Harry arrived back at the Burrow after Isabel Fudge's funeral, unbuttoned his suit as he sat down heavily.
It had been difficult seeing Cornelius so distraught, making him feel another pang of guilt for his part in it, and the difficult conversation he'd had with Cornelius afterwards when he'd questioned him about how he brought Isabel back.
He'd had to lie, telling Cornelius that it was something he was able to do after his own near-death experience, which was technically the truth, but not the entire story.
Looking back at it, it surprised him how easily the lie rolled off his tongue, how it had been his first inclination, instead of telling Cornelius the truth.
From the look in Cornelius's eye, he could tell he didn't believe him, not fully, but he hadn't called him out on it either.
Even now he wondered if he had made the right decision. Cornelius knew Occlumency, but how long would he last against a fully trained Legilimens?
Could he risk it getting out that the hollows weren't just children's stories? They were all dangerous in their own right, and he couldn't imagine the destruction that would come about if it became common knowledge they were out there in the world waiting to be rediscovered.
'Merlin, you've been quiet for a while,' he thought, realizing it had been days since the last time the ancient wizard had offered up his opinion.
"Oh, so now you're interested in what I have to say," Merlin replied, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.
Harry sighed mentally. He had hoped Merlin would have cooled down after their last argument, but apparently it had only made things worse. 'Not this again, Merlin. Can we just talk?'
"Yes, this again, Harry," Merlin said flatly. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to yourself?"
'I told you I'm fine,' Harry thought, feeling a flash of anger at how obtuse Merlin was being about the whole thing. 'I haven't had a single nightmare. I can think clearly, and I have way too much work to do to sit down and fall to pieces.'
"Nothing has happened yet," Merlin reminded him. "Separating those emotions and pain from your consciousness was only supposed to be a temporary measure until you recovered from your injuries."
'And have I?' Harry thought back. 'Am I back to normal?'
"No," Merlin admitted, though grudgingly.
'And how far along am I now?' Harry continued.
"…Perhaps 35% of the way," Merlin replied.
'That isn't enough,' Harry thought back. 'What if something happens? What if there's more Alumni out there looking for revenge? Did you think of that? What's going to happen to my friends if I'm not able to defend them?'
"And what good are you going to them when your memories finally overwhelm you, and you turn into a quivering mess in the middle of a fight?" Merlin shot back.
'That isn't going to happen!' Harry thought back angrily. 'I haven't felt any of it seep out of the barrier. I still have time,' he added stubbornly.
"That isn't the point, Harry! That pain, those emotions, they're a powder keg waiting to go off. You have no idea how it will affect you when it all finally boils over. What you're doing is reckless, even for you. Why can't you see that?" Merlin demanded.
'What's that supposed to mean?' Harry demanded. 'Even for you?' he repeated.
"Do I really have to spell it out for you, Harry?" Merlin shot back, his own anger rising.
'Yeah, I think you're going to have to,' Harry snapped back.
"Your friends!" Merlin practically shouted into his mind. "This insistence of yours on teaching them. What if they betray you? What if they end up dead because you put them in harm's way?"
'I'm not you,' Harry said, his anger simmering. 'And they are not Morgan! They wouldn't do that. I'm teaching them to defend themselves so they won't get hurt..'
"…" Merlin said nothing, the silence dragging on into an uncomfortable silence.
'Merlin,' Harry thought back instantly regretting the low blow. 'I'm sorry, that was… I shouldn't have said that,' but was only met with cold silence.
'Merlin?' Harry tried again, but only received more silence from the ancient wizard.
"Alright, Harry?" Ron asked, looking at his friend curiously as he stared off into space.
"…What? Oh Ron, sorry I was… lost in thought," Harry quickly added, resolving to talk to Merlin later, when they both calmed down.
"The funeral, I get it," Ron replied, patting him on the back sympathetically. "How was it, by the way?"
"It was good," Harry replied somberly. "As good as funerals go, I guess."
"And Fudge?" Ron asked.
"He was upset, but was holding it together," Harry replied. "I didn't realize Isabel had so many friends and family."
Ron nodded, sitting down beside him. "I can't imagine what Fudge is going through. She hung on for all these years… and then, for it to happen so suddenly. It doesn't make any sense."
Harry sighed mentally, nodding along, unable to tell him the truth without also having to explain about the key, and the other hollows.
