The black Ford pulled into the driveway of Number Four Privet Drive with all the enthusiasm of a funeral procession. Harry sat in the back seat, watching his uncle's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as they had for the entire drive from King's Cross. The silence was absolute—even Dudley had foregone his usual snide comments in favor of pressing himself against the opposite door.
As the car came to a stop, Harry caught movement in the upstairs window of Mrs. Figg's house. A flash of violet hair quickly ducked out of sight. Tonks, keeping watch as promised. The thought brought a grim smile to his lips.
"Out," Vernon grunted, not looking back at his nephew.
Harry stepped onto the pristine driveway, breathing in the stifling normalcy of Little Whinging. Everything was exactly as he'd left it—perfectly manicured lawns, gleaming cars, and an atmosphere so aggressively mundane it made his skin crawl.
He moved to the boot of the car where Vernon was already hauling out his trunk with unnecessary roughness. Harry raised his hand, not bothering to hide the gesture from the neighbors who might be watching.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said clearly, though no wand appeared in his hand.
The trunk rose smoothly from Vernon's grip, floating serenely beside Harry along with Hedwig's cage with her inside as he walked toward the front door. Behind him, he heard Petunia's sharp intake of breath and Vernon's strangled curse.
"Boy!" Vernon's voice cracked like a whip. "You can't—the Ministry of Freaks—"
Harry turned at the doorway, his green eyes cold as winter frost. "The Ministry tracks wand magic, Uncle Vernon. This?" He gestured lazily, making the trunk do a small loop in the air. "This is something different. Something they can't trace quite as easily."
He let that sink in, watching the color drain from Vernon's face. Dudley whimpered.
"Now," Harry continued conversationally, "let me make something very clear. I'm going to my room. I'm going to train. I'm going to do magic whenever I bloody well please. You're going to leave me alone." His voice hardened. "Because if you don't—if you lock my door, starve me, or even look at me wrong—I'll show you exactly what I learned this year. And trust me, Uncle, you won't enjoy the lesson."
The trunk floated up the stairs ahead of him, Harry following at a leisurely pace. He paused at the landing, looking back at his relatives clustered in the hallway like frightened sheep.
"Oh, and Aunt Petunia? I'll be having guests this summer. Magical guests. You'll be polite to them." He smiled, and there was nothing warm in it. "After all, we wouldn't want the neighbors asking questions about the strange things happening at Number Four, would we?"
He entered his room and closed the door with a gesture, the lock clicking audibly. Through the thin walls, he could hear Vernon's explosive cursing and Petunia's shrill attempts to calm him. Harry ignored them, focusing instead on the spartan space that had been his prison for so many summers.
Time to make some changes.
The first week passed in a blur of sweat and frustration. Harry pushed his body to its limits, knowing that magical power meant nothing without the physical stamina to use it. His routine was punishing: fourty-ups at dawn, fifty sit-ups before breakfast (which he now summoned from the kitchen without asking), and an hour of running in place that left his shirt soaked through.
The Dursleys, thoroughly cowed by his display of wandless magic, gave him a wide berth. Meals appeared outside his door without comment. The bathroom was always empty when he needed it. Even Dudley's television volume stayed at reasonable levels.
Between physical training, Harry practiced his wandless magic with single-minded determination. He started with the basics—levitation, summoning, banishing. Spells that had been child's play with a wand now required intense concentration without one.
"Accio book," he commanded, pointing at his Transfiguration text.
The book trembled on his desk, pages fluttering, but didn't move. Harry gritted his teeth, remembering the words from his dreams.
The wand is a crutch. Magic flows through intent, not instrument.
Instead of pointing like he would with a wand, Harry focused on the feeling of magic itself—that warm current that flowed through his veins whenever he cast. He imagined it extending outward, wrapping around the book, pulling it toward him.
"Accio book."
This time, the text flew across the room so fast he barely caught it. Progress.
By the fourth day, he could reliably perform basic spells wandlessly. Stunning spells came out purple instead of red. Cutting hexes were less precise but more vicious. Shield charms flickered and sparked but held against the stinging hexes he sent at himself for practice.
