The Sword Returns
Forest of Dean - One Month Later
Harry and Hermione had been alone for four weeks. Four weeks of hunger, cold, constant movement, and the oppressive weight of the locket. They took turns wearing it, each stint more difficult than the last.
Hermione's awakened power helped her resist its influence better than before, but even she grew pale and thin. Harry found himself having darker and darker thoughts—visions from Voldemort mixed with the locket's poison until he couldn't tell which was which.
They were camped in the Forest of Dean when it happened.
Harry was on watch, wearing the locket, when he saw it—a silver doe Patronus, luminous and beautiful, standing at the edge of their camp. It regarded him with intelligent eyes, then turned and walked deeper into the forest.
Harry followed, drawn by something he couldn't name. The doe led him to a frozen pond, its surface thick with ice. And there, beneath the ice, glowing faintly in the moonlight, was the Sword of Gryffindor.
How? Harry thought. How did it get here? Who sent that Patronus?
But there was no time for questions. He stripped off his coat, preparing to dive into the frozen water. At the last moment, he removed the locket—he'd need both hands free, and something told him he didn't want that cursed thing near the sword.
He hung the locket on a branch and dove.
The cold was shocking, paralysing. He kicked toward the bottom, lungs already burning, and grabbed the sword's hilt. But the moment his fingers closed around it, the locket's chain tightened around his neck.
I didn't take it off, some distant part of his mind realized. The chain extended, followed me into the water.
The locket was strangling him. Harry thrashed, trying to reach the surface, but the chain pulled tight. Black spots danced across his vision. His lungs screamed for air suddenly Anant crystal pendant glow slightly and weaken the locket influence on Harry.
Then strong hands grabbed him, pulled him up, broke the ice. Harry surfaced, gasping and choking. Someone dragged him onto the shore.
"Harry! Harry, breathe!"
Harry coughed up water, rolled onto his side, and looked up at his rescuer.
Ron Weasley stood there, soaking wet, holding the Sword of Gryffindor.
"Ron?" Harry croaked. "How—"
"Later," Ron said. His face was gaunt, guilty, determined. "First we destroy this thing."
He picked up the locket from where Harry had hung it. The moment Ron touched it, the locket's voice began—not audible to Harry, but clearly affecting Ron. His friend's face twisted with pain and rage.
"Open it," Ron gasped. "Harry, you have to open it in Parseltongue. Then I'll stab it."
Harry struggled to his feet, shivering violently. "Ron, are you sure—"
"DO IT!"
Harry focused on the locket. "Open," he hissed in Parseltongue.
The locket sprang open. Immediately, figures formed in the air above it—phantoms created from the Horcrux's malice. They showed Ron's worst fears: Harry and Hermione together, laughing at him. Hermione's voice saying she'd always loved Harry, never Ron. His brothers overshadowing him. His poverty, his inadequacy, his worthlessness.
"I am not worth remembering," the phantom Ron said. "I am nothing. I am—"
"LIAR!" Ron raised the sword and brought it down with all his strength.
The Horcrux screamed—a terrible, inhuman sound that echoed through the forest. The blade pierced it, and dark smoke exploded outward. The phantoms dissolved. The locket cracked, then shattered.
One Horcrux destroyed.
Ron collapsed onto his knees, the sword falling from his hands. He was crying, shaking with the effort of resisting the locket's final assault.
Harry pulled his friend into a hug. "You came back."
"I tried to return immediately," Ron sobbed. "As soon as I Disapparated, the locket's influence faded and I realized what I'd said. What I'd done. But I couldn't find you. You'd moved camps. I searched for weeks, Harry. Weeks. I thought I'd lost you both forever."
"How did you find us?"
Ron pulled something from his pocket—the Deluminator Dumbledore had left him. "This. Somehow it captured your voice when you spoke my name. And when I clicked it, it showed me the way back." He looked toward their camp. "Is Hermione...?"
"She's going to kill you, then hug you, then probably kill you again," Harry said with a weak smile.
They gathered their things and trudged back to camp. Hermione was standing outside the tent, wand raised, clearly alerted by the Horcrux's death scream.
"Harry!" She rushed forward. "I heard— Ron?"
Ron stood there, dripping, miserable, hopeful. "Hi."