"He'll pull through, Fudge, I mean," Ron added awkwardly. "He's tough. I know you're close to him. If you need to talk…"
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said gratefully. "I appreciate that. I think I just need time to process."
"Take your time, mate," Ron replied.
"Anything happen while I was gone?" Harry asked, wanting to move onto less heavy topics.
"Yeah, actually," Ron replied, brightening. "George finally stepped out of his room, and not just to get something to eat. Mum finally got through to him. He's outside now, taking a walk with her."
"Really?" Harry asked, breathing out a sigh of relief.
"Yeah," Ron nodded. "He didn't seem too happy about it, but Mum has been guilting him for the last few days, and I think she finally just wore him down."
"Enough to actually sit down, and talk with Daniela?" Harry asked, hopefully.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Ron replied with a laugh. "He's still George, so I mean, he's pretty stubborn."
Harry cracked a smile. "That's true."
"What about you, Harry?" Ron asked curiously. "Now that I think about it, the only time you really talked to her was when you went on that walk with her."
"Has she said anything about me?" Harry asked, getting serious. After their last talk, he wouldn't put it past her to try something like that again.
"What?" Ron asked, his eyes widening. "No, nothing like that," he said, seeing the sharp change in Harry's attitude. "It's just something I noticed."
"Oh," Harry replied, his gaze softening. "Sorry."
"It's fine, mate," Ron replied. "I'd feel the same way if I found out she was talking about my sessions too, but you have nothing to worry about. Daniela took an oath and everything. She can't talk about it, even if she wanted to without permission. She told me that in our first session."
"You're right, you're right," Harry said, shaking his head. "Sorry. I was being paranoid."
"Harry? Are you sure you're doing okay?" Ron asked. "You've been.. I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Not yourself, I guess."
"Sorry," Harry replied. "I know… I've been distant."
"We all deal with what happened differently," Ron said, repeating what Daniela had told him. "But you're not alone, Harry. Don't forget that."
Harry nodded, feeling another wave of guilt about all the things he'd had to keep from his friends. "What about you? How are you doing?" He asked.
"Better," Ron replied. "Talking with Daniela helped. I was skeptical at first too, but she helped me see things from a different perspective, and focus on the people I saved, and not just the ones that died."
"I'm glad," Harry replied, now feeling bad about how he had left things with Daniela after seeing how much effort she put into helping his friends.
"How about a game of chess?" Ron suggested. "We haven't played in a while."
"That's because I still haven't recovered from our last match," Harry joked, jumping on the chance to move on to less heavy topics.
"Don't sell yourself short," Ron laughed. "You almost had me a couple of times."
"A couple of times?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Alright, alright, maybe just the once," Ron laughed. "So you want to play or what?"
"Sure, why not?" Harry replied. "Maybe today will be my lucky day."
"It's good to have dreams," Ron teased, pulling out his chessboard and setting up the pieces. "White or black?" he asked.
Before Harry could answer, they both heard loud shouting coming from outside, both their eyes widening as they recognized the voices.
Fred and George were at it again, but this time it sounded different.
They both rushed outside, the chessboard forgotten as they found Fred and George brawling on the grass, throwing punches and kicks at each other as Molly desperately tried to pull them apart, begging for them to stop.
"That's enough! Fred! George!" Ron shouted, rushing to get between them, with Harry hot on his heels.
Then something happened that made all of them freeze, the fight coming to a grinding halt as Molly screamed, blood pouring from her nose as she fell to the ground.
It happened so fast none of them could tell who had thrown the punch. Molly had been trying to pull the twins apart one second, and the next there was blood pouring from her nose.
"Mum!" Ron shouted, running to check on his mother as both Fred and George scrambled apart, looking on, both ashen-faced.
"It's okay, Mum," Ron said softly, tearing off a piece of his shirt as he pressed it to her nose. "Just lean your head back. You're going to be okay," he said, doing what he'd seen the healers at Hogwarts and St Mungo's do.
Molly sat on the ground, tears streaming down her face. Her nose was broken. She could tell that much, but her cries weren't only because of the physical pain, but also the sorrow she felt seeing her boys fighting so viciously.
They had both gotten into scraps when they were younger, but never like this. They both knew how to fight now, how to kill, and looking at them brawling it felt like they were doing just that.
