Chapter 42: InviitationChapter TextAlbus Dumbledore sat alone in his study at Hogwarts with his thoughts and a cup of tea that had long since grown cold. The events of the day, culminating in the disastrous Order meeting, weighed heavily on his mind.
For the first time in many years, he found himself questioning his own judgment. Not his ultimate goals, those remained unchanged. But his methods, his strategies, his careful approach to defeating Voldemort... all of it seemed suddenly inadequate when measured against Harry's direct action.
The boy had accomplished more in a few weeks than the Order had managed in months. More importantly, he'd given people hope at a time when hope was desperately needed.
Perhaps that was what troubled Dumbledore most. Not Harry's methods, not his apparent disregard for authority, but the growing realization that maybe, just maybe, the boy was right.
Maybe caution was no longer enough. Maybe the time for careful planning and political maneuvering had passed. Maybe what the wizarding world needed now was exactly what Harry Potter was providing—decisive action in the face of overwhelming darkness.
The thought should have brought comfort. Instead, it filled Dumbledore with a deep unease that he couldn't quite explain.
Change was coming, whether he was ready for it or not. The only question was whether he would adapt to it or be swept aside by it.
XXXXX
Nat entered the recovery room carrying a fresh tray of diagnostic crystals and healing potions. Bathsheda sat between the two beds, reading quietly while keeping watchful eyes on her friends. Harry walked in a few seconds later and stood against the far wall, his arms crossed.
Aurora was awake, staring at the ceiling with deep concentration. Septima merely appeared to be sleeping, but she was actually lost in thought. Both women looked physically better—the pale, sickly cast to their skin had faded, and their breathing was steady and strong.
"How are we feeling?" Nat asked warmly, setting her tray down on the bedside table and pulling her wand out.
"Physically? Much better," Aurora replied, though she didn't look at Nat directly. "Emotionally? That's more complicated."
Septima's eyes opened at the sound of their voices. "The crawling sensation is almost gone," she said. "But there's something else now. Like a... pull. Toward..." She glanced at Harry for a moment before looking away quickly, color rising in her cheeks.
Nat nodded knowingly while beginning her examination of Aurora. Her wand glowed with that familiar silver light as she checked pulse points and magical resonance. "That's completely normal. The bond creates a sense of connection, of awareness. You'll always know roughly where Harry is, how he's feeling."
"I don't want to know how he's feeling," Septima said firmly, but even as she spoke, she winced slightly.
From his position against the wall, Harry shifted uncomfortably. The distress radiating from both women through their newly formed bonds felt like a constant ache in his chest. It was taking considerable effort not to move closer to them, not to try and comfort them in ways that would only make things worse.
"The bond works both ways," Nat explained gently, moving to examine Septima. "Harry can feel your distress right now. It's probably quite uncomfortable for him."
Both professors looked at Harry with surprise, but then quickly away again when they met his concerned gaze.
"I'm sorry," Aurora said quietly, her voice barely audible. "I didn't realize..."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Harry said immediately, his voice carefully controlled. "This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."
"But it is affecting you," Septima replied, her voice soft. "Our negative emotions are causing you pain."
Harry nodded reluctantly. "Some. But that doesn't mean you should suppress what you're feeling. The bond will stabilize eventually, and the emotional feedback will become more manageable."
Nat finished her examinations and straightened up with a satisfied expression. "Physically, you're both nearly one hundred percent recovered. The curse damage has been completely healed, and your magical reserves are back to normal levels."
"So we can get back to our normal lives now?" Aurora asked hopefully.
"You can move around now, yes," Nat confirmed. "But I'd recommend staying here for at least another day or two. Your bodies have been through significant trauma, and pushing too hard too soon could cause setbacks."
"More importantly," Bathsheda interjected gently, "where would you go? Our original plan was to leave Britain entirely, but now..."
Aurora and Septima exchanged concerned glances.
"The offer to stay here stands," Harry said from his position against the wall. "No pressure, no expectations. Just a safe place to recover and figure out your next steps."
"While feeling magically compelled to... to care about you," Septima said, though her tone lacked the earlier venom.
"The caring isn't compulsive," Nat corrected patiently. "The awareness is constant, yes, but the emotions that develop are genuine. The bond simply makes it impossible to ignore connections that already exist."
"How can we trust our own feelings?" Aurora asked, frustration clear in her voice. "How can we know what's real and what's magical influence?"
"The same way you trust any feeling," Bathsheda said softly. "By examining it, questioning it, seeing how it stands up to scrutiny over time."
Aurora sat up slowly, testing her strength. The movement was much easier than it had been earlier, and she managed it without the stabbing pain that had accompanied her previous attempts. "I keep thinking about how grateful I am," she admitted reluctantly. "Not just for saving our lives, but for... for caring enough to risk accessing those memories. And I hate that I can't tell if that's me or the bond talking."
"Does it matter?" Septima asked quietly, and all eyes turned to her in surprise. She was sitting up now too, her analytical mind working through the problem. "From a purely logical standpoint, gratitude for having your life saved is a completely rational emotion. The bond might amplify it, but the foundation is sound."
"Septima..." Aurora said warningly.
"I'm not saying we should just accept this," Septima continued, her voice growing stronger. "I'm saying we should approach it rationally. What are the facts? Harry Potter saved our lives at considerable personal cost. That deserves gratitude. The magical bond creates a connection between us. That's simply reality now, whether we like it or not."
Harry felt a small surge of hope through the bond, quickly suppressed. Septima's practical approach to the situation was encouraging, even if Aurora still seemed deeply conflicted.
"So what are you suggesting?" Aurora asked.
"I'm suggesting we stay for a few days, as Nat recommended," Septima said. "Not because of the bond, but because we need time to recover and plan our next moves. We can use that time to better understand what we're dealing with."
Aurora considered this, her internal struggle evident on her face. Finally, she nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense. But I want to be clear. We're not agreeing to anything beyond recovery time."
"Understood," Harry said immediately. "Whatever you decide, you'll have my support."
The sincerity in his voice made both women look at him again, and Harry could feel their confusion through the bond. They wanted to trust him, but their logical minds rebelled against trusting feelings that might be magically influenced.
"I'll leave you to rest," Nat said, beginning to pack up her supplies. "Call if you need anything. Bathsheda, could you stay with them for a while longer?"
"Of course," Bathsheda agreed readily.
As Nat prepared to leave, Harry pushed off from the wall. "I should go as well. Let you all talk."
