirius said. He moved to stand beside Wanda, looking down at Harry. "So we have a baby who carries the magical essence of two mothers, one of whom rewrote reality itself to protect him. We're going to need to be very careful how we raise him."
"We were always going to need to be careful," Wanda pointed out. "He's Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The boy who defeated Voldemort. Even without the crimson magic, he was going to have expectations and pressure and people trying to use him."
"Fair point." Sirius touched Harry's hand gently, and the baby's fingers curled around his in sleep. "But now he's also Harry Maximoff-Black, apparently. Son of the Scarlet Witch and her convicted-felon partner."
"I'm not a convicted felon anymore," Sirius said. "I was pardoned, remember?"
"You're still a Black," Agnes pointed out. "That alone is enough tae scandalize half o' magical Britain."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching Harry sleep. Outside, the last light of day was fading. New Year's Eve turning into New Year's Day. A liminal time, perfect for transformations and new beginnings.
"We should probably prepare for fallout," Sirius said eventually. "That magical surge—the one I felt in the village—other people will have felt it too. Probably for miles around. The Ministry might send someone to investigate."
"Let them come," Wanda said. Her voice was calm but her eyes flashed red for just a moment. "I'll tell them the truth—I was doing protective magic on my son. Weaving wards to keep him safe. That's not illegal."
"And if they ask to examine him?"
"Then they'll find exactly what I want them to find. A healthy toddler with strong natural magic and some protective spells. Unless they're soul magic specialists—which I doubt any Ministry employee is—they won't see the deeper changes."
"Ye've thought this through," Agnes observed.
"I've had to." Wanda carefully transferred Harry back to his crib. The baby immediately rolled over, grabbed his stuffed lion, and continued sleeping without interruption. "I knew from the moment I took him that I'd have to be three steps ahead of everyone. Dumbledore, the Ministry, anyone who might try to take him or use him."
"And now?" Sirius asked. "What's the next step?"
Wanda looked at him, then at Agnes, then down at Harry sleeping peacefully with his lion and his lightning-bolt scar that no longer carried darkness.
"Now we celebrate," she said. "It's New Year's Eve. We should probably have dinner and toast to the future and try to be normal for a few hours."
"Normal," Sirius repeated skeptically. "We're raising the Boy Who Lived in hiding while dodging Dumbledore and rewriting magical theory. What part of that is normal?"
"The part where we eat dinner and put our son to bed and maybe watch the stars at midnight," Wanda said firmly. "We deserve normal moments too, Sirius. We can't spend every second fighting or planning or worrying."
"She's right," Agnes said. "I've got stew on the stove an' fresh bread. We'll have a guid meal, toast the new year, an' worry about the rest tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Sirius agreed. He offered Wanda his arm. "Shall we, my lady?"
"We shall, my convicted-felon partner," Wanda replied, taking his arm.
"*Pardoned* felon."
"Still a felon."
"Technically I was never actually convicted—"
Their bickering faded as they headed downstairs, Agnes following with an indulgent smile.
Behind them, Harry slept on, completely unaware that he'd just been fundamentally transformed. That two mothers' love—one dead, one living—had merged to protect him in a way that had never existed before. That he now carried power that combined reality-warping chaos with sacrificial protection, creating something entirely unprecedented in magical history.
He was just a baby having good dreams, clutching his lion, safe and warm and loved.
And for tonight, that was enough.
---
**Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement**
**January 1st, 1982 - 2:47 AM**
Alastor Moody was having a very frustrating conversation with his detection equipment.
The magical disturbance that had erupted over Scotland at approximately 11:43 PM had registered on every monitoring ward in Britain. Not just registered—*screamed*. The needles on several detection devices had literally bent themselves trying to measure the power spike.
And now, two hours later, Moody was trying to figure out what the hell had caused it.
"Talk to me," he growled at the young Auror manning the monitoring station. "What exactly did we detect?"
"Multiple magical signatures, sir," the Auror—Dawlish, his name was—reported nervously. "The primary signature was... unusual. Not Dark magic, exactly, but not Light either. Sort of... red?"
"Red." Moody's magical eye spun. "Magic isn't red, Dawlish."
"This magic was, sir. Deep red, almost crimson. And it was accompanied by a secondary signature—gold, very pure, possibly ancient protective magic."
"Ancient protective—" Moody's normal eye narrowed. "Show me the readings."
Dawlish handed over a sheaf of parchments covered in magical notation. Moody studied them, his magical eye switching through different spectrum views to analyze the data more thoroughly.
What he saw made absolutely no sense.