But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
Harry stood shirtless before his mirror, studying the changes a week of intense training had wrought. His body, always lean from years of malnourishment, was beginning to show real muscle definition. His shoulders were broader, his abs more defined. But it was his eyes that showed the real change—harder, colder, holding shadows that hadn't been there before Sirius fell.
You're turning into a weapon, a voice that sounded like Hermione whispered in his mind.
"Good," Harry said aloud. "That's exactly what I need to be."
.
.
The eighth night of summer found Harry practicing a particularly vicious cutting hex when he heard the crack of apparition in the back garden. He was at the window in an instant, recognizing the silhouette immediately despite the mundane brown hair.
Tonks stood among Petunia's prize-winning petunias, looking up at his window with an expression somewhere between determination and mischief. Harry opened the window, leaning out into the humid night air.
"Bit late for an official check-in, isn't it?" he called down softly.
"Who said anything about official?" Tonks replied, her hair shifting to a rebellious purple. "Going to invite me up, or should I scale the drainpipe?"
"Knowing your coordination, you'd wake the whole neighborhood," Harry said, but he was already casting. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Tonks yelped as she found herself floating upward, windmilling her arms for balance. "Bloody hell, Harry! Warn a girl first!"
"Where's the fun in that?" Harry guided her through the window, trying not to notice how her Weird Sisters t-shirt rode up during the flight. "Tea?"
"You have tea in your bedroom?" Tonks asked, looking around the sparse space with disgust.
"I have whatever I summon from the kitchen," Harry replied, demonstrating by calling up two mugs and a pot of tea from downstairs. "The Dursleys don't complain anymore."
"I can see why." Tonks settled on his desk chair, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "Nice wandwork. Except you're not using a wand."
"Noticed that, did you?" Harry sat on his bed, studying her over his own mug. "Why are you really here, Tonks?"
She fidgeted, her hair cycling through several colors before settling on a nervous yellow. "Maybe I wanted to check on you. Make sure the Dursleys were behaving."
"At nine at night? When you're supposedly off duty?"
"Fine." Tonks set down her mug with a clatter. "The Order's in chaos. Half of them want to drag you back to Headquarters for your own protection. The other half is afraid of pushing you further away. Dumbledore just sits there looking like someone killed his phoenix."
"And which half are you in?"
"Neither." Tonks met his eyes squarely. "I'm in the very small third group that thinks you have every right to be furious and maybe—just maybe—you know what you're doing."
Harry blinked, surprised by her honesty. "That's a small group indeed."
"Just me, really. And maybe Bill Weasley, though he's being quiet about it." She leaned forward. "What really happened at Hogwarts, Harry? Dumbledore won't say, but something big went down between you two."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, then made a decision. "He told me everything. Fifteen years of secrets, all dumped out in one conversation. The prophecy, why Voldemort came after me, why I have to go back to the Dursleys every summer."
"And?"
"And he admitted it was all his fault. Sirius's death, my ignorance, all of it. Like that was supposed to make it better." Harry's magic stirred, making the air in the room heavy. "He kept me weak and ignorant while people died around me. And when his plan fell apart, he expected forgiveness."
"But you didn't forgive him."
"I told him he was dead to me." Harry's smile was sharp as glass. "I meant it."
Tonks whistled low. "That explains the emergency Order meetings. And the fact that Snape's been even more of a bastard than usual."
"Speaking of the Order," Harry said, changing the subject, "what's happening at the Ministry? Last I heard, Fudge was still clinging to his position."
"Not for much longer." Tonks's grin was fierce. "The Wizengamot's calling for his head, well, figuratively. Smart money's on Rufus Scrimgeour for the next Minister."
"Who?"
"Head of the Auror Office," Tonks explained. "Been fighting dark wizards for longer than you've been alive. Veteran of the last war against You-Know-Who, tough as nails, and completely incorruptible as far as anyone knows."
"So he's better than Fudge?" Harry asked.
Tonks chuckled, a sound that made something warm flutter in Harry's chest. "Not hard to improve on garbage, is it? But honestly, yes—Scrimgeour is a massive improvement. He actually knows what he's doing when it comes to fighting dark wizards. Plus, he's got the respect of the Auror corps, which Fudge never had."
"What else do you know about him?" Harry asked, his mind already working. If there was going to be a new Minister, someone who actually understood the threat Voldemort posed, then maybe it would be worth trying to establish some kind of contact.