But as he moved toward the door, both Aurora and Septima felt a sharp spike of distress – not their own, but his. The thought of him leaving created an almost physical ache, and they both looked startled by the intensity of the feeling.
"The proximity effect," Nat explained quietly, noticing their expressions. "It's strongest in the first few days after a bond forms. Since you've not established the bond yet, being near Harry feels comfortable, but being separated feels... less so."
"This is going to take some getting used to," Aurora muttered, rubbing her temples.
"It'd get easier with less resistance," Nat told her calmly. "The bond needs to stabilize for things to get normal."
She didn't need to spell it out loud for them. They knew what she was talking about, and what was needed for the bond to be properly established. The images the thought invoked in their minds did not help matters in the slightest.
Harry paused in the doorway, clearly torn between wanting to ease their discomfort and not wanting to impose his presence where it wasn't wanted.
"You can stay," Septima said reluctantly, glancing over at him. "Just... maybe sit farther away?"
With a small smile, Harry nodded and moved to a chair near the window, as far from the beds as he could get while still remaining in the room. The distance helped somewhat, though the bond's pull remained constant.
"Better?" he asked.
"Better," Aurora confirmed, though she still looked troubled by how much the distance had affected her.
Nat gathered her things and left the room, leaving the four of them in an awkward but more manageable silence.
XXXXX
An hour later, Harry found Bathsheda in the library, surrounded by books on magical theory and bond dynamics. She looked up as he entered, offering him a sympathetic smile.
"How are you holding up?" she asked, marking her place in the text she'd been reading.
"I've been better," Harry admitted, settling into a chair across from her. "The bond feedback is... intense. Their distress is like a constant headache."
"That sounds exhausting," Bathsheda said with genuine sympathy. "From what I've read in these texts and heard from the others, the initial bond formation can be quite overwhelming for everyone involved."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I keep wanting to comfort them, to try and make them feel better. But anything I do just makes it worse because they can't trust their own responses to me."
"It's a difficult situation," Bathsheda agreed, glancing at the books spread before her. "According to these texts, bonds formed under traumatic circumstances often create this kind of internal conflict. The bonded person wants comfort but questions whether that desire is genuinely theirs."
"The others didn't go through the same thing."
"From what they've told me, each situation was different. Some embraced the bond quickly, others took time to accept it. But they all eventually found peace with it."
Harry nodded. As she said, most of the women had accepted the bond easily, either because there had been a debt or because they were already interested in him. Only Narcissa had taken more time than he'd expected, but eventually, she'd come around as well.
"And if Professors Sinistra and Vector can't?" Harry asked, not wanting to hear a negative answer.
"Then they can't," Bathsheda said simply. "You can't force anyone to accept something like this, and from what I've seen, you wouldn't try."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Harry processing her words while Bathsheda returned to her reading. Finally, Harry spoke again.
"Professor? Can I ask you something about what you've observed here?"
"Of course."
"How would you really describe the bond? Beyond what we discussed with Professors Sinistra and Vector, I mean. In our daily lives."
Bathsheda set down her book and considered the question seriously. "From what the women around here have shared with me, the bond seems to provide a sense of security and belonging. Nat mentioned feeling like she finally had a place where she truly belonged. Miss Greengrass talked about it like having a constant connection to someone who understands her completely."
"To you, does it seem to limit their autonomy?"
"Not from what I can see," Bathsheda said thoughtfully. "If anything, many of them seem more confident, more willing to take risks. More than one of them have mentioned that the bond gave them courage they didn't know they had, especially regarding… carnal urges."
Harry pressed his lips and smiled thinly at her slightly uncomfortable expression, filing away her insights.
"Mr. Potter," Bathsheda said, leaning forward slightly, "what you've created here—this group, this purpose—it's clearly meaningful to everyone involved. You're giving them something worth fighting for. Do not doubt it, or the emotions you all share. It might be unconventional, but I've come to understand that it's unfair to judge from an outsider's perspective as well."
"For some reason, I have my doubts that Professors Sinistra and Vector would see it that way," Harry chuckled humorlessly. Bathsheda frowned. She could see that the rejection of this bond by both her friends was affecting Harry quite deeply, even though he tried not to show his true emotions. And it was a rock and hard place she found herself in.
While one part of her recognized that it would be wise of her friends to accept this bond, another part of her also knew that it was not so easy to give in when you considered all the variables involved. After all, it was an intimate matter, the person involved was their student, and it would involve sharing their intimate partner with numerous other women.
"Then they can't," Bathsheda said finally. "But you also shouldn't blame yourself for trying to save their lives. Whatever the consequences, that was the right thing to do."
"Thank you," he said finally. "For staying to help them. For trying to understand all this."
"Thank you for saving all three of us," Bathsheda replied. "Which brings me to something I wanted to discuss with you."
"Oh? What is it?"
Bathsheda took a deep breath, clearly gathering her courage. "I want to join your war effort. Officially."
Harry blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting this. "Professor, you already are helping by staying to support Professors Sinistra and Vector—"
"No, I mean really join," Bathsheda interrupted. "I want to fight. I want to use my knowledge and skills to help you take down You-Know-Who and his followers."
Harry stared at her, clearly taken aback by her sudden declaration. "Are you sure? Didn't you say you were planning to flee Britain entirely?"
"Yesterday, I was a coward," Bathsheda said firmly. "Today I'm someone who fought for her life, who almost lost her two closest friends, and who's seen what you're all accomplishing. I've thought a lot about everything, and I want to be part of it."
"What changed your mind?"
"Watching you all work together was the main factor," Bathsheda said immediately. "Seeing the dedication, the skill, the genuine care for people you don't even know. Listening to stories about the lives you've saved, the difference you're making. And... well, seeing Aurora and Septima lying there, dying from a curse cast by one of them. I realized I no longer want to run from this war."
Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her face intently. "It's dangerous work, Professor. We're not just fighting. We're getting involved in politics, actively hunting Death Eaters, disrupting their operations. There's a high risk of death in this, and even now a part of me wants to just give it all up if it means the people I love would be safe."
"People are dying anyway, Mr. Potter," Bathsheda said with a sad smile. "At least this way, I'd be doing something about it instead of just hiding until they come for me anyway."
Harry remained quiet for a long moment, clearly processing her declaration. She looked resolute, and he didn't think her mind was going to change now.
"Alright," he said finally. "Your specialty… Ancient Runes. You think that would be useful?"