Harry looked back and forth between Molly, sitting on the ground as Ron tried to stop the bleeding, and then at Fred and George standing there silently, and felt something inside of him snap.
He didn't have to ask what had happened, he already knew. George was responsible. He was always the one to instigate these fights.
He had been patient with him, understanding. He even hired a mind healer to help him process what he'd been through, excused his behavior, but it had all been a waste. He could see that now.
George didn't want to get better. For whatever reason, he wanted everyone to feel just as miserable as he did.
He felt a weariness settle over him in that moment. A mental exhaustion that he had been keeping at bay, one he'd finally found an outlet for.
Fred tore his eyes away from his mother, feeling the hairs on his arm stand on end as he saw the look in Harry's eyes, the same look he had during the battle, one of quiet and resigned acceptance of what he had to do.
He met Harry's eyes just for a moment before looking away, feeling a shiver go down his spine, then breathed an audible sigh of relief as Harry turned his attention to George.
Without realizing it, he moved closer to Ron and his mother, knowing that something he wanted no part of was about to happen.
He glanced at George, seeing that his full attention was still on their mother. He hadn't noticed Harry staring at him, not yet.
After weeks of verbal jabs, angry shouts and threats between him and his twin, he felt a sudden swell of pity for his brother, but didn't dare interfere.
"George," Harry said quietly, his eyes boring into him, and despite the distance between them and how softly he spoke, his voice still carried, causing all four Weasley's to look at him.
George's eyes widened as he met Harry's eyes, taking a step back. "It was an accident… I didn't mean.." He stammered.
"Look at her," Harry said simply.
George swallowed hard, looking at his mother, then back at Harry silently, knowing that he'd made a huge mistake.
He shouldn't have let it get this far. He should have stopped when his mother tried to pull them apart, but he had been too angry to think clearly, and now Harry was standing in front of him with an expression on his face that terrified him.
It was easy to forget who Harry truly was, how strong he was, and easier still to see him as just his kid brother's best friend.
The kid who was too kind, too generous for his own good, helping others when no one else would, patient, and friendly, almost to a fault.
That illusion fell away as he saw the version of Harry from the battle of Hogwarts standing in front of him — calm, decisive, and frighteningly powerful, and now it was all directed at him.
His mouth suddenly felt dry as his palms began to sweat. He looked at Ron for help, silently begging his younger brother to call Harry off, break the tension somehow, but was only met with a hard, unflinching gaze as he tended to their mother.
He tore his eyes away, unable to look at what happened to their mother, focusing instead on Fred. "Tell him," he said, grasping at straws. "I didn't mean to… it could have been either one of us. Tell him!" he shouted, his anger suddenly flaring. "You did this too! It wasn't just me!"
Fred shook his head, silently pointing at his hand. George followed his gaze, seeing the three drops of blood on his knuckles.
His eyes widened as it dawned on him what had happened, but he wasn't ready to accept responsibility for it. He looked back at Fred, hoping desperately that it was his twin's blood instead.
Fred looked rough, his shirt torn in places, his hair ruffled, and covered in dirt and grass, but he couldn't find a single drop of blood on him.
"You used what I taught you to hurt your family," Harry said in the same deceptively calm voice.
George shivered, taking another step back, frightened even more by Harry's quiet delivery. He didn't yell. He didn't have to, the accusation hanging in the air between them.
"It was an accident," George repeated, but even to him his defense felt hollow, lacking any real conviction.
"Iron skin, that's what you used," Harry said, taking a step forward.
George nodded silently. He had only learned the basics of the technique, only enough to block low-level spells, and offer some basic physical protection.
"You made a promise to me," Harry said. "Do you remember that?"
"To help others… for defense," George replied, fidgeting nervously as he stared back at Harry.
"Good. You remember," Harry replied. "After what I saw today, I thought you'd forgotten."
"It wasn't supposed to…" George stammered. "I didn't think…"
"NO," Harry denied. "A lack of thinking has never been your problem George. You used iron skin to keep fighting, so you wouldn't feel it when Fred punched you back," he accused.
"Fred did the same thing," George replied, swallowing hard. "It could have been either one of us. I'm not the only one you should blame."
"You're right," Harry replied. "But I'm not concerned about Fred. He did what he was supposed to do. He used it to defend himself. From you. I blame myself for what happened here."
"…Harry," George said, taking another shaky step back, feeling more frightened than he had ever felt before in his life, and all Harry had done was talk to him.