"That's about it, really," Tonks admitted. "I've worked under him for years, but the man keeps his cards close to his chest. He's fair, competent, and absolutely ruthless when it comes to catching dark wizards. Beyond that..." She shrugged. "He's not exactly the type to share personal details over drinks at the Leaky Cauldron."
"But you think he could be useful?" Harry pressed.
Tonks tilted her head, studying him with sharp eyes. "Potentially, yes. Why? You thinking of scheduling a meet and greet with the new Minister?"
"Maybe," Harry said carefully. "If he's as competent as you say, then he might actually listen to reason about Voldemort. Unlike his predecessor."
"True," Tonks agreed. "Though I should warn you—Scrimgeour's not the type to be impressed by celebrity. If you want his attention, you'd better have something concrete to offer."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. There was a long moment of silence between the two of them.
"Would you like some more tea?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling the need to be a proper host. "I've gotten quite good at making it, actually. Amazing what you can accomplish when you're not being treated like a house-elf."
"That sounds lovely," Tonks said with a smile. "Though maybe we could sit outside? It's a beautiful night, and this house feels a bit... stuffy."
Harry laughed. "That's one way to put it. The garden it is."
They moved outside to the small patio behind the house, where Harry had set up a couple of garden chairs under the shade of a large oak tree.
"This is nice," Tonks said, settling into one of the chairs while Harry went back inside to prepare the tea. "Much better than being cooped up indoors."
When Harry returned with a tea tray, he found Tonks had morphed her hair to a lighter shade of brown. She looked relaxed in a way he'd never seen before—less like the competent Auror he'd met during his trial, and more like... well, like a young woman enjoying a peaceful afternoon.
"So," Harry said as he poured the tea, "what's it like being an Auror these days? I imagine things have gotten a bit more interesting since Voldemort's return became public knowledge."
Tonks accepted her cup with a grateful smile. "Interesting is one word for it. Terrifying might be more accurate. We've gone from having nothing to do but chase down minor dark artifacts to preparing for an all-out war practically overnight."
"Are you ready for it?" Harry asked. "The war, I mean."
Tonks was quiet for a moment, considering her answer. "I'd like to think so. I've been training for this my whole career, after all. But actually facing You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters..." She shook her head. "It's different when it's real, you know? When people you care about are in danger."
"Yeah," Harry said softly. "I know exactly what you mean."
Their eyes met across the small garden table, and Harry felt something shift between them.
"Harry," Tonks said quietly, "I want you to know that if you ever need anything—anything at all—you can contact me. Even if it's not an emergency. Even if you just need someone to talk to."
"Thank you," Harry said, his voice equally soft. "That... that means more than you know. I don't have many people I can trust these days."
"Well, you've got at least one," Tonks said with a small smile. "And for what it's worth, I think you're handling everything remarkably well. Most fifteen-year-olds would have cracked under the pressure you've been dealing with."
"Some days I'm not so sure about that," Harry admitted. "Some days I feel like I'm barely holding it together."
"But you are holding it together," Tonks pointed out. "That's what matters. And you don't have to do it alone."
They talked for another hour, the conversation flowing easily from Ministry politics to Auror training to shared memories of Sirius. Harry found himself relaxing in a way he hadn't since before the Department of Mysteries battle. There was something about Tonks that made him feel... normal. Like he was just Harry, not the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One or any of the other titles that had been thrust upon him.
"So what's your plan?" Tonks eventually asked, close enough that he could smell her shampoo—something fruity and entirely too distracting. "You can't fight a war alone."
"I don't intend to. But I need to be stronger first. Strong enough that I'm an ally, not a liability." He glanced at her. "Which brings me to a question. How would you feel about some off-the-books training?"
Tonks's eyes lit up. "What kind of training?"
"The real kind. Not the sanitized Defense Against the Dark Arts rubbish they teach at Hogwarts. I need to know how to fight, how to survive, how to win."
"That's... that's Auror-level stuff, Harry. I could lose my job if—"
"I'm not asking for official Auror training. I'm asking for help from someone who understands that this war won't be won with Stunning Spells and good intentions."