Bathsheda's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Oh yes. From what I've overheard, you're working on some kind of runic project. I don't know exactly what it involves. But I guess it's regarding protective wards, offensive applications, maybe even ritual modifications? I've been studying Ancient Runes for fifteen years, and I'm one of the most skilled runecrafters out there. I know applications and combinations that most people have never even heard of."
Harry felt a surge of genuine excitement. She was right. Her expertise would be invaluable to their ongoing project on the Dark Mark replication.
"We'd love to have you," he said sincerely. "If you're really sure this is what you want."
"I'm sure," Bathsheda said firmly. "More sure than I've been about anything in years."
Harry nodded, his expression growing more serious. "Professor, since you're going to be involved properly, there's something I should tell you. About why I started all this, about why I did the ritual that created these bonds."
"You mentioned a betrayal," Bathsheda said carefully. "Someone you trusted above anyone else. The Headmaster?"
Harry's entire demeanor shifted, his jaw tightening and his eyes growing cold. "Dumbledore," he said simply, and the name carried enough venom to poison a basilisk. "He is fighting Voldemort, but his methods... let's just say he believes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Even when the few include the people he's supposed to protect."
"What did he do?" Bathsheda asked quietly.
Harry was silent for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists. "He... he made choices about my life without consulting me. Choices he had no right to make."
The pain in Harry's voice was evident, and Bathsheda could see that whatever Dumbledore had done, it had cut Harry to the core.
"It must have been something very serious," she said softly, "for you to break with him so completely."
Harry nodded grimly. "It was the kind of betrayal that makes you realize you can't trust anyone else to make the important decisions. That's why I performed the ritual. I needed allies I could count on absolutely, people who would put my wellbeing above their own calculations and interests."
"Mr. Potter… Harry," Bathsheda said gently, "I won't push you for details if you don't want to share them."
"It's not that I don't trust you," Harry said quickly, his expression softening slightly. "It's just not something I like reliving. The details... they're not pleasant."
"I understand," Bathsheda assured him.
Harry gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you. For understanding, for staying, for everything."
Bathsheda smiled gently, seeing in front of her not the leader of this resistance group but a young man who had the burden of the world on his shoulders and who had gone through ordeal he should never have. She instinctively reached out, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, the gesture surprising even herself.
"None of that," she said softly. Before she could continue, there was a soft knock on the library door. Nym poked her head in, her eyes immediately falling on their joined hands. Bathsheda gently pulled her hand back just as Nym pushed the door open and walked in.
"There you are," she said, looking at Harry. "A letter just arrived for you. The owl seemed pretty insistent it was urgent. It's clean."
Bathsheda stood immediately, smoothing her robes down. "I'll leave you to your correspondence," she said tactfully. "Thank you for the conversation, Harry."
As she left, Nym's eyes followed her, a small quirk of her lips giving away exactly what was going on in her mind. Bathsheda left, closing the door behind her, as Harry took the envelope.
His name was written on the front in handwriting he recognized but hadn't seen in months.
He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his expression growing more surprised with each line he read.
"What is it?" Nym asked, settling sideways into his lap with ease.
"It's from Remus," Harry said, looking up from the parchment with genuine bewilderment. "He wants to meet with me. Says he has things to discuss that can't be put in writing."
Nym frowned, absently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "That's... unexpected. Any idea what he might want?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "None. He's always been in Dumbledore's camp. We've had little contact since all this started."
"Could it be a trap? I wouldn't put anything past Dumbledore, if I'm being honest."
"Maybe," Harry admitted. "But it doesn't feel like one. The letter... it sounds like he's genuinely conflicted about something."
Nym leaned closer so she could glance at the letter, her expression serious. "Where does he want to meet?"
"The Shrieking Shack," Harry read from the letter. "Tomorrow evening. Says he'll come alone."
"Well, you're not going alone to meet him in an isolated location."
"I wasn't planning to go alone anyway," Harry said with a chuckle. "I was hoping you'd come with me."
"Good choice," Nym grinned, pecking him softly.
"Come on, Nym. It's the obvious choice. You know Remus better than I do," Harry remarked idly. "You'd be able to tell if he is acting strangely, if something is off about the situation. And frankly, your Auror instincts might come in handy if this does turn out to be a trap."
"Alright. But we go in prepared. Enchanted gear, emergency portkeys, and someone else knows exactly where we are and when to expect us back."
"Agreed," Harry said immediately. "Though honestly, I'm more curious than concerned. Remus has never been one for elaborate schemes. If he wanted to betray me, he'd probably just do it straightforwardly."
"Famous last words," Nym muttered, but she was smiling slightly. "Still, it could be interesting to hear what he has to say. Maybe the cracks are starting to show in Dumbledore's grand plan."
Harry folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his pocket. "I guess we'll find out tomorrow."
"I guess we will," she grinned, before turning around in his lap so that she was straddling him. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm craving something right now."
Harry's breath caught as Nym shifted in his lap, her grin wicked and teasing. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, fingers tracing small circles on his nape that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Craving something, huh?" he managed, his voice low. "What's that, then?"
Nym leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Oh, you know exactly what I mean." Her voice was a sultry purr, and she pressed herself against him, hips rocking slightly.
Harry's hands found her waist, gripping just tight enough to feel the warmth of her through her shirt.
"You're trouble," he murmured, but his smirk betrayed how little he minded.
"Only the best kind," she shot back, her fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair. She tugged gently, tilting his head back, and her lips hovered over his, close enough that he could feel her breath. "You gonna do something about it, or just sit there?"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he closed the gap, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. Nym sighed into the kiss, her body pressing closer, her hips grinding against him in a slow rhythm that made his pulse race. His hands slid under her shirt, fingers brushing the soft skin of her lower back, pulling her tighter against him.
She broke the kiss for a moment, gasping softly, her eyes half-lidded and gleaming with mischief. "That's more like it," she breathed, before diving back in, her tongue teasing his, her movements growing bolder. The friction of her grinding against him was maddening, each roll of her hips drawing a quiet groan from his throat.
"Nym," he managed between kisses, his voice rough, "you're testing my patience now."
"Good," she murmured against his lips, her hands slipping down to tug at his shirt, pulling it up just enough to slide her fingers along his chest. "Let's see how much you can handle."
Their kisses grew hungrier, messier, as she kept up that torturous rhythm, her body moving against his in a way that left no doubt about what she wanted. Harry's hands roamed higher, tracing the curve of her spine, then back down to grip her hips, guiding her movements just enough to match her intensity.