The power signature was indeed crimson—a color that shouldn't exist in magical theory. And it was immense. More power than a single wizard should be able to generate, compressed into what appeared to be a very small space.
But it wasn't Dark. That was the confusing part. Dark magic had a specific signature—cold, corrupting, hungry. This magic was warm. Protective. Almost... loving?
"Where was the epicenter?" Moody asked.
"Scottish Highlands. Coordinates correspond to..." Dawlish checked his notes. "Middle of nowhere, basically. No registered magical dwellings in the immediate area. Could be a hidden home or—"
"Or someone who doesn't want to be found." Moody's magical eye fixed on the coordinates. "Anyone we know operate in that area?"
"Well, sir, there have been reports of Sirius Black being seen in Scotland. And the woman—Wanda Maximoff—she's been staying somewhere in the Highlands with young Harry Potter." Dawlish hesitated. "Could this be related to them?"
"Could be." Moody studied the readings again. Crimson magic, protective signature, enormous power focused on a small space. Like someone was... doing something to someone. Changing them. Protecting them. "Get me Dumbledore. Now."
"Sir, it's nearly three in the morning—"
"I don't care if it's Christmas morning and he's meeting Father Christmas. Get. Me. Dumbledore."
Dawlish scrambled to comply.
Fifteen minutes later, Albus Dumbledore swept into the Auror department, his silver beard slightly disheveled and his expression more serious than usual.
"Alastor," he greeted. "I felt the disturbance as well. Most unusual."
"Unusual is putting it mildly." Moody thrust the parchments at him. "Take a look at these readings and tell me what you think."
Dumbledore studied the magical notation for a long moment, his expression growing progressively more concerned. "This is... extraordinary. The power levels alone would require multiple wizards working in concert, and yet the signature suggests a single caster. And this color—crimson—I've never seen anything like it."
"Any guesses as to what could cause it?"
"Several, none of them particularly comforting." Dumbledore's blue eyes were grave. "This appears to be some form of deep magic. Soul magic, perhaps, or reality manipulation. The kind of working that changes something fundamental about existence itself."
"And you think it's the Maximoff woman."
"I think it's highly probable, yes." Dumbledore handed the parchments back. "Wanda Maximoff has demonstrated abilities far beyond normal magical parameters. Dimensional travel, reality warping, power levels that dwarf even the strongest wizards. If she was performing some kind of major working—"
"On Harry Potter," Moody interrupted. "That's what you're thinking, isn't it? She's doing something to the boy."
"I fear so." Dumbledore's expression was deeply troubled. "I placed Harry with his relatives specifically to keep him safe, to let him grow up normal and protected by his mother's blood sacrifice. Ms. Maximoff took him from that protection and now appears to be... altering him in some way."
"Should we go there? Confront her?"
"And say what?" Dumbledore spread his hands. "We have no legal authority over Harry—Sirius Black is his rightful guardian, and he's chosen to place Harry with Ms. Maximoff. We can't simply remove the boy without cause."
"Massive magical disturbances aren't cause?"
"Not if the magic wasn't Dark and didn't harm anyone." Dumbledore's voice was frustrated. "We have no evidence of wrongdoing, Alastor. Only evidence of unusual power. That's not enough to justify intervention."
"So we just sit here and let her do whatever she wants to the Boy Who Lived?"
"We watch," Dumbledore said firmly. "We monitor. And if there are signs of genuine danger to Harry, then we act. But not before." He paused. "However, I do think it would be wise to request a meeting. To check on Harry's wellbeing and ensure he's being properly cared for."
"You think she'll agree to that?"
"I think she'll have to, if she wants to avoid Ministry intervention." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled slightly. "After all, concerned citizens have every right to ensure a child's safety. Particularly when that child is Harry Potter."
Moody nodded slowly. It wasn't the immediate action he'd prefer—his instinct was to apparate to those coordinates right now and demand answers—but Dumbledore was right. They needed to be careful, strategic.
"Fine. Request your meeting. But if she refuses, or if there's any sign Harry is in danger—"
"Then we will act," Dumbledore promised. "You have my word."
---
**Agnes's Cottage**
**January 1st, 1982 - 9:23 AM**
Wanda woke to sunlight, warmth, and the smell of bacon cooking downstairs.
For a moment she just lay there, savoring the normalcy of it. This room had become hers over the past two months—the narrow bed with its patchwork quilt, the window overlooking the garden, the small dresser where she kept the few possessions she'd accumulated since arriving in this world.
Home. This was home now.
She stretched and reached out with her magical senses, checking on Harry as she did every morning. His presence was like a small sun in her awareness—bright, warm, safe. And threaded through it all, that new crimson magic. Her protection and Lily's love, merged permanently into who he was.