Tonks was quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with the decision. Finally, she nodded. "Alright. But we do this my way. That means you listen when I tell you something's too dangerous. Deal?"
"Deal." Harry held out his hand, and she shook it firmly.
"Tomorrow night," she said. "Two in the morning, in your back garden. Wear something you don't mind getting dirty."
"Should I be worried?"
"Terrified." Tonks's grin was wicked. "I'm going to work you harder than you've ever been worked in your life, Potter. By the time I'm done with you, you'll either be ready for war or begging for mercy."
"I don't beg," Harry said quietly.
"No, I don't suppose you do."
The next few days blurred together in a haze of preparation. Harry pushed his physical training even harder, knowing that Tonks wouldn't go easy on him. He practiced his wandless magic until his head pounded and his magic felt scraped raw.
And he dreamed.
A woman in robes that belonged to another century stood in a stone chamber, her wand moving in complex patterns as she wove protections around a wooden chest.
"The bloodline must continue," she murmured in accented English. "Even if the world burns, the knowledge must survive."
She opened the chest, revealing texts that seemed to writhe with their own power. Books bound in scales and strange leather, written in languages that predated modern magical theory.
"For you, my descendant," she whispered to the empty air. "When the old ways are needed again, when wands fail and darkness rises, you will find what I have hidden."
The scene shifted. The same woman, older now, stood before the Veil. Her face was resigned but unafraid.
"I go willingly," she told the hooded figures surrounding her. "But know this—what you call justice is merely fear. Fear of power you cannot control, knowledge you cannot contain. One day, someone will return from beyond this threshold. And when they do, they will carry the wisdom of all who have passed through."
She stepped backward through the Veil, her eyes never leaving her executioners until the archway swallowed her whole.
Harry woke with the taste of ancient magic on his tongue and Latin phrases he'd never learned echoing in his mind. Each dream brought more knowledge, more understanding. The Veil hadn't just changed him—it had made him a repository for centuries of magical knowledge.
The question was whether he could access it in time.
Night
Harry was attempting his fifteenth wandless Lumos of the evening when a soft knock came at his bedroom window. He looked up from where he sat cross-legged on his bed, the faint ball of light hovering unsteadily above his palm flickering out as his concentration broke.
Tonks was perched on the windowsill outside, her hair a muted dark blonde that seemed to blend with the twilight. She gestured for him to open the window, and Harry quickly complied.
"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" Harry asked with a grin as she climbed through. "The front door is still an option."
"Where's the fun in that?" Tonks replied, but her usual cheeky smile seemed forced. There were dark circles under her eyes that hadn't been there during her visit, and something about her posture suggested she was carrying more weight than just her Auror equipment.
"Besides," she continued, glancing around his room, "this way your neighbors don't see an Auror making regular house calls. Might give them the wrong idea about what kind of trouble you're getting into."
"Fair point," Harry said, studying her face more carefully. "Everything all right? You look..."
"Tired?" Tonks suggested, morphing her appearance slightly so the dark circles disappeared. "Long week at the Ministry. You know how it is—dark wizards don't take days off."
Harry wanted to ask if she was really okay, but Tonks quickly asked. "So, ready to train,"
Ten minutes later, they were standing in the shadows behind the house, hidden from the neighbors by the large oak tree and the garden shed.
"Right then," Tonks said, pulling out her wand and casting what Harry recognized as a privacy charm around them. "Show me what you've been working on."
Harry took a deep breath and held out his hand, focusing on the warm current of magic that flowed through his veins. "Lumos," he said quietly.
A ball of soft blue light appeared above his palm, steady and bright. It wasn't as strong as a wand-produced light, but it was consistent and controlled.
"Impressive," Tonks said, and she sounded genuinely pleased. "That's much better than most sixth-years manage on their first attempt at wandless magic. How long can you hold it?"
"About five minutes before I start getting tired," Harry replied, maintaining the light while they talked. "Longer if I'm not doing anything else."
"Not bad at all," Tonks said. "What else have you been practicing?"
Harry let the light fade and demonstrated a wandless Stupefy, sending a purple bolt of energy into the garden shed with enough force to make the wooden structure shudder. He followed it with a basic Shield Charm that shimmered briefly in the air before dissolving.