He drifted lower and kissed her neck, his hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts through her shirt. She arched her back, pressing into his touch as he squeezed them gently at first, then firmer. Her nipples hardened under the fabric, poking out like they begged for attention. He thumbed over them, circling slowly while his lips trailed down to her collarbone. She moaned softly, her hips grinding against his lap, feeling his cock press against her.
She pulled back just enough to yank her shirt over her head, tossing it aside. Her bra followed quickly after, exposing her full, perky tits to the cool air. Harry stared for a second, then dove in. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his hand kneaded the other breast. His tongue flicked back and forth over the sensitive bud, making her gasp. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he switched sides, lavishing the same attention on her other tit. He bit lightly, just enough to send a jolt through her, and she rocked harder against him.
His free hand wandered down, slipping under her skirt to rub her thigh. But he didn't go further yet. Instead, he focused on her chest, massaging both breasts now, pinching her nipples between his fingers. She loved how he handled them—rough but not too much, making her pussy ache with need.
"Fuck, Harry, that feels good," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.
He grinned up at her, then buried his face between her tits, kissing the soft skin there. His hands pushed them together, creating a valley for his tongue to explore. She reached down and unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it open to run her nails over his chest. But Harry wasn't done with her yet. He sucked on her left nipple again, harder this time, while rolling the right one between his thumb and forefinger. Her body trembled, and she felt wetness pooling between her legs.
After a few more minutes of that, Harry's hands moved lower. He hiked up her skirt and hooked his fingers into her panties, sliding them down her thighs. She lifted her hips to help, kicking them off. Now fully exposed, she spread her legs wider over his lap. But before diving in, Harry shifted focus. He unzipped his pants, freeing his hardening cock. It sprang out, thick and veiny, already leaking a bit of precum.
She licked her lips, but Harry guided her hand to his balls first.
"Play with them," he said, his voice low and commanding. She cupped his sack, feeling the weight in her palm. Gently, she rolled them between her fingers, massaging the sensitive skin. Harry groaned, his head falling back as she tugged lightly, then squeezed. All the while, he kept playing with her tits, twisting her nipples to keep her on edge.
She leaned down, kissing his neck while her hand worked his balls. She alternated pressure—soft strokes, then firmer grips—watching his cock twitch in response. Harry reached between her legs now, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed it in slow circles, making her hips buck.
"You're so wet," he murmured, slipping a finger inside her pussy. She clenched around him, still fondling his balls.
They stayed like that for a while, building the heat. Harry's finger pumped in and out of her, his thumb on her clit, while she massaged his balls and stroked the base of his cock occasionally. Her tits bounced with each movement, and he couldn't resist leaning forward to suck on them again. The combination had her moaning louder, her body craving more.
Finally, she slid off his lap and dropped to her knees between his legs. Harry watched her, his cock throbbing in anticipation. She wrapped her hand around the shaft, stroking it slowly from base to tip. Precum smeared over her fingers, making it slick. She looked up at him with a wicked smile, then leaned in to lick the head, tasting the saltiness.
Harry hissed in pleasure as her tongue swirled around the tip. She teased him at first, flicking over the slit, then tracing the ridge. Her other hand went back to his balls, cupping and rolling them while she worked his cock with her mouth. She took him deeper, inch by inch, her lips stretching around his thickness. He was big, filling her mouth completely as she bobbed her head.
She sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks to create suction. Harry threaded his fingers through her hair, guiding her rhythm but not forcing it. She hummed around him, the vibration sending shocks up his spine. Spit dribbled down his shaft, and she used it to stroke what she couldn't fit in her mouth. Every few sucks, she'd pull off to lick his balls, taking one into her mouth gently while pumping his cock with her hand.
"Fuck, that's amazing," Harry groaned, his hips thrusting slightly. She took him deep again, relaxing her throat to swallow more. Her nose brushed his groin as she deep-throated him, holding for a second before pulling back with a gasp. She repeated it, faster now, her hand twisting on the upstroke. His balls tightened in her other hand, signaling he was getting close.
But she didn't want him to finish yet. She slowed down, edging him with light licks and kisses along the length. Harry panted, his hands clenching the chair arms. She grinned up at him, then sucked just the head while caressing his balls. The tease drove him wild, but he held back.
After a solid ten minutes of her expert blowjob, she stood up, her lips swollen and shiny. Harry pulled her back onto his lap, positioning her over his cock. She straddled him again, guiding the tip to her entrance. Slowly, she sank down, taking him inside her inch by inch. Her pussy stretched around him, hot and tight, until he was fully buried.
She started riding him in cowgirl, her hips rolling in a steady rhythm. Harry grabbed her tits immediately, squeezing them as she bounced. Her breasts jiggled with each thrust, and he thumbed her nipples, pinching hard enough to make her cry out.
"Yes! Play with them," she moaned, grinding down harder.
His cock hit deep inside her, filling her completely. She leaned forward, pressing her tits into his face. Harry sucked on one nipple while kneading the other tit, his free hand sliding around to her ass. He gripped a cheek, squeezing the firm flesh as she rode him faster.
She picked up speed, her pussy clenching around his shaft. Harry smacked her ass lightly, the sound echoing in the room. She yelped in surprise, then moaned as the sting turned to pleasure. He did it again, harder, while still lavishing her tits with his mouth. His tongue circled her areola, then flicked the bud rapidly.
Her movements grew frantic, slamming down onto him. Harry switched hands, now playing with her other breast while his fingers dug into her ass. He spread her cheeks, teasing the cleft but not going further yet. The double sensation—tits and ass—had her on the edge.
"Fuck me harder," she demanded, and Harry thrust up to meet her. Their bodies slapped together, sweat slicking their skin. He bit her nipple gently, tugging with his teeth, while slapping her ass again. The heat built, her clit rubbing against his pubic bone with each grind.
Harry's hand ventured deeper, his finger circling her asshole. She gasped but didn't stop him. He pressed the tip in slowly, just the first knuckle, while she continued riding. The added fullness made her pussy tighten even more around his cock. He pumped his finger in time with her bounces, all while sucking her tit.
"Fuck! Harry!"
Nym came first, her orgasm crashing over her. Her walls pulsed around him, milking his shaft as she screamed his name. Harry kept thrusting, his finger still in her ass, prolonging her pleasure. Her tits heaved with her heavy breaths, her nipples red from his attention.
