Harry glanced between the two portraits, his curiosity building.
"How did you both die?" he asked quietly, his voice hesitant, unsure of what answer to expect.
Euphemia smiled softly, her eyes warm but distant. "We passed a week after your birth, Harry. " Her smile faltered slightly, and she added, "It was the Dragon Pox. A dreadful illness."
Harry's heart sank. He had read about Dragon Pox before—it was a dangerous disease in the wizarding world, often fatal for older witches and wizards.
But as Euphemia spoke, Harry noticed something in his grandfather's expression, something that didn't sit right. Fleamont looked uneasy, his brows furrowing. "It wasn't just the illness," he said slowly, his voice low. "It's strange how quickly we both went. One right after the other. I was the first to fall sick, but Euphemia followed so soon, too soon. It didn't feel natural."
Harry frowned, leaning in closer. "What do you mean, it didn't feel natural? Are you saying something else happened?"
Before Fleamont could respond, Euphemia interrupted, her tone quickly shifting to something lighter, almost as if she were trying to brush aside the conversation.
"Oh, let's not dwell on such things, Harry. Tell me, where is James? Why hasn't he come to visit us? And Lily, too—surely they're around. It's been so long."
Harry froze, his stomach twisting. They didn't know. The portraits were stuck in time, unaware of what had happened after their deaths. They didn't know about how James and Lily had died protecting him. About all the people who died .His throat felt tight, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words, unsure of how to break such devastating news to them.
Harry's throat tightened as the reality of the situation sank in. He hesitated before asking, "Did you… did you not know? About James? And… and Lily?"
Both portraits turned toward him with confused expressions. Euphemia was the first to speak, her voice soft and uncertain. "No, Harry. We don't know. We only know what we experienced before… we were bound to this portrait." She glanced at Fleamont, who nodded in agreement.
Fleamont added, his voice laced with sadness, "The magic of these portraits allows us to retain our memories and personalities, but we have no way of knowing what happens in the world outside. It's like we're… frozen in time." He paused for a moment, his eyes growing more somber. "Even our house-elf, who was always with us, passed away before we did."
Harry felt his heart sink even further. They had no idea what had happened after their deaths. They were unaware of the world that had moved on without them—the war, Voldemort, the sacrifices made, and the fact that they had lost their son and daughter-in-law. He didn't know how to tell them.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He hadn't imagined he would have to explain this, but they deserved the truth.
"They're gone," Harry began, his voice trembling slightly. "Mum and Dad… they were killed by Voldemort when I was just a baby." He swallowed hard, watching as the expressions on the faces of his grandparents grew more pained with each word. "And… and Sirius, their best friend… he was imprisoned. People say he betrayed them. He… he killed others, too."
Euphemia gasped, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. Fleamont looked pale, his face frozen in disbelief.
"James… our James…" Fleamont whispered, shaking his head as if trying to deny what Harry had just said. "How could this happen? How could Sirius…?"
"They were like brothers," Euphemia said, her voice trembling. "Sirius would never betray James. He loved him like his own family… like we loved him."
Harry's chest tightened at seeing their devastation, feeling the weight of the grief in the room. He had never thought that a memory could express such deep sorrow, such heartbreak.
"I… I was sent to live with Aunt Petunia," Harry continued, his throat constricting. "Dumbledore left me there. I didn't know any of this for a long time. I didn't even know about the magic world until I turned nine and that was just because someone could help me ."
Fleamont shook his head again, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "No, it can't be. It's not possible that our son is gone… that Sirius, of all people, would betray him."
"It's true," Harry whispered. "I wish it wasn't, but it's all true."
The weight of the moment crushed them all, the silence heavy with disbelief and grief.
Harry had barely finished speaking when Euphemia's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with a fury that caught him off guard. She gripped the armrest of her chair tightly, her knuckles white.
"It's his fault," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "Dumbledore... he took all our children. Forced them into his war. I begged James not to join that damned Order. But Dumbledore convinced him, made him believe it was his duty, made him think there was no other way." She was nearly shaking, her voice laced with bitterness. "And now, look where it led."
Fleamont, sitting next to her, remained calmer but was visibly disturbed. His voice, though steady, carried a weight of sadness. "And this… Petunia? What kind of person was she? How did she treat you?"