What followed was exactly as Harry predicted. Hermione hit Ron with a Stinging Hex, then burst into tears and hugged him fiercely. Ron held her, apologizing over and over, until she finally pulled back.
"If you ever leave like that again," Hermione said, her voice shaking, "I will hex you into next week. Do you understand?"
"I'm not leaving," Ron promised. "Never again. I swear it."
They went inside the tent. Harry found dry clothes for Ron and himself while Hermione made tea with trembling hands. Then Ron told them everything—his month of searching, the guilt and desperation, the Deluminator's miracle.
"Who sent the Patronus doe?" Hermione asked. "Who knew where to find the sword?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But it felt... familiar somehow. Like someone who knew me. Someone who wanted to help."
"Dumbledore?" Ron suggested.
"Maybe. But his Patronus was a phoenix, wasn't it? Not a doe."
They couldn't solve the mystery that night. But they had the sword now. They'd destroyed a Horcrux. And they were together again.
The Tale of Three Brothers
With the sword in their possession and the locket destroyed, the trio's spirits lifted slightly. They were still on the run, still hunted, but they had hope again.
Hermione threw herself into research with renewed vigor, her awakened power allowing her to process information faster than before. She spent hours studying The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the book Dumbledore had left her.
"Listen to this," she said one evening, reading aloud. "The Tale of the Three Brothers. Three brothers meet Death on a lonely road. Each receives a gift—the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak. Together, they're called the Deathly Hallows."
"Fairy tales," Ron said dismissively.
"No," Hermione insisted. "Remember that symbol Xenophilius Lovegood wore? The one we saw in Godric's Hollow? It represents the Hallows—the wand, the stone, the cloak."
Harry felt his pocket where the Invisibility Cloak was folded. "My cloak?"
"Think about it, Harry. Your cloak has lasted for generations, never fading, never tearing. Most Invisibility Cloaks wear out after a few years. But yours is perfect."
"So you're saying my cloak is one of these Hallows?" Harry pulled it out, examining it. "What about the other two?"
"The Elder Wand is the most powerful wand in existence. Wandlore legends mention it. And the Resurrection Stone supposedly brings back the dead—though not truly alive, more like shadows."
"Where are they now?"
"The stone was lost centuries ago. But the wand..." Hermione hesitated. "Harry, I think Voldemort is looking for it too. You've seen visions through your connection—what's he doing?"
Harry closed his eyes, lowering his mental shields just enough to catch impressions from Voldemort's mind. What he saw made his blood run cold.
"He's searching for a wand," Harry said. "He thinks it'll make him invincible against me. He's interrogating people, following the wand's history through different owners."
"We need to talk to Xenophilius," Hermione decided. "He knows about the Hallows. He can tell us more."
They traveled to the Lovegoods' peculiar home near Ottery St. Catchpole. Xenophilius confirmed everything—the Hallows were real, and whoever possessed all three would become Master of Death.
But the visit was a trap. Xenophilius, desperate to recover his kidnapped daughter Luna, had summoned the Death Eaters the moment he realized Harry Potter was in his home.
They barely escaped, fighting their way through Death Eaters and Disapparating just as curses flew at their backs. The betrayal stung, but Harry understood—Xenophilius was a father trying to save his child.
"At least we know about the Hallows now," Hermione said as they set up camp in a new forest. "But Harry, we can't get distracted. The Horcruxes are what matter. Destroying them defeats Voldemort. The Hallows are just legend—"
"But what if they're not?" Harry interrupted. "What if the wand is real? What if Voldemort gets it?"
"Then we'll deal with it," Hermione said firmly. "But our priority is the Horcruxes. We've destroyed two—the diary and the ring that Dumbledore handled, plus the locket. That leaves four: Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, Nagini, and the piece inside Voldemort himself."
Harry nodded reluctantly. But through his connection, he felt Voldemort's growing excitement. The Dark Lord was close to finding the Elder Wand. And when he did...
Captured
Their luck ran out three weeks later.
They'd grown careless, exhausted from months on the run. When Death Eater patrols spotted them near a village, they Disapparated too slowly. The Snatchers—mercenaries paid to capture Muggle-borns and Undesirables—caught their magical signature.