"The colors are different," he explained as Tonks watched with growing interest. "Wandless spells come out purple or blue instead of their normal colors. I don't know why."
"It's because you're channeling pure magical energy instead of focusing it through a wand core," Tonks explained. "The wand helps refine the spell into its traditional form. Without it, you're seeing the magic in its raw state." She paused, studying him carefully. "Harry, this is really impressive work. Most wizards can't manage wandless magic until they're well into their N.E.W.T. years, if at all."
"It doesn't feel that impressive," Harry said with a frown. "Half the time the spells don't work at all, and when they do, they're weaker than they should be."
"That's normal," Tonks assured him. "Wandless magic is incredibly difficult. The fact that you're succeeding even half the time puts you well ahead of where you should be." She hesitated, then added, "Though I have to ask—when did this start? Before the Department of Mysteries, or after?"
Harry was quiet for a moment, considering how much to reveal. "After," he said finally. "It's been easier since... since I came back from the Veil."
Tonks nodded slowly, as if she'd expected that answer. "That makes sense. Experiences like that—surviving something that should have killed you—they can change a person's magical core. Make them stronger, or at least give them access to abilities they didn't have before."
"Is that what happened to you?" Harry asked. "After you became an Auror, I mean. Did dangerous situations make you stronger?"
"In a way," Tonks said. "Though my strength was always more about adaptability than raw power. Being a Metamorphmagus helps with that." She demonstrated by shifting her hair from blonde to red to black in quick succession. "But you're developing real magical strength, Harry. The kind that can't be learned or inherited—it has to be earned."
They spent the next hour working on different techniques. Tonks showed him how Aurors learned to control their magical output, teaching him breathing exercises and mental focusing techniques that made his spells more consistent.
"The key," she explained as Harry successfully managed three Stunners in a row, "is not to force the magic. Let it flow naturally, but guide it with your will. Think of it like... like steering a river rather than trying to dam it up."
"That actually makes sense," Harry said, wiping sweat from his forehead. The sustained magical effort was more exhausting than he'd expected, but also exhilarating. "Where did you learn that technique?"
"My training supervisor," Tonks said, her voice becoming quieter. "He was very good at explaining complex magical theory in simple terms."
Something in her tone made Harry look at her more carefully. "Was?"
"Is," Tonks corrected quickly. "He's still around. We just... don't work together anymore."
Harry sensed there was more to the story, but he didn't push. Instead, he attempted another spell—a wandless Protean Charm that he'd been trying to master for days. This time, it worked, creating a temporary connection between two leaves that made them change color in unison.
"Bloody hell," Tonks breathed, staring at the leaves. "Harry, that's seventh-year magic. Advanced seventh-year magic."
"Is it?" Harry asked, pleased despite his exhaustion. "It didn't feel that difficult."
"That's because you're not thinking about how impossible it should be," Tonks said with a shake of her head. "Most wizards would need months of practice to manage a wandless Protean Charm. You just did it on what, your fifth attempt?"
"Something like that," Harry admitted. "Though I should mention—I've been having dreams. About magic, I mean. People who knew things I didn't know. It's like... like I'm remembering lessons I never had."
Tonks frowned. "Dreams about magic? Harry, that's not normal."
"I know," Harry said. "But they're not harmful dreams. Just... educational, I suppose. Like tonight—I dreamed about someone who understood wandless magic better than anyone alive. When I woke up, I knew things I hadn't known before."
"That's..." Tonks paused, clearly struggling with how to respond. "That's actually quite extraordinary. And potentially dangerous. Harry, you need to be careful about accepting knowledge from unknown sources, even if it seems helpful."
"I know," Harry said. "But so far, everything I've learned has been accurate. And it's not like the knowledge comes with instructions to do anything harmful. It's just... techniques. Methods. Better ways to channel magic."
They continued practicing for another thirty minutes, with Tonks providing guidance and encouragement while keeping a careful eye on Harry's energy levels. When he started to sway slightly after a particularly complex charm, she called a halt.
"That's enough for tonight," she said firmly. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I'm fine," Harry protested, though he was grateful for the chance to sit down on the garden bench.