Harry hesitated. This was the part he hated talking about, the part of his life that felt like it belonged to someone else. "She's my aunt, my mum's sister," he began slowly, his voice quiet. "But she never really saw me as family. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs until I was nine. They... they didn't treat me very well."
The room fell silent for a long moment.
Euphemia's face contorted with fury, her breath sharp as she processed the words. "A cupboard?" she practically spat. "She locked you in a cupboard? Her own nephew?" She stood up suddenly, pacing in anger. "That woman—Lily's own sister—how could she do that to you?"
Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable. "I eventually got a room," he added softly. "But I had to pay them for it… otherwise they would've kept me in the cupboard, and…" He hesitated, swallowing hard. "And to avoid getting beaten up."
Fleamont's eyes were wide with shock, and tears began to fill them as the reality of Harry's words sank in. "Our grandson…" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Living like that? In such a cruel place?"
Harry swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to upset you," he muttered, feeling the weight of their reactions. "I didn't want to make you feel bad."
Fleamont shook his head, wiping at the tears that now streaked his cheeks. "No, Harry… we should've been there for you. We failed you."
Euphemia's rage simmered dangerously. "Dumbledore knew," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "He knew what he was doing, sending you to those people. After everything we did to protect James and Lily, he abandoned you, left you with them."
Harry looked down, unsure how to respond. Seeing his grandparents like this, so hurt and angry on his behalf, stirred emotions he hadn't expected. They felt real to him in that moment, not just distant relatives from the past, but people who genuinely cared.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered again, the words feeling inadequate as he watched his grandfather wipe away more tears, and his grandmother shake with rage.
Euphemia finally sat down, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "You didn't deserve that, Harry. None of it. And that Dumbledore... if only we could've stopped him from dragging our family into this war."
Fleamont, quieter but equally devastated, reached out and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're strong, Harry. Stronger than we ever could've known. But I'm so sorry for what you've endured."
Harry nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He hadn't expected this depth of emotion from them, and it left him feeling both comforted and heartbroken all at once.
Euphemia, still trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow, looked directly at Harry. "I know James and Lily had a close circle of friends. Let me name them, Harry, and you tell me if you know what happened to any of them."
She took a deep breath, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it. "Sirius Black… you've mentioned him, but what about Peter Pettigrew or remus lupin ?"
Harry shook his head, a frown forming on his face. "I've never heard of them. Who is they ?"
Fleamont's hand tightened on the arm of his chair, his knuckles turning white. "That traitor… he was one of James's closest friends."
Euphemia's face twisted with disgust, but she pressed on. "And Lily's friends… Dorcas Meadowes? Marlene McKinnon?"
Harry shook his head again, confusion spreading across his face. "I don't know those names. I've never heard of them."
Euphemia sighed, her eyes closing briefly. "They were part of the Order. They fought with your parents. "
Harry's heart sank. "I didn't know."
"And Mary Macdonald?" Euphemia continued, her voice quieter now.
Once more, Harry shook his head. "I've never heard of her either."
Euphemia's expression turned grim, and she exchanged a worried glance with Fleamont. "It's hard to believe that so many of them are gone. Was it Dumbledore's influence that put them in harm's way?"
Fleamont shook his head in disbelief. "Did they abandon you, Harry? Is that why you don't know these names?"
Harry looked down, feeling the weight of their questions. "I didn't even know they existed until I found those albums of my parents. I had no idea they had friends or that so many had died."
Euphemia's heart ached for her grandson, realizing how alone he had been. "We never wanted you to suffer like this. We thought you would be safe."
"Safe?" Harry said, his voice laced with bitterness. "I've been living with my aunt and uncle, and I had to pay them for a room. I was eleven years old, and I had to pay just to not get beaten."
Euphemia's face fell, and Fleamont looked furious. "That's no way for our grandson to live. We should have been there for you."
Harry tried to calm himself, reminding himself that it wasn't their fault; they had died before he was born. Everyone he wanted to know was gone, leaving behind only memories and whispers of their lives. The realization that there had been so many names woven into the lives of his parents struck him like a blow, but he didn't know any of them. All of this was because of Dumbledore. In that moment, he felt a surge of anger. Dumbledore was not better than Voldemort; both had taken everything from him.