"I thought you understood how dangerous this technique could be, that the difference between breaking someones nose, and caving in their skull is razor thin," Harry said, his eyes flashing with anger for the first time as his tone took on a harder edge.
"I didn't…" George whispered, looking down at his mother, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. "I don't know how to do it well enough to hurt someone like that."
"Don't sell yourself short, George," Harry replied. "You're clever. It's only a matter of time before you learn it well enough to punch through cinder blocks."
"Harry," Molly said, her voice shaky as the bleeding finally stopped. "It's okay. I'm okay. It was an accident. George won't do something like this again, will you, George?" she asked, desperately hoping to bring this tense standoff to an end.
"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, his tone noticeably softening. "This isn't just about you. This is about George and his anger. Today it was a broken nose, but what about tomorrow, or the day after? What happens the next time there's an incident, and the other person doesn't get to walk away?"
Molly fell silent, digesting Harry's words as she played back what had happened in her mind, how the twins arguments just escalated from words to fists.
Harry looked back at George, his gaze visibly hardening. "Any thoughts on that, George?" he asked.
George shook his head, unable to meet his eyes.
"Nothing to say for yourself now?" Harry continued, taking another step forward. "Did you think about what would happen if you broke through Fred's iron skin? It looks like you got a few good hits in," he said, looking at Fred.
"If any of those punches got through, he wouldn't be standing here. Is that what you want, George, for Fred to die?" Harry continued.
"What? No!" George replied, his eyes widening.
"A broken rib can easily puncture the heart or lungs. Then you bleed out in seconds." Harry explained. "A good hit to the back of the head, that's enough to kill someone outright."
George shook his head, unable to process what Harry was telling him.
"When I came back to Hogwarts after the battle, you asked me to teach you," Harry continued. "You said you didn't want to feel weak anymore."
It had been the most George had said to him since he'd returned, the most he'd said to anyone. He had thought George was worried about losing his eye, that he wouldn't have been able to defend himself properly, and how Fred and Percy had jumped on the idea as well, and how quickly George in particular had picked up on it.
"With only one lesson under your belt, you managed this," he said, gesturing to Fred and Molly. "Do you feel strong now?"
"No," George whispered, his voice hoarse. He had been distraught then, his emotions a mixture of anguish, horror, and anger, but he'd never considered hurting anyone, least of all his family.
"You know what, George?" Harry asked. "I actually believe that. I think you just snapped. You went way too far, and you regret it. That's not your fault, right? It wouldn't be fair for me to hold you responsible for that, after all you weren't really in control of your actions, were you?"
George nodded, feeling a flood of relief as Harry finally gave him an out, too relieved to see the trap Harry set for him. "Yeah. It won't happen again. Never. I promise."
"That's good George, I'm glad you agree," Harry replied. "You see, I snapped too when I saw what you did. I'm angry. I'm hurt, so I know you won't hold me responsible for what I'm about to do."*
George didn't even have the time to blink before Harry was standing in front of him, crossing the distance between them so fast it sent a shiver of terror down his spine.
"No, Harry," George said, taking a step back. "I don't… I don't want to fight you."
"That's funny," Harry replied, a cold smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Fred has been telling you that for weeks, but that didn't stop you, did it?"
Ron watched Harry silently. He knew George wasn't in danger, not from Harry, but there was no denying that Harry was furious.
He knew Harry better than anyone, and unlike most people, Harry didn't get angry very often, but when he did, the last thing you wanted was his attention.
Harry's anger was cold, and calculating. He'd seen flashes of it when he killed the acromantula, when he fought Bole, and especially when he fought Egwu, and the monster coming out of the portal.
Harry didn't fly off the handle. He didn't lose control. He didn't let his anger dictate his actions. If anything, he had a near-frightening level of control over his actions, as whoever his target was, gained his full and undivided attention.
"Stop, Harry…" George said, looking at his mother for support, only for Ron to grab her shoulder and shake his head, silencing her.
Molly felt her lips quiver as she stared at Harry. She always had trouble reconciling the sweet boy she knew, the one that went out of his way to help them, that would break up a fight rather than start one with the one she read about in the newspaper, the Harry that not only fought an impossible war, but won it.
She didn't have that problem anymore. This was the Harry that emerged when he was pushed too far, when his kindness was ignored, when words alone couldn't get the job done.