Even after she came, she continued riding him, slower now to build him up. Harry grabbed both ass cheeks, spreading them as he thrust up. His fingers teased her asshole again, dipping in deeper this time.
She leaned back, giving him better access to her tits. He sat up slightly, sucking one while pinching the other. His cock pounded into her, the angle hitting her G-spot perfectly. She felt another orgasm building, fueled by his ass play.
Harry's finger fucked her ass steadily now, matching the rhythm. She moaned loudly, her body shaking. "Don't stop," she begged. He added a second finger, stretching her gently. The burn turned to bliss, amplifying everything.
Her tits bounced wildly as she rode harder. Harry latched onto a nipple, sucking like he couldn't get enough. His other hand smacked her ass cheek, then soothed it with a rub. The mix of pain and pleasure pushed her over again. She came hard, squirting a little around his cock.
That did it for Harry. He groaned into her breast, his hips bucking as he filled her with hot cum. His fingers stilled in her ass, but he kept squeezing her tit through his release. They rode out the waves together, their bodies locked in ecstasy.
She collapsed onto his chest, both panting. His cock softened inside her, but neither moved yet. Harry's hands roamed lazily over her back, occasionally cupping her ass or brushing her tits. The afterglow lingered, their skin sticky and satisfied.
But the craving wasn't fully sated. Just a minute later, she sat up, his cum dripping down her thighs. She grinned, reaching for his balls again. "Round two?" she asked, massaging them gently.
He couldn't have said no even if he wanted to.
Chapter 43: The MeetingChapter TextThe evening air was cold as Harry and Nym approached the Shrieking Shack. The dilapidated building loomed against the darkening sky, its broken windows and weathered boards giving it an ominous appearance. Harry had his wand in hand, though not raised. Beside him, Nym's hand rested casually near her own wand, her posture relaxed but ready.
"Still looks like it could collapse any second," Nym muttered, eyeing the structure skeptically.
"It's held up this long," Harry replied. "I guess that's not exactly reassuring either."
They'd already swept the area for magical signatures and found nothing suspicious beyond Remus's presence inside. Still, Harry felt up the emergency portkey in his pocket, a precaution everyone else had insisted on despite his gut feeling that this meeting was genuine.
The door creaked as Harry pushed it open. Inside, standing near the far wall with his hands visible and empty, was Remus Lupin. He looked tired, Harry noticed. More tired than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders were tense, and Harry had a feeling that the man had not been sleeping well.
"Harry," Remus said quietly. "Thank you for coming."
"Remus." Harry's voice was neutral, carefully controlled. He stepped inside with Nym close behind, positioning themselves where they could see both Remus and the door. "You said you wanted to talk."
"I did. I do." Remus glanced at Nym, then back to Harry. "I wasn't sure you'd bring anyone."
"I'm not stupid," Harry said bluntly. "Things being what they are, meeting alone seemed like a bad idea."
Remus nodded slowly, looking somewhat pained. "I suppose I deserve that. I know we're on... different sides now."
"Are we?" Harry asked, his tone challenging. "Different sides would imply we're fighting for different things. Last I checked, we both want Voldemort dead."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is, apparently." Harry crossed his arms. "So why are we here, Remus? What did you want to discuss that couldn't be put in a letter?"
Remus was quiet for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was careful, almost hesitant. "I wanted to understand. I need to understand how things got to this point between you and Albus."
Harry laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You want to understand? Really?"
"Yes, really."
"And then what?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "You'll tell me I'm wrong? That I'm being unreasonable? That Dumbledore knows best and I should just fall in line like a good little soldier?"
"Harry—"
"Or maybe you'll listen, nod sympathetically, and then go right back to following Dumbledore's orders anyway. Because that's what you do, isn't it? That's what you've always done."
The words came out harsher than Harry had intended, but he didn't take them back. He was tired of pretending, tired of dancing around the truth.
Remus flinched as though he'd been struck. "Is that really what you think of me?"
"What else am I supposed to think?" Harry shot back. "You're part of the Order. You follow Dumbledore. Every decision he makes, every strategy he implements, you go along with it. Even when it's clearly not working."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Harry challenged. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you've ever seriously questioned his methods."
Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. His expression was troubled, conflicted. "It's more complicated than you're making it sound."
"It always is," Harry said again, his voice hard. "Everything's always complicated when it comes to defending Dumbledore's decisions."
Nym had remained silent throughout the exchange, but Harry could feel her presence beside him. She was watching Remus carefully, noticing every shift in his body language.
"Harry, please." Remus's voice was almost pleading now. "I'm not here to defend Albus or to condemn you. I'm here because I genuinely don't understand what happened. You were close once. He trusted you, mentored you. And now..." He gestured helplessly. "Now you're practically at war with each other. Help me understand why."
Harry stared at him for a long moment. There was something in Remus's expression, a desperation almost, that made Harry reconsider his initial dismissal. Maybe Remus was genuinely trying to understand. Or maybe Harry just wanted to believe the only remaining friend of his parents apart from Sirius actually gave a damn about the truth.
"You won't believe me," Harry said finally.
"Try me."
"Even if you do believe me, you won't do anything about it. You'll find some way to justify it, to rationalize it, because that's easier than accepting what Dumbledore really is."
"Harry." Remus's voice was firm now, filled with what might have been disappointment. "Do you really think so little of me?"
Both Harry and Nym stared at him. Harry wanted to say yes, wanted to maintain his defensive walls and send Remus away with nothing. But something in the older man's eyes stopped him. There was hurt there, genuine hurt, and beneath it something that looked like desperate need to understand.
"I think," Harry said slowly, "that you're a good man who's been loyal to someone who doesn't deserve it. And I think that when I tell you the truth, you're going to struggle to accept it because it means questioning everything you've believed about him."
"Then tell me," Remus urged, taking a step forward. "Make me understand. Because right now, all I see is someone I care about making choices that terrify me, and I don't know why. I see you operating outside the law, killing Death Eaters, challenging the entire established order, and I can't reconcile that with the boy I knew. The boy James and Lily's son should have been."
"Don't." Harry's voice went cold. "Don't you dare bring my parents into this as some kind of guilt trip."
"That's not what I'm doing," Remus said quickly. "I'm trying to understand what changed. What happened to make you distrust Albus so completely. He's made mistakes, yes. We all have. But to go from his student to his enemy? There has to be a reason. A real reason, not just teenage rebellion or—"
"Teenage rebellion?" Harry's voice was dangerously quiet. "You think this is about rebellion?"