Harry's breath quickened as he felt suffocated by the weight of the truth. It was as if the air was being squeezed from his lungs. Even Chhavi, who had hidden away in the Potter home, was a stranger to him. She watched him with concern, her big eyes reflecting a familiarity he couldn't grasp. They knew him; they cared for him, but he was alone in this world of shadows and secrets.
His vision began to blur as the panic rose within him. He couldn't breathe, and the room felt as if it were closing in. The sounds of his grandparents' worried voices and the frantic calls of the elf echoed around him, but they felt distant, muffled by the overwhelming tide of despair.
"Harry! Breathe!" Euphemia cried out, her voice tinged with fear.
"Please, Harry!" Fleamont urged, reaching out toward him but couldn't she is just a memory
But Harry could barely register their words. The world swirled around him, and moments later, darkness consumed him as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Chhavi, the house-elf, gently lifted Harry in her small arms, her brow furrowed with concern. Despite his new diet and the care he received over the past few years, he remained small and frail. The lingering effects of the Dursleys' neglect had left him undernourished, and he had only managed to gain a few kilos during that time. As she cradled him against her, she felt the weight of his slight frame, a stark reminder of the hardships he had endured.
Euphemia and Fleamont watched helplessly from their portrait. They could do nothing but call out to Chhavi. "Take him to the infirmary of the house!" Fleamont urged, his voice filled with urgency.
"Yes, Chhavi, quickly!" Euphemia added, her heart aching for her grandson. "We need to make sure he's alright."
With a firm nod, Chhavi hurried toward the door, her tiny feet barely making a sound on the floor. She carried Harry with care, determined to get him the help he needed. Euphemia and Fleamont, unable to follow directly, turned to the portrait hanging on the wall beside them, moving toward the painting that led to the infirmary.
"Stay close, Harry!" Euphemia called out, her voice trembling with worry.
"We'll be right there!" Fleamont added, their hearts heavy as they watched the elf rush away, knowing they could only offer their support from within the confines of their painted world.
As Chhavi navigated the halls, she focused on getting to the infirmary, whispering gentle reassurances to Harry, hoping to bring him back to consciousness.
Panic coursed through Euphemia as she watched Chhavi rush away with Harry. "We need to get a healer! Someone who can help him!" she exclaimed, her voice shaking with fear.
"But we're just paintings!" Fleamont replied, his voice laced with frustration. "We can't call for help ourselves!"
Euphemia began to pace in their portrait, her thoughts racing. "What if we—"
Fleamont interrupted her. "Wait! Chhavi can write! We should ask her to send a message to someone trustworthy."
Euphemia stopped and looked at him, her eyes wide. "But who? We need someone who isn't aligned with Dumbledore or Voldemort."
A flicker of recognition crossed Fleamont's face as he remembered. "What about your cousin? The one who left the Blacks to marry a muggle born person? She became a healer, didn't she?"
"Yes! What was her name again?" Euphemia said, trying to recall the details. "Oh, it's… Andromeda! Andromeda black no Tonks , tonks is her fll name!"
"Exactly! Chhavi can write to her. She's family, and we can trust her to help Harry."
"Quickly, then! We must send Chhavi to write to her!" Euphemia urged, her heart racing with the urgency of the situation.
Fleamont nodded, determined. "Chhavi, hurry back! We need your help!"
Euphemia remained fixed in her portrait, her expression tense with worry as she leaned toward Chhavi. "You need to write exactly what I say. Don't mention who is sending this message, understand? It's very important."
Chhavi nodded eagerly, ready to comply.
"Tell her that we need her expertise as a healer for a child who is unwell. Stress that it's imperative she keeps this a secret. We don't want anyone to know who is involved in this," Euphemia instructed, her voice urgent, though she couldn't move closer.
Chhavi scribbled down the message quickly, her small hands moving deftly over the parchment.
Fleamont watched anxiously as Chhavi finished writing. "Hurry, Chhavi! We need to send this right away!" he urged. "Since we don't have an owl, you'll need to Apparate to her address."
"Don't worry, Master Fleamont! Chhavi will go quickly!" the elf replied, determination shining in her eyes.