She had seen firsthand George's fall into anger and isolation, wallowing in misery, and doing his level best to drag everyone down with him.
She had seen both Harry and Ron break up argument after argument between them, only for George to just start up again later.
She had watched George refuse every offer of help handed to him, feeling helpless as her son tore himself apart.
She had pleaded with him, begged him to speak to the mind healer Harry hired, only to be ignored, her concerns dismissed.
None of it had worked, and with each passing day George only became worse, and as much as she wanted to protect her child, she understood now that she couldn't. He would never get better if she did.
She had to allow whatever this was to play out, and hope that her George would emerge on the other side.
"They can't help you, George," Harry replied, raising his fists, his magic flaring as he encased them with magic. "Let's see how tough you really are."
"NO, stop Harry," George said, taking another shaky step back. "I'm not going to fight you."
"That's too bad," Harry replied. "Cause I'm still feeling out of control," he said, sending a jab at George's ribs.
George stumbled back, falling to the ground as Harry's fist missed him by a hair's breath.
"Okay, okay, I get it," George said, raising his hands, trying desperately to end this. "No more."
"Get up, George," Harry said simply. "We're not done, not yet."
George shook his head, staring up at Harry pleadingly.
"George," Harry said, drawing out his name as he stared him down. "You're going to get on your feet one way or the other. You decide how that happens."
George nodded shakily, getting back on his feet.
"Good," Harry said, a cold smile forming on his face that sent another shiver down George's spine. "Now get your hands up, just like I taught you."
"Okay, okay," George replied, getting into a boxing stance, his fists shaking as he stared into Harry's emotionless eyes.
"Now hit me," Harry replied.
"W-What?" George asked, thinking he had misheard Harry. The last thing he wanted was a fight with Harry, especially in the mood he was in now.
"It's not much of a fight if you just stand there and take it," Harry replied. "Now hit me!"
George nodded, his legs now shaking as much as his fists as he threw the worst punch he had ever thrown.
Without even breaking eye contact with George, Harry slapped away his fist. "Not like that," Harry hissed. "I want you to hit me like you did Fred, like you hit your mother."
Fred looked back and forth between Harry and George, completely unprepared for how quickly this escalated.
"Ron," he whispered. "We need to stop this… Harry's going to tear George to pieces."
Ron sat silently for a long moment, not sure how much to reveal to Fred. If Harry wanted to turn George into a bloody mess, he would already be one. He wouldn't have bothered talking to him for this long.
Harry had a plan, he just didn't know what it was.
"Ron," Fred hissed.
"Fred," Ron replied. "Look at Harry, really look at him. What do you think we can do to stop him?"
Fred fell silent as he considered Ron's words, looking back at Harry and George.
"Do it!" Harry shouted, glaring at George as he threw another punch a moment later, even worse than the last one.
Harry easily batted it aside. "Alright, George, have it your way," he said, throwing a punch of his own.
George screamed, raising his fist, blocking Harry's punch by some miracle as it hit his iron skin covered forearm, then the next punch came, and he threw himself to the ground to avoid it.
"Get up, George, I'm not fighting you in the dirt," Harry replied in the same calm voice.
Harry watched George carefully. He'd had to pull his punches considerably not to hurt him, and with George shaking as much as he was it actually made it a challenge to land his punches on the parts of his body covered by iron skin.
George looked up at Harry, wishing he's learned to apparate, anything for him to get away. All the anger he'd felt earlier in the day replaced by fear as he stared into Harry's cold eyes.
It felt wrong to see him like this. This wasn't who Harry was. He was warm, he was friendly, generous, nothing like the boy standing in front of him.
Shakily, he got back up on his feet, raising his fists again. Every punch he threw at Harry was either side-stepped or batted away, making it feel less and less like he was fighting a person, and more like an unrelenting force of nature.
He stumbled as Harry's next punch broke through his guard, hitting him in the chest. His iron skin was weakest there, shattering on impact, and leaving him unprotected.
He wanted so much to quit, to tell Harry he was done, that he was sorry, but he knew it would only fall on deaf ears.
His next punch missed, as did the second, and the third, hitting nothing but air. He could feel the sweat rolling down his face as he struggled to keep up, grunting in pain each time Harry hit him.