"I think you've been through more trauma than most people experience in a lifetime. I think that could affect your judgment. Make you see threats where there aren't any."
Harry laughed, and this time it was bitter. "There it is. I knew you'd find a way to dismiss what I have to say before I even said it. It's not that Dumbledore might actually be wrong. It's that I'm traumatized and not thinking clearly."
"That's not—" Remus stopped, taking a breath. "Alright. You're right. That was dismissive and unfair. I'm sorry." He moved to sit on an old crate, suddenly looking even more exhausted. "Please, Harry. Just talk to me. Tell me what happened. I promise I'll listen without judgment."
Harry exchanged a glance with Nym. She gave him a small nod, leaving the decision to him. Taking a deep breath, Harry made his choice.
"Alright," he said. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
He moved to lean against the wall, finding a position where he could still see the door and Remus. Nym remained standing, her casual posture belying her readiness to react at a moment's notice.
"First year," Harry began, "the resident dark bastard possessed one of my professors and tried to steal a powerful magical artifact. I was eleven years old, and I had to face him alone in the depths of the school. Where was Dumbledore?"
"Harry, he arrived as quickly as he could—"
"Did he?" Harry interrupted. "Or did he wait to see if I'd succeed on my own? I almost died, after all, and if not for Mum's protective magic, I would've kicked the bucket."
"I'm sure—"
"Second year, students were being petrified by a monster in the school. A monster that had killed someone fifty years ago, that Dumbledore knew about. He knew what the Chamber of Secrets was, what lived down there. And when I went down to face it, where was the great Albus Dumbledore then? Fawkes arrived with the Sorting Hat and the Sword of Gryffindor, but what about some real help?"
Remus opened his mouth to respond again, but Harry wasn't finished.
"Third year, Dementors were stationed around the school. Creatures that affected me worse than anyone else because of my past. I was passing out, reliving my parents' deaths over and over. And yes, you taught me the Patronus Charm, and I'm grateful for that. But Dumbledore allowed those things near the school in the first place. He allowed them to patrol the grounds where students walked."
"The Ministry insisted—"
"The Ministry insists on a lot of things Dumbledore ignores when it suits him," Harry said sharply. "Don't pretend he didn't have a choice. Fourth year, someone entered me in a deadly tournament. A tournament that had been discontinued because too many people died. I had to face dragons, dark creatures, and eventually Voldemort himself. And through all of it, Dumbledore watched. He investigated, slowly, carefully, while I fought for my life."
Harry pushed off the wall, his voice rising with suppressed emotion. "That night in the graveyard, I watched Cedric die. I was tortured. I dueled Voldemort while his Death Eaters watched. And when I got back, when I told everyone that Voldemort had returned, Dumbledore believed me. But he didn't protect me. He wanted to send me back to the Dursleys, to the same house where I'd been neglected and abused for years."
"He had reasons for that," Remus said quietly. "Blood wards—"
"Blood wards that required my mother's sacrifice," Harry said. "Yes, I know about those. But here's what I don't understand, Remus. Why not ensure I was actually cared for? Why not check on me even once during the years I lived in a cupboard under the stairs?"
Remus's face went pale. "A cupboard?"
"You didn't know?" Harry's voice was harsh. "Of course you didn't. Because Dumbledore never bothered to check. Never cared if I was happy or healthy or even safe. Just that I stayed alive until I was needed."
"That's not... he wouldn't have knowingly left you in an abusive situation."
"Wouldn't he?" Harry challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like he left me there very deliberately. Left me isolated, unloved, desperate for acceptance. The perfect weapon, don't you think? Someone who'd be grateful for any scrap of affection, any sense of belonging. Someone who'd sacrifice anything for the wizarding world that represented everything he'd been denied."
Remus stood up abruptly. "Now you're just making accusations. You're taking a series of unfortunate events and constructing a conspiracy that doesn't exist."
"Am I?" Harry challenged. "I can give you my memory, of a conversation I had with Dumbledore. Want to see it? Want to hear him explain, in his own words, why he kept things from me? Why he raised me like a pig for slaughter?"
"A pig for slaughter," Remus repeated slowly. "That's a very specific phrase."
"It's an accurate one." Harry's voice was hard. "Every year, something tried to kill me. Every year, I faced something that should have ended my life. And every year, Dumbledore was conspicuously absent until after the danger had passed. Don't you find that strange? Don't you wonder why the most powerful wizard in Britain always seemed to arrive just a bit too late?"
"You think he was testing you," Remus said slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Seeing if you'd survive."
"He was preparing me," Harry corrected. "Preparing me to die, and if I somehow survived, then it was about teaching me to face death without flinching. Because he knew, Remus. He's known since I was a baby what I was. What Voldemort made me. And he's been waiting for me to be ready to die."
"What Voldemort made you?" Remus's voice was sharp now. "What does that mean?"
Harry considered how much he should reveal. He couldn't tell Remus about Horcruxes. He couldn't risk that information getting out. But he needed Remus to understand enough to see the truth.
"That night in Godric's Hollow," Harry said carefully, "something happened. Something beyond Voldemort's body being destroyed. The magic involved was dark, ancient, and it connected me to him in ways I'm only beginning to understand."
"The scar," Remus said. "Your connection to him."
"Among other things." Harry chose his words carefully. "Dumbledore has known about this connection since the beginning. He's studied it, used it, and ultimately, he's concluded that for Voldemort to truly be defeated, I have to die."
The silence that followed was deafening. Remus stared at Harry as though seeing him for the first time, his face pale with shock.
"No," he said finally. "Albus would never—"
"Wouldn't he?" Harry's voice was sharp now, cutting through Remus's denial. "Think about it, Remus. Really think about it. Why else would he allow me to face so much danger? Why else would he keep me in the dark about so much? He told me himself that he cared about me too much, that he let his affection cloud his judgment. But you know what I realized? If he actually cared about me, he'd have tried harder to keep me safe. He'd have prepared me differently. He'd have found another way."
"There has to be more to it," Remus insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. "Some context we're missing. Albus has spent his entire life fighting dark wizards. He's dedicated everything to protecting people. He wouldn't just... sacrifice you. Not without a reason. Not unless there was absolutely no other choice."
"Or maybe," Nym interjected, speaking for the first time in minutes, "he's just a manipulative old man who got so caught up in his grand plans that he forgot the people he was supposed to be protecting."