Euphemia stayed rooted in the portrait, her heart racing. "Chhavi, here is the address: 24 Pemberton Road, London. I hope the Tonks family hasn't moved since the last time I knew," she said, her voice filled with hope.
With a swift nod, Chhavi vanished in a flash of light, leaving behind only a shimmer of magic in the air.
As the silence settled in the room, Euphemia and Fleamont exchanged worried glances, both praying for Harry's safety.
After what felt like an eternity, Chhavi arrived at the infirmary, accompanied by Andromeda. Andromeda was striking, with long, dark hair that framed her face beautifully. Her expressive eyes were deep and thoughtful, and her presence carried a quiet strength, hinting at her experiences and the decisions she had made in life.
As she stepped into the infirmary, her gaze fell upon a young boy lying on the bed. The sight stirred a wave of concern within her. But before she could take another step into the room, she heard a familiar voice.
"Hello, Andromeda," Euphemia greeted warmly, her voice echoing with nostalgia.
Andromeda froze for a moment, shock crossing her features. "Euphemia Potter?" she exclaimed, recognizing her instantly. The memories flooded back—conversations shared in the past before Andromeda had distanced herself from the Black family. Their age difference had made it challenging to stay connected, but she had always held a fondness for Euphemia.
"I didn't expect to see you again, especially not here," Andromeda added, her tone laced with surprise. "I certainly never thought I'd find your memory preserved in a modified portrait."
"It's been quite the journey," Euphemia replied, her voice filled with warmth. "But I wish it were under better circumstances."
Andromeda stepped closer, her eyes flickering between Euphemia and the boy on the bed. "What happened to him?" she asked, concern etching her features as she examined the young boy.
Euphemia exchanged a glance with Fleamont, who had been quietly observing. "He's Harry, my grandson," she explained, her voice heavy with emotion. "He fainted, and we need your expertise. We're worried."
Andromeda's heart ached at the sight of the boy, knowing the pain and suffering that seemed to ripple through the Potter family.
Andromeda stood frozen for a moment, unable to believe that the young boy before her was Harry Potter—the child of her old friends. The gravity of the situation hit her like a wave, but she quickly pushed her emotions aside, focusing on her healer instincts.
"Harry," she whispered, kneeling beside the bed. The sight of him lying there, pale and unconscious, tugged at her heartstrings, but she knew she had to remain professional. She couldn't let her emotions cloud her judgment.
Euphemia and Fleamont watched anxiously as Andromeda began her examination. She gently placed her hands on Harry's forehead, closing her eyes to concentrate. "Let's see what we're dealing with," she murmured, casting several diagnostic spells.
"Occulus Revelio," she said softly, a glow emanating from her wand as it hovered over Harry's body, revealing a flickering aura around him. "He's under a lot of stress, and I can sense some magical exhaustion," she noted, her brow furrowing in concentration.
"Cura Sanguinem," she continued, performing a spell that would help stabilize his blood pressure. With each incantation, her confidence grew. "Don't worry, I'll take care of him," she reassured Euphemia and Fleamont, who were anxiously watching every move.
Andromeda proceeded with a series of charms to check for any lingering magical effects. "It seems like he's been through a lot, more than any child should have to endure," she said, her voice steady, though her eyes reflected her concern.
As she worked, she couldn't shake the feeling of sorrow for the boy who had survived a legacy of pain and loss. But her training kicked in, pushing her to focus on helping him heal, knowing that was what Euphemia and Fleamont needed from her in this moment.
After an hour of diligent work, Andromeda carefully prepared a potion to help relieve Harry's physical and magical fatigue. She mixed the vibrant liquid with precise movements, then gently lifted Harry's head to bring the potion to his lips. He swallowed it reflexively, the effects starting to soothe his weary body almost immediately.
As she finished, Andromeda turned her attention to the portraits of Euphemia and Fleamont. She studied them for a moment, her expression thoughtful.
"I never realized you two had enough time to create a portrait before your... tragic end," she said, her voice a mixture of surprise and sympathy. "It's a remarkable feat, given how quickly everything unfolded."
Her gaze lingered on Euphemia, remembering the warmth of their past friendship, and on Fleamont, who had always been so lively. "I can't believe how much time has passed, yet here you are, looking out for Harry," she added, her tone filled with a bittersweet nostalgia.