He knew without the iron skin he would have been a bloody mess on the ground by now. It was the only thing allowing him to hang on, but he only had so much magic to put into the technique, only so much skill to use it effectively, while Harry had already mastered every aspect of it.
Harry glanced back at Fred. He heard what Ron had said to him, but he still hadn't moved, and with how much he was pulling his punches he was worried that it would become obvious what he was really doing.
Ron mentally berated himself for not seeing what Harry was up to until now. At first he thought Harry was just impressing upon George just how deadly iron skin could be, and scaring him into never using it like this in the future, but there was more to it.
He was waiting for Fred to do something, pulling his punches and actually targeting the points on George's body that were the most well protected, but with George's exhaustion setting in he wouldn't be able to maintain the technique, and Harry would have to stop, or risk actually hurting him.
"Don't worry, Fred," Ron said, catching his brother's eye. "When Harry's done with George, he's never going to try something like this again."
"What do you mean when he's done?" Fred whispered.
Ron shrugged his shoulders, playing along as he kept one eye trained on Harry and George. "Does it matter? I mean, he's been a terror all this time, and he misused what Harry told him."
"So what?" Fred hissed. "We're just going to let this happen. Look at him, he's terrified."
"He nearly killed Mum, or have you forgotten?" Ron replied. "He used what Harry taught him to do to do it too. You can't expect Harry to just let that go, can you?"
"I can't believe you," Fred replied. "That's George," he said, pointing a shaky finger at his brother. "We can't let this happen."
"You want to get between them? Be my guest," Ron replied. "But Harry isn't wrong."
Fred growled as he rose to his feet, ignoring the worried look his mother sent him.
"That's enough, Harry! It's over," Fred shouted, placing himself between Harry and George, only to see Harry's fist headed straight for his nose.
His eyes widened, his life flashing before his eyes in that split second, only for Harry's fist to stop less than an inch in front of his nose.
"Fred," Harry said, making a shooing motion with his other hand. "You're in the way."
"Yeah, I am," Fred replied, getting over his shock. "Harry, this is crazy! You have to stop. What's gotten into you? This isn't who you are."
"Isn't it?" Harry asked. "I protect my friends, and George. He's a threat. You know that better that anyone. You're his favorite target after all."
Fred stared at Harry, then back at George. "No, Harry, this isn't right. Look at him. He doesn't want to fight anymore."
"Look at your mother," Harry countered. "What happens when he goes too far tomorrow? Or the day after? Now get out of my way, Fred. This has been a long time coming."
"No," Fred replied in a shaky voice. He couldn't let Harry beat up his brother, even after everything he'd done. "I can't let you do this."
"I'm sorry too, Fred," Harry said, raising his fist. "You'll be fine in about an hour or so."
George's eyes widened, seeing what Harry was about to do, and surged to his feet, putting himself in front of his brother. "No! Harry! This is my fault, not Fred's! I started this. Don't hurt him!"
Harry slowly lowered his fist. "I think that's the first time you actually took responsibility for your actions," Harry replied.
George breathed out a sigh of relief. "Yeah… I.. I'll talk to your mind healer. I'll do whatever. Just… let's just stop this. Please."
"Sorry, George," Harry said, raising his fists again. "You say all the right things… but I just can't risk it, not after what you did."
"No, damn it, Harry," George replied, raising his hands. "I don't want to fight. I get it. I won't use what you taught me to hurt anyone ever again. I promise."
"Not good enough," Harry dismissed. "You used it on your brother, not just your brother, your twin," he corrected himself, noticing how George's eye twitched ever so slightly when he said it. "If you can do that to him, you can do it to anyone."
George looked at Fred, feeling something break. He couldn't let Fred get caught up in this, not after everything he'd already put him and his family through already.
"He's not… he's not my twin," George replied, his face crumbling.
Harry paused as everyone looked at George like he'd grown a second head.
"Don't!" George shouted. "Don't look at me like that!"
"George…" Fred said, looking at his brother, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "What? What are you on about? Of course I'm you're my twin. What else would I be?"
"Look at me!" George snapped, ripping the eye patch off his face, revealing the hole where his eye used to be, along with the jagged scars running from his ruined eye socket. "Who the hell is ever going to mistake me for you!"
"George…" Fred breathed, finally understanding where George's animosity came from. He didn't just lose his eye, he lost his sense of self.