The fight was brutal but brief. There were too many Snatchers, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were weakened from hunger and exhaustion. Hermione's awakened power flared, taking down several attackers with raw magical force, but a Stunning Spell caught her from behind.
Harry tried to fight on, but Ron was already unconscious, and he couldn't abandon his friends. A curse hit him, and darkness claimed him.
He woke to rough hands dragging him through undergrowth. His glasses were askew, and when he tried to move, he found his wrists bound.
"Got 'em all," a gravelly voice said. Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf. "One of them might be Potter. Look at the scar—"
"It's swollen," another Snatcher observed. "Could be him. Could be someone transfigured. We can't tell."
"Take 'em to the Manor," Greyback decided. "The Malfoys can confirm. Big reward if it's really Potter."
Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix Lestrange's current residence. Harry's stomach dropped.
They were dragged through wards and protections, into the grand entrance hall of the Manor. Harry tried to keep his head down, hoping his swollen face would prevent identification.
Narcissa Malfoy examined them with cold eyes. "Draco. Come here."
Draco appeared, looking thinner and paler than Harry remembered. His eyes met Harry's for just a moment.
"Is it Potter?" Bellatrix demanded, appearing in a swirl of black robes.
Draco stared at Harry. Hesitated. "I... I can't be sure."
Bellatrix grabbed Harry's hair, yanking his head back. "Well?"
"It might be," Draco said weakly. "But his face is swollen. I can't tell for certain."
Before Bellatrix could respond, a Snatcher held up the Sword of Gryffindor. "Look what else we found."
Bellatrix's reaction was instant and terrifying. "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?"
"It was in their tent—"
"That was in my vault! In my GRINGOTTS vault!" Bellatrix's face contorted with rage and fear. "How did you get into my vault?!"
She turned to the trio, eyes wild. "Who else knows? What else did you take? TELL ME!"
When none of them answered, she raised her wand. "Take the boys to the cellar. The Mudblood stays with me."
"No!" Ron struggled as he and Harry were dragged away. "Don't touch her! Hermione!"
They were thrown into a dark cellar. Harry's head struck stone, and stars burst across his vision. When his sight cleared, he saw others in the cellar—Luna Lovegood, looking thin but defiant. Mr. Ollivander, the wandmaker, frail and broken. And Griphook, a goblin with cunning eyes.
Above them, they heard Hermione's screams.
Bellatrix was torturing her with the Cruciatus Curse.
" You little mudblood slut, I know that you have crush on Anant and I am going to torture that you beg me to stop" Bellatrix remember everything about her Hogwart days where she watch how Anant the Royal lineage of Gupta casually talk with mudblood girls while help them but he rejected her and now she unleashed her wrath on her.
"No!" Ron threw himself at the cellar door, pounding uselessly. "Hermione! HERMIONE!"
Harry pulled out the shard of mirror Sirius had given him years ago, the one he'd been carrying since Grimmauld Place. "Help us," he whispered to it desperately. "Someone, anyone, help us!"
For a moment, he thought he saw a bright blue eye looking back at him. Then it was gone.
Hermione's screams continued. Bellatrix was carving something into her arm with a cursed knife—the word "MUDBLOOD" in brutal letters.
And then, miraculously, there was a loud crack.
Dobby appeared in the cellar.
"Dobby?" Harry gasped. "How did you—"
"Dobby was watching Harry Potter, sir!" The house-elf's eyes were filled with determination. "Dobby could not let Harry Potter be hurt! Professor Gupta told Dobby to protect Harry Potter if Professor Gupta could not!"
The golden band on Dobby's finger gleamed—the protection spell Anant had given him, still active even with its creator comatose.
"Can you get us out?" Harry asked urgently.
"Dobby can Apparate inside these wards! House-elves have different magic!" Dobby snapped his fingers, and the cellar door unlocked. "We must get Miss Hermione and escape!"
They rushed up the stairs. In the drawing room, they found Hermione on the floor, bleeding, Bellatrix standing over her with the cursed knife. Draco and his parents watched from the sides, looking horrified but not intervening.
"STOP!" Harry shouted.
Everything happened at once.