Euphemia's eyes shimmered with unspoken emotions, and Fleamont nodded, a solemn expression on his face. "We had to find a way to be with him, even if it's just like this," he replied quietly.
Andromeda felt a pang of sorrow for them, trapped in time yet still so devoted to their grandson. "I'll do everything I can to help him recover," she promised, looking back at Harry. "But I need you both to stay strong as well. He needs your support now more than ever."
Andromeda looked at Euphemia and Fleamont, her expression growing anxious. "Do you know what has happened since your deaths?"
Fleamont glanced at Euphemia before replying, "It was only an hour ago that we learned everything from Harry."
Andromeda took a moment to absorb this information before asking, "What about Sirius? Do you know what happened to him?"
The couple exchanged solemn glances before Fleamont replied, "Yes, we know. He ended up in prison after killing people and betraying James."
Euphemia added, her voice shaking with emotion, "But I don't believe he did that. He loved James like a brother."
Andromeda's eyes widened in surprise. "You're defending him even after all you know? I never thought I would hear that from you," she said, momentarily taken aback.
Fleamont tell her "I've always known that Sirius wasn't an angel, but he revered James as if he was his savior. I never believed he could betray him."
Euphemia nodded, her eyes full of sadness.
Andromeda confesses after a few minutes "I even tried to see him in prison, but the Minister refused me. Dumbledore wouldn't allow it either," she said, her voice breaking. "And since I married Ted, I've lost my pureblood status, so I had no power to change anything. None of our family did anything to help."
Fleamont's face turned red with frustration. "That damn Dumbledore! He's ruined all our lives!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the small room. "He had a chance to make things right and instead, he let everything fall apart."
Andromeda felt utterly exhausted after the intense conversation. Euphemia, sensing her fatigue, called for the elf. "Chhavi, could you take Andromeda to a room where she can rest for a bit?"
Andromeda nodded in agreement, grateful for the suggestion. "That sounds excellent. I need a moment to gather my thoughts," she admitted, glancing back at Harry, who was still asleep on the bed. The sight of him in such a vulnerable state broke her heart. She picked up the sheet containing all of Harry's analyses, her eyes scanning the various injuries listed. He had endured so much pain since he was just three years old, and she had chosen not to reveal this to Euphemia and Fleamont, not wanting to make them feel even more powerless.
As Chhavi led her away, Andromeda's mind drifted back to a time long ago when Harry was just a few months old. She remembered being invited by James and Lily to their home, bringing along her husband and their daughter, Nymphadora. Harry had adored Nymphadora, giggling and cooing at her as she made silly faces. He was such a joyful baby, full of life and laughter, with chubby cheeks that glowed with health. Seeing him now, so frail and injured, was a stark contrast to the vibrant child she once knew.
The memories filled her with a mixture of warmth and sorrow as she followed Chhavi, hoping to find a moment of peace before she would need to return to help Harry.
Andromeda, recalls that some time after hearing about James and Lily's death, have so much determination to adopt Harry. Her situation is stable, with a well-paying job and a loving husband. Nymphadora, her daughter, is old enough to welcome a little brother. She remembers her visit to the orphan services created after the war.
"I would like to adopt a child, a little boy, the potter son's " she explains to the officials, her heart racing with hope.
But they all tell her they haven't been tasked with caring for the "savior." The next day, Dumbledore makes an announcement stating that Harry is being hidden for his own good in a safe place. Andromeda goes straight to his office, her resolve hardening with each step.
"Please, let me have custody of Harry," she begs him, her voice trembling with urgency. "He needs family, someone to love him."
But he refuses with his usual sweet words. Yet, being a Slytherin, she knows all too well that everything he says is a lie. Subtly, he even threatens her family, hinting that bringing Harry into her home could very well lead to their demise.
"Think about what could happen to your family if you take him in," he warns, his tone deceptively gentle. "It would be best for all involved if you remain out of this."
Andromeda's heart races as she tries to maintain her composure. "You can't be serious! He's just a child! He deserves love and safety, not to be hidden away like some kind of secret."