"NO!" George shouted, staggering back as he landed in the dirt. "Don't look at me like that! All of you!" he shouted, glaring at everyone. "You think I don't see it?! The looks you give me! Like I'm broken! I'm not broken! I'm not broken! I'm not BROKEN!" He roared, tears streaming down his face as he finished, slumping over like a puppet with its strings cut.
Fred didn't say anything as he rushed to his brother's side, hugging him tight. He felt George struggle, but refused to let go, tears streaming down his face as well.
He didn't know what to say, what to do, only that his brother was hurting, and he finally understood where his pain was coming from.
***
Harry sat on the porch, looking out aimlessly into the distance. It had been several hours since George's breakdown, and he still wasn't sure if he had done the right thing.
He snapped when he saw Mrs. Weasley lying in the dirt, her face covered in blood, and knew he couldn't allow it to continue. Coddling George, excusing his actions hadn't worked.
It had only made things worse, so he acted, forcing George to confront his problems, and while they found the cause of his animosity, he still couldn't help but wonder if he had done things the right way.
"Hello Harry," Daniela said, sitting down beside Harry. "You've been sitting out here for a while. Do you want to talk about it?"
"A therapy session?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No," Daniela shook her head. "This is just you and me talking about what happened with George, not about you."
Harry sighed, looking at Daniela. They both knew it wasn't as simple as that, and this was in effect a therapy session in all but name, but he needed someone to talk to, someone with an outside perspective, and she was giving him an out so that he could pretend it was something other than what it was.
"Mrs. Weasley told me what happened," Daniela added. "George's breakdown, the fight. You're questioning yourself — that tells me you already know the stakes."
"I can't stop replaying it in my mind. What I did to George, whether it was right… or if I just made things worse," Harry revealed.
"I didn't feel like I had a choice," Harry continued, looking off into the distance. "He was out of control, Daniela. His fights with Fred, hurting Mrs. Weasley. I know that part was an accident, but coddling him, making excuses for him… it's only made things worse. I.. I just snapped. I forced him to face it… and he broke," he said, still haunted by George's words at the end. "I just… Did I cross a line?"
Daniela took Harry's hand, giving it a firm squeeze as she looked at him. "What you did, Harry… there's a name for it. We call it a forced breakthrough. You overwhelmed George until he had no choice but to let out what he'd been burying. It can be effective — but it's also dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" Harry asked defensively. "He finally told us what's been tearing him apart. That has to mean something, right?"
"Easy, Harry," Daniela replied. "I'm not making any judgments, I'm just telling you the risks."
"Sorry," Harry mumbled.
"It's okay," Daniela replied. "That moment of vulnerability, it was real. You reached him when no one else could, me included, but you did it through fear. In that moment, he believed you might actually hurt Fred too. That fear cracked him open."
"So you're saying I might have done more harm than good," Harry replied grimly.
"Not necessarily. You acted out of necessity. George… George knows how to kill, and he isn't in the right emotional state to handle it. What you did, it worked, but putting his life back together is a long road. If George feels supported, if his friends and family shows him he's loved for who he is now, then your intervention may be the turning point. If not.. He may only remember the fear."
Harry nodded. "So.. It wasn't the worst thing I could have done, but we can't let it end there."
"Exactly," Daniela smiled. "You showed him his pain, now we just have to show him he's not alone in it."
"Then he agreed to have sessions with you?" Harry asked.
Daniela nodded, turning to leave. "What George is going through, it's not that different from what you're going through."
"I'm not saying you can't handle it," she added, seeing he was about to argue. "But it doesn't mean you have to do it all alone."
"I'll keep it in mind," Harry replied quietly, not wanting to get into any more arguments today.
***
Albus took a deep breath, admiring the countryside of the small French village he found himself in, finally finding a respite from his growing problems in Britain.
'I can see why Nicholas and Perenelle have stayed here for so long,' he thought, admiring the old country house and all its charms.
"Albus? Is that you?" A voice called, opening the door.
"Nicholas," Albus said, smiling genuinely for the first time in months as he looked at his old mentor. "It's good to see you."
"Perenelle!" Nicholas called back into the house. "He's here!"
Albus heard some rustling, followed by loud footsteps, then found himself enveloped in a warm hug.
"Albus!" Perenelle said, smiling widely. "It's been far too long. Let's have a look at you," she said, breaking the hug. "A few more gray hairs than last time," she teased, tugging on his beard playfully, "but at least you're eating right."