Wormtail rushed at them. Ron grabbed his silver hand, and the hand turned on its owner—Voldemort's gift recognizing that Wormtail owed Harry a debt. The silver fingers closed around Wormtail's throat, and he collapsed, dead from his own hand.
Draco's wand flew to Harry's hand—disarmed without Harry even consciously casting. Harry suddenly felt power flowing through him, more than he'd ever felt from his old wand.
The Elder Wand, some distant part of his mind whispered. Draco was the true master because he disarmed Dumbledore. And now I've disarmed Draco. The allegiance transferred.
But there was no time to process that. Bellatrix held her knife to Hermione's throat.
"Drop your wands or the Mudblood dies!"
Harry hesitated—and Ron acted. He fired a spell that hit Bellatrix's hand, making her drop the knife. Dobby snapped his fingers, and Bellatrix was flung backward.
"Everyone grab on!" Dobby commanded. "We leave now!"
Harry grabbed Hermione, who was barely conscious. Ron grabbed Griphook and Luna. Ollivander clutched at Dobby's pillowcase.
Bellatrix threw her knife just as they Disapparated.
The world spun. They materialized on a beach—Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur's home. Everyone collapsed onto the sand, gasping, bleeding, alive.
Everyone except Dobby.
The knife had struck him in the chest. He lay on the sand, blood staining his small body, his eyes already glazing over.
"Dobby!" Harry crawled to him, taking the elf's small hand. "No, no, no—"
"Harry Potter," Dobby whispered. His golden band was glowing weakly, Anant's healing magic trying to work but failing—the wound was too severe. "Dobby is glad... to have helped..."
Harry felt tears streaming down his face. The cracked golden band on his own wrist—the one that had protected him during the Seven Potters battle—suddenly grew warm.
Professor Gupta's spell, Harry realized. One last act of protection.
Without thinking, Harry pressed his wrist against Dobby's chest, over the wound. "Professor Gupta," he whispered desperately. "I know you're in a coma. I know you're hurt. But please, if any of your magic can still hear me—save him. Save Dobby. He was trying to protect us. He deserves to live."
The band on Harry's wrist flared brilliant gold, so bright everyone shielded their eyes. Energy poured from it—the absolute last reserves of Anant's protective magic, the final dregs of power that had been slowly fading for months.
The light flowed into Dobby, into the golden band the elf wore. The two spells resonated, amplified each other. The knife wound began to close. Color returned to Dobby's face. His breathing steadied.
And then the band on Harry's wrist crumbled to dust.
The protection was gone. Used up completely. But Dobby's eyes fluttered open.
"Harry Potter?" the elf whispered. "Dobby is... Dobby is alive?"
"You're alive," Harry sobbed, pulling the elf into a gentle embrace. "You're going to be okay."
Dobby touched the golden band on his own finger, which still glowed faintly. "Professor Gupta's magic saved Dobby. Even though Professor Gupta sleeps, his magic protected us."
Bill and Fleur rushed out of the cottage, alerted by the arrival. They helped carry the wounded inside. Fleur began healing Hermione's carved arm, using every technique she'd learned as a healer-in-training. Bill set up wards and protections.
Harry sat beside Hermione's bed, holding her hand as Fleur worked. Ron stood at her other side, his face pale with rage and worry.
"I'm going to kill Bellatrix," Ron said quietly. "For what she did. I'm going to kill her."
Harry didn't disagree.
Hermione's eyes flickered open. "Did we... did we escape?"
"We're safe," Harry assured her. "You're going to be fine. Dobby saved us. And Professor Gupta's magic saved Dobby."
"His spell is completely gone now?" Hermione asked weakly.
Harry showed her his bare wrist, where the band had crumbled away. "Yes. He gave everything to protect us. Even unconscious, even damaged by Nagini, he was still protecting us until there was nothing left to give."
"Then we'd better make it count," Hermione said, her voice gaining strength despite her pain. "We need to get that cup from Gringotts. And after that... after that, we end this war."
The Wand Changes Hands
Somewhere in Europe - Dumbledore's Secret Mission
While Harry, Ron, and Hermione recovered at Shell Cottage, Albus Dumbledore stood before a sealed vault deep beneath an ancient monastery in Tibet. He looked older than he had before the Astronomy Tower—the injuries from the cave and Snape's curse had taken their toll, despite Anant's healing.