*No regrets,* she told herself firmly. *I did what needed to be done.*
She got dressed and headed downstairs to find Agnes at the stove and Sirius at the table with Harry on his lap. The baby was attempting to eat a piece of toast while simultaneously trying to stick his entire fist in his mouth—a logistical challenge that apparently required great concentration.
"Morning," Sirius said cheerfully. "Sleep well?"
"Better than expected, considering." Wanda poured herself tea and sat across from them. "Any owls?"
"Three so far. One from the Longbottoms wishing us a happy new year. One from some Ministry office requesting updated information on Harry's living situation—I threw that one in the fire. And one from Dumbledore."
Wanda's hand tightened on her teacup. "What does he want?"
"To meet with us. Check on Harry's wellbeing. Make sure we're not doing anything 'concerning' with him." Sirius's tone was dry. "I'm guessing he felt the magical surge last night."
"Everyone felt the magical surge last night," Agnes said from the stove. "Dinnae ken what ye did, Wanda, but it lit up the whole valley. Folk in the village are talkin' about it."
"What are they saying?"
"That it was probably Northern Lights, or maybe a magical experiment gone wrong." Agnes brought plates of bacon and eggs to the table. "I didnae correct them. Figured ye'd rather folk think it was natural than start askin' questions."
"Thank you." Wanda accepted her plate gratefully. "What did Dumbledore's letter actually say?"
Sirius pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and cleared his throat dramatically. "*Dear Sirius and Ms. Maximoff, I hope this letter finds you well. I was hoping we might arrange a meeting to discuss Harry's welfare and future education. Perhaps lunch at the Leaky Cauldron next week? I remain committed to ensuring Harry receives the guidance he deserves. Regards, Albus Dumbledore.*" He set the letter down. "Very polite. Very concerned. Very 'I'm not trying to steal custody but I definitely think you're doing this wrong.'"
"He can think whatever he wants," Wanda said. "We're not giving him Harry."
"Agreed. But we probably should meet with him at some point. Just to..." Sirius gestured vaguely. "Show that we're reasonable. That Harry's fine. That we're not mad people experimenting on babies."
"But we are experimenting on babies," Wanda pointed out. "I literally rewrote Harry's magical core last night."
"Okay, but we're mad people who are carefully and lovingly experimenting on babies for their own protection," Sirius amended. "Totally different."
Agnes snorted into her tea.
Wanda had to smile despite herself. "Fine. We'll meet with Dumbledore. But on our terms, in a place of our choosing, and with clear boundaries about what we will and won't discuss."
"Such as?"
"We'll confirm Harry is healthy, happy, and well-cared-for. We'll discuss his future education in general terms—yes, he'll learn magic, yes, he'll attend school eventually, no, we haven't decided which one yet. But we will not discuss the specifics of the magical working I did last night, we will not justify our parenting choices, and we absolutely will not entertain any suggestion that Harry should be elsewhere."
"Strongly worded," Sirius observed. "I like it."
Harry chose that moment to successfully get both toast and fist into his mouth simultaneously, looking immensely pleased with himself.
"See?" Wanda said, gesturing at him. "He's thriving. How could Dumbledore possibly object to how well he's doing?"
"Oh, I can think of several ways," Sirius muttered. "Dumbledore's very good at finding problems where none exist."
"Then we'll just have to be better at proving everything's fine." Wanda finished her tea. "When should we schedule the meeting?"
"Next week? Gives us time to prepare what we'll say, how we'll handle questions."
"And gives Harry time to get used to the crimson magic," Wanda added. "I want to make sure there are no complications before we parade him in front of Dumbledore's all-seeing eyes."
"Are ye expectin' complications?" Agnes asked worriedly.
"No. The working went perfectly, and Harry seems completely normal. But I'd rather be cautious." Wanda stood. "I'm going to spend today monitoring him closely, making sure the magic is settling properly. Sirius, can you draft a response to Dumbledore? Something polite but firm about meeting next week?"
"On it." Sirius gently detached Harry's toast-and-fist combo from his mouth, earning an indignant squawk. "Come on, monster. Let's go write a letter telling the most powerful wizard in Britain that we're not afraid of him."
"We should be afraid of him," Wanda said seriously. "Dumbledore is brilliant, connected, and convinced he knows what's best for everyone. That's a dangerous combination."
"But we have something he doesn't," Sirius pointed out. "We have Harry. And love. And you, who can literally rewrite reality." He grinned. "What could possibly go wrong?"
---
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!