Dumbledore smiles that infuriating, grandfatherly smile. "I assure you, Andromeda, it is for the greater good. You must trust me."
Frozen in place, she can still picture Dumbledore's smile, a façade that makes her want to vomit. "Trust you?" she replies, her voice rising with anger. "You think I can trust someone who keeps a child from his family? You're not protecting him; you're imprisoning him!"
Even now, years later, the memory fills her with rage.she remembers after this moment with Dumbledore .
She returned home and wept in her husband's arms, grieving not only for Harry but for the loss of so many people, for a part of her family that was forever gone.
"Why couldn't he have just let me take care of him?" she cried, her voice choked with emotion.
Ted held her tightly, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Andromeda, we did what we could. He's safe… somewhere," he whispered, though both knew it was a hollow consolation.
"I just wanted to protect him, like I should have done for everyone else," she replied, her heart heavy with sorrow. "Dumbledore had no right to keep him from us. I wanted to be there for him."
Ted's brow furrowed with concern. "You did everything you could. Dumbledore's game was never about what was right. He always played the long game, and we were just pieces on his board."
Andromeda shook her head, frustration bubbling inside her. "It's not just a game! This is a child's life we're talking about! He should have known how much he was loved, even before he was born. How could Dumbledore do this?"
Ted stroked her hair, trying to soothe her. "We can't change the past, love. But we can hope for a better future for him. He deserves that."
She pulled away, looking into Ted's eyes, desperate for understanding. "What if he didn't know? What if he grew up thinking no one wanted him?"
"Then we would make sure he knew," Ted said firmly. "We would find a way to be part of his life, even if it meant fighting Dumbledore's plans."
Andromeda nodded, but the ache in her chest remained. "I just wished I could tell him how much he meant to me, to our family. He's part of us, Ted, and I felt like I'd failed him already."
Ted cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear. "You haven't failed him, Andromeda. Not yet. As long as you're still fighting, there's hope. Remember how much James and Lily loved him. That love didn't disappear. It was still there, waiting for him to find it."
Andromeda leaned into his touch, her heart aching but also finding strength in his words. "You were right. I wouldn't give up on him. Not then, not ever."
"I'll stand by you, always," Ted promised, pulling her into a tight embrace. "We'll make sure he knows he's loved, no matter what it takes."
They held each other tightly, both determined to find a way to bring Harry into their lives, to protect him from the shadows of the past and the uncertainties of the future.
She stood, her thoughts swirling around her like leaves caught in the wind. The scars left by the loss of James and Lily had never truly healed. And now, finding Harry so broken, so wounded, reopened those old pains.
Her mother's heart ached. How could they have let this happen? How could they have been denied the chance to help him, to protect him when he was so young and vulnerable?
"James... Lily... you would be furious if you knew," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she stared at the empty room. "To see your son like this, hurt in ways he never should've been... It's unbearable."
She sank back into the chair, her hands trembling slightly as she held the medical report in her lap. Harry had suffered so much—physical wounds, magical scars, years of neglect. Andromeda closed her eyes, trying to push back the tears. They had been powerless before, kept from helping him, and now, finally seeing him again, it was almost too much to bear.
"They never got to see him grow," she murmured, her voice cracking. "And we never got to save him."
Andromeda, after a moment of rest, returned to the infirmary. Upon entering the room, she found Harry completely calm, lying on the bed. This tranquility gave her another pang in her heart, a deep melancholy.
She approached slowly, taking a moment to observe him. "Hello, Harry," she began softly. "My name is Andromeda."
Harry looked at her with an intrigued expression. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes wide and curious.
"I'm a healer," she replied. "I was called here by the Potter elf at the request of your grandparents." At that moment, Harry's gaze shifted to the portraits of his grandparents hanging on the wall.
Why did I faint?" he asked, his voice trembling with concern.
"It was due to magical and physical exhaustion," she explained gently. "While you were asleep, I gave you some potions to help with that."
Panic surged within Harry at the thought of an unknown person administering something while he was vulnerable. "You gave me something? While I was out?" he shot back, a mix of fear and anger clouding his expression.
Andromeda raised her hands in a calming gesture. "Harry, I promise, it was nothing but simple potions to help you recover. I would never harm you."