Remus turned to her sharply. "You didn't know him before. You didn't see what he accomplished, what he's capable of. The good he's done—"
"Doesn't erase the bad," Harry finished. "That's what you need to understand, Remus. Good intentions don't justify everything. Being on the right side doesn't mean every decision you make is automatically right."
"So what are you saying?" Remus demanded. "That Albus Dumbledore, the man who defeated Grindelwald, who's fought against dark wizards for decades, is actually some sort of villain? That everything he's done has been part of some elaborate scheme to manipulate you?"
"I'm saying he's a man who decided a long time ago that he knew what was best for everyone," Harry said. "And once he made that decision, he stopped questioning himself. Stopped considering alternatives. Because admitting he might be wrong would mean admitting that all the sacrifices he's demanded might have been unnecessary."
"You're asking me to believe that someone I've known for over twenty years, someone who saved me when no one else would, is capable of this level of manipulation. Of coldly planning the death of his student."
"I'm not asking you to believe anything," Harry said. "I'm telling you what is. What you do with that information is up to you."
Remus paced across the small room, his movements agitated. "When I was young, lost, a werewolf with no prospects, Albus gave me a chance. He gave me an education, a purpose, a place in the world when no one else would even look at me. He's done the same for countless others. How can I reconcile that man with the one you're describing?"
"Maybe they're both real," Harry said quietly. "Maybe he genuinely does want to help people. But maybe he's also willing to sacrifice individuals for what he sees as the greater good. Those things aren't mutually exclusive, Remus. People are complicated. They can do good things and terrible things. They can be heroes and villains at the same time."
"That's too easy," Remus shot back. "That's just moral relativism. There has to be a truth here. Either Albus is who I think he is, or he's who you think he is."
"Why?" Harry challenged. "Why does it have to be one or the other? Why can't it be both? Maybe he saved you because he genuinely wanted to help. And maybe he's been manipulating me because he thinks it's necessary. Both can be true."
Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn't find the words. He sank back down onto the crate, his head in his hands.
"I don't know what to think anymore," he admitted. "Part of me wants to dismiss everything you've said as paranoia or misunderstanding. But another part... another part remembers things. Little things that didn't make sense at the time. Decisions Albus made that seemed strange. And I wonder if I just didn't want to see what was really happening."
"It's not your fault," Harry said, surprising himself with the gentleness in his voice. "He's good at this. At making people see what he wants them to see. At convincing them that his way is the only way."
"So what do I do now?" Remus asked, looking up at Harry. "Knowing what I know, suspecting what I suspect, what am I supposed to do with that?"
"That's your choice," Harry said. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. I'm not going to try to manipulate you into siding with me. That would make me no better than him."
"But you want something from me," Remus observed. "You agreed to this meeting for a reason."
Harry nodded slowly. "I want you to not stand in my way. I know the Order will likely oppose what I'm doing. Hell, they probably already do. But I don't want to fight you, Remus. I don't want to fight any of the good people in that organization who are genuinely trying to do the right thing."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I understand you have obligations. Relationships. History with these people. I'm not asking you to leave the Order or turn against Dumbledore. But I am asking you to stay out of my way. Let me fight this war my way, and you fight it yours. We're both after the same goal, after all. We both want Voldemort dead and people safe."
Remus studied him for a long moment. "You've changed, Harry. You're not the boy I remember from a few months ago."
"People change when they stop waiting for others to save them," Harry said simply. "When they realize that the adults they trusted don't have all the answers. That sometimes the people in charge are just as lost as everyone else, but better at hiding it."
"Is that what you think we are? Lost?"
"I think you're stuck," Harry said. "Stuck in old patterns, old strategies that aren't working. Voldemort is getting stronger while the Order debates and plans. People are dying while you wait for the perfect moment that might never come. And meanwhile, you're so focused on opposing Voldemort that you can't see there might be better ways to fight him."
"And you have those better ways?"
"I have different ways," Harry corrected. "Whether they're better remains to be seen. But at least I'm acting. At least I'm making a difference instead of sitting around talking about it."
Remus was quiet for a long moment. Then he asked, almost hesitantly, "What about Sirius? Have you told him about all this? About your suspicions regarding Albus?"
Harry's expression softened slightly. "Sirius knows. He's known for a while."
"And?"
"And he's on vacation. Somewhere far from Britain, far from the war. He's suffered enough for an entire lifetime. He deserves some peace, some happiness. A chance to heal from everything he's been through."
"Sirius Black, taking a vacation in the middle of a war?" Remus's voice held a note of disbelief mixed with something that might have been hope. "That doesn't sound like him at all."
Harry actually chuckled at that. "You think convincing him was easy? It took all of us working together to make him see reason. Even then, he only agreed because we pointed out that he'd be more useful alive and recovered than martyring himself in some pointless fight."
"That must have been one hell of a conversation," Remus said, and for the first time since they'd arrived, there was something almost like warmth in his voice.
"It was," Harry agreed. "Lots of shouting. Some threats. A few hexes thrown at his backside for emphasis. Eventually, though, he came around. He's actually doing well, from what I hear. Better than he has in years. He's remembering what it's like to be human instead of just surviving."
Remus nodded slowly, seeming to find some comfort in that information. "I'm glad. He deserves happiness after everything. After Azkaban, after losing James and Lily, after years of suffering and running and hiding. If anyone deserves peace, it's Sirius."
"That's what we told him," Harry said. "And you know what finally convinced him? When I told him that I needed him alive and sane more than I needed another body in the fight. That if he really wanted to help me, he'd take care of himself first."
"That sounds like something James would have said," Remus murmured. "Taking care of each other before anything else."
"My father was smart, then."
Another silence fell, but this one was less tense than before. Finally, Remus straightened, seeming to come to some internal decision.
"I need time," he said. "Time to think about everything you've told me. Time to process it all. This isn't something I can just accept or reject immediately."
"Take all the time you need," Harry said. "Like I said, I'm not asking for an immediate decision. I'm just asking that you think about it. Really think about it, instead of just accepting what you've always been told."
Remus moved toward the door, then paused. "And if the Order does oppose you? If it comes down to a direct conflict?"
"Then I hope you'll choose not to be part of that conflict," Harry said honestly. "But if you do..." His voice hardened slightly. "I won't go down easy. I've worked too hard, come too far to let anyone stop me now. Not Voldemort, not the Death Eaters, and not the Order of the Phoenix."
"I understand," Remus said quietly. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "For what it's worth, Harry, I never wanted things to be like this between us. Between you and the Order. Between you and Albus."
"Neither did I," Harry admitted. "But here we are."