But he was alive. And he was close to finding what he needed.
"The Tears of the Nine Crown Phoenix," the elderly monk beside him said in heavily accented English. "Last used three centuries ago to revive a wizard who'd depleted himself fighting a dragon. But the cost is great, Headmaster. The Tears require a sacrifice—something precious given willingly."
"I'm prepared to pay any price," Dumbledore said firmly. "Anant saved my life. I will not let him remain imprisoned in that coma."
"Even if the price is years of your own life?"
"Even then."
The monk nodded slowly. "Very well. But know this—the Tears will only accelerate healing that is already happening. Your friend must be fighting to wake on his own. If he has given up, if he has accepted his sleep, the Tears will do nothing."
"Anant never gives up," Dumbledore said with absolute certainty. "He's the most stubborn man I've ever known. He's fighting. I know he is."
The vault opened. Inside, in a crystal vial, glowed three drops of liquid that seemed to contain captured sunlight. The Tears of the Phoenix—not from Fawkes, but from the legendary phoenix that had founded the monastery a thousand years ago.
Dumbledore reached for the vial—
Nurmengard Prison - That Same Day
—while across Europe, in the highest cell of Nurmengard prison, Lord Voldemort stood before the ancient dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald.
"The Elder Wand," Voldemort said softly, dangerously. "You stole it from Gregorovitch. Where is it now?"
Grindelwald, ancient and skeletal, his eyes still sharp with intelligence, actually laughed. "You don't know? You, who claim to be the greatest dark wizard of the age, don't understand wand lore?"
"Tell me where it is!" Voldemort's patience snapped. "TELL ME OR DIE!"
"The wand's allegiance isn't won by stealing, fool. It's won by defeating its master." Grindelwald's eyes gleamed with mad satisfaction. "Dumbledore defeated me. Dumbledore claimed the wand. And when Dumbledore was defeated—"
"He defeated."
"But who defeated him?" Grindelwald laughed harder, a horrible rattling sound. "Not you, Dark Lord. You've never faced Dumbledore in true battle. Someone else defeated him first. Someone else won the wand's allegiance."
"Who?" Voldemort's red eyes burned with fury.
"Figure it out yourself. I'll take that secret to my grave." Grindelwald's smile was triumphant. "You'll never be the wand's true master. Never!"
Voldemort raised his wand—not the Elder Wand, which he hadn't found yet, but Lucius's wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Grindelwald died with that mocking smile still on his face.
Voldemort stood there, mind racing. Dumbledore had owned the Elder Wand. But Dumbledore had died—no, wait. Dumbledore had survived. Anant Gupta had saved him. So Dumbledore was still alive somewhere.
But Snape had cast the curse on Dumbledore at the Astronomy Tower. Snape had defeated the Headmaster. So the wand's allegiance had passed to...
"Severus," Voldemort breathed.
He Apparated immediately, traveling to Hogwarts. He found Snape in the Headmaster's office, going through papers.
"My Lord?" Snape stood quickly. "I wasn't expecting—"
"Where is it, Severus?"
"Where is what, my Lord?"
"The Elder Wand. You defeated Dumbledore. The wand's allegiance passed to you. Where is it?"
Snape's face went carefully blank. "My Lord, I don't have the Elder Wand. Dumbledore's wand was with him or —no, wait, searching for a way to wake Gupta."
"Then where is his wand?"
"He sealed it," Snape said slowly, realization dawning. "Before he left Hogwarts, he said his wand was making him weaker. That handling such a powerful wand while injured was draining him. He sealed it somewhere for safekeeping until he recovered his strength."
"Where?"
"He didn't tell me." Snape met Voldemort's eyes steadily. "He said only that it was hidden where only he could retrieve it."
Voldemort's rage was palpable. The wand existed. Its power was legendary. But it was hidden, and even if he found it, the allegiance had passed to Snape when Snape defeated Dumbledore.
Unless...
"When Dumbledore recovers, he'll retrieve the wand," Voldemort said. "And when he does, I'll take it from him. One way or another. And Severus—" His red eyes bored into Snape's. "When the time comes, I may need to ensure the wand's allegiance passes properly. Do you understand?"