"I don't want you near me," he said, his voice firm as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, instinctively putting distance between them.
Euphemia, sensing his distress, stepped in. "Harry, you can trust her. She's a close friend of your father's. She only wants to help."
Harry glanced between his grandmother and Andromeda, the mention of his father igniting a flicker of rage within him. "You're close to my dad? Then why didn't you help him? Why didn't you help me?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the room.
Andromeda's heart ached at his words. "I tried, Harry. I tried to adopt you after... after everything happened. But Dumbledore wouldn't allow it. He subtly threatened my family if I attempted to help you."
Harry's anger simmered, a mixture of betrayal and hurt flashing in his eyes. "So you let him control you?"
"I did everything I could," she said desperately. "Dumbledore hid you well. No one in the magical world knew where you were. I searched for you. I never stopped looking."
His gaze softened for a moment, but the intensity of his emotions remained palpable. "You're just saying that."
"I swear it, Harry. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to be there for you," Andromeda insisted, stepping closer, her sincerity clear. "I may not have been able to before, but I'm here now. You're safe with me, I promise."
Harry searched her face for any hint of deception, the flickering uncertainty in his expression revealing the struggle within him. Finally, after a long pause, he took a deep breath. "You really mean it?"
"I do," Andromeda replied softly. "And I will do everything in my power to help you from now on."
Once Harry calmed down, he allowed Andromeda to check on his condition, her earlier potions already working their magic. He hesitated before confessing, "I've always thought about becoming a healer too."
Andromeda's eyes lit up with interest. "Really? That's wonderful, Harry! What made you want to pursue that?"
"I guess I just want to help people," he admitted shyly. "What was your journey like?"
She smiled, her passion for healing evident in her expression. "At Hogwarts, I focused on Potions and Herbology, which are essential for a healer. After completing my Mastery in Healing, I began working at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which was a fascinating place filled with all sorts of magical ailments. I was always eager to learn, and every day was an adventure."
Harry listened intently, captivated by her experience. "What kinds of things did you work on there?"
"Oh, everything from treating hex injuries to rare magical diseases," she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "There was never a dull moment. I loved the challenge of diagnosing and treating patients. It felt like solving a puzzle. I also had the chance to train new healers, which I found incredibly rewarding. Teaching them about potions and magical remedies, and seeing them grow in their skills was a highlight of my career."
As she spoke, Andromeda couldn't help but think of Regulus. He had shared a similar curiosity when he was younger, always asking questions and eager to learn. But the memory brought a pang of sorrow; Regulus had ultimately become a Death Eater, a choice that had cost him everything. She quickly dismissed the thought—Regulus was no longer the innocent boy who followed her and Sirius, eager to ask questions.
Focusing back on Harry, she said, "You have the same passion I once had. If you're truly interested, I'd be happy to help you explore that path."
Harry's face brightened at her words, feeling a spark of hope. "Really? That would be amazing!"
"Of course! Together, we can make a difference," Andromeda smiled, excited by the idea of nurturing Harry's potential. "There's so much to learn, and with your determination, I believe you could become a great healer."
After a moment of silence, Harry looked down at his hands and said quietly, "It was actually Margaret who made me want to become a healer."
Andromeda raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Margaret? Who's that?"
"She's a librarian," Harry explained with a soft smile. "But she used to be a nurse before that. She helped me a lot when I was younger. She was always so kind, making sure I was alright, even when no one else seemed to care. I learned a lot from her."
Andromeda's heart softened at the thought. "A librarian who used to be a nurse? That's a unique combination. She must have had quite an influence on you."
"Yeah," Harry nodded, his voice tinged with affection. "She showed me what real care looks like. It wasn't just about treating injuries or illnesses, but about understanding people, helping them feel seen and heard. That's what made me want to do it too. She believed in me when no one else did."
Andromeda gave a small, knowing smile. "It sounds like Margaret was exactly what you needed at the time. People like her can change lives."
"She did," Harry agreed. "I guess that's why I want to be a healer. I want to help people the way she helped me."
Two hours had passed, and Harry knew he needed to return to the Dursleys.
Kreacher was still waiting for him, but Andromeda couldn't shake the growing sense of dread. How could she let him go back to a place she knew wasn't safe? She thought of the stories she'd heard, the things unsaid, the marks left not only on his skin but on his soul.