"Here we are," Remus echoed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. Instead, he simply nodded to both of them and stepped through the door into the darkening evening.
They heard his footsteps crunch on the gravel outside, then fade into the distance. A moment later, the distinctive crack of apparition told them he was gone.
Harry let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Nym moved closer, her presence comforting as she hugged him lovingly.
"Well," she said after a moment. "That was intense."
"That's one word for it," Harry agreed, running a hand through her hair.
"He wasn't unfriendly," Nym said thoughtfully. "But I didn't get the sense he'd be a useful ally either. Too conflicted. Too torn between what you told him and what he wants to believe."
Harry nodded. "I understand his position. It's not an easy one."
"You too think he won't do anything?"
"I think he'll struggle with this," Harry said honestly. "Everything I told him conflicts with years of loyalty and gratitude. Dumbledore gave him a lot when no one else would. That kind of debt isn't easy to dismiss, even when faced with uncomfortable truths."
"But you gave him those truths anyway."
"Because he asked," Harry said simply. "And because, despite everything, I think Remus deserves to know. He deserves to make his own choices based on actual information, not just blind faith."
Nym was quiet for a moment. "You know he's going to talk to Dumbledore about this."
"I know. I expected that." Harry turned to face her. "Dumbledore will explain it away somehow. Make it sound reasonable. Paint himself as the tragic hero making impossible choices."
"And Remus will want to believe him."
"Maybe. But at least now there's doubt. At least now he'll be questioning things, seeing patterns he might have missed before. Just hearing my truth was enough to make him notice stuff. That's more than he was doing before."
Nym pulled back and looked up at him carefully. "You're not angry about it. About him not immediately siding with you."
"Why would I be?" Harry asked. "I told him the truth as I see it. What he does with it is his choice. I can't control that, and I won't try to. That would make me no better than Dumbledore, manipulating people into doing what I want."
"Most people would be frustrated. Would want immediate results."
"Most people don't understand what it's like to have your entire worldview challenged," Harry said quietly. "I do. When I first learned the truth about what I am, when I realized what Dumbledore's plan really was, it felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. Everything I thought I knew, everyone I thought I could trust, it all became questionable. It took time to process that, to accept it, to figure out what I really believed versus what I'd been told to believe."
He gazed down at her tenderly, and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, a kiss she gladly returned. "That's where the idea of this ritual came. Remus is going through something similar right now. Any normal person would struggle with that. Would try to find ways to make it not true, to reconcile the new information with what they already believe."
"You sound almost sympathetic."
"I am," Harry admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I wish he'd immediately see the truth and act on it. But I'm realistic about human nature. People don't just abandon deeply held beliefs overnight. Especially when those beliefs are tied to relationships they value, to their sense of identity and purpose."
Nym reached out, cupping his cheek lovingly. "The truly intelligent person recognizes when to get over that worshipping phase. When to see the truth and decide based on that, not on emotion or past debts."
"True," Harry agreed. "But getting to that point isn't easy. It takes time, self-reflection, and willingness to be uncomfortable. To question yourself and everything you thought you knew. Some people manage it quickly. Others need longer. And some never get there at all, because the alternative is too painful."
"Which one do you think Remus will be?"
Harry considered the question. "Honestly? I don't know. He's conflicted, that much was obvious. He's angry on my behalf, disturbed by what I told him. But he's also indebted to Dumbledore in ways that go beyond simple loyalty. Those two things are warring inside him right now, and I can't predict which will win out."
"Think he'll cause problems?"
"Maybe. But not immediately. He's too busy processing everything to act right now." Harry moved toward the door. "In a few days, once he's talked to Dumbledore, once he's had time to think things through, then we'll see what he does. Whether he chooses to see the truth or finds a way to explain it away."
"And if he sides against you?"
Harry's expression hardened slightly. "Then he becomes an obstacle like any other. I hope it doesn't come to that. I really do. But I'm prepared if it does."
They stepped out of the Shrieking Shack together, the cool evening air a welcome change from the musty interior. Harry took one last look at the old building, wondering if this would be the last time he'd stand here. So much history in this place, so many memories tied to his father's generation.
But that generation's time was passing. For better or worse, Harry's generation was stepping up to take their place. The question was whether the older generation would accept that transition gracefully or fight it every step of the way.
With Nym beside him, Harry activated their portkey. The familiar pull behind his navel yanked them away from the Shrieking Shack, away from the meeting that might have changed nothing or quite a lot.
Only time would tell which it had been.
Remus apparated to a small clearing outside Hogsmeade, his mind reeling from everything Harry had told him. He stood there in the darkness, trying to process revelations that had turned his entire worldview inside out.
Every year, something had tried to kill Harry. Every year, the boy had faced death, and every year, Albus had been conspicuously absent until after the danger had passed.
It couldn't be coincidence. It simply couldn't be.
"Raised like a pig for slaughter," Remus muttered to himself, and the phrase made his stomach turn.
He'd heard stories about the Dursleys over the years. Little things Albus had mentioned in passing, always with a hint of regret but never with any indication he'd done anything about it. Remus had assumed Harry was safe there, if not happy. But a cupboard? Neglect? Abuse?
And Albus had known. Must have known. He made it his business to know everything important, and surely Harry's wellbeing should have been important.
Unless it wasn't. Unless keeping Harry isolated and desperate had been part of the plan all along.
Remus felt sick.
"For the greater good," he said aloud, and the words tasted like ash.
He'd heard Albus use that phrase before, usually when explaining difficult decisions. Remus had always assumed it meant making hard choices for the benefit of many. But what if it meant something darker? What if it meant deciding who lived and died based on some calculation of value? What if it meant sacrificing individuals for an outcome only Albus could see?
No. He couldn't think like that. Albus had devoted his life to fighting darkness. Everything he'd done, all his sacrifices, they had to mean something.
But Harry's words kept echoing in his mind. "Good intentions don't justify everything."
And the most damning question of all: "If he actually cared about me, he'd have found another way."
Remus needed answers. Real answers, not speculation or assumption. He needed to hear Albus's side of this, to understand what was really going on. To know if the man he'd trusted was capable of what Harry was accusing him of.
Making up his mind, Remus apparated again.
The castle loomed before him, its familiar towers offering none of their usual comfort. Everything looked the same, but Remus felt fundamentally different. Like he'd stepped through some invisible barrier and couldn't go back.
He had to know. Had to understand. Even if the truth destroyed everything he'd believed.
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