Snape understood perfectly. Voldemort was planning to kill him to claim the wand's power.
"Of course, my Lord. I serve at your pleasure."
"Good." Voldemort swept from the office.
Snape sat down heavily, his hands shaking. The Dark Lord would kill him eventually. That was certain now. The only question was when, and whether he'd accomplish anything worthwhile before that happened.
He looked toward the hospital wing. Anant was still there, still comatose, his vitality slowly regenerating but nowhere near waking levels after Nagini's feeding.
I'm sorry, my friend, Snape thought. I've failed you in every way possible. But perhaps, in the end, I can do one thing right. When the time comes, I'll protect Harry Potter. I'll help him defeat the Dark Lord. And maybe that will be enough to earn a fraction of forgiveness.
The Final Pieces
Shell Cottage - Two Weeks Later
Hermione's arm had healed, though the scar remained—Bellatrix's knife had been cursed, and even Fleur's best magic couldn't remove it completely. Hermione wore it like a badge of honor now, a reminder of what they were fighting against.
"We need to get into Gringotts," she said, studying maps and notes spread across the kitchen table. "Bellatrix's vault contains Hufflepuff's cup. We saw how she reacted when she thought we'd already broken in."
"Breaking into Gringotts is impossible," Bill said. He'd been helping them plan, despite Fleur's worried protests. "It's the most secure place in the wizarding world. Dragons, curses, protective enchantments—"
"We have Griphook," Harry interrupted. The goblin had agreed to help them in exchange for the Sword of Gryffindor—a bargain Harry had reluctantly agreed to, though he worried about what would happen when they needed the sword later.
"Griphook can get us past the basic security," Bill admitted. "But Harry, even with goblin help, this is incredibly dangerous. If you're caught—"
"We don't have a choice," Harry said firmly. "That cup is a Horcrux. We need to destroy it."
They spent the next week planning. Hermione would use Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Bellatrix. Ron would be disguised as a different wizard. Harry would hide under his Invisibility Cloak—the Hallow that had protected him his whole life.
The raid on Gringotts was chaos from start to finish. They got into the vault, found the cup among mountains of cursed treasure. But the alarm was raised, and they had to escape on a half-blind dragon kept in the depths of the bank.
They rode the dragon up through levels of tunnels, breaking through the ceiling into daylight. The dragon flew over London, finally landing in a lake miles from the city. They swam to shore, exhausted and triumphant.
They had the cup.
That night, in a forest, Harry destroyed it with the Sword of Gryffindor. The Horcrux screamed and died, and they were three down with three to go: Nagini, Ravenclaw's diadem (which they still needed to find), and the piece inside Voldemort himself.
But through his connection, Harry felt something that made his blood run cold.
Voldemort knew they were hunting Horcruxes. He'd felt the cup's destruction, felt the diary and locket before it. And now he was checking on the others, securing them, preparing for war.
"He knows," Harry said. "Voldemort knows we're destroying them. He's going to Hogwarts to check on the diadem—I can feel it. And when he realizes it's gone..."
"It's at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. "You're certain?"
"I saw it in a vision. The Room of Requirement. Hidden among thousands of objects students have stored there over centuries."
"Then we need to go to Hogwarts," Ron said. "Now. Before Voldemort secures it."
"Hogwarts is controlled by Death Eaters," Hermione warned. "Snape is Headmaster. The Carrows teach there. It'll be crawling with enemies."
"Then we'll have to be careful," Harry said. "But we're running out of time. And there's something else—I need to see Professor Gupta."
His friends looked at him in surprise.
"Harry, he's in a coma," Ron said gently. "Has been for months."
"I know. But Dobby said Professor Gupta's magic saved him. And before that, the professor's spells protected us during the Seven Potters battle. He's still fighting, still protecting us somehow. I need to see him before we face Voldemort. I need to..." Harry struggled for words. "I need to thank him. Even if he can't hear me."
Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "Then we'll find a way to see him. All three of us. He taught us, protected us, believed in us. He deserves our gratitude, even if he's not awake to receive it."
They began planning their infiltration of Hogwarts. It would be their most dangerous mission yet—returning to the school that had been their home, now corrupted by Voldemort's forces.
But they were ready.