"I can't let you go back there, Harry," she said firmly, crossing her arms. Her eyes were filled with concern, and her heart clenched at the thought of what he must have endured. "That place isn't safe for you, and you know it."
Harry looked at her, his face calm but carrying the weight of too many secrets for someone so young. "It used to be bad," he admitted. "But I've figured it out. I'm smarter now. I made a deal with them. They don't touch me anymore."
A deal? Andromeda felt a wave of anger at the idea. No child should ever have to negotiate for their safety. She stepped closer, her voice rising slightly.
"You made a deal? Harry, that's not how it should be. You shouldn't have to bargain to be treated decently, to live without fear."
Harry's gaze flickered with something darker—resentment, maybe, or frustration. "I know it's not right," he said, shrugging. "But it's how things are. I'm handling it."
Andromeda's mind raced. How many more burdens did this boy carry, hidden beneath his calm exterior? She couldn't bear the idea of him returning to that place, forced to manage adults who should have cared for him.
"It's not your job to 'handle' anything," she replied, her voice softer but no less determined. "You shouldn't have to survive through deals and tricks. That's not living, Harry. I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to get you out of there. You shouldn't have to fight this battle alone—especially now that we both know Dumbledore never truly helped you."
Harry's expression darkened at the mention of Dumbledore. His eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time, she saw a flash of something sharper—rage, maybe.
"I know Dumbledore didn't help me. I want to destroy him." His voice was calm, almost too calm, as if he'd already thought this through. "But I'll be careful. It's going to take time. I'll do it strategically."
Andromeda's heart skipped a beat at the gravity in his words. He spoke like a boy too accustomed to abuse , too familiar with the games of adults. And yet, she couldn't help but admire the way he calculated his next moves, the way he carried himself with such purpose.
She smiled, a slow, knowing smile, one that hinted at her own Slytherin cunning. "And I'll help you, Harry," she replied, her voice low but steady. "I've been waiting for this moment. I'm ready."
Harry returned her smile, but there was something mischievous, almost predatory, in his eyes. "Good," he said, as if they'd struck an unspoken agreement. "Then I should tell you—I need your help with something else first. I want to find out if Sirius Black really committed those crimes."
The name alone stirred memories she had long buried. She swallowed hard, her thoughts briefly drifting to her cousin. "Sirius?" she asked softly, more to herself than to Harry. "I never believed he betrayed your parents. And I don't think he killed those Muggles either."
Harry's eyes searched hers, and for a moment, there was an unspoken connection—a bond of shared purpose, of family history that stretched beyond the present. They stood there in silence, and in that silence, they made a pact. They would find the truth, no matter what it took.
As Harry turned to leave, Andromeda watched him carefully. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts, memories she'd suppressed for years. She looked up at the ceiling, a familiar face flashing in her mind—Regulus. The boy who had once been full of questions and curiosity, much like Harry now. He had been calm and clever, just like Harry was. And she remembered how Regulus had once been so full of promise, only to be swallowed by the darkness of war.
Regulus had died as a Death Eater, a title that still haunted her, As she looked at Harry, she couldn't help but see a reflection of Regulus in him. Both boys had been forced to grow up too fast, to carry burdens too heavy for their age.
But Harry's different, she thought to herself, clenching her fists. He's not going to fall like Regulus did. I won't let it happen.
Harry gave a small nod but said nothing. And with that, he left, leaving Andromeda standing there, feeling both hopeful and haunted. The past and present were colliding, but this time, she was determined to protect the boy in front of her—to help him rewrite the story where Regulus had failed.
All of her family had been consumed, either by Dumbledore or by Voldemort. Andromeda swore to herself that she would not let Harry become another victim. She thought of Regulus, her sisters Bellatrix and Narcissa, of Sirius—her beloved cousin. James, too. They had all been taken from her, piece by piece, until her heart was hollowed out.
It was Ted and her daughter, Nymphadora, who had managed to mend what remained of her broken heart. But even then, so many pieces of it had been dead for years—until now.
Looking at Harry, so strong yet vulnerable, she felt something stir in her again. She couldn't let this world chew him up and spit him out like it had done to so many others.