"It's good to see you too," Albus smiled, very much used to Perenelle's motherly behavior from when he was a much younger man.
"Well, don't just stand there, my boy," Nicolas said, taking his arm and pulling him inside. "Have a seat," he said, bringing him to the living room.
Albus looked between Nicolas and Perenelle wistfully as they chatted with him about everything they had been up to these last few years.
They hadn't changed one iota since the last time he saw them, a time when he felt he was on the cusp of greatness, and had the entire world at his fingertips.
After a lot of small talk, and asking how he was, Albus eventually broached the reason for his visit.
"Nicholas, about the egg. Can I see it?" he finally asked.
Nicholas smiled widely as he stood up, returning with the egg a moment later, and placed it on the coffee table.
"Incredible," Albus breathed, looking at it from every angle. He remembered when he had first laid eyes on the egg. Back then, it looked and felt like a chunk of polished stone, carved into the shape of an egg.
He remembered dismissing it, thinking it was used for ceremonial purposes, and had no actual magical properties, but looking at it now he could see how wrong he was.
Something profound was happening to the egg. He could see patches on it, sections that were white, and warm to the touch, glowing faintly with magic.
"Most of the changes happened over the last month," Perenelle said, answering Albus's unspoken question.
Nicolas nodded his head. "I didn't know what to make of it until I read the newspaper," he said, holding up a copy of the Prophet. "It's just a theory, mind you, but I think when you closed the portal a large influx of magic had already entered our world."
Albus coughed, taken by surprise. 'They don't know what really happened,' he thought, but as he considered it more, it made sense. Neither of them kept up with current events, unless it aligned with whatever they were studying. Which meant they knew nothing about the Quibbler articles refuting the Prophet.
Before he could tell them the truth, Perenelle took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "What you did was more than brave, Albus," she said, pride in her eyes. "I knew you were destined for great things, but this…. I'm just so happy that you're alright," she said, kissing his cheek, and giving him a motherly hug.
Albus felt something twist inside him at Perenelle's words. He knew he should tell them the truth, but seeing they way they both looked at him, with pride with love, all the things the people back home should have granted him on a silver platter, he couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth, not now, but promised himself he would bring it up later.
"It was…" Albus replied. "It was hard. I should have done more. People died," he admitted softly.
"You're too hard on yourself, my boy," Nicolas replied, bursting with pride. "Don't focus on those you couldn't save, focus on the ones you did."
Albus nodded stiffly, their words having a much more profound effect on him than he cared to admit.
"What else can you tell me about the egg?" he asked, changing the subject.
"It seems like the egg has been in a state of dormancy for thousands of years," Nicolas explained. "One that it's only coming out of now."
Albus sat back in his chair considering the implications. Most magical historians agreed that magic had been growing slowly over thousands of years, small incremental changes, but this had the potential to rewrite the history books.
"You're suggesting there was a time in our distant past when there was far more magic in the world than there is now," Albus observed.
"Possibly," Nicolas replied. "Or it could mean that phoenixes are a special case."
"What do you mean?" Albus asked.
"Another theory we had was that phoenixes have a life cycle that includes states of long dormancies," Perenelle explained. "This large influx of magic could have upset their normal life cycle."
"Or it could just be the beginning," Nicolas added. "We could see more and more mythical creatures emerge."
"I think we should bring the egg to Hogwarts," Albus suggested. "That's where everything happened."
"We were hoping you would say that," Nicolas smiled. "Hogwarts should still have the largest concentration of this new magic, exactly what we need for the egg to hatch."
Albus returned his smile, thinking about what it would do for his beleaguered reputation. Bringing back into existence a creature of myth and legend would practically make his reputation untouchable.
***
Hi! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. What did you think about Harry's confrontation with George and how he handled it? I wanted it to highlight that the battle of Hogwarts changed him. He feels guilty for the lives he couldn't save, and not doing more to stop Andre and the Alumni when he had the chance.
Please take the time to review and let me know what you think of the story.
If you would like to support me and my writing, please consider visiting https://taplink.cc/jumpin for all the stories I'm currently working on and early access to chapters 4, 5, 6, and 7 of Legacy of Shadows along with some character portraits for Merlin, Morgan and Nimue, and an audio versions of the chapters.