"You're exhausted," Tonks corrected, settling beside him. "And that's dangerous when you're working with wandless magic. Push too hard, and you could burn out your magical core. Trust me, that's not an experience you want to have."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of them recovering from the evening's exertions. The night air was cool against Harry's skin, and he found himself very aware of Tonks sitting beside him—the warmth radiating from her body, the way her hair caught the faint moonlight.
"Tonks," he said quietly, "can I ask you something?"
"Course," she replied, though there was a note of wariness in her voice.
"Are you all right? I mean really all right. You seem... different tonight. Sadder."
Tonks was quiet for so long that Harry began to think she wasn't going to answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I didn't know Sirius very well," she said, which wasn't what Harry had expected to hear. "I mean, we were cousins, but the family... there was a lot of bad blood there. I only really got to know him these past few months, through the Order."
"He was a good man," Harry said softly. "Complicated, and sometimes reckless, but good."
"Yeah," Tonks agreed. "I could see that. And I... I would have liked to have more time to know him properly. To understand where I came from, you know? My mum never talked much about the Black family, for obvious reasons."
Harry nodded, understanding the regret in her voice. "He would have liked that too. Sirius always wanted family around him, people who cared about him."
"That's what makes it worse," Tonks said, her voice thick with emotion. "He died just as things were going well, and now..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"Now what?" Harry prompted gently.
"Now I'll never get the chance to know him," Tonks finished. "And neither will you, not really. He was just starting to live again, to be himself instead of a fugitive. And it was all taken away."
Harry felt his own grief rising in response to hers, but there was something else there too—a fierce protectiveness. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry you lost that chance. And I'm sorry he's gone."
Tonks looked down at their joined hands, and something shifted in her expression. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but there was something else there too—something that made Harry's breath catch.
"Harry," she whispered, and suddenly she was leaning toward him, her free hand coming up to touch his cheek.
For a moment, they were frozen like that—her face inches from his, her eyes searching his face as if she was seeing him for the first time. Harry could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, could smell the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the night air.
Then, just as suddenly, Tonks pulled back, her hand dropping from his face as if she'd been burned.
"I..." she started, then stopped, looking shocked at herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... you're fifteen, and I'm... I'm supposed to be looking after you, not..."
"Tonks," Harry said quietly, his own voice slightly unsteady. "It's all right."
"No, it's not," she said, standing up abruptly and taking several steps away from the bench. "It's really not all right. I'm seven years older than you, Harry. I'm an Auror, you're still a student. I'm supposed to be protecting you, not... not whatever that was."
Harry stood as well, though he was careful not to move closer to her. "What if I don't need protecting? What if I'm tired of being treated like a child who can't make his own decisions?"
"You are still a child," Tonks said. "You're fifteen years old."
"I'm fifteen years old and I've faced Voldemort four times," Harry countered. "I've been tortured, I've watched people die, I've killed a man. At what point do I stop being a child?"
Tonks stared at him, conflict clear on her face. "Harry..."
"I'm not saying we should... I mean, I understand that this is complicated," Harry said carefully. "But I'm not a child, Tonks. And whatever just happened between us, it wasn't wrong."
"Yes, it was," Tonks said, but she was still looking at him with those same conflicted eyes. "It was wrong because you deserve better than someone who's using you to forget about their own problems."
"What problems?" Harry asked, sensing that they were finally getting to the real issue. There was a long moment of silence.
"We should get you back inside," she said finally, not explaining what the problem was. "You've done enough training for one night, and you need rest."
"Will you come back?" Harry asked as they made their way toward the house.
"I..." Tonks hesitated. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Not for... not for whatever just happened. But for the training. You're the only person who's willing to help me get stronger, and I need to get stronger, Tonks. I can't let anyone else die because I wasn't prepared."
Something in his voice must have convinced her, because she nodded slowly. "All right. But we need to be careful, Harry. About the training, and about... everything else."
"I understand," Harry said, though he wasn't entirely sure he did.
As Tonks prepared to Disapparate from his back garden, she turned back to him one more time.
"Harry? What I said before—about pushing too hard, too fast? That applies to more than just magic. Some things are worth waiting for, even when they seem right in the moment."
And with that cryptic piece of advice, she was gone, leaving Harry alone in his garden with the memory of her hand on his cheek and the knowledge that everything between them had just become infinitely more complicated.