They had destroyed three Horcruxes. They were armed with the Sword of Gryffindor. They had each other.
And somewhere in Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Anant Gupta lay dreaming—dreaming of the students he'd sworn to protect, fighting in his sleep to wake up, to return, to help them one more time.
The Battle Approaches
Hogsmeade - Night
They infiltrated Hogsmeade using the secret passage from the Hog's Head Inn. Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus's brother, helped them despite his reluctance.
"My brother's off chasing miracles," Aberforth said gruffly. "Phoenix Tears to wake that Hufflepuff professor. Fool's errand if you ask me. But Albus never could let go of people he cared about."
"Where is Dumbledore now?" Harry asked.
"On his way back. Should reach Hogwarts within a day or two. But you three can't wait for him, can you? Always rushing toward trouble."
"We don't have a choice," Hermione said. "Voldemort knows we're hunting Horcruxes. Every moment we wait, he gets stronger."
Aberforth led them through the passage into Hogwarts. They emerged in the Room of Requirement, where Neville Longbottom and other students had been hiding—a resistance movement within the school itself.
"Harry!" Neville grabbed him in a fierce hug. "We heard you were coming! The DA is ready to fight!"
Luna, Ginny, and dozens of other students emerged from the shadows. They'd been suffering under the Carrows' brutal regime, but they hadn't given up. They'd been waiting for a chance to strike back.
"We need to find Ravenclaw's diadem," Harry said. "It's hidden in the Room of Requirement—a different version of it, the place where people hide things."
"I know it," Neville said. "The Room of Hidden Things. It's enormous, filled with centuries of junk. Finding one diadem in there will be like finding a needle in a haystack."
"I've seen it in visions. I'll recognize it."
They were preparing to search when the alarm sounded throughout the castle. Voldemort knew they were here. He was coming.
"McGonagall!" Hermione exclaimed. "We need to warn the professors. Organize defenses!"
They found Professor McGonagall and told her everything. Her face grew grim as she listened.
"Then we fight," she said simply. "We've been waiting for this day. Hogwarts will not fall without a fight."
The castle came alive with preparation. Professors began evacuating younger students through secret passages. Older students volunteered to fight. The Order of the Phoenix was contacted. And in the hospital wing, protections were strengthened around the most vulnerable patients.
Including Anant Gupta.
Harry slipped away from the preparations to visit the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was there, frantically preparing medical supplies for the coming battle.
"Harry Potter," she said, surprised. "You shouldn't be here—it's too dangerous—"
"I know. I just need five minutes. Please."
She understood. "He's in the same bed he's occupied for months. His vitality is regenerating, but slowly. Much slower since Nagini's attack."
Harry approached Anant's bed. The professor looked almost peaceful, his face calm, his hands folded. But diagnostic spells would show the truth—his magical reserves were still dangerously low, his vitality barely half of what it should be.
"Professor Gupta," Harry said softly. "I don't know if you can hear me. But I wanted to thank you. For everything. Your spells saved us during the Seven Potters battle. Your magic saved Dobby when I thought we'd lost him. Even unconscious, you've been protecting us."
He touched the professor's hand, feeling the faint warmth of life.
"We're about to fight Voldemort. We're going to destroy his Horcruxes and end this war. And I wish... I really wish you could be there with us. You're the best teacher I've ever had. The best protector. The bravest person I know."
Harry's voice broke. "When you wake up—and you will wake up, Professor, I know you will—we'll tell you everything. All the battles you missed. All the times your spells saved us. And you'll probably scold us for being reckless and praise us for being brave, just like you always did."
He stood to leave, then paused. "Nagini hurt you. Stole your celibacy, your vitality. But she didn't win. Because even diminished, even damaged, your magic is still protecting people. That's who you are. And nothing she did can change that."
Behind him, Harry didn't see Anant's fingers twitch. Didn't see the diagnostic spells flicker with sudden activity. Didn't see the professor's eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly.
Deep in his coma, in the meditation of healing sleep, Anant heard Harry's words. Felt the love and gratitude emanating from his student. And some part of him—the part that had been fighting toward consciousness for months—surged with renewed determination.
I'm coming, Anant's mind whispered. Hold on just a little longer. I'm coming back.